Author: barbarabeardsley

As another New Year approaches, there is talk of Resolutions. Now it seems to me that there are two kinds of people: those who make Resolutions, and those who don’t.

The folks who don’t make resolutions seem somehow content with the way things are. They don’t want to shake things up, or try to invent a better mousetrap. They see the steady course of daily life as manageable, and they enjoy predictability and routine. These people are happy with themselves and happy with the status quo. They may be oblivious to many of the ills and hardships of the world, but they are blissful in their ignorance. I don’t know what that is like, but I envy them their comfort; their lives must be simpler and less stressful than mine.

The definition of the word “resolve” includes: settle, sort out, solve, find a solution, fix, straighten out, deal with, put right, rectify, determine a course of action, and decide. Those of us who make Resolutions are determined to take a course of action for change.

I have always made New Year’s Resolutions. Read More. Lose Weight. Exercise. Complain Less. Travel. Forgive. Reorganize. Learn. Take Chances. It seems that I have always wanted to improve the original version of ME. Each year taking stock of my shortcomings and trying to upgrade the software and the hardware has been part of my routine.

The commitment with which we resolve to change is important. It is optimistic, and fundamentally essential to our growth mentally and spiritually. We, as a species, do need to improve. We need to better understand where we live and how we live. We need to work toward  the resolution of differences. We  need to welcome the kind of changes that make the Planet better for every living being. All this has to start somewhere. Why not with me? Or with You?

I love the people who make New Year’s Resolutions. They are passionate, thoughtful, courageous, and caring. They are outraged, committed, and not satisfied until they have tried their best to fix something.

Albert Camus said: “Not to decide, is to Decide.” Think about it.

Christmas is a complicated time. The original idea is a solid one: Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Mankind. Today…..not so much. It’s tough to reconcile celebrating this wonderful concept in the climate of terror, hatred, bigotry, self-involvement, and hypocrisy we find surrounding us. Yet, we must find a way. We have to bring Christmas home each year, despite the Grinches and Scrooges we encounter daily in the media, and everywhere else.

So, what are the choices? Denial? Ignorance? Shutting down? None of these will help, and none will make us happy or whole.

We have only one choice, and it is the same one each year. Love. We have to love more, and harder, and deeper, and wider. We have to forgive, forget, and embrace. We have to remember the goal, keep our eyes on the prize, and keep moving forward. The only thing that can save us, is more Love. Love for family, friends, neighbors, and strangers.

Whether you Believe, or not, this Holiday is a real test of your convictions. Can you grow you heart as Mr. Grinch did? Can you honor Christmas as the converted Scrooge vowed to do? What will it take to make a difference in your part of the World?

So, despite the commercialism and craziness, there is an underlying principle that keeps us coming back for more. The Love we seek is always there, within us, every day. We cannot ignore it during this Season. It is accentuated by the ideology and the madness. We need to give Love, and to receive it. Please feel free to distribute as much Love as you can this Christmas.

And while you are at it, Give Peace a Chance.

Charles Sperry was a friend of mine since we met in 1978. I haven’t spoken to him for over a decade, so I googled him in the White Pages the other night to find his phone number in Massachusetts. The search revealed an obituary from the Boston Globe dated May, 2015. I sat, dumbfounded, at my computer. Too late.

I have tried to dial the number to speak to his wife, and offer my sympathy for her tremendous loss; but I haven’t been able to call. If I talk to her, it will be Real, and that will never do.

In the Summer of 1978, as I was deciding what I wanted to do next with my life, a boy with blond curls bounded down the stairs of my apartment building  in Belmont, Massachusetts; he gave me  a cheery “hello” on his way out the door. He was lanky and full of energy; his face was freckled and his eyes the blue of a glacier. Irish, for sure. Charles was smart and wickedly sarcastic: two of my favorite attributes. We became friends almost instantly.

That Summer, we had many adventures in my newly  purchased  TR-7.  Charles helped me learn to drive a stick shift and properly maneuver through the rotaries of Cambridge and Boston, and off we went. We swam in Walden Pond on a glorious sunny day. We visited his friends palatial estate on Squam Lake in New Hampshire. Two Scorpios on the loose.

