Not That Bad

A friend of mine played defensive end in high school. He described battling a huge lineman on an opposing football team. He said, “I could hold my own if I hit him straight on. But every time I did that, he’d twist me sideways, turn my feet, and pancake me.” Although nothing he did worked, my friend couldn’t find a successful tactic for dealing with “Big Boy”. The other team ran the ball over the top of him repeatedly.

My friend could have gone to his coaches and asked for help, but then he’d have had to admit that he couldn’t handle the situation. He got through most problems by presenting a stoic front, by trying hard and persevering. That didn’t work against Big Boy, but my friend never asked for a double team. He didn’t tell the outside linebacker to move up to help fill the gap.

I’ve felt trapped, at times, when bad times loom and threaten to engulf. I can see the 300 lb. lineman across the line, but I’ve got nowhere to go, no way to avoid getting crushed. And I feel like the game will never end. And if the misery has already gone on long enough, any attempts to change my approach seem worse than the current state. I get locked into a mode of operation that once may have been beneficial but no longer fits circumstances.

But moments of insight sometime provide comfort and remedy. My head clears, and I can see alternatives that hadn’t presented themselves before. Even if I can’t fix or fully adjust to a rough situation, I can see my trouble from a different perspective. I realize that almost everyone experiences similar issues, and that melodramatic suffering is the due penalty for an inflated ego. In other words, whenever I bitch and moan, I’m taking myself too seriously. Who am I to think I don’t deserve what I’m getting?

I remember looking into a mirror when I was nine or ten. (Something troubled our family life, but I don’t remember a particular incident or problem.) I stared at my miserable features and wondered when things would get better. I became the star in a tragic play about a boy living in a cruel world. Then a moment of detachment arrived unexpectedly. An older, wiser version of myself made an entrance. The older me laughed at my woebegone expression and said, “Hey, it’s not that bad.”

Winter Seasons (Learning Gratitude)

Winter seasons have often tempted me to long for things I didn’t have.  A cold, northerly breeze made me yearn for summer (or a thicker coat).  A dateless Valentine’s Day inspired hunger for companionship and tenderness.  Dim light and bare trees made me long for color. 

Times of scarcity, no matter what form the deprivation takes, can make me forget to savor the gifts that remain.  I focus so much on what’s gone missing that I become blind to subtle joys.  Anyone who has recovered from a long illness can attest to the unexpected thrill of being able to take a walk, to cook a meal and do the laundry without assistance.  A period where something basic is denied makes the simplest blessings stand out in sharp relief.

I know that life would be easier if I could skip past the harsh lessons that eventually teach me gratitude.  A more proactive approach would be to nurture thankfulness in all circumstances.  Then the inevitable misfortunes, the heavy tolls we pay as we journey through life, would probably sting a bit less.

I doubt that I’ll ever succeed in turning into a Pollyanna always looking on the bright side.  And I wouldn’t advocate that everyone, especially those who naturally follow the Path of Eeyore, should force themselves into becoming cheery backslappers.  I believe, however, that taking time during a crisis to find brief nurturing moments can be an act of mercy.  Mercy to ourselves and others.  When a load of pressure builds up on my shoulders, when I start snapping at the least irritation, I know that I need a gratitude break.  And if nothing in my immediate surroundings inspires thankfulness, then I must make a blessing of my own.  Stopping to pray, taking a nature walk, listening to beautiful music, sipping a good cup of coffee aren’t indulgences during hard times.

And if these remedies fail to bring relief, then it helps to recall that I am a child of God.  I may feel stranded in misery, but I’m not an orphan lost in a storm…I once described a visit to a dying man to a friend of mine.  I marveled that a person suffering from a terminal disease could smile, tell jokes and swap stories.  My friend answered, “He knew where he was going.”  Home. 

When the Weather Changes

The temperatures dropped ten degrees last night compared to the night before. Cool breezes crossed the porch this morning. I managed to read outside this afternoon without drenching my shirt with sweat.

A shadow passed across my view as a cumulus cloud shifted its pose in front of the sun. I got the “eternity” feeling: time stood still. I could have been sitting there forever contemplating leaves stirring, shifting light, and birdsong.

The weather inevitably changes, and a new moment begins. Sometimes a storm approaches. Hard times arrive. Sometimes it’s a mild, sunny day that promises soft living and an easy mind.

When I was a kid, I liked the drama of a thunderhead darkening the western sky. I shivered through the transit of a tornado fifty yards from my front door, and experienced awe when a blizzard turned my suburban neighborhood into a silvery moonscape.

Now I grit my teeth when newscasters report the position of the latest hurricane headed toward Orlando. I don’t share in their adrenaline rush. I’ve learned that unexpected illnesses, mishaps and unintended misadventures provide plenty of “entertainment” on their own. Mother Nature can keep her quirks all to herself.

But occasionally Mama N. seduces me with a day like today. She gives me a glimpse while concealing her intent to replace heaven with hell. I’m learning to be a canny suitor. I smile and pucker up when she comes close for a kiss but never doubt that tomorrow she might kick me to the curb.

Shelter: Go to a Happy Place

My mother used to tell me that she didn’t need to watch tough movies. Musicals, comedies and romances worked better for her. She’d lived through hard times, sickness in the family, a world war, the troubled 60s. She didn’t need vicarious drama in her life as life had already provided plenty of the real thing.

