Heartwings Love Notes 2055 Probably Fraud

Heartwings says, “Telephones have evolved, but they do still do the same thing.”

Cell phones have grown to be the norm, these days, rather than the exception. Over the past twenty or so years they have grown in use until now they are ubiquitous. I remember years ago thinking a man jabbering away as he walked down the sidewalk, was talking aloud to himself—and of course he was using one of those phones with a microphone near his mouth. Many people walk along looking at their cell phones, ignoring the world around them. I was once involved in an accident with a woman who was looking at hers while she was driving.

Like all those in my age category, I grew up with a single home telephone. As in most homes, the phone sat on a table, in the hall or somewhere central. Often it was in a kind of booth, a small room with a door beneath the stairs to a second floor. Wherever it was located, it wasn’t detachable nor did it do more than receive and transmit calls. In those days, our family telephone number had only three digits; the one my great aunt was assigned had two. Perhaps she got it back when the phone first went into use. I never thought to ask.

Then, when you picked up the handset, a voice—usually that of a woman, said, “Number please.” You could have a discussion with the operator, or even get advice. If you needed a number, you said, “Information, please.” There was no dial tone, or even a dial, for that matter. Nor did anyone get a spam call. Actually, spam hadn’t been created yet. That was a product of WWII. Long distance, meaning outside the local area was charged by the minute, and could be very expensive.

Many people have given up their land lines in favor of exclusive cell phone use. I’ve resisted this for several reasons. Though we do have cell phones, we still have a land line, of course the phone itself is mobile. I prefer land line reliability over the capriciousness of a cell phone.as well as the comfort of the handset. Aside from how much more comfortable the handset is to hold, it doesn’t heat up over time, as a cell phone does. Of course, this also means we get lots of spam calls. At our request to a helpful number, some spam calls we receive, though not all, are blocked. This results in our getting only a single ring, then silence.

There is another aspect to the land line that keeps me using it: a kind of of entertainment in the voice that delivers its message when it rings: most of our land line telephone calls are identified by a robot, a mechanical voice that calls out their source. The mispronunciations are almost always amusing. They also convey information. We have discovered that spam is easily identified by the MA ending, mispronounced ma or as whatever the state is. Best of all is the one that always makes me wonder how the phone knows, and it is certainly my favorite: “probably fraud.”  

Struggles and Struggling by Tasha Halpert

Heartwings Love Notes

Heartwings says, “How we frame our experiences can help them help us grow.”

I participate in an internet group of people who deal with being in some way disabled. The chief experience they share is blindness. I have great admiration for the positive attitudes I’ve encountered among this group, and most particularly those of their founder and leader Patty Fletcher. She asked me to contribute some writing about my experiences with Parkinson’s and the disabilities I cope with.

There is a saying to the effect that if all of us were to hang our troubles on a tree, rather than exchange them, each would take back their own. I have only admiration for how others cope with being without sight. My Parkinson’s, a neurological condition, presents me with extreme slowness and considerable weakness. My hands are slow and rather clumsy; I can no longer sew and dealing with buttons is too challenging. My writing dwindles as I try to form the words. I tire easily, have balance issues, and walk bent over.

Coping with these conditions, at least for me, revolves around not feeling I need to try to do more or do better than I am able at the time. Some days are better, some worse. Making comparisons between the present and the past is negative, creating even more frustration than I already experience. I often underestimate how much time anything will take me and end up being late. Of course, I fear looking awkward or pitiable, although currently I do not shake and tremble as many with this condition do. That can change.

  At least at this time my mind remains clear, apparently unaffected except for some forgetfulness. I’d be surprised if I wasn’t somewhat so at my age. I feel blessed for that, and for the help I receive from my dear husband and the Elder Services available to me. My mother started losing her mental focus in her 70’s, and lost much of it by the age I am now—I’ll be 90 this fall.

My current best coping mechanism is to see my condition as graduate school, working on a Master’s in patience and detachment, enhancing my ability to keep on keeping on. I struggle with my attempts to maintain my equilibrium keeping my mind on the present and ignoring thoughts of what I was once able to do. Comparisons with the past have little to no use when it comes to making progress; avoiding that keeps me focused on what I am able to accomplish.