One of my favorite memories of that time was dress up night. We decided to take the town by storm, so we put on our fancy clothes and headed for the revolving restaurant at the top of the Hyatt Regency. I wore a fabulous black top and skirt outfit with black high heels. (Those shoes were the  most amazing shoes I ever owned, and I wish I knew what happened to them. But, like many things in Life’s river, the current pushes stuff away from us, never to be retrieved.) Charles wore black slacks and a yellow dress shirt. We simply owned the City that night.

We stayed friends after I moved back to Maine at the end of that Summer. We called, wrote, and visited each other for many years. Whenever I was in Boston, we got together and had a meal, or just hung out.  Eventually, he found his true love, married her, and moved to Western Massachusetts. I was, by that time, a single Mom, and immersed in the busy details of my life. So the currents pushed us away from each other, as they will.

I remember laughter, and so much crazy stuff. Who else will ever make paper airplanes with me and float them out the windows of the Ritz-Carlton down to Newbury Street? Who else will paddle the Concord River with me in a canoe? Who else will sign his letters to me “Relentlessly, Charles”?

Dear Charles, I regret that I took too long to call you and tell you that I missed talking to you. I regret that you never knew I wrote a fairly decent song about you. I regret that there would be a distance between us, for any reason, when we were once so close.

I hope that you are lazing by a beautiful lake. I hope that you have kittens in your lap. I hope when the radio at your side plays “Miss You”, by the Rolling Stones, that you think of the Summer of 1978.

When I was studying Acting a few decades ago, I met a woman whom I will call Alice. She was an average looking woman; we might have used the term “plain” back then to describe her. She was probably 5’7″ tall, with dark blonde hair and a thin build. Here’s the thing: Alice thought she was gorgeous! Seriously, she would tell you that she could get any Man she wanted. She would also tell stories about her Dad, and how he had put her on a pedestal when she was a child. She was his darling, and she had been told she was remarkably beautiful. Thus, her belief system was built.

Now, my Dad loved me; but he was never big on compliments, and I have never had any illusions about my looks. (Not looking for sympathy here, but I have always been pretty realistic about my strengths and weaknesses in the beauty department.)I have thought most times my appearance ranged from acceptable to cute, and that’s the hand Mother Nature dealt me. That being said, I did have one Ace up my sleeve: I got great gams! My legs, from the time I was a teenager, have been well-shaped and strong. One former beau called them “dancer’s legs”; I had studied dance for years, and always loved to dance, so it seemed to fit. While crossing the USC campus on my first trip to California, I encountered a young man, presumably a student. He stopped in his tracks, looked and me(I was then wearing a miniskirt, blouse and high heels) and said “Damn…you got great legs!”. Thus my belief system was built.

In 1970 I met David, my first husband. In the Spring of 1971 I bought a pair of Blue Suede Hotpants, which fit me like a glove. These hotpants were so empowering that I cannot begin to explain the magic of wearing them! I am certain that the following facts played into the mystique: I was 20 years old, in love, and quite slim. Nevertheless, when I put on my hotpants, I stopped the endless criticizing that women adopt as their mantras. I knew I looked good!

In the photograph above, I am wearing the hotpants on a street in Chinatown in San Francisco, accompanied by David’s friend, Neil. The three of us had lunch there that afternoon. It was my first trip to the city I would soon call home, and it was a good day.

During the next several decades, I bought quite a few short skirts, skirts with side slits, and other clothes that accentuated my legs. I guess we all learn to play to our strengths. We learn, too, that looks are temporary manifestations of our physicality, and that they change as we age. If we are fortunate, we learn that what we develop in our hearts and minds far outweighs the vanity in which we invest our youth. We learn these truths and become humbled by them.

If we are fortunate enough to be healthy and have our memories, we can look back on our youthful days and remember what it felt like to be vain and silly. We can chuckle at our young selves, and the drama of growing up. We can be grateful that we have the wisdom we have attained, and we can feel happy knowing we are loved for whom we truly are.

I know that the pair of Blue Suede Hotpants tucked away upstairs is not something I will likely ever wear again. I have traded most of my youthful foolishness for maturity and sagacity. But I am keeping the Hotpants!

The leaves have all fallen, and the days are short. It’s mid-December now, and we are awaiting snow. We’ve been fortunate to have an extended Autumn with warm temperatures, but we know things will change soon.

I don’t care for cold weather. How’s that for an understatement? I was born and raised in Maine, but I have always imagined that I was left on my parents’ doorstep by some Tahitians who were passing through. I have never been able to tolerate the cold, and so I stay indoors most of the Winter. This fact has been a sore spot for years. One of my friends once told me not to take the weather so personally,for, after all, it happens to everyone. Yet, I have groused and grimaced and struggled my way through many New England Winters.

This year it is time for a Change. I think I might have finally matured enough to look at this seasonal glass as half-full. No, I still won’t be out skiing or skating; but, I know that the only thing I can do about the weather is change my attitude. I am beginning to see each day as an opportunity for growth and another chance to do something to enhance my experience of Life and the lives of those around me. I want to be really present and conscious of my days; I don’t want to wish them away anymore.

Maybe this wisdom only comes with age. Perhaps as we see the number of days dwindling we finally get the meaning of carpe diem. Maybe after we lose friends and relatives we see that this gift of Life is too precious to squander.

So, this Winter I am going to continue to write, sing, cook, craft, and sew my way through the Season. I will turn up the heat and layer on the thermals. I will take photographs of the natural changes outside and remember that all of this is beautiful, despite the temperatures.

The only thing I can change is my attitude. So, bundle up….cause Baby It’s Cold Outside!

I have a dear friend named Edna Perry. I  remember the first time we met, back in 1977, when she came to my store in Watertown, Massachusetts. Her son was a close friend of mine from college days, and he had told her about my shop, Amorak, which was full of quilts and toys and fabric creations I made. Edna and her darling husband, Jack, stopped by one day to meet me and  to order some custom made cotton placemats. She was a petite, spirited woman, with a quick smile and an infectious laugh. I loved her immediately!

Over the ensuing years, we became good friends and shared many visits, phone calls, and lots of laughter. She was another of my “surrogate Moms”, as I would call my close friends’ mothers, and she would tell me that I was like another daughter to her. I could share my  plans and projects with her, and she was remarkably supportive of my efforts. Whenever I called her, there was a sweet pause of about two seconds, and then she would say my name in a delighted breathy voice…
“Barbara”. I loved that greeting! It had a smile  and a hug in it each time.

Edna raised five wonderful kids, has lots of terrific grandchildren, and had a long loving marriage with Jack. She practiced Yoga long before I really understood its importance.She would always tell me that I should try it, and we would joke about her standing on her head(which she did, regularly). She believed in taking good care of your body and soul, and lived her convictions. She once told me she had chided a lady friend of hers for smoking, and the woman retorted” Oh, Edna…I’ll probably outlive you!”. Edna’s response was, “Maybe so, but I am going to feel good every day of my life”. I remembered that, and it made sense to me.

About a year ago I started practicing Yoga. Edna was my first phone call. She was so happy that I had finally taken her advice! We talked about it each time we spoke this year, and she continues to encourage me.

Edna will be 94 in another week or so. She is currently in the hospital, and facing some tough medical issues. I spoke with her this morning, heard that glorious laugh, and she told me to say some prayers; that if I did, perhaps she” could feel that energy coming to her”. I did, and she will.

I know that I have been fortunate to know Edna Perry. She has been a shining light of love and support on my journey. Namaste, Edna.

Hello. My name is Barbara, and I am a wrapping paper addict.

My addiction started decades ago when I discovered the rush of going into a Hallmark store  where I could feast my eyes on square packages of gaily printed Christmas papers, matching bows, tags, and stickers. As years passed, packages became long rolls, and the assortment of accessories like pre-made bows and adhesive tags  became overwhelming.

Why? Why does any  addiction overtake us? Is it because there is something fundamentally missing in our hearts and souls? Do we feel somehow that the world is too much to bear, and we need something to help us cope with all of it? Is there a causal factor in my DNA…a Hallmark gene that has mutated? I don’t know these answers. I do know that wrapping paper, and the selection, purchase, and, yes, hoarding, of it,makes me feel better. Happier. So, I “collect” it, and use it during the Holidays…but not all of it. Each roll or package must have a scrap saved. Just in case I ….er….want to look at it in the future. Just in case………

Many of my friends have commented on how crazy this addiction is;some have tried to intervene, and stop me. Yet, my desire is strong, my longing unfulfilled. Each year when the calendar turns to November, my search for gift wrap continues.I have tried limiting the number of rolls I purchase. I have tried hard to not get up early December 26th and head out for the 50% off wrapping paper sales. But nothing really works.

