Tag: life

Developing an Attitude of Gratitude

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

You may not be a Christian. You may not be a person of any sort of faith. But I strongly believe developing a grateful attitude is an important component of finding contentment and peace in this troubled world in which we live. No doubt there are other factors, but having a grateful attitude, no matter what the circumstances, can help.

I was privileged a couple of weeks ago to lead our ladies’ class at church in a devotional and discussion about this topic. The reason? My own journey and what I’ve learned.

Why have I finally learned to grasp the full meaning of gratitude? Call it having lived long enough to have experienced many of life’s ups and downs.. Call it having a lot of time on my hands to reflect. Call it being a deep thinker.

It’s all of that and more.

The truth is that it’s easy to be grateful for our blessings and good things in life when things are going well. Yet even when they’re goin well, we often are guilty of not appreciating what we have. For example, are we not only grateful for our food but also for the fact we get to choose what we want to eat? In the United States, people relying upon assistance to buy groceries cannot afford the healthier options, but even they have more choices than people in many third-world or developing countries. In Cuba, for instance, residents are given a ration card that allows them to have one pound of chicken per person each month. They are allowed five eggs per month per person, but that has been unstable, and they often don’t get eggs at all.

Cuba is just one example.

We’re spoiled. We have heat in the winter and air conditioning in the summer. We have enough clothes that we are concerned with fashion instead of clothes to wear for modesty and comfort. Most of us sleep on a comfortable mattress at night instead of a thin pallet on a hard floor.

You see where I’m going with this. We take things for granted until or unless we don’t have them.

Like income until we lose our job. Like health until we get the cancer or another life-threatening r diagnosis. Like walking until an accident or health issue robs us of that ability. Like family and friends until death takes them away from us.

Yet even in those times we can have gratitude. Maybe not at first. We are grieving, and there is nothing in the Bible that tells us not to grieve. It is a human emotion, and God doesn’t expect us to be a Miss Pollyanna about everything in life. It’s okay to hurt. It’s expected. It’s okay to grieve. It’s normal and part of the healing process. Even if it takes years.

Experiencing loss of a loved one? Grieve, but be grateful for the friends and family who are there to support you. Diagnosed with cancer and enduring harsh treatments? Be grateful there are medicines available now to treat the condition. Being grateful for those things doesn’t make the struggle you are enduring go away, nor does it make you feel better in the moment. The weight of your struggle far overshadows the good things we are guilty of taking for granted. But maybe, just maybe, counting your blessings and expressing gratitude for them will help.

Christians know about the apostle Paul, who penned the verses I have written on the handout pictured, He endured beatings, imprisonment, rejection, public ridicule, and shipwrecks. He eventually was killed because of his Christian faith. Yet he wrote that the people of Thessalonica, and us as readers of his letters, should give thanks in all circumstances. He practiced what he preached.

You know what I’m thankful for with my vision loss? I went through two or three years of true depression. I cried. A lot. I never asked, “Why me?”, but I desperately wanted my independence back and my ability to see the world clearly. I started praying for the ability to accept and adapt, and that is what happened. I didn’t receive a treatment that would fix things. I didn’t get normal vision back. But I found a new purpose in life.

My purpose is to help others going through vision loss. I have made friends with legally blind and completely blind people from California to Arizona to Kentucky to Virginia to all parts of Tennessee. I am so grateful for those friendships. I am grateful for the opportunities to share and to help.

Please don’t tell me you admire me or that I inspire you. I’m just a person being true to who I am. It is nothing special. And my functional vision allows me to live a very normal life in most ways. The people that inspire me are the ones who have endured much worse, such as the loss of a child or spouse or health, who endure what I cannot imagine.

And the truth is, I may join that number someday if I live long enough. The vision loss has made me more empathetic to others, and I’m grateful. It’s made me more appreciative of the sounds of birds in the early morning, m ability to walk for miles at a time, of friends and family who drive me places or serve as my eyes when needed. I’m grateful for technology that allows me to do what I’m doing right now–writing–since that has been one of my greatest joys ever since I picked up a pencil and learned to spell.

I hope you no matter what you are enduring, can feel true gratitude for the other things in your life that are good. I hope you can find the peace I’ve found. I’m not always content, I’m ashamed to say, because I am restless and get bored easily, so when I can’t go and do what I want to do when I want to do it, I can get down and out.

Then I think of some friends and family going through much worse, and I’m ashamed for my feelings. How minor they are in the scheme of things.

Gratitude. True gratitude. Maybe it’s the first step toward true peace and contentment.

Do you feel blah on “gray days?”

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

I do. I admit it. Some people may call it SAD (seasonal affective disorder), but where I live, it’s not seasonal. It’s any season at any given time, so I just call them “gray days.”

January, however, is the worst. Anyone own a beautiful home in Arizona we can rent cheaply for the month of January…and bring our 70-pound dog who thinks it’s his duty to find every underground creature in existence, even if it means digging all the way to China?

I didn’t think so.

When I was working, gray days didn’t bother me as much. I was working in a school with artificial lighting and was very busy. Retirement, however, means I am home almost every day, and according to my research our state has 116.1 days of rain, on average, and that’s not counting those days that are just cloudy.