I used to think the opposite: tough movies were the only ones worth watching. They had depth and multiple layers of meaning. They touched heart and mind and made me rethink values and priorities. I found the shock of harsh stories invigorating.

Now I’ve drifted closer to Mom’s attitude. I watch musicals, Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart comedies, and occasional Humphrey Bogart dramas. Happy endings are fine. The screenwriter should never kill off a lovable character in the third act. Roughing up protagonists is acceptable as long as they find ways to triumph in the end. Give me a redemption story. Keep slow motion train wreck plots to yourself.

A lyric in a Doors song informs us that “No one here gets out alive.” Yup. That’s right. But what about the time we do have? What do we do with it? I feel the responsibility to make life less miserable for those around me. I know that I need to stay informed about the latest phase of the ongoing disaster. But I hit the mute button when the news show talking heads drill deeper and deeper into misery. I tell them, “Yeah, I got it.”

I read, a few months ago, that the most popular movies during the March/April shut down were apocalyptic films about pandemics. Couldn’t rearrange my mind in harmony with these viewers. Now I wonder whether they found strength by facing dramatic representations of their fears. When a bedraggled band of men and women survive until the end credits, when they stand on a plateau and watch a bright sunrise herald in an epoch of renewed hope, the viewers might feel that they too have a chance to make new lives for themselves.

But I’d rather not participate in ersatz quests. I’ve got no taste for fighting second hand battles for survival. Instead, I want to find shelter in a few moments of peace.

I made protest paintings during the Iraq war. I needed to express outrage at senseless killing. Now I’m working on a painting of abstract flowers. Now I’m making a cardboard sculpture of a doggy.

Magnolia Blossoms in Dry Times

(I wrote this for a church publication. I’m not really a praying man. My faith is shaky even in good times. But this came through the ether last night. Hope it helps.)

Magnolia blossoms are starting to bloom on our front yard tree.  Their luxuriant perfume hangs thick in the air.  But the summer rains haven’t greened the lawn yet.  Weeds push up through the sandy soil looking bedraggled and ill-used.  Yet the flowers persist in making appearances and taking their bows.  The magnolia tree intends to display its springtime glory regardless of the dryness of the soil.  Its roots sink deep.

Faith may falter in hard times.  Faith may shine through darkness.  God’s love greets us when we turn our hearts to Him.  His love persists.

May God hold us gently in His hands as we face uncertain times, as the world appears dry and barren and bereft of hope.  May we hold fast to the knowledge that He is ever with us during all our trials and joys.  May we shine like bright flowers in God’s eternal light.

A Narrow Slice of Time

    Cover image for “A Narrow Slice of Time”                      

“A Narrow Slice of Time” by Dennis and Judy Schmalstig is available on Amazon.com.  The following is the link for the print version (also available in Kindle):  https://www.amazon.com/Narrow-Slice-Time-Traveller/dp/1533577420/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1466860827&sr=8-2&keywords=a+narrow+slice+of+time+schmalstig

The summer of 2013 sucked.  Actually the whole year turned out to be a torture fest of illness, hospital visits, departures, wrangles with an Insurance Company Who Will Not Be Named, and a death in the family.  My wife Judy and I hit bottom sometime in August.  There was nothing wrong with our relationship, but the circumstances of our lives had become harsh. I cast about for something to distract us from continuously brooding over our situation.  I remembered that Judy had mentioned that she was interested in writing a time travel book with me.

Her eyes didn’t exactly light up when I mentioned my willingness to try a writing project with her, but we began to brainstorm a plot.  Judy was set on trapping someone in the past, and I had ideas about a time travel device and an organization that made changes in the past for the supposed benefit of the future.

I began to write chapters late at night after Judy had gone to bed.  I would print them out and show them to her, and she would get back to me in a couple days with editing suggestions and positive criticism about my dialogue, plot twists and character development.  As the story progressed and various characters went about their business on different time lines, Judy provided the vital function of keeping things straight.  She has a clear, logical mind well developed from years spent doing research as a plant physiologist, and she was able to keep the book on track.

We still faced a good deal of miseries during the time we spent working on the book, but every time we sat together and discussed it we forgot about our troubles for a while.  We got excited about exploring new avenues and about planning the end of the book.  We even got way ahead of ourselves by playing around with ideas for successive volumes in a time traveler series.

It’s been nearly three years since we began “A Narrow Slice of Time”, and our circumstances are better.  We no longer need a distraction to help us get through our days, but have decided to continue working together.  We found out that we deeply enjoyed sharing the creative process of writing a book.  Of course we don’t always agree on all issues, and I’ve dug in my heels on a few occasions.  I’ve discovered, however, that Judy has a very good sense of plot and doesn’t care for a lot of fancy frippery in the telling of a story.  She wants me to move things along and to get to the point.  She has good taste when it comes to character development wanting fully fleshed out villains and protagonists with believable motives.  I’ve learned to take her advice on most occasions.

The best thing about this whole experience has been finding something new to share as a couple.  It’s an unexpected journey, an adventure that has shown us that our horizons are still open and that there is still more to see and do.