I do know that my favorite childhood memories include staring at that magnificent decorated Christmas tree, and dreaming of what those shining packages might hold.The magic of those moments when my family was around, and times were good. All that silvery paper gleaming out from under Nana’s tree.

My name is Barbara, and I am a wrapping paper addict.

Trying to make sense of the senseless is exhausting. I am so tired of watching stories about mass killings and incomprehensible violence in America. I am ashamed that the rest of the world views us as the unsafe place we have become. Tired.

What do we do when there seems no answer to this unrelenting evil? Some people suggest prayer and unified thought. Some people suggest more violence. I don’t think the same way as these folks.

My only real Hero was Bobby Kennedy. He was intelligent, articulate, ruthless, funny, and compassionate. Many of the things he said have become my mantras, and have inspired me to action. Bobby read the works of Albert Camus extensively, and was fond of quoting him. I think the most poignant of Camus’ thoughts, paraphrased, is this one: “perhaps this is a world in which Children suffer, but we can lessen the number of suffering Children-and if you do not do this, who will do this?”. I have used that in speeches, and it never fails to move me with its simple power.

So, here it is. We all have to do whatever it is we can do, each day, to promote goodness, caring, and justice. Your part may seem small, but each tiny act contributes to the positive overall effect on the World. Be Kind. Treat others with love and compassion. Do good work. We really have no other way to combat the anxiety of powerlessness we may sometimes feel.

Martin Luther King, Jr. said:

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only Light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only Love can do that”.

December 1, 1955 was a pivotal day for Rosa Louise. She did not set out to become an icon, a heroine, a household name. She simply could no longer stand to be treated like less than she was. When Mr. Blake demanded that Rosa give up her seat to a White man, she refused to do it. She was not the first Black person to refuse, but she became, with that non-violent act, the image of activism.

I wonder how the early activists in the struggle for Civil Rights were so capable of what seems to me to be remarkable bravery. I have never considered myself very brave, and it is a trait I admire immensely. I know that Courage has been defined as “grace under pressure”. It seems that the accumulated pressure of years of slavery, abuse, humiliation, and degradation resulted in the kind of courage Rosa displayed on that day 60 years ago. She very gracefully told the bus driver to do what he had to do. The ensuing arrest, trial, and problems it created were just part of what she felt she had to endure; she was tired of being treated unjustly.

Rosa Louise MacCauley Parks stood up for what she believed needed to change by not standing up and giving up her seat on a bus. She was a committed and hard-working activist for Civil Rights all her life. Despite death threats and financial woes, she shone her light brightly wherever she was. The kind of integrity that brought her to the forefront of the desegregation movement is a model for all of us. I hope whenever I need to speak up for what I deem an injustice, I will hear her whisper in my ear.

The Holidays are fast approaching, and the words of an old Christmas carol are stuck in my head:”Tidings of Comfort and Joy”. I experienced both Comfort and Joy today, and I realized that those unique sensations don’t come as often as we would wish.

One of my friends, whom I have been lucky enough to call  a true friend for over 50 years now, stopped in for a visit. He brought his wonderful wife, and they spent the afternoon with me and my partner. The ease with which we can share time and space is significant to me. I am totally ME. I have no pretense or artifice with them. I laugh out loud, and joke, and tease, and am as obnoxious as I want to be. I do not fear that they will not love me as I am. This is Comfort.

When these friends are with me, I feel the happiness of connection. We are connected by memories, shared experiences, common attitudes, and love. We can talk about everything and nothing. We can rail at the ways of the world, and smugly assert that we have been lucky to have lived during the good old days. We can support each other’s creative ideas, and sympathize with each other’s troubles. There is a timeless quality to our visits; we are on this fragile planet hurtling through Space, yet all we care about is what each is about to say. The words are precious and lift the spirit. This is Joy.

I met my friend in High School. We became friends because we both loved to write. We shared Journalism classes and By-Liners club meetings and Advanced Composition class. We knew we would write great things someday. Later, as adults, we wrote for a small paper and fought the good fight against the large corporate newspapers. We have always been free thinkers and revolutionaries, and we have always tried to change our little corners of the world for the better. Hippies. Non-conformists.Students. Workers. Parents. Creative Artists. We have been all these things, and more. My fervent hope is that we will continue to learn and strive and discuss and share for a long, long time. Thinking that we will is comforting to me. Knowing my dear friend is a real joy.