A Father’s Day Post

Featured

Posted on by
2

As I mentioned Mom in a Mother’s Day post, I would be remiss if I didn’t share some recollections of Dad on Father’s Day. It has been well over thirty years since he walked this earth. I miss that soft southern accent that never left him or his routine of pipe smoking and the scent of tobacco that would linger in the air. There are stories that he told which I hold onto with bittersweet emotion. They are just a small portion of the man he was. I would like to be a fly on the wall and observe, one more time, what a typical day would be like. What non important matters were covered by conversations no longer committed to memory? Why is it human nature to take so much of our daily lives for granted?

I was destined to be a Daddy’s Girl. My father, career Navy, made the trek from Norfolk, VA to Pennsylvania in a snow storm to greet me at the time of my birth. My three brothers and I were the recipients of many of his life stories. Being from southern GA, our father’s upbringing was so different to the one we knew. Hardship very much comprised his youth. It might have never been spoken out loud but I know in his heart, his desire was to provide a better life for us.

My father would recount the stories of his youth. He and his one brother, tried jumping off the barn roof with springs on their feet and once they pushed a winged crate out of a chinaberry tree to see if they could fly. One of them would hatch the plan to tie tin cans to the tail of their cow. The clattering sounds spooked the cow and she jumped over the fence, leaving her tail behind. I imagined that the cow wasn’t the only one with a sore bottom that evening. He would relish telling these stories. He didn’t dwell on the fact that he and his brother, as youngsters, would be the ones to find their father on the porch after suffering a heart attack. They struggled to get my grandfather into the house but his death was imminent.

Growing up in rural south GA, without a father, couldn’t have been easy. Dad was an avid fisherman. He never cared for hunting. He said he had to hunt to help provide meat for the table and it held no charm for him as an adult. He enlisted in the Navy with the theory that there was more to life than picking cotton. Dad would tell us about the good times he experienced in the Navy. I’m sure as a young boy he never thought he would have the opportunity to travel the world. His enthusiasm for the Navy rubbed off on me. My one high school term paper focused on Admiral Chester Nimitz, Commander in Chief, Pacific Fleet during WWII. I got carried away with my research and read several accounts of battles at sea. I remember one graphic description shared by a sailor.  He stated that during battle you could see your shipmate die a horrible death, next to you, which would cause you to vomit. There was barely time for that human reaction as you would have to quickly return to your gun. I disclosed what I had read to Dad. He listened and quietly replied that yes he was aware as he was there. That was the only somber admission that I ever heard about his Navy career.

Dad managed to get two full careers under his belt before retiring at the age of 62. He was never at a loss of how to fill a day. He and our mother had raised the four of us and opened our home to our maternal grandfather who suffered a stroke later in life. He remained at home with our mother being his caretaker. Finally, after a life of hard work and providing for all of us, it was Dad’s turn to slow down and enjoy the freedom that retirement would provide. It was not to be. He was diagnosed with cancer, a result of being exposed to asbestos during his years in the Navy. Although he was willing to follow recommendations and treatment he was resigned to his accept his diagnosis. If he was afraid of what the future held, he never showed it. Upon reflection he said that those were the cards that were dealt him. He died one month short of his 66th birthday.

I thank you for indulging me and my reminiscence of our father. We should all have stories to reflect upon for those of us who no longer have a reason to celebrate the day. For those who are fortunate to still have their father, I would suggest you listen to those stories and commit them to memory. You don’t know when that voice will be silenced. Let’s not squander the opportunity to keep them alive for the next generation.

Lost

Featured

Posted on by
2

I was looking forward to the day. It would be the last time I would be meeting with this group of colleagues. I wasn’t concerned about the drive that would take one hour and a half. Our agency is spread over several locations and I was used to driving. Virtual meetings have increased greatly since COVID made them a necessity and I now gladly accept the opportunity to meet face to face as it has become the exception rather than the norm. My clothes were set out and my lunch was packed the night before. I was set.

The morning came and I was ready to leave as I took one last look at myself in the mirror. How did I not notice that something had bled on my blouse in a previous wash? It was much too noticeable at that time and I scrambled to decide what to wear. It put me a little bit behind but not by much as I had given myself an extra half hour for travel. Translated: I gave myself time to access the drive thru at Dunkin Donuts and treat myself to the companionship of coffee and a donut on the trip. Once my purchase was made I put my coordinates in my phone and was ready to let GPS take control. It had been well over a year since I drove to this location and it was not committed to memory. I soon learned my phone was offline and there was no cajoling it to bring up the appropriate directions. I pulled out the cell phone provided from work and realized I couldn’t come up with the correct password. One attempt warned me that it would take five minutes before I could try again. Subsequent attempts pushed the time limit set for new efforts further out by fifteen minutes each. All of a sudden I felt I was trying to climb a mountain of shifting sand. It was the previous day that a conversation led me to state that I could read a map, but who carries them in their car anymore, even though my car doesn’t come equipped with GPS? If it wasn’t my last time, meeting with this team, I would have decided to change my plans and drive to my office. It didn’t seem like much of a choice as I enjoy the company of these people and knew I had to make the trip.

It was time for an executive decision. I would return home, a ten minute drive, and access maps on my laptop and go old school. I reached out to my manager to share my situation and that most likely I would be late, but eventually would be there to join them. I texted my son, who happens to be an IT guru, and asked for his input. This is a good time to let you know that my printer at home didn’t work and I jotted down the directions. I thought at the time it was enough to jog my memory and ensure me a successful drive to the location. I was wrong.

It is difficult to read directions when you are on a road whose speed limit is over 50 mph. I inadvertently turned down a road that was evidently incorrect. I believe the route number was correct but I couldn’t locate the connecting road. I was deep in God’s country. I never realized how many orchards there are in the area. Again, reaching out to my son by text, he suggested that I find a fast food business that would allow me to use their Wi-Fi and get back on track. I had to let him know that there was nothing like that for miles. I was in a location that remained untouched by progress for decades. He tried texting me directions with the sketchy information I was providing him. I was beginning to feel a bit frantic.

It was at this point that I noticed that the programed oldies station had dissipated and a Christian station had taken its place. I was not familiar with the songs but I didn’t need to be. It was the nudge I needed to fall back on the well-known: Jesus is my copilot. Additionally, I realized that I had a sