Scary Movies

HSP and Me-2
    
     OK, so now you may want to know exactly what a ‘highly sensitive person’ is, what makes them so different, what makes them tick. These are good questions. I have been able to answer a little at a time as I read Elaine Aron’s book, “The Highly Sensitive Person: How to Thrive When the World Overwhelms You.
     
     Here is a list of some of the characteristics: HSPs think things over for a while before making their move, carry a sense of being flawed, are willing to allow others to protect them, may isolate themselves, and have a real intolerance to stimulation. It's not that these things are so unusual, it's the intensity.

     An example is how I react to violence in movies. I can remember having to leave the room when my family had chosen a video to watch that to me contained over-the-top violence. You know the kind I mean; even the obviously staged scary movies. I can remember when I was really young watching the original “The Thing” movie. Being non-HSPs, my sister and brother didn't take in as many subtle disturbing aspects of situations as I did. I was terrified for days after as I watched in my mind the doors being boarded against the unseen horror. For that matter even though they were fun, I had a hard time watching most of Alfred Hitchcock’s movies, especially the “The Birds”, and “Psycho”. I think my son is the same way though he would not want to admit it.

     One time the family was watching “Salem’s Lot” when during a particularly scary scene Jamie came into the kitchen (where I was) to get away from it but what he didn’t know was that his sister snuck around and came through the other door and screamed. He was 10. I have never seen anyone so terrified they were moaning and rolling on the floor. But in spite of this they always seemed to bounce back and say, “Oh Mom, it’s just a movie. It’s not real”. It was not that I didn’t know it was not real. It was my intolerance to stimulation that was that overwhelming.

         I always felt uncomfortable that I couldn’t deal with the violence and thought something was wrong with me. The key, I learned was to reframe the experiences. Instead of seeing myself as somehow flawed I can realize instead, that I am just over-stimulated. Whether it is a violent movie, a trip to a new place or a noisy rock concert I can decide if my brain can handle it. Now I am more clear, when these things happen, I can either just go along with the group because I don’t want to be a stick-in-the mud or I can find something I can enjoy about it or I can opt out. It is important that I decide.
     The next time I write about this I want to tell you about a family trip to Las Vegas. Overstimulation can happen from positive experiences, too.

Passive Verbs and Qualifiers

      A few years ago I saw Fried Green Tomatoes, a great movie you may have seen also. It was the kind of movie that made you laugh and cry and nod your head. It was also a kind of mystery story and a story within a story. I liked it because still, I could keep up with it. And I learned some things.

     I liked the story within a story where one character experienced an epiphany. She spoke a phrase that sticks in my mind to this day. Have you ever seen something that changed your life and said, ”It was a sign” My sister and I say this often when things happen that verify what we had been thinking about doing or answered a question we had been trying to answer for years.

     It was a sign, was what I heard in my head at my writer’s critique group a couple of weeks ago. As an icebreaker, one of the participants asked us to share what it was about writing that ‘bugged us’. Passive verbs and Qualifiers popped into my head. Not procrastination, editing, revisions, or even sitting so long I had to run to make it to the bathroom. No, the words, Passive Verbs and Qualifiers, came out of my mouth.

     I’ve never been good at grammar or spelling. Since I have started to write again, I try hard but still struggle with everything I write. I have asked myself more than once. Why? Well, this is it. All my life I have been kind of a slow person. Not really passive per se but I do take my time. One of the biggest culprits for me is “was” and others like it (like is and was??) they slow down and sometimes stop the reader from reading.

        And my writing is also littered by my maybe’s, almost’s, sometime’s, someday’s, and if’s, etc. I qualify when I’m going to the store, when I’m going to write, when I am going to get this done or start that, if I like or don’t like something…it goes on and on.

     So the ‘sign’ I encountered pointed out to me the reason my writing is full of qualifiers and passive verbs. That’s who I am. Oh, sigh….By the way when I checked the spell checker I had not misspelled any words, anyway. There is hope.

What bugs you about writing?

Timnath-1

Palm Sunday
A few weeks ago, I decided that when I returned from church on the Sunday’s I got to go, I would sit down and write the insights or awakenings or connections I had during the service. It would be a way to keep me centered during the week. I should write a post to my blog. I thought. Most of the time it could be from the sermons but sometimes other things would catch my attention.

I sat in church this morning pretty close to the front. It is a small church I have been visiting for a few months. I usually arrive within a minute or so of when the service starts. That’s not a problem because they always socialize a bit and I can usually find a place to sit without having to crawl over people. Today was Palm Sunday though and we held beautiful palm fronds in our hands in honor of the day. All sang with the children and the choir who walked in a procession down the center isle, waving their palm branches. It was festive and fitting.

Today Rev. Ken read the total scripture from Matthew‘s Gospel, Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem on the donkey and the events leading up to his crucifixion. It was most of Matthew 27:1-2, 11-61. He turned it into our own sermons by stopping three times and giving us time to reflect on the passage and think about a question he would ask us.

The first question had to do with the crowd in front of Pilate. When they were given the choice to spare Barabbas or Jesus, they chose Barabbas. If you were there what would you do? Be silent? Speak up?

The second question was when Simon was compelled to carry the cross through the streets of Jerusalem. When have you been compelled to carry the cross?

