Category: Wholeness - trish hermanson

What Is 'Cool' Anyway?

11/8/2022

That’s my grandson Oak and me outside his home in South Carolina that his parents are renting while his dad completes research at a local university. When I told Oak his house is cool, he said, “But it’s old.” I answered, “Old can be cool; just look at me.” He said nothing, and from the next room, my daughter and husband burst out laughing.
What defines coolness anyway? Take, for example, their Neo-Georgian house. It shows wear and tear from seven decades of living, but its stately architecture sets it apart in a timeless way. The house would be diminished if its owner tried to make it hip by slapping on gray, industrial-looking paint and adding gray-plank flooring, the current trend.
So what about me? I’m the same age as this house and show wear and tear, too. What would happen if I adopted the current fashion of tats and tattered jeans? I’d look ridiculous! Instead, what if I live comfortably in the architecture of grace I’ve gained through my lifetime? The grace of skills developed through careers. Of humility acquired through tears. Of peace wrestled through fears. Of wisdom honed through years. Then I’d be wearing a timeless cool.
How about you? What patina have you developed that gives you a timeless cool?

Bushwhacking a Trail for Those Who Come After

10/19/2022

I dodged trucks on the asphalt road leading to the trail along the creek nearby. Uninspiring! So I decided to bushwhack a new path through an unexplored open space next to the road. With hiking boots and a cudgel I set out to carve a new course. What would I find?
     After slashing through a thicket of thistles, I entered a grove. Surprise - three deer stared at me, then pranced off. High above, a bird serenaded me. Crickets added a rhythmic chorus. Delightful!    I crawled over skeletons of fallen trees, then I faced two ravines thick with bushes. It took a few tries, but I whacked through them.
     I traversed a prairie, stepped over a drainage ditch, and waded through tall grasses, picking up cockleburs. Then I wended through a patch of milkweed and finally reached the familiar dirt path by the creek.This was so much more inspiring than the asphalt road.
     When I led grandsons along my new Bushwhack Trail, they were like mountain goats scaling the fallen trees and scampering through the steep ravines. I realized I’m simply the pioneer here, opening a way for those who come after me. They’ll go farther and faster.
  Others have opened up opportunities for me in the past. Now it’s my turn. How about you? What trails can you blaze for others?

My Love/Hate Relationship with This Tree

8/18/2022

I loved this tree until I hated it.
     This Russian olive sprang up from a seed that blew in, and as it grew, I basked in the scent of its yellow flowers in the springtime and sheltered in the shade of its silvery leaves in the summer. Then it morphed into a monster - branches scraping our roof, seeds littering our driveway, thorns bloodying my arms when I tried to trim it. An invasive species!
     We needed drastic means to stop it. A chainsaw collapsed the giant onto our driveway, and a grinder reduced it to wood chips.
     I wonder whether I sometimes welcome other small seeds of invasive species into my life that grow into something I’ll regret. Like little judgements I make against others. When I judge others, I bask in the scent of feeling superior to them - I’m not like them! But this attitude keeps me from listening and admitting when I’m wrong. Or what about when I shelter in the shade of partisanship, gaining a sense of purpose by being part of a group? Do I unthinkingly accept the party line, embracing all the beliefs? Do my views harden like tree bark so I’m unable to recognize when something’s wrong? Or what about when I think “my truth” - basically my opinion - is THE truth? Do I close my mind to reality?
I wonder what Russian olives I'm welcoming in my life that I’ll eventually have to take a chain saw to.

Garbanzos and Other Gifts

1/18/2022

How my tastes have changed.
     I was a college student the first time I tried garbanzos. Yuck! A stranger named Marge, who was the age of my mother, served them on a salad to a group of us students she had invited to her home. Didn’t she realize we’d prefer pizza?
     Another person I didn’t appreciate during my college days was Olive, a woman the age of my grandmother. She lived in my home town and wrote notes to those of us studying away from home. Sweet, but I wasn’t interested in what she had to say.
     Then there was Stan, a guy I met as a college student. He was quiet, never married, worked for the same company for decades, retired, then died. But he proved to be a steadfast friend to those around him.
     Over the decades my appreciation of the ways of Marge, Olive, and Stan has grown. Their soft footprints across life’s stage went mostly unnoticed, yet they left behind gifts - hospitality, encouragement, and friendship. These days I want to follow in their steps and leave simple gifts behind, too.
     And sometimes I serve garbanzos on salads.

How Simple Words Changed a Life

12/11/2021

I recognized the stooped old man shuffling toward the building entry as someone whose words once impacted the world when he documented our times as a reporter for a prestigious international publication. Years earlier I’d heard Paul enthrall a crowd with tales of interviews with personalities like the shah, the pre-revolutionary political leader of Iran, when no other westerner had access. He knew how to open doors back then.
     Now no longer a player on life’s stage, Paul was faced with struggling to open the door in front of him. I rushed ahead and pulled it open, and he gave a polite thank you. I replied, “It’s a privilege to hold a door for a great writer.” His head spun toward me, and his voice quivered as much as his hands. “Thank you,” he whispered. Then he shuffled inside, and I never saw him again.
     I opened more than a building entry for Paul. I opened a door to his soul with simple words that gave him a gift - recognition of his contribution in life, which others had forgotten. That’s something we all need. His startled response made me wish I could affirm someone in this way every day.
  Maybe I can.