11. April 2011 by Marie Pinschmidt.

This morning while showering, I indulged in some personal comtemplation regarding the amazing human body and all its parts and appendages. If you ask what this has to do with writing or painting, please indulge me and read on.

My husband was an ophthalmologist and from his patients he often heard the phrase, “I only have two eyes.” In spite of their astute awareness, and much to his dismay, they occasionally failed to follow his orders, thereby placing their gift of sight in jeopardy. We also only have two ears, two legs, two arms, two kidneys, two breasts, two lungs, etc. Isn’t it nice that we have a spare to fall back on should the need arise? What if this weren’t true? Could our family of parts look out for each other and share the duties necessary for survival?

If we had to choose, would we rather be deaf than blind? How terrible to never see a beautiful sunset or sunrise, see the sparkle in a beloved’s eyes, or read the words in a piece of excellent writing. Which would be preferable, to see the blue of the ocean or to hear the hypnotic sounds of the ebb and flow of the surf? Would it be easier to donate a kidney to your child or to donate a cornea, a lung, or your bone marrow? If we never have to make such decisions, we are fortunate indeed.

The human body is a magnificent work of art. Yet most of the time we go about our busy lives with no thought of how our various parts perform their tasks. It amazes me that our arms are just long enough to reach all our other parts. We’re so well-equipped and self’sufficient. As nice as it is to have another person wash our back, we don’t really require their help to survive. The problem is that we don’t fully appreciate the continuing function of our various parts until their use is compromised by accident or disease. We have our cars, our boats and air-conditioners periodically checked to ward off future problems. However, we often neglect our most precious and irreplaceable asset - our physical body. We can’t tolerate a dented car fender but we ignore the blemish on our skin that could be a melanoma. We spend our money on a new sofa or expensive jewelry and neglect the persistent cough that could destroy not only one lung but also the “spare” one.

The gifts of sight and hearing are precious, but so are the sense of feel and taste; they contribute immeasurably to our happiness and pleasure. What is most important to you - the sound of your child’s laughter, the whistle of a far-away train, or the sound of your husband or wife’s car entering the garage after a long day? Look around you; could you live in a world of darkness? Would you miss seeing the books in your library or the golf ball soaring for a hole-in-one under a postcard blue sky? I would be sad never again to hear Claire de Lune played on a Steinway, or view magnificent works of art. What would I do if I couldn’t paint or write? I would listen to music and maybe try a new art form like sculpture. With practice, would my hands and the sense of touch be able to take over the function of my eyes?

Most of these questions are too difficult to answer, but perhaps they will make us aware of our mental blindness and encourage us to become more successful “parts managers”.  If we should find ourselves with damaged parts; we may have to learn to see with our souls.    

Until next time -  Marie

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12. March 2010 by Marie Pinschmidt.

Some words are soft, sweet-sounding and melodious while others are harsh, rasping, an assault to our ears. The word FAULT is among the latter. Whether a fault in the earth’s crust capable of causing destruction and chaos, or a human act of violence, fault is a word we find difficult to embrace.  Following the recent horrendous earthquake in Chile, we waited with a mixture of fear and awe for a predicted “great wave”, or tsunami, to hit Hawaii. Our airwaves are polluted with reports of political and personal scandals involving elected officials and other celebrity. We believe their words and trust their good judgment only to have our expectations shaken, broken and cracked open at some later date.

How many of us have the courage to admit blame when we stray from our path and find our character and reputation compromised because we took the wrong behavioral turn?

“It wasn’t my fault” is heard repeatedly from the mouths of people of all ages, from children to senior citizen. In childhood an object is broken, someone sustains an injury, a sibling cries, and the first thing the parent hears is, “It wasn’t my fault”. Often the denial is true, but more often it’s a self-protecting method of shifting the blame. We seem to have been born with this human trait and it follows us throughout our entire life. Being found at fault for childhood pranks, teenage misdemeanors or hard crimes in adulthood is something most of us either fear, or are in a state of denial that we’re doing anything wrong.

If we’re blameless, then where does the fault lie? On an innocent bystander, someone who just happened to be near the scene of the crime? Innocent children are often punished for acts they did not commit, and innocent men and women have gone to prison or put to death for acts that were no fault of their own. Once that awful word “fault” is tethered to a reputation, it might as well be written in indelible ink for the life is usually forever changed. No wonder we are quick to defend ourselves at every turn.

How often do we hear “fault” blamed on parents by their children, or by parents in defense of their children? It’s the “fault” of society, the “fault” of poverty, mistreatment, or lack of education. Fault is often blamed on having too much wealth, too much social recognition, “spoiled rotten by parents or grandparents”, etc, etc. Parents are often unfairly faulted when their children do not turn out as expected by society. Our media celebrities and sport figures fault their fall from grace on substance abuse, physical or mental insufficiencies, childhood neglect or poverty, etc, etc. More and more often members of society accept these explanations, or excuses, and are quick to forgive.

In our political arena, “fault” is placed on an opposing party or one news media over another. The government spends too much money or not enough. One party is made up of brilliant minds and the other a bunch of idiots. Please! It’s like a second grader telling his teacher the dog ate his homework. Where does it all end? Does blame-placing, twisting the truth or downright lying serve any useful purpose? Or does it only postpone the inevitable - a time when truth is finally forced to the forefront for the world to absorb, leaving us disappointed or disgusted, and instilling in us a reluctance to believe anything we hear or read. In an attempt to save face, stall for time, hoping it will just go away, we pray that daddy or mommie will come home, take our side and place the fault on someone else. How often do we hear, “The fault is entirely mine, I accept the blame, and I accept the punishment?” Period! Not often enough, I fear.

FAULT is a hard, harsh word, whether found in the earth’s crust or in the human experience. We can change neither, but perhaps the world would sleep better at night if more of us strived to avoid even the “appearance of evil”. When the fault is ours, let us be quick to claim it, allow the innocent to remain so, and get on with the business of restoring once again our belief in humanity.

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