It’s a beautiful Life

Photos by Janet Davis

"There are souls in this world which have the gift of finding joy everywhere -- and of leaving it behind them when they go." ~ Frederick Wm. Faber

Someone mentioned how bad it was that Ed and I had to wait in Los Angeles for Ed to get a new lung--how we must miss our family, our friends, our neighbors, all the comforts of own home.

I laughed, thinking of the disaster we had had the week before when someone (in any of the two floors of apartments above us) had put something down the kitchen drain and plugged it up, and since the pipes of all three apartments on the three floors were connected and we were on the bottom floor, we had a flooded kitchen. Until we could get all the upstairs neighbors notified and the water turned off, everything coming down the drains was coming out in my kitchen. It was a mess to clean up the dirty mess, then I had to stay home the next day to wait for plumbers, the roto-rooter man and then carpet cleaners to fix things up.

It is true that I wished then for my own reliable kitchen that in 20 years had never flooded, and for not hearing whenever neighbors flush their toilets, and for not sharing hot water with who-knows-how-many apartments—just knowing that I wait until I know everyone’s gone before I try to shower or I get your typical “freezing/scalding” hot water episodes during your shower.

Yes, our wait that we expected to be less than a month that is now almost three months, with no relief in sight, seems forever, but it also is an adventure. We can’t go work in the garden, because for now we don’t have a garden, or as Ed keeps reminding me every day—we have no snow to shovel or ice to trip on. No windows to scrape the frost off, no cold cars to heat up before you can drive them. Ed has enjoyed every day of the warm weather here in Los Angeles, and reminded me of it every moment. Even the rain hasn’t bothered him because it isn’t cold and it can’t freeze.

We have had fun exploring the museums in the area; I love learning about Los Angeles’ history, and despite the history books that say that California history began with the 1849 gold rush (HA), a lot happened before then and it fun learning about it. I discovered where the city of Los Angeles began (and it isn’t near the ocean), and what the first Mission was.

There is a wealth of ethnic restaurants, so we have gone out to eat at a different type of restaurant every week, trying Bosnia, Indian, Thai, Brazilian, Mexican, Kosher, as well as good old American cuisine. We have a very valid excuse also. Ed is still under weight and needs to gain more weight, which he does better when we eat out. We’ve even gone to movies, which I used to have to drag Ed to, but here in movie town, he seems more willing, somehow, especially if we buy a bag of hot buttered popcorn. I am even taking a three-day intensive genealogy course this week that I am excited about; who knows if I would have found time back home to take it.


Maybe it is the impermanence that allows us to enjoy our stay so much; if we were going to live here forever, maybe we would get into a rut and quickly burn out, but for now, it is still an adventure. Once Ed has his lung transplant, I am sure that it will be a lot more tedious and difficult. But we’re enjoying it tremendously now.

Last Friday I was walking around my neighborhood photographing the beautiful spring flowers and I thought how wonderful it was that I was in such a beautiful place to take photographs of.

Then my sister Janet sent me some photos she had taken on her morning walk. The area she walks in is not nearly as attractive an area as where I walk; some would say there is nothing beautiful, or interesting at all there to photograph. But the photos she takes are breathtaking in their splendor. They truly illustrate that beauty is in the eye of the beholder; that an artist sees with an inner eye. For her photos are magnificent glimpses of life.Janet's photos and her life show it IS a beautiful life.

My Mother Painted Peace

My mother painted peace. With gentle hands she sketched pastoral valleys nesting amid tall majestic mountains. Cool, placid waters flowed from her fingers and the snows of her mountain landscapes were confined only to mountaintops.

Peace is not just the absence of conflict any more than white is the absence of color. Peace embodies a true harmony of human and personal relations, a calmness of mind and heart. Mother’s paintings reflect that harmony as a blend of color and balance that conveys tranquility. Several of her paintings were displayed in doctor’s offices in the same way that light green paint is used in hospital settings—to calm the troubled minds of the patients.

One of Mother’s earliest paintings, a night camp, shows her love of the outdoors. It also demonstrates in a delicate way, Mother’s faith that even in the absence of the sun, God sends light to reflect his love.

“There is too much conflict in the world,” Mother once told me when I complained that her paintings were all the same. “I want to do in my paintings what I can’t do in life. I want to smooth off all the sharp edges and paint over life’s distortions. I try to capture peace and serenity on my canvases, not violence and suffering. I try to concentrate on the good and ignore the rest.”

Mother’s paintings reflected her personality—she was a delicate, soft-spoken woman who radiated a serenity that is rare in today’s high-decibel world. Neither the hardships of the Great Depression, nor the atrocities of World War II seemed to have marred her sweet amity.

Mother’s last two paintings, however, were a dramatic departure from the rest of her paintings. Rather than using the shades of blue and green that are so prevalent in all her other paintings, she used vibrant orange, brown and grey hues. Rather than pristine mountains and placid meadows, these show the stark landscape of southern Utah, an area that she felt lacked beauty.

Rather than calm, carefree summer, these were the only winter scenes that Mother painted. Yet, despite the barren trees, frozen snow and sullen skies, her signature serenity shows through the paintings.