Thanksgiving Nostalgia

Thanksgiving is a great time to remember past gatherings. I certainly have plenty of memories from my past, filled as it is with many years of living. Those from my childhood are even more vivid than those from the more recent past. It seems odd to me, however, perhaps that is because they made more of an impression to a child.

As a very young child of five or six I enjoyed playing with the unique to me toys at Great Aunt Alice’s. She had a wooden truck loaded with carved alphabet blocks. I remember setting it out on the lovely thick, white and red Persian carpet in the big living room downstairs.

 At some point we must have moved upstairs to a smaller room where I remember sitting in the recessed window seat that overlooked the lawn and the huge old apple tree. There the grownups chatted and drank a pre-dinner cocktail and perhaps had a cigarette from the wooden box on the coffee table while I read my latest library book.

As a child of course I didn’t know this, but later I was told a non-family member, was always invited to these gatherings to help make sure everyone behaved in a kindly, courteous way—was on their best behavior, so to speak. I believe the invitee was probably a friend of Aunt Alice’s. Their names and faces do not stick in my memory.

Tales from the past were shared. One I recall was of my grandmother, Nonny. She spoke of a time when as a child she discovered the cooked bird sitting waiting to be served and tore off all the skin . She ate it before anyone caught her. Later in time that tale was a great source of merriment.

I remember being given a taste of wine or champagne at around the age of twelve. This was my father’s idea, which was not seconded by my mother. More vivid in my mind is the shallow, footed silver dish—there were two, one at each end of the table, filled with chocolates from a box. I was allowed to have some after dinner, but no more than two if even that many.

I was eight plus years older than my sister, and twelve and fourteen years older than my two brothers. I don’t have any distinct memories of my siblings attendance at these dinners; I do recall bringing my two oldest to them, though these dinners ended before their brothers were born. I’m happy my older daughters too have their recollections of them.

I am very thankful for these and other memories. they provide me with a precious reminder of a very different kind of lifestyle. The new ones of the present time bring different faces to the table, which is in a different room, yet equally laden and surrounded with smiles. Memories are an important part of the Thanksgiving feast. They provide a taste of the past brought into the present for all to share.

May you have precious memories to share in years to come.

Blessings and Best Regards, Tasha Halpert

PS Though I have less time to write these days, I welcome your responses and hope always to reply to any comments, questions, or suggestions you may make.

Heartwings Love Notes 2054: Too Many Choices

Heartwings says, “When the eyes are dazzled, it is difficult to see clearly.”

The other day I stood bedazzled looking at the stacks of breakfast cereal boxes in my local supermarket. Many of the names on the boxes were unfamiliar to me; most of them seemed to contain sweet tasting stuff and were filled with sugar and artificial color or chocolate. They all advertised themselves as being healthy, good for you, filled with nutritional ingredients. These were listed on the boxes with chemical names that stretched along the side panel.

Buried within these shelves were the boxes of Corn Flakes, Wheaties, and Cherri Oats I used to give my children and even eat myself on occasion. They were overwhelmingly in the minority. Candy and cookies for breakfast? Not my cup of tea; however, judging by the quantity of sweet stuff, the choice of many. Our addiction to sugar begins at an early age. Some sugar is good for you, preferably in small amounts. Too much is not.

There is little to no nutritional value is sugar, however, it does play an important role in our digestive system. It provides quick energy. A handful of grapes, however, is a lot better than a candy bar, and does have nutritional benefits as well as sugar. Still, you can’t carry fruit around in your pocket for quick consumption. There are also “good” candy bars that serve a healthy purpose as snacks. Yet still it can be difficult to spot them amidst the less healthy ones so prominently available.

Discovering what you need amidst the plethora of offerings can be daunting. I remembered something as I gazed at the boxes of cereal. Some years ago, Stephen and I had an opportunity to visit Denmark in the spring. We stayed in the seasonal, summer home of our sponsor’s friend and did much of our own cooking. We shopped at the local market, which carried all of the necessities and none of the excesses of an American supermarket. How amazing to find a few kinds of cereal or one kind of a canned item. How refreshing!

Shopping took a lot less time then as well. I would be happy not to have to trudge up, down and around the many aisles of endless food sorts as I do now. I’m lucky not to have to shop in a super-sized supermarket. As it is I come home exhausted from a grocery run. I fail to understand why there needs to be so many brands or so much of the same thing on the shelves I must walk through. Of course, I suppose it is good exercise.

Bigness is everywhere. Have you noticed how large the delivery trucks have become? I wonder how they get around on some of New England’s country roads. Still, I must make the best of things, think of shopping as an exercise in discernment, and read each list of ingredients to make sure I am getting the best nutrition I can.

Heartwings Love Notes 2052 The Three Bite Rule

Heartwings says, “A little can be as much as a lot.”

As a child I was taught to finish everything on my plate. This was often said to me as I dawdled over what I didn’t like to eat, like liver. “It’s good for you, now finish your…” or “the little children starving in (India, China or somewhere far away) would be so happy to have this.” No doubt many of my readers heard some variation of these words.

What we hear as children often becomes gospel to us as adults. The adult results from “finish your plate” may be overweight, or even eating disorders. It is also difficult for us to overcome our childhood anathemas. Mine was boiled eggs. It took me years to get over my original dislike of them. I never did that to my children. I did, however have a “three bite rule.”

At any meal, both family members, as well as any guests present, had to take at least three bites of everything offered. This did not seem to cause any problems in so far as I could see, and it did result in some new likes, a plus to be sure.

Eating habits are something we acquire and can be changed, though with a conscious effort. Sometimes it doesn’t matter, although I believe that my husband, who actually likes the taste of liver, wishes I would change how I feel about it. This is difficult for me because I used to cut it up as small as I could and swallow each piece without chewing it, as though it were a pill.

Although my mother was not enthusiastic about sweets, and we seldom even had candy except on holidays, I have always been prone to enjoying them whenever I had access to any. Come to think of it, maybe that was why! Nevertheless, I had to learn to curb my predilection for sugar, first because of weight gain and later for diabetes.

One of the most helpful methods I ever found was contained in a book whose author and title are lost to my memory. It was called the three bite rule, and it consisted of limiting any sweet or dessert to three bites. To be sure, it does require a certain amount of self-discipline.  I have had to develop this anyway for various reasons, and am still working on it. That said, I do advocate this method of being able to enjoy the pleasure of sweets without penalty.

I have also discovered that to go beyond the limit of three bites does not necessarily bring more pleasure and that the limit of three actually gives me the most pleasure to be had. Once this limit is reached, at lease as far as I can tell, the sensation of the sweet taste begins to diminish. This is especially true with my favorite dessert and treat, ice cream. Try it if you like and see for yourself.

May you discover ways to live with your self-imposed limits.

Blessings and Best Regards, Tasha Halpert

PS Do you have experiences or suggestions to share? I’d love to hear your comments. Please make my day; write to me at tashahal@gmail.com.

A poet and writer, I publish a free weekly blog, Heartwings Love Notes for a Joyous Life. My Books: Up to my Neck in Lemons, and Heartwings, Love Notes for a Joyous Life are available on Amazon. My latest publication available there is my first chapbook, Poems and Prayers, and I have two more in preparation. You can sign up for my blog at http://tashasperspective.com.

Heartwings Love Notes 2050: The Importance of Spiritual Teachers

Heartwings says, “Teachers of spirituality appear in many ways

.”It is a great help to have someone who can teach you or guide you. This applies especially to any spiritual work, and is certainly proven by the number of books available to be of help in a variety of situations and circumstances.

 While I have explored and benefited from many different books, still my human teachers have taught me more than all the books put together. Were I to name them all, the list would be long and not necessarily of interest. However, I will tell you about two very special ones, and what they taught me.

My long time Yoga teacher, the late Joann Sherwood, originally began her professional life as a dancer. After studying with several prestigious spiritual teachers, she began her own classes. When I met her, she had already inspired many students as well as brought them helpful knowledge and techniques to enhance their personal as well as professional development.

A most special aspect of her work was the array of remarkable individuals she presented to us in her monthly lecture series. However, one of the best lessons I learned from any of them was that regardless how holy or how knowledgeable a teacher might be, he or she was also a human being, with normal behaviors. There was one who fretted about his tea, another about his scheduling, and so on. It was enlightening. I was able to observe these issues because Joann had put me on a committee to look after their needs. It was heartening to me. I learned and observed, and finally completely understood I didn’t have to be perfect to be spiritual.