Some people love cloudy days. Kudos to you. Wish I did. Once every couple of weeks is okay. But I have no control over any of that, and I realize we need the rain to support life as we know it. (Like how I brought in a reference to the title of my blog? Speaking of which, I normally blog once a week but because of family being here this weekend, I was compelled to blog today.)

Back to gray days. If you are prone to that blah feeling, you have two choices. Curl up with a book or in front of the TV, drink some hot tea, and wait for sunnier weather. I can’t do that. I hate…let me repeat, I hate…inactivity during the daytime. Sure, I don’t mind taking my time getting started in the mornings, but to sit around and watch TV or listen to audiobooks all day is my idea of torture. It’s almost as bad as sitting with someone in a hospital, and while that is sometimes necessary and the kind thing to do, I don’t know of anyone who actually likes it.

So what do I do to counteract the gray days? I ask Alexa to play music from the sixties or seventies, and when I hear songs that make me want to move, I get up and move. I might do an exercise routine or simply dance around the room (thank goodness no one is watching). If it’s not raining, I take that 70-pound dog for a long walk and sometimes drop him back to the house and continue the long walk. I call shut-ins, thinking they may be experiencing the blahs more than usual on a gray day. Sometimes I reach out to a friend to go to lunch. I dig out old photos and look at them using my DaVinci CCTV or while waring my IrisVision headset, but to be honest, that is so much work with the vision issues, I can’t do it for long. I still can’t see them very well, and it can be exhausting. I do art projects. I play solitaire with large-print poker cards Barry gave me years ago.

You may not care about gray days or my suggestions, and that’s fine. We each handle things in our own way. And maybe I’m blogging about this as a form of therapy to sort out what I will do with myself today while my husband is at work and I have no transportation to go do things away from the house. Don’t tell me to call a friend and ask her to take me places. It’s not happening. I only call friends to take me places when it’s absolutely necessary not just because it’s a boring, gray day. And, you know what? Even if my husband were not working, I wouldn’t ask him to drive me around while I do…what? He is always willing, but it’s just not the same as when I was able to get in the car and just do my own thing.

Not complaining (well, not much), just explaining. It is what it is. There are people dealing with many more serious problems–physical, mental, emotional–, and this minor bump in the road is nothing compared to what they’re going through.

You may be wondering about the photo. I took it a few minutes ago to show the gray sky, but while I was doing so, I was reminded of how much I love sitting on my front porch. It is one of my happy places. In the early mornings, the birds make beautiful music I can hear so well because there is no traffic at 6:30 in the morning. When it’s raining and not lightning, I can enjoy the sounds of the rain. I sit out there and listen to audiobooks at times. I chat on the phone with friends. Sometimes I just sit and listen.

Everyone should have a happy place, so I hope you have one. Thanks for allowing me to write (one of my joys) and sort out my thoughts. I think it’s time to move to some music by The Beach Boys and other groups from the past then pull out the watercolors and do something abstract, then walk that dog of mine. I’ll just have to make sure no rain is on the way when I do.

Happy gray day to those of you experiencing what I am, and happy sunny day to the rest!

Accepting your limitations doesn’t mean giving up

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

Oh, my, I can’t believe the irony of trying to get this post done! I typed the title then encountered several tech problems, and I was so frustrated I was talking out loud to my laptop and TV to which it is attached–really! But I didn’t give up, so here I go.

First, let me clarify the title. This is not a “Michael Jordan didn’t make his high school basketball team, and look how his perseverance paid off!” type of blog. Nor is it a “you can do whatever you set your mind to do!” That is the biggest lie we tell our children and the biggest lie we tell ourselves.

Don’t get me wrong. We should aspire to achieve. Well if we are made that way. The truth is, many people don’t care about ambition or achievement or success. They are perfectly happy living their lives more simply and are satisfied with the amount of money they earn, the place they live, and the life they’re living. But even they may find themselves giving up when facing an obstacle that seems insurmountable.

What I’m talking about is giving up on yourself. Giving up on doing the things you love. Giving up because you feel you don’t have what it takes to do certain things.

Another clarification: There ARE things in life we can’t overcome. My friend who has been paralyzed for over 30 years can have all the positive thoughts she wants, but those thoughts won’t make her walk again. I can will myself to see better all I want, but those retinas aren’t going to do what I will them to do. I can’t drive anymore. I can’t read books to my granddaughters. I accept those facts.

The interesting comparison of my friend’s disability and mine? She, the paralyzed one, can drive using hand controls. She can move about in her wheelchair. I can’t drive, but I’m strong and healthy and can walk long distances. She can read to herself and to others. I rely on screen readers and audiobooks.

She and I both had choices to make. We could be afraid to learn something new and wallow in our unfortunate conditions or we could look for ways to overcome.

You don’t have to have a disability to give up on yourself. I’ve seen it far too many times. The talented singer who is afraid to sing in front of others yet wants to have a recording career. The student with average intelligence (she thinks) who is too intimidated to go to college or to train in a job that is interesting to her. The overweight adult who wants to lose weight but refuses to exercise or eat a healthy diet because it’s too hard.