Do these paintings reflect Mother’s tremendous suffering from cancer in her final years? In embracing and painting the Utah Canyonlands that she had disliked so intensely, did she accept the pain and agony of the cancer that destroyed her physical body, but elevated her spirit? Were these paintings self-portraits of a bared and defenseless soul?

The Luck of the Irish

The Luck of the Irish

My husband, Ed, has the luck of the Irish. He can find a parking place right by the front door of stores (even here in Los Angeles where there are no parking places), where I feel lucky if I find a parking place in the last row. He win raffles, is chosen first for teams and has every other example of good luck known to man. Even if he has problems, like running out of gas, it is nullified because he runs out of gas in front of the gas station.

He attributes this good luck to his “Irish” heritage, per his last name of “Dayley,” yet he is equally parts German, English, Danish, Swedish—and mostly American! He attributes my lack of luck to my Danish heritage as “everyone” knows the only luck the Danish have is bad luck!

Do the Irish Have Better Luck Than Other Nationalities?

However, the phrase “luck of the Irish” is an ironic phrase. The Irish have been, and are a spectacularly unlucky race. Even in America, they were looked down on as low-class immigrants. But the notion that Irish are inherently luckier than others can be traced to the 1850s in the United States where, during the exploration for gold in the West, there were a high number of Irish people who got lucky, and found their "pot o' gold" in the gold fields of California, or were equally prosperous in silver mining.1

What Is Luck?

Luck is difficult to explain. The dictionary defines it as “a belief in good or bad fortune in life caused by accident or chance, and attributed by some to reasons of faith or superstition, which happens beyond a person's control.”2

The Romans embodied luck as a goddess, “Fortuna” while people in America believe in common symbols of luck such as rabbit’s feet, four-leaf clover, horse shoes, wishbones, and “lucky” seven. In other countries, good-luck symbols are pigs, fish, fish scales, acorns, tortoises. I can remember as a child looking through lilac flowers to find one that had three flowers (or was it four? Whatever it was, it was different from the ordinary number). If I found one, I’d put it in my shoe and make a wish. Perhaps good luck symbols became lucky because they were commonly uncommon items like four-leaf clovers instead of ordinary three-leaf ones.

Luck as a self-fulfilling prophecy

Can a feeling that you are lucky become a self-fulfilling prophecy? Although few believe in superstition, and many discourage dependence on a “lucky shirt” for a ball player, or blind faith in lucky objects, is there any benefit in believing in luck?

Some psychologists feel belief in good luck, although it is a false idea, may produce positive thinking, much like a placebo provides benefits although there are no inherently beneficial ingredients in them. Studies have also shown that “People who believe in good luck are more optimistic, more satisfied with their lives, and have better moods.”3

Can Anyone Be Lucky?

So, should you decide you are lucky, and then live like you are? Why not? If it makes you happier and brings you better luck, it seems a no brainer to not to. Another article said, “If ‘good’ and ‘bad’ events occur at random to everyone, believers in good luck will experience a net gain in their fortunes, and vice versa for believers in bad luck. This is clearly likely to be self-reinforcing.”4

So from this day forward, I, too, have the luck of the Irish because I am married to an Irishman. Or maybe I am lucky because if I could choose to be an Irishman, I would be. Maybe people born in March are lucky; or maybe the Danish are luckier than the Irish. Or maybe I was just born lucky, no matter what nationality I am. Maybe all Americans are just naturally lucky!

I just know that I am lucky. And so are you. Eat your heart out, Ed!

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1.

http://Wiki.answers.com/Q/What_is_the_origin_of_the_term_%Luck_of_theIrish%27

2. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luck

3. Maltby, J., Day, L., Gill, P., Colley, A., Wood, A. M. (2008). Beliefs around luck: Confirming the empirical conceptualization of beliefs around luck and the development of the Darke and Freedman beliefs around luck scale Personality and Individual Differences, 45, 655-660.

4. Ibid.

I’ve Never Fit In

I've always done things "my way" from the time I was a baby and refused to crawl; instead I got up and walked. My father called me individualistic and unique. My mother called me stubborn.

I was too old to be a baby-boomer, too young to be part of the World War II patriotic generation. I was too young for the "Happy Days" 50s, but too old and settled for the swinging 60s. I disliked Elvis Presley, and was unawed by the Beatles. I liked to say I was eccentric, but my brothers and sisters called me odd!

I was married when it was swinging to be single and still on my first and only marriage when my friends were collecting divorces and multiple marriages. Somehow I never fit in with society.

I was a feminist before it was fashionable; a mother of pre-schoolers when children were passé' and zero population was big. I went to college when homemaking was the style and dropped out to be a homemaker when careers became the craze! My husband served in Vietnam when protesting the war was hip; we were conservative before Reagan made it popular. I don't think I voted for any presidential candidate that won.

I did aerobics (while my children shut the drapes and locked the doors so the neighbors wouldn't find out) until it caught on and then I rode my bike. We lived in the city while everyone else moved to the suburbs, then reversed the trend when "gentrifying city neighborhoods" became the "IN" thing to do. We never went near the Silicon Valley.

Our contemporaries were celebrating empty nests and grandchildren when I came up with the most outrageous idea since the invention of birth control. We decided to have another child (in our already hopelessly "large" family of six) in our forties. So what happens; the "new traditionalism," large families and having babies "late in life" comes into style and I'm declared a trend-setter.


I'll never live it down.