I first met the late Father Angelo Rizzo, my second special teacher, at one of Joann’s monthly gatherings. He spent a part of every year in Brazil doing missionary work, and the remainder in and around New England, speaking and preaching about how the mind is the healer. This was more than forty-five years ago. Stephen and I got to know him personally while we were living in Marblehead. We offered to help him write a book featuring the themes of his teaching. He agreed.

These were not traditionally Catholic nor were they usual for a priest to be espousing. He gave us a title and his lecture tapes to work from. “I Believe Using Mind Power We are All Healers” was typed up and then fashioned into the book. His precepts were simple. While there were others, these first two have guided my life for the last forty or more years: All is a belief. You can choose your beliefs.

With his help as well as that of others, I have been given a better understanding why things work the way they do, and how to navigate the world in general. I consider myself most fortunate, and I am grateful to him and to all my many wonderful teachers.

May you find helpful teachers for your spiritual path.

Blessings and best regards, Tasha Halpert

PS Questions, comments, suggestions? Love to hear from you. Make my day; write to me at tshahal@gmail.com. I promise to write back.

A poet and writer, I publish a free weekly blog, Heartwings Love Notes for a Joyous Life. My Books: Up to my Neck in Lemons, and Heartwings, Love Notes for a Joyous Life are available on Amazon. My latest publication available there is my first chapbook, Poems and Prayers, and I have two more in preparation. You can sign up for my blog at http://tashasperspective.com.

Heartwings Love Notes 2049: My Personal Search

Heartwings says, “You won’t know what’s around the corner until you’re there.”

Life went on, my children grew and went to school, and I became a Yoga teacher. Like many important changes in my life, it happened serendipitously. With five children and a busy life, I was getting very stressed. Having trouble sleeping, I resorted to memorizing long poems, reciting them to try falling asleep. One day I mentioned this to a friend.

 Several days later he gave me a book on Yoga by Richard Hittleman.  Telling me it might help me relax, he said it had fallen into his hand the day after I had told him my plight. More serendipity! I studied the directions and followed the exercises. Soon I no longer needed to recite the long poems. I was falling asleep easily and sleeping soundly.

Sometime later a woman I knew announced she was teaching a Yoga class. Thrilled to have an instructor I eagerly signed up. Although it ended after twelve sessions, I continued my practice. Later on, as I was talking about Yoga with a friend; someone overheard me and invited me to go with her to a gathering of Yoga teachers and students in a nearby town. I jumped at the chance. The day we were to go, she had to cancel out. 

Deciding to do it by myself, I drove to the address and found myself in a large room full of leotard clad women, none of whom I had ever met before. They all had Yoga mats! I didn’t. So I laid my coat on the floor and feeling glad to be there, followed the teacher’s instructions. At the end she led us in several chants. Something about them made me feel as though I had really come home.

As the session ended, I discovered she had a studio not far from where I lived. Immediately, I signed up for classes. At almost the same time, the wife of the minister asked me to teach a class at my church. The coincidence was very helpful because I learned at the studio and taught what I learned. Some years later, my teacher taught a teacher training class that enhanced my knowledge. Eventually she had me teach my own classes for her in various places.

Having been uncoordinated as a child, I found Yoga to be very useful for gaining physical skill and coordination. I also grew proud of my newfound abilities. Better still, in a year or two, my teacher opened a larger studio and had monthly gatherings of spiritual teachers.  Asked to be on the welcoming committee, I was able to interact personally with many of them.

The long lasting practice of meditation that evolved from my study of yoga, as well as the wisdom I gained from the exposure to the many spiritual teachers she featured has been one of the most helpful experiences of my long life. While my journey had begun long before, it was given a gigantic boost by these two new additions.

To be continued

May you discover new helps to your journey.

Blessings and best regards, Tasha Halpert

Comments, questions, suggestions? I so enjoy hearing from readers. Do write, please?

A poet and writer, I publish this free weekly blog, Heartwings Love Notes for a Joyous Life. My Books: Up to my Neck in Lemons, and Heartwings, Love Notes for a Joyous Life are available on Amazon. My latest publication available there is my first chapbook, Poems and Prayers, and I have two more in preparation. You can sign up for my blog below

Heartwings Love Notes 2048: A Worthwhile Treasure Part Two

Heartwings says, “When something is outgrown, it must be left behind.”