They’ve all given up on themselves.

I did that a few years ago. Before I knew about the resources and technology that would help me live a more normal life, I gave away all my art supplies because I thought I’d never be able to paint or sketch again. I cancelled my WordPress subscription. I even cancelled my Microsoft Word subscription.

Bad mistake. I grew even more depressed. It was bad enough being stuck at home with limited things to do, but to deny myself the two activities in life that I love the most–writing and art–was much like you sports fans who stop watching ballgames and golf just because you can’t play them anymore.

Hmmm…I’m not too sure about that analogy. There are plenty of sports fans who never played sports or who were never super good who still love to watch them, so…oh, well, I think you get what I’m trying to say.

I missed art, and after about a year, I bought more supplies. My neighbor is a talented artist who has an art studio in which she hosts art classes. She teaches techniques, but she allows each person to work on their own projects, and she is available to help when they have a problem. I went to her classes off and on for about a year before I decided my amateur attempts with my vision loss were not worth the small amount I paid to use her expertise and facilities.

That doesn’t mean I stopped painting. I do my own thing, and even though my projects (two are in the picture) will never grace anyone’s walls but my own (or actually shoved away in a closet), that doesn’t stop me from “channeling my inner Picasso.” Would I love to be a serious student and produce good quality work? Of course. But I can’t, so I do what I can.

I renewed my subscription to WordPress and Microsoft Word, and I began to write again. It didn’t matter to me if anybody read what I wrote or not. Writing was, and is, just something I have to do.

A good thing to come of that? My book about vision loss. I’ve given away as many copies as I’ve sold, so it’s not a money-maker, but it has helped people.

I have a feeling some of you reading this have given up on yourself in some way. You’ve told yourself something is too hard to do or you don’t have enough talent or you don’t have enough ability. And I’m not saying you will achieve whatever you want in life if you work hard enough. You might. You might not.

Accept your limitations. Accept your circumstances if they can’t be changed. But don’t give up on yourself. Find joy in the journey.

I still believe in the goodness of others

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

Call me naive. Call me Pollyanna. Accuse me of looking at the world through rose-colored glasses. But I believe most people, deep down, are good.

No doubt there are people in this world that are evil. But I believe, at least in my community and circle, those people are rare.

I have always had a tendency to like most people. The joke in our family is that I can probably count on one hand the number of people I dislike. But liking someone has nothing to do with their innate goodness. Even the people I dislike have some good hiding in there somewhere. Just because I’m put off by their personalities or other factors doesn’t mean they don’t have elements of goodness.

Notice the shirt I’m wearing in the photo. (My four-year-old granddaughter took this photo of me last falll–isn’t she talented???) I received the t-shirt when I registered to raise money for St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital by completing a three-mile walk/run. For those of you who know me, three miles is a piece of cake. No biggie on my part, but several people donated to my cause to help fight childhood cancer.

Good, generous people. The workers at St. Jude are kind, caring people. The ones who interact with the children and witness suffering on a daily basis have a strength and compassion that enable them to do their jobs.

Good people.

The teachers who truly care about their students, no matter how challenging it is, are good people.

The stranger that stops to help a stranded driver, the people who help those who can’t help themselves. Good people.

I could go on in generalities, but I’ll share a specific experience that happened to me this week. I was to speak to a class at the local university, and my ride (remember, I can’t drive anymore–haven’t driven in over seven years, and I still HATE that situation) was almost two hours earlier than my scheduled time to speak. So I went into the university center to indulge in a Chick-Fil-A breakfast of the chicken minis.

The area had been renovated since I was last there, and I was using my identification cane. I don’t need to cane to see how to walk. I use the cane to let others know I am visually impaired. The cane explains, without my having to use words, why I move more slowly in certain situations, why it takes me longer to do things, why I pause a very long time before crossing a street so I can listen for oncoming vehicles.

So when I approached the counter, I went to the wrong side to place my order. The kind woman at the other end said something, and I went to that side. When the gentleman gave my large unsweetened iced tea (yes, call me a traitor to southern culture), he handed it to me very carefully and asked in a nice tone, “Do you have it?”

When I finished eating, I picked up my trash and headed to what I assumed were the trash bins. But when I got there, there was no opening on the top. I looked on the sides. No opening. I was about to turn around and look somewhere else when I young man came up behind me and in a cheerful tone said, “They’ve still got these covered.” He reached over and slid a dark object (which I figured out was a tray) away. There was the hole to dispense the trash.

He was not a worker. He was just a college student there to eat some breakfast.

I thanked him, and he made another nice comment. What a nice young man. No doubt he has a kind heart.

Unlike some, I have hope for the future. I have hope for our world. I have learned that kindness is reciprocated by kindness. Grouchy, unkind remarks are likely to be met with grouchy, unkind remarks. But kindness in tone and a pleasant smile can make all the difference.

I’ve had people tell me they could never teach high school students like I did for most of my career. But I loved high school students–at least, most of them. My first year of teaching was a bumpy ride, but I learned the balance of discipline and kindness (I hope), and my experiences created great memories I cherish to this day.