The third question was after Jesus died and was placed in the tomb. Two women, the two Marys, were still there outside the tomb when it was all over. Would you have stayed through to the end?

These are hard questions but they have already started me thinking. These are my thoughts so far. 1) I’m sorry to say I would have stayed silent out of fear. And yet I know how. I have spoken up for battered women and abused animals.2) I can safely say I have been involved in social issues and working for the innocent for most of my life. 3) I am not yet finished with my work. I will stay involved as long as I can.

What are your answers? Or better yet, read through Matthew 21:1-11 and Matthew 27:1-2, 11-61, then, answer. Write your own sermon.

The HSP-Highly Sensitive Person- and Me

"I am one of the searchers." I chose this phrase to be at the top of my Spice of Life Blog and it has stayed there during this two and a half almost three year new adventure in writing. It still defines me. It still leads me.

In setting up my original blog I explained that Spice of Life was an outgrowth of an idea I had a few years ago called MSG-Spice of Life . The MSG stood for Menopause Support Group. And it was for a short time.

At first I thought the blog would be for that purpose also. But my heart wasn’t in it and I had been there/done that. So then I invited people to talk about what spices up their lives, what gives their lives meaning. Not many takers. I wasn’t sure if it was the topic or it was because I was new at managing my blog. Then the word 'variety' slipped in front of Spice of Life and there it is. Variety is the Spice of Life. You can put variety in front if you want to. Or not.

So far I have been comfortable with the variety of things that have crossed my mind and I have written about. I hope they contain a kernel that might interest you to explore.But now, I would like to ponder some books I have read. I am not in a book club so my hope is that I can dialogue with others who have read a particular book or would like to.

I’m thinking in terms of books that have turned light-bulbs on in my head. How about yours? Ones that I have read over the years and that have made a difference are books like "I’m Ok, You’re Ok". I discovered I was O.K. "Delivered from Distraction". I discovered I had Adult Attention Deficit Disorder and what I could do about it. "The Introvert Advantage". I looked at that attribute in a totally different way. But the book I am reading now and the one I would like to talk about is "The Highly Sensitive Person" by Elaine Aron. I plan to share a lightbulb or two with you in future posts,

As you can see I am still on a search. You may ask why now. All I can say is I want to better understand who I am (which is what HSPs do) and what I need to do before I am no longer here. The stakes are higher. And maybe my search will help you in yours.

Monday Morning

There’s something to be said about Monday mornings—especially snowy gray ones. I can start out slowly, which suits me just fine any day of the week. But with those promises to keep, sitting there waiting to raise their hands to be called on, starting out slowly feels really good.

As you can tell, I don’t have to report to a job, one outside the home anyway. But I do have to keep my own integrity in mind and a quick way to move out of my husbands way when he wants to go do this or that, whatever is on his list. We are both retired but I have to say as busy as if not busier than we were when we both were working or even just when he was.

If you have read my posts in this blog you will find that I am often talking about having enough time to get this or that done before this or that happens. The this or that has to do with my family obligations, grandchildren, doing farm chores (taking care of horses), volunteering at the Fort Collins Cat Rescue, taking care of my four rescued cats and getting all of that done so I can write! Write…what?

Well, lots of things, too many things. I don’t allow myself too often to get lost reading e-mail, Google, or websites but when I do I love this one. Zen Habits.

Here is the advice I got from it this Monday. Choose one thing to do (get done) today that makes a difference. Simple, right? Wrong. My biggest problem is prioritizing. I have a terrible time with it because to me, everything is important. Everything has the same weight, which is not true of course. Do whatever makes a difference this day. WOW

Well, then I started a list. After 11 or so things that seemed equally important I realized we were looking at something bigger here. Not counting promises to keep, which is kind of a given, I needed to answer a fundamental question. What is important in life? I am working on this…making a list of things to consider…. Hmmmm lets see, health, relationships, faith, meaning, love, money? So my mind flashed back to a time when I was faced with a similar decision and I think that answer answers this. What is important is kindness and compassion.

Kindness and compassion will always make a difference.

R.F.D. North Dakota

I'm pleased to bring you another poem in my Ghost Prairie Poem Series

R.F.D.
North Dakota

deep ruts slow my car
bumps up dusty clouds
along a rolling ribbon of road
“out in the middle of nowhere.”

i stop turn down the window
air rushes out as if to cool
the hot July day

a battered mail box
perches precariously
on a splintered post
held in place by rusty
barbed wire …

waits in silence

Ghost Prairie Poem I

In 2002 after a trip to North Dakota I wrote a series of poems called Ghost Praire Poems. This is the title poem

GHOST PRAIRIE I

I speak plainly
poems your ears have forgotten to hear
words you don’t know
anymore, years like the static
roar of brown cicadas
drown them out

I felt your journeys
your heavy wagons rutting roads
ruddy faces looking up eyes bright
you sought my forever landscape
to save you, to bring life

I planted
and harvested your dreams
watched weariness and roaming
leaving
and coming home

I was generous
gave my glacier plains
and deep black soil
my opportunities
to you

I have seen my vastness shrink
horizons sink in the distance
fields pock marked by
towns prairie dogs built
and left to the crows

You must listen to me
before I am gone
my voice weakens
to soft whispers grown quiet
into the wheat that shifts in the wind