I continued to go to church with both my mother and my father, until I went to college. At that point I went only when I was home and the rest of the time, I didn’t think much about religion or spirituality. I was busy growing in other ways, and then I met and married my first husband. We started a family, and soon with two little girls to care for, I forgot about my pursuit of spiritual matters.

Then my husband fell asleep at the wheel as he was driving home one night and nearly was killed in an accident. All of a sudden, I felt an urge to return to church. Yet I did not feel good about attending my mother’s church or practicing her religion. It simply did not suit me any longer. Like the clothing handed down from my mother’s friends’ children that I had worn as a child, it no longer fit. I looked for one but didn’t and then we moved back from Rhode Island and the army base where my husband was stationed. I found myself able to attend my father’s Episcopal church and did so, singing in the choir and eventually teaching Sunday School. I felt as though I had come home.

Beginning with The Hero with a Thousand Faces, I read Joseph Campbell’s wonderful books on mythology. They broadened my view of spirituality and I continued to search for books that would help me learn and grow. Someone gave me Brother Lawrence’s Practice of the presence of God. I was quite taken with the idea and decided to incorporate his practice of the Presence of God into my own life. I began by imagining that God was present for me where ever I was.

Brother Lawrence also introduced me to the idea that any kind of work could be a form of prayer. Until then I had associated prayer primarily with church, bedtime,  and emergencies.

Over many years I have come to understand more about the practice of work as a form of worship as well as of spiritual growth. Here is a tale that says more about that. This Hindu legend tells of an advanced student of spiritual wisdom who was sent by his master to visit a renowned teacher on the other side of a forest. He grew weary, sat under a tree and fell asleep. The twittering of birds woke him. Angrily he raised his hands and sent a bolt of energy at them. They fell senseless to the ground. He continued to the hut of the teacher and knocked on the door. No one answered. He tried again. Someone was moving about inside. “Anyone there?” he called out impatiently and knocked a third time.

“Young man,” came a voice from within, “I am only an old woman who has lived all my life here in the forest. You have studied great books, and you are even strong enough to knock the birds from the tree, but you will have to be patient with me. I am getting to the door as fast as I can.” The young man caught his breath. How could she possibly know what he had done in the forest? Realizing how much he still had to learn, he bowed his head and sighed.

Over many years, my understanding of this practice changed. Now I feel it is always possible to be in the presence of God.  If, as Brother Lawrence teaches, God is present everywhere in all people and things. How ever could I not be in that presence. Most think of prayer as a statement, in the form of a petition or perhaps a combination of praise and gratitude. For me prayer has become an underlying theme so that I frequently express my gratitude. Also, when a friend comes to mind, I bless him or her and send light to whatever situation he or she might be in.

May you find help on your path to light when and where you need it.

Blessings and best regards, Tasha Halpert

To be Continued

A poet and writer, I publish a free weekly blog, Heartwings Love Notes for a Joyous Life. My Books: Up to my Neck in Lemons, and Heartwings, Love Notes for a Joyous Life are available on Amazon. My latest publication available there is my first chapbook, Poems and Prayers, and I have two more in preparation. You can sign up for my blog at http://tashasperspective.com.

Heartwings Love Notes 2047: A Treasure worth Seeking, Part One

Heartwings says, “A journey of discovery is fun to share, regardless the goal.”

The search for God by whatever definition has always been an important part of my life. Over time it has revolved around the various interpretations of that word. My parents, as well as Emily, my first caregiver and a practical nurse I spent a lot of time with, were all traditionally religious. By traditionally I mean they went to church on Sundays and followed the mainstream Christian beliefs. They were not dogmatic or “born again” Christians, although my mother had a rather grim view of God. She often said, “God will punish you if you… so I thought that might be something important to avoid.

I learned about the Divine at an early age. Told to say my simple “God bless” prayers, following, “Now I lay me down to sleep…” in my mind I prayed to a kind of big parent in the sky, for that was how I thought of God. At around five, I began attending church. My mother, a devout Catholic went every Sunday and took me with her. The benches we sat on were hard, the ones we knelt on were very hard, and the prayers were mostly in Latin. I preferred my dad’s Episcopalian church, where I got to sing hymns and there were cushions to kneel on. I was able to enjoy it when on special holidays like Christmas and Easter, my mother and I attended both churches, although I believe my mother was unsure it was alright with “her” God to do so.  