I know not everyone shares my attitude. I know of many people who focus on criticizing others and looking for their faults or flaws.

But I choose to look for the best. It’s a challenge with those four or five people I’ve known and disliked, but I try to give them some grace. It doesn’t mean I have to spend time with them. It just means I need to try to see things from their point of view.

Unless they’re evil. But those few are not.

We played a game Sunday afternoon with my son and part of his family, and the purpose of the game was to write things that fit a category. Jake drew a card that said, “Things that are evil.” My immediate response? Social media.

It’s not evil if used in the right way. But it’s evil if used in the wrong way. All the political stuff, all the unkind and hateful remarks, all the insults that people feel free to hurl hiding behind their phones. What’s the point? I know each person has freedom of speech but how sad is it that freedom of speech gives us justification for being unkind.

I guess this is enough of my opinion today. But I think part of the solution to the problems we have in this life is being good and kind to others. It’s hard to be mean to someone who is kind to you.

Attention, Milennials and GenZ’s aka Zoomers

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

Today, a clerk in a store called me “sweetie.” Twice

I get it. To her, who might have been as old as 19 or 20, I am old. After all, my childhood photos are now fuzzy black and white images with no color photos of me until I’m nine years old. So, yes, I am that old. I’m old enough to have had only a black and white TV (controlled by an antenna) until I was 15 when Dad finally broke down and bought a Magnavox color TV. I’m old enough to remember life with party-line telephones that sat on tables or were attached to walls, life before microwaves, and life before…well, a lot of things that are normal today.

But when she called me “sweetie,” I immediately felt like a white-haired lady with tight curls using a walker, which is not me at all.

I’m sure she was trying to be kind, but I don’t think she realized it is an insult. I know some people my age who don’t like to be addressed as “ma’am,” but after years of being a teacher and principal, I have no problem with that. It is a sign of respect, and when I started teaching at the age of 30, I needed that respect from high school students. Without respect, a teacher can’t manage a class.

But when medical staff and others address me as “honey” or “sweetie,” it’s not respectful. It’s patronizing. It’s what we do with small children to soften our words. They’re terms of endearment we use with those we love. But they’re not appropriate terms for anyone else.

At least they’re not to me. My mom, who lived to be almost 94 loved it when medical staff and others used those terms. I have a feeling, though, she didn’t feel that way at my age. After all, she was still working part-time at Walmart, maintaining a home, sewing, cooking, and keeping busy with family and friends.

If you are someone who uses those terms, please re-think your choice. In our culture, people 65 and older are lumped together as “senior citizens,” but there is usually a huge difference between a 65-year-old and an 85-year-old.

What this young woman didn’t know was my friend and I had just left the Wellness Center where I had done 45- minutes of weight training, walking, and stretching. She also didn’t know I had already walked my dog a mile before going and that I was coming home to walk him another mile and a half.

She didn’t know I did a half-marathon (that was 13.1 miles jogging/running) at the age of 62 and did it again at 64 (all walking). She didn’t know I’m planning to do it again this December (walking) at the age of…well, never mind.

I know a lot of millennials and GenZ’s who could not, would not, and have no desire to do any of what I’ve done today, let alone the half-marathon accomplishments, so my advice to all is: please respect us but don’t patronize us. And now that I think about it, all of us older adults need to be careful about patronizing younger generations. Believe me, they are more capable than we are in areas of technology and other areas. They’re smarter in ways that didn’t even exist when we were younger.

Respect for each other. Maybe we all need to work on that.

Loneliness–it affects your health

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

Once again, the photo doesn’t seem to match the title of my blog, but bear with me. I’ll explain.

A fitness/health expert with multiple degrees and certifications recently spoke to one of the civic groups of which I am a member, and this statement shocked me. “Loneliness,” she said, “is as harmful to your health as smoking 15 cigarettes a day.” She explained the research that backed this up, but I am still amazed.

I know some people prefer being alone, and likely they are perfectly happy spending most of their hours alone. But loneliness can affect anybody at any age in any circumstance.

The wife or husband whose spouse is not the companion they hoped for, whose distant demeanor or even abusive treatment creates a sense of isolation. The elderly shut-in who has no family to come visit and no friends who seem to care or whose friends have already passed away or in the same shut-in situation they are. The young single whose friends have all married and are living their lives with jobs and raising children.

When I was working and raising my family, there were times I dreamed of just a day to myself. There were times I suffered from what I called “people pollution” and wanted nothing more than time away from the crowds. I’m sure many have felt the same.

Loneliness, though, is as much a state of mind as it is a circumstance. We’ve heard the saying that someone can be lonely in a crowd, and that’s true. And being alone doesn’t always equal loneliness.

Those of you who read my blogs regularly know I’m always advocating for people to reach out to shut-ins. If that person is content with the situation, there is no need to push him or her to get out or make phone calls. Just give them a book to read or a remote they can operate, and they may be perfectly fine. Others, however, may need visits, outings, and phone calls to alleviate the loneliness they experience each day. That’s why I advocate and remind all of us to keep those people in mind and actually DO something to help them.

But let’s say you’re lonely. Maybe you’re divorced, widowed, never married, or in a bad marriage that you remain in for personal reasons. What do you do?

First, seek groups you can join. Sign up for fitness classes, art classes, and volunteer organizations. If you’re a person of faith but have neglected attending corporate worship services, find a church and attend long enough to get to know some of the people. Participate in some of the activities available instead of being simply a pew warmer. ” Obviously, I am referring to Christian faiths, but the same idea applies to any religion.

Be the instigator of social events. Invite people into your home, but if that doesn’t work for you, invite people to join you for lunch or outings. Invite someone to participate in one of your hobbies–playing golf, pickleball, tennis, etc.

In my town, our Friends of the Library group is active and involved, and I’ve gotten to know people outside of my normal circles. I’m active in our local retired teachers association. I’m in three other civic groups (invited to join) that, at first, were foreign to me, but as time went on, I began to feel like a part of the group as I strengthened acquaintances into friends and met new people.

Side note: (you know I always have a side note) For the visually impaired, meeting new people is especially challenging because we can’t see what you look like. It takes time for us to learn your voice and body type (tall, short, etc.). That means we may know you in a specific situation–as in a group meeting–but we have no idea who you are in a restaurant or some other public place. So, we do one of two things. We pretend we know who you are until you say something that clicks with us, or we do as I usually do and ask, “Who am I looking at?” If you see us out and about, it’s very helpful to say, “Hi, Pam, it’s Jean, Jones, how are you today?” I’ll eventually recognize you. Oh, another side note: If my husband is with me and sees someone he realizes I know, he says in a low voice, “Jean Jones is coming our way,” and I’ll say, “Hi, Jean!” as she gets near us.

Okay, back to my topic. I think one reason I found this statistic to be so impactful is because I talk with, by phone, several older women with vision loss who are living in loneliness. They’re sad, depressed, and discouraged, yet they’re trying so hard to be upbeat. One lives near Nashville. Another lives in Maryville. Another lives in Virginia. They are always thrilled to get a phone call. One of them told me when I called that she hadn’t talked to anyone in several days. She has mobility issues and is completely blind in one eye with glaucoma affecting her vision badly in the other. A nearby family takes her to church services each Sunday morning, but I know she would love it if her granddaughter would bring the great-grandchild over every now and then or if some of those church members would visit or include her in activities.

If you know someone like that, please consider reaching out. If you are one of the lonely and have the means to get out and about, do it! If you have the health and ability to drive, your choices are wide open. You just have to look for the opportunities.

The cure for loneliness is to get out of your comfort zone. You can’t expect to keep living the same way and for things to change. You have to find the courage to change them.

We have about 40 in our Silver Sneakers classes at the Wellness Center, ranging in ages from younger than I am into their eighties. The reason most attend? Yes, it’s for the exercise. But primarily it’s for the social interaction. “You can do hard things” a sign on the wall reminds us.

Yes, we can for as long as we can. But we have to have the mindset to do it.

Our interests and hobbies: nature or nurture?

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

A lazy, rainy morning after-breakfast, before getting dressed, before hair being brushed. The focus? Aqua Art. Paint perfect pictures using nothing more than water and a brush or finger. Allow to dry. The ink disappears, and you can do it all over again. Bluey and Bingo are perfect every time.

Remember what it was like to be focused on an activity? Remember how zoned-in you were to doing it right? Remember how much you enjoyed it?

Somehow, as we grow older, we sometimes allow the worries and problems of our lives to overshadow the simple joys of interests and hobbies. Sometimes we allow those interests and hobbies to occupy too much of our time, to the point of being obsessed or neglectful of those around us. I believe there should be a healthy balance. Having interests outside of work and family can contribute to better mental health as long as those activities aren’t taken too seriously.

I am convinced some of the interests we had as children remain with us throughout our lives. Those interests may manifest in different ways, but the fascination or joy is there.

When I observe my granddaughters, I notice their very different personalities, but I also notice their natural interests and tendencies. I will be very surprised if the oldest doesn’t become a musician or dancer or an actress in school plays–although her shyness may prevent that–and if the other doesn’t become an athlete of some sort. I can also visualize her being into activities like rock climbing, sky diving, and surfing because she is somewhat of a daredevil.

Time will tell.

When I reflect on my own childhood, the constants were (and are) art projects (especially sketching), drama (I was always in school plays), reading, dogs, horses, and, yes, Elvis. We won’t go into that. No, I didn’t want to grow up and marry him. I’m hoping to see the new movie Epic next week, so I’ll blog about the Elvis thing later.

As an adult, the art interest evolved into all kinds of arts and crafts activities. Macramé, cross-stitching, quilting, sewing, oil painting, acrylic painting, and of course, sketching. One of my favorite classes to teach at the local high school was theater arts, and one of my favorite sponsor activities was sponsoring the Drama Club and directing plays. I never “outgrew” that passion.

My husband, who grew up in a family of non-sports people, developed an interest in sports as young as first or second grade when he would actually watch parts of baseball games on television. Not because his dad was watching them or his older brother, because they didn’t watch them. It was an interest he had at a very early age. Football and basketball interests came along later, and he played adult league softball until he was 50. A basketball goal is still firmly fixed beside our driveway, and it still gets used occasionally. To this day, he watches countless sporting events on television, and to say he is a passionate University of Tennessee sports fan is an understatement. He was listening to John Ward (UT fans know that name!) as young as the age of 10. And the first Super Bowl? He watched it. He was eight or nine.

How often have we as parents tried to pique the interests of our children to what we like to do? I was the one steering our sons to sketching while my husband was the one playing baseball and basketball with them as well as coaching their Parks and Recreation teams. I was the one building cabins with Lincoln Logs while he was the one giving instruction on how to shoot a basketball and how to be a better batter.

Yet you know what they both did on their own? They both developed an interest in playing the guitar and piano. They were primarily self-taught, but they did, and do, exceptionally well. As middle-aged men, they still love to play. Not because we taught them or pushed them in that direction, but because they discovered that interest on their own.

In answer to my question in the title, I believe the majority of who we are and what we like to do is innate. Sure, environmental factors come into play. I don’t know if my sons would have had an interest in sketching if I had not encouraged it. I do believe they would have had an interest in sports because it’s the world we live in and also because they’re athletic, but the music thing? Not nurture. Nature.

My husband’s interest in sports? Nature.

My multiple interests? Nature.

I’m sure a psychologist would refute my opinion and give researched-base answers to my question, but I’m going to go along with the nature idea. To me, it’s obvious. No research needed.

Truthfully, it doesn’t matter whether it’s nature or nurture. What matters is the joy brought by pursuing our interests. So to the sports fans, fishermen, hunters, golfers, artists, seamstresses, cooks, musicians, writers, readers, and singers reading this–enjoy!

Life in a Small(er) Town –what makes Martin special

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

Aren’t these two just too cute for words? Yes, that’s the grandmother in me talking. But I’m right. Aren’t I?

Once again, you may be wondering what this photo has to do with my topic. Bear with me while I sort out my thoughts.

First, let me clarify. I do not hate the idea of living in a city or suburb of a city. There are positives and negatives to any place. Because traffic doesn’t bother me, city traffic is no big deal. Because I like having multiple activities from which to choose, that’s a plus to metropolitan life. No doubt the shopping is better, but it seems that most younger people do online shopping more than in-person shopping, and with malls disappearing…well, it’s just not the same.

But I’ve never lived in a large city. The largest town I lived in had a population of maybe 40,000. I think Martin has a population of about 11,000. So, really, I’m not qualified to extol the virtues of city living because I’ve never experienced it.

The positives of small town life are numerous. Safety, for one. True, we’ve had some tragedies over the years, but thankfully, they are infrequent. Less traffic is a plus, although plenty of locals get frustrated with the small amount of traffic we have at the by-pass intersection near McDonald’s. Another positive is the fact our circle of acquaintances and friends is much wider than it would be in a city. While some may love the anonymity of city life, I like seeing friends and acquaintances on a regular basis.

The obvious factor that makes Martin unique is the university. Unlike other small towns in our state, the university brings us cultural diversity and opportunities for recreation and entertainment. The Rec Center on campus is available to alumni and/or their spouses for the small fee of $35 a month. My husband goes there to play Pickleball, but the basketball courts, running track, weights, and other offerings make it a great option. And think of all the offerings in sports–football, basketball, baseball, softball, volleyball, and maybe some others. Oh, tennis, right? It’s a shame the pool is no longer open. As a college student and for many years while raising my boys, I used that pool a lot. Musical events, plays, special speakers…the list goes on.

Another factor is the schools. This applies to all of Weakley County, not just Martin. From an academic perspective, parents can feel good about sending their children to school in Martin, Sharon, Greenfield, Dresden, or Gleason. The district ranks high in the state. There is no need to send your child to a private school, unless there are other reasons to do so such as religious reasons or socialization issues for your child.

We have a local hospital, but if you prefer the Baptist Health system, those options are just a ten-minute drive away. You’d be farther away than that if you lived in a big city.

Retirees can find affordable housing, lower taxes and insurance, and adequate medical care. We are an hour from Jackson and an hour from Paducah if needed. By the way, Paducah’s Carson Center has all kinds of entertainment offerings (we saw Chicago there several years ago as well as The Beach Boys, Bill Engvall, Martina McBride, and more) and great shopping. Have I mentioned Hobby Lobby is my personal candy store???

We have great locally owned restaurants and shops. Blake’s has been featured in Southern Living, and people come from all over to eat at The Grind. Crave is another favorite (oh, their protein bowls, wraps, pizza…) as well as The Martin Coffeehouse, Higher Ground, Vantage Roasters, and maybe a place I haven’t thought of.

And have I mentioned there is a Chick Fil A on campus? Not one with a full menu (I love those minis made with small rolls and their yogurt parfait but have never tried to order them there).

I could go on and on. Multiple golf courses in the area. The Wellness Center, Dynamic, and other fitness venues. Kentucky Lake isn’t that far away. Reelfoot Lake is popular with duck hunters and fishermen.

