6/16/2013

One Eye Only, But "Rescued" Sees More


 


If you don't have one, get one! Mine is a great traveling companion. "Rescued" is my monkey's name. He was found on a heap of coke in a dilapidated, tarnished by World War II, and then state-confiscated* property I visited with my father in 1955 in Warsaw. 
            No. 1 Turecka Street is located just off the history-rich Royal Route, south of Belweder Palace and mid-way from the Royal Castle Square to Wilanรณw Castle. It was a prime location to house a church headquarters and provide homes for clergy. 
            Years later, I gathered, that very visit in 1955 was a nostalgic.  Perhaps it was the proximity to the Soviet Embassy that pushed the regime to confiscate religious facility, these being the early years of communist rule in Poland. The Turecka location was substituted for a different, and much more central, palatial, and valuable property at 8 Foksal Street. Finding "Rescued" became a saving-grace moment for me. Even today it reminds me of restoration and happy escapes. My stuffed monkey is a joyful companion-reminder of the present and the better things to come. 
            Like many of our small and large mementos, nostalgia oozes out of our special objects, animated or dustable alike. Call me weird or crazy, but no matter where we find ourselves, we talk to each other. He patiently listens to my blabber and interrupts me aptly making me to pause and reflect. 
            "Rescued" travels well. Often he is found on his head as I unpack him in my hotel room, but never jumps out of the suitcase or knapsack. He has manners. As you can imagine, he got that from me, right? 
            The monkey had his life-dramas over his 58 years of toy-life. First, someone abandoned him and in a dark, dusty and lightless basement, and on a heap of coke (koks), a popular heating fuel in a post-WWII Poland. Who was his first and young, I assume, owner? "Rescued" and I still exchange views about it today. 
            Undoubtedly, his next stage in life was in a much cleaner and friendly environ. 
            A little over 25 years later my monkey experienced his next traumatic moment. It came when our 3-year old son, Michal, gave him a shave and attempted a surgery, resulting in a severe chest cut, as well as a thorough chewed-up leg. When I saw what was happening, "Rescued" encountered his second rescue. 
            Then, the missing eye. This was - fortunately an effect of Michal's precision surgery before blinding the monkey totally. The operation was thus successfully interrupted but obviously my "Rescued" lost one eye. 
            Rescued recently returned from a trip to Dubai. It was an exhausting, yet culturally rich travel, including a ride on a camel at the Spice Souk market, and the excitement of crossing the Dubai Creek on an abra water taxi. But an experiment with trying a scoop of camel milk gelato was not what we thought it would be. It tastes the same as your regular milk ice cream. But, the saffron gelato was awesome. Upon seeing Rescued Dubai photos, Michals comment was: "Snip, snip!" Keep him safe when around me, was his reaction.


            No matter what's in store for my monkey and me, my 58 years of "belonging" is rich and certain. Even with one eye, my "Rescued" can still see more! His silent contentment tells me so. 
            Today, as he interacts with his cosmopolitan buddies, he leans proudly on a South African tiger, and winks, as if to indicate that joy is rich in giving yourself to others in friendship and in practicing quality listening skills. [He knows so much about me!]
            My convictions confirm our joint resolve to recognize happy escapes and restoration as being at the heart of our toy-human axis.


*In 1995, as part of the church-state agreement, the property was returned to the church.

1/01/2013

Infectious authenticity


Coffee Pot Rock, Sedona, Arizona
With my first day of the year just under wraps, a nagging thought pushed me toward my computer. A voice in my head told me: You will do well if you plan something for the year to come. Knowing myself, it sounded like I needed to take charge of my attitudes, and turn them into a blessing.
         Every new year on January 1, most everyone creates a list of promises to work on. Admittedly, my promises are created to easily transform into feelings of guilt when the good intentions falter. My guilt, and not the fulfillment of promises, has an easier start and finish in my everydayness. So, January quickly turns into February, and so on, with acting on promises turns rusty.
         An experience from a few years ago come to mind.
         We had a dear friend who lived in Sedona, Arizona. She invited us frequently to enjoy “God’s country,” as she called it. Mary Schnack passed away in February last year, but apart from professional interests and collaborations, what remains in our memories are many a moment we spent trekking the red-rock trails of Sedona's God’s country.
         Mary lived just under the Coffee Pot Rock landmark, and a short distance from St. John Vianney Church. It was a chance visit, which provided a reflection as I observed an after Christmas service.
         What’s vivid in my memory is the sound of a nearly empty church, its silence broken by hard-hitting steps of a minister walking from the back of the church nave toward the altar. The sound meant he knew his destination.
         Soon my eyes were drawn to the space associated with the language of the steps, revealing a well-worn-out cowboy boots with a hint of jeans showing slightly below his vestments.
         It was not as much what I saw, but what a short, bearded man in his forties shared in his equally short homily. Later, I learned that many a Sedonian refers to him as J-C, and his presence is felt outside the walls of the church. Stories abound making him a fixture in the local lore.
         A memory of what I heard that morning jumped at me on this New Year’s morning. Father J-C told a story about a good-for-nothing seminary mate of his, who phoned him wondering if J-C lives by what he preaches.
         All of a sudden I was confronted by a lot of stuff, the preacher told the congregation.  
         “What pillow do you have under your head? It’s soft, isn’t it? And what’s your duvet like? Warm, right?”
         Whatever else was said next it was set against the importance of being rather than having, all seasoned with personal honesty.
         My nagging thought of this morning is this: Make yourself useful in the lives of those who will cross onto your path in 2013.
         Instead of waiting for someone else to be love I am inviting myself to make the world better by getting out of my shell in order to become more responsive to the disenfranchised and the needy.
         That’s a challenge I am throwing at myself for 2013.
         And if a wish is in order to all who are pushing the borders with me, may your authenticity become infectious!