 Once I learned to read, I used to look for books to read on the family’s bookshelves. On a bottom shelf of an upstairs bookcase, I was drawn to an old Bible in the hall. I have a vivid memory of sitting on the floor under the skylight, reading the tissue thin pages and wondering at the images described in them. I found the pages fascinating; I was especially drawn to the colorful descriptions in Revelations. My father’s childhood book of Biblical parables, with steel engraved illustrations was another favorite of mine. The stories were so interesting, and the large pages held my interest.

When I was seven or eight, I created my own church, just for me, in an outer corner of a small, old, greenhouse shed between the wall and the chimney. I gathered moss to kneel on, made a brick for the alter and placed a cross made of twigs upon it. I drew stained glass windows on the wooden panels of the shed wall with chalk. On the other side I made a small Cemetary where I put the animals I found to bury-a cat that had died, some ducklings, and a bird or two. When I felt the need, I would go to my church, kneel on the moss, and take my troubles to God. Somehow it seemed natural to do so.

May you enjoy happy memories of your own personal history and share them when you wish.

Blessings and best regards, Tasha Halpert

PS I welcome comments and hope you will email me with them.

A poet and writer, I publish a free weekly blog, Heartwings Love Notes for a Joyous Life. My Books: Up to my Neck in Lemons, and Heartwings, Love Notes for a Joyous Life are available on Amazon. My latest publication available there is my first chapbook, Poems and Prayers, and I have two more in preparation. You can sign up for my blog at http://tashasperspective.com.

Heartwings Love Notes 2040: Gifts My Father Gave Me

Heartwings says, “Gifts may be actual and not physical, either or both.”

It’s time to celebrate fathers, and I have been thinking about my dad and how special he was to me, and also to the many people who appreciated his witty behavior. He loved to be entertaining as well as to entertain. Cocktail parties were his chief delight and he gave them often.

He was a generous person. One memory I have is of him sitting by the living room fireplace at Christmas time, wrapping the generous gifts he gave to the gardeners and caretakers of the estates he did business with. He was a horticulturist by nature, like his grandfather, and professionally, an arborist. He truly enjoyed his work and he was very good at it, able to size up a landscape and improve the views from the windows of the any home he was hired to work for.

One special gift he gave me was a love of trees plus the ability to spot what they might need done to improve them. He often took me with him, especially in the summer, when he drove around either supervising his men where they were working or estimating the work to be done for those who had hired him and the company he worked for. As I travel the roads of my town and its neighbors, to this day, I notice trees and find myself thinking of their needs.

He loved flowers and grew beautiful roses. I wish I had inherited that ability. My efforts to grow them have not met with success. I did inherit his love for flowers, buying them to bring their loveliness into my home when I can. My mother once told me that when they were newly married and he was an aspiring playwright, Daddy would spend the grocery money on flowers leaving them forced to have oatmeal to eat for supper. On special occasions, he would often provide my mother and me with corsages. She would get an orchid, while I got a fragrant gardenia, which I loved.

Above all, he was generous with his time and energy, serving in a volunteer capacity as treasurer to a variety of local organizations. He read for the blind on a local radio station, and I’m sure did other kind actions I never knew about. He was deeply religious, attended his Episcopalian church every Sunday, and took us to services on Christmas and Easter, which I loved, another significant gift.

No one is perfect. Neither was he. But the gifts he gave me far outweigh any negative aspects of his character. He set me an important example of the importance of being of service that has increasingly guided my life. Working on behalf of the greater good is what I call it. It’s about showing up for a need. Whether caring for the landscape or for the world at large, my father set a fine example. 

May you remember your fathers’ gifts with joy.

Blessings and best regards, Tasha Halpert

PS Please, if you have stories to share, write to me and share them. I so enjoy hearing from my readers. Email me at tashahal, at Gmail.com, and check out my blog at http://tashasperspective.com.

A poet and writer, I publish a free weekly blog, Heartwings Love Notes for a Joyous Life. My Books: Up to my Neck in Lemons, and Heartwings, Love Notes for a Joyous Life are available on Amazon. My latest publication available there is my first chapbook, Poems and Prayers, and I have two more in preparation. You can sign up for my blog at http://tashasperspective. Com.