the adventures of dos tortas

When my mother was alive she used to tell me that she would pray to her mother, my grandmother. Nan loved to gamble. Bingo was her favorite and nickel slots in Atlantic City. I’m not sure you would call that gambling but it kept her entertained. Mom would go on a cruise, play the slot machines and pray to my grandmother to help her win. I would chuckle and roll my eyes. What did I know?

My first religious experience. 1952 my mother was 30.

My mother and I were extremely different. She was very religious and me not so much. I never got the whole “praying” concept. I figured if God were omniscient, what would be the point? I’ve heard people pray to get things, as if God were their own personal Amazon Prime in the sky. It never made much sense to me.

A bridesmaid in my cousin’s wedding.

I’m figuring out what prayer is for me. It’s about taking stock and being grateful. I’ve been praying when I’m afraid, acknowledging my selfishness, and expressing my desire to learn to be kind. God doesn’t talk back much and that’s ok. Sometimes I need someone to listen.

My mother and I shared a love for dance.

I’ve been thinking about my mother a lot lately and realizing that I’ve had a lot of judgements about her and taken some of her choices personally. I wish we could sit down over a cup of tea, something we didn’t do when she was here. Happy Mother’s Day Mom and to all of you. It’s time to make peace even if our moms are long gone. So I pray to her in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep. She doesn’t say much, but I do think she listens and that’s just fine.

DOS TORTAS

Years ago I stumbled upon a most memorable book, We’re All Doing Time, A Guide For Getting Free, by Bo Lozoff. It was a best seller written to help prisoners, prison guards and those living in their own personal confinement (ie. all of us). The spiritual guide offered self assessment, a path to inner awareness and connection and had an introduction written by the Dalai Lama.

I used to fantasize what it would be like to live in a cell with endless time to meditate, read, practice yoga and write. How ‘holier than thou’ was I. Be careful what you ask for.

While my life today is far from a prison, I vacillate between feeling sorry for myself, scared and crying, to acceptance, faith and peace. Maybe the book should be renamed, “We’re All Living With Covid-19”

My middle of the night insomniac musings tell me that the only way through this nightmare is by truly caring for one another. We Americans in particular are a selfish lot, every man and woman for him/herself and no one’s going to tell ME what to do. In the coming days, weeks and yes, years, we will be called on to give beyond our present ability. It is time to stretch those atrophied caring muscles and find ways to put others’ welfare before our own. For me it is sometimes as simply as doing the damn dishes AGAIN, without complaining, even in my head.

I’d love you hear how YOU are stretching. Let’s inspire each other.

DOS TORTAS