Martin is not perfect. It has limited opportunities for college graduates of certain disciplines. Knowing a lot of people can be a mixed bag of good and bad because the sin of gossip and people knowing too much of your personal business is a reality. Yet those same people are there with the casseroles, the hugs, and the expressions of sympathy in times of trouble. They’re there to celebrate in times of joy.

I’m the kind of person who could have lived in cities of any size and thrived. I’m adaptable. But I’ve also thrived living here. Sometimes I’ve been blind to the opportunities, and that’s on me. Sometimes I’ve complained about living here, (well, more than sometimes), but that is because of some personal situations and relationships I will not share.

As I wrap this up, I’m smiling to myself because I know that when I share this on Facebook, most people will not read the blog. They’ll see the photo of my sweet granddaughters and make a comment about them, but thry won’t read this far to find out why I posted it. So, for those of you who are actually reading this, I will explain.

My paternal ancestors were in Weakley County as far back as 1840. My mother, who would be 98 this year if she were still alive, went to Martin High School. My dad was raised in the Dresden area. This town and this county represent my heritage. That may not be important to some, but it is to me.

I want my granddaughters to get to know this place. I want them to spend time with us and experience some of the things I’ve mentioned. When they grow up, I want them to look back with fondness on the times they spent with Gigi and Papa in a town very different from the city where they live. I know they have the advantages of multiple places to go like the zoo, a children’s museum, and other places, but I hope they will find the simple offerings we have here to be a fun diversion from the usual.

Maybe I’m romanticizing small town life a bit (think Hallmark movies, right?), but that’s okay. Each one of us has to find the path that is right for us. And while I didn’t necessarily choose my path as much as it just happened, I am where I need to be.

Learning to let go

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

I’ll explain the photo later in this post.

It took me a while–years, in fact–to learn how to let go of things I can’t control. That’s not to say I don’t have momentary lapses, but for the most part, I’ve done so.

The benefits? Better sleep. A calmer spirit. An improved spiritual life. Translated: better mental health.

You may be wondering how I’ve managed to do this, but before I explain, I’ll list the things I’ve had to learn to let go.

Goals: the goals I had as a 21-year-old didn’t happen

Control: control of my family members, control of all my health concerns, control of whatever is not really in my control

Dreams: We all have had dreams, whether we realize it or not. Your dream might have been as lofty as becoming a professional athlete, singer, or other celebrity or something more normal like finding the perfect mate, but I have to admit my dreams fell somewhere in between the extremes.

Grief: If we live long enough, we all experience grief. If I continue to live, there is no doubt I will endure it again. So when I say I’ve learned to let it go, that doesn’t mean I don’t have my moments. But I don’t allow myself to stay in it.

Maybe none of the above strike a chord within you, and if so, you are either very fortunate or blind to your own issues. I’ll use my mother as an example. Bless her, she was a worrier. She worried about her children and grandchildren constantly as well as her own security issues. She worried about her health. She feared someone was going to break into their house–from her youth she was that way. She feared germs. Truly. Way before Covid. “I don’t worry,” she used to say. “I’m just cautious.” The rest of us could see the truth. She couldn’t.

It’s possible you’re like my mom in some way. It’s also possible you have been blessed with the innate ability to let things go. tMost of us, though, are either a variation of my mother.

Now for the secret to letting go of the disappointments, heartbreaks, longings, and desire to control things beyond my control: prayer.

Before you stop reading at this point because you think I’ve given a cliché religious answer, let me explainIf. I hope you’ll find something helpful.

You remember the Serenity Prayer that was popular many years ago. I pray it. And I mean it. I’ve blogged about it before. To refresh your memory, here’s my variation of it: Dear God, give me the serenity to accept the things I can’t change, the courage or strength to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the different.”Let’s think about the “wisdom” part. That’s a rough one since most of us wonder if we have the wisdom. And, to be honest, some of you reading this are afraid of change, so you won’t even try.

But we can all agree we can’t change the past. Maybe we regret a career decision but at the age of 55, we feel stuck. Guess what, the truth is we likely are. That doesn’t mean you can’t explore possibilities, but in this youth-oriented, youth-focused culture we live in, chances of finding your dream job are slim. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. Just accept it if it doesn’t happen, you can still make the best of things.

I have stopped expecting people to be a certain way. I pray about my family members, but as far as trying to change them in some way, no. I accept them for who they are, love them, and let it go. I may be disappointed in choices they make or attitudes they have, but that is on them. I can’t control them.

Years ago, I flew quite a bit then had a scary experience that kept me from flying for many years. Actually, 41 years! In 2023, I flew again and felt so stupid for depriving myself of travel experiences for so long. Since that time, we’ve flown a couple of more trips, and I just pray for safety, get on the plane, and don’t worry about it. Fear kept me from living my best life.

Which brings me to my next point. I became legally blind in 2020. That condition continues to decline. So the regret over desired trips not taken is magnified by the fact that now that my fear is gone, my vision is gone to the point I can’t see beautiful scenery or experience new places in the same ways I once did. True, I use my peripheral vision, but no one has 20/20 peripheral vision, and I’m losing peripheral vision as well so…it’s just not the same. I’ve learned not to live in that regret. I have to let it go, and just make the most of now. I have no doubt in five years I’ll be wishing I had the amount of vision I have today (it’s a lot worse now than it was in 2020), so I don’t dwell on the past, don’t worry about the future, and focus on appreciating the present.

How do you let go of grief? First, give it time. It’s not going to happen quickly. It may take years. But keep trying. A friend once told me you never get over grief, you just learn to live with it. Support groups, volunteer work, serving others–find what works for you. And pray for strength to accept it.

I said I would explain the photo and how it relates to this topic. This was taken in Yuma, Arizona, on the back patio of a relative’s house. I grew up seeing those mountains on a regular basis and crossing them multiple times when we headed back to Tennessee for trips to see the relatives here. When we left Tennessee and made the long trip back to Yuma, seeing those mountains made me happy because I knew we were almost home.

When my parents moved us back to Tennessee, it was hard for me to appreciate my new home. I missed the familiarity of my house, my neighborhood, my church family, my friends. I pleaded with my parents constantly to move back to Arizona where my brother and his family were. I spent far too many years of my adulthood longing to go back there to live.

I accept now that it was not meant to be for many reasons, and I accept that sometimes our personal wants must be sacrificed for the good of others. All too often, our personal prayers are selfish ones. We want what we want, not what our loved ones want or need. And my personality is the type that can’t push hard for what I want because I can’t be happy if the people I love aren’t happy. That’s just the way I am.

But back to letting go–it’s a wonderful feeling. It took me years to achieve it, and I haven’t reached perfection. I’m trying, though.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the strength to change what I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.

A visit from a cardinal–which loved one is visiting us?

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

It’s cold here!! The wind chill is currently 0 degrees with an actual temperature of 12. I think the high wind chill is supposed to be 1 today, so guess who’s not planning to go outside?

Whenever it is extremely cold or extremely hot, I am always grateful I live in modern times with modern conveniences and that I am in a financial situation that allows me to have these comforts. My heart goes out to those who are not as fortunate, and I can’t imagine what so many are dealing with right now.

Aside from the dangers that come with extreme temperatures, whether high or low, I will admit I do love the four seasons. I know many would rather live where it is a perfect temperature all year round, I often say that’s why San Diego is so crowded. But, for me, I think that would get old.

Why do I feel this way? Well, if you know anything about me, you know I love change and hate routine. I can handle routine for a while, and then I need a break. Variety truly is the spice of life for me, and I am adaptable for the mosts part in any situation. It’s getting a little more challenging the older I get, but that inner restlessness is always there. I blame it on my growing up years when my family moved frequently. By the end of sixth grade, I had attended six different schools. That is a topic I addressed in a previous blog.

This morning, a cardinal discovered our bird feeder and was brave enough to come on our front porch. We have six-feet tall windows, and the cardinal was just inches from the base of one.

Folklore says a cardinal appearing is a sign someone you love who has passed is visiting you. Of course, I don’t believe that, but I’m thinking about it this morning. Let’s just pretend it is true. Is the cardinal my husband’s mom or dad or my mom or dad? Is it my brother?

The truth is, I don’t need a cardinal to think about my loved ones. They are ever present in my subconscious and conscious thoughts. They are in my dreams occasionally. “Dad would love Draco,” I think when petting our dog. Dad loved dogs and nature in general. He adored our dog Sable who passed away in 2010. “Mom would have loved having a smart phone so she could take all the pictures she wanted,” I remark. Mom always had the camera ready. “Doris was the best cook,” referring to my sweet mother-in-law’s creations. She really was the best cook. “Your dad could keep the straightest face while telling a story,” I might say to my husband when we’re laughing about one of the many times he told something that was not true. Like when he broke a bone from a fall while washing his car and people kept asking him about it, so he started telling them he broke it jumping out of an airplane. Or how he told people his two sons were by his first wife. Totally true because he only had one wife! The truth always came out, but it was still hilarious watching him do his thing.

As for the brother I remember, it’s the 11-year-old boy holding me when I was burning up with fever due to one of my frequent ear infections. It’s the young man I idolized, the young man he was before a tragedy changed him. I like to think that young man was always deep inside of him, and I did see glimpses of it at times. Those glimpses gave me some solace.

I don’t need the appearance of a cardinal to remind me of them, but today it did.

I’m not the type to go to the cemetery a lot and look at their graves. The reason I don’t is because I know they are not there. Their decomposing bodies are no more than an article of clothing left behind. What I do is remember them. Some memories make me laugh. Some make me cry. But the way they continue to live on this earth is in my heart.

The best way to honor our loved ones who have passed? The way that reflects your personal convictions. Frequent changes of flowers on the headstone? That’s fine. Posting memories on Facebook? That’s fine. Talking with others about them? Of course. Looking at old photos and videos? Sure.

The important thing is to remember. Not because of a cardinal who appeared in your yard or on your porch, but because if you truly loved the special people in your life, you can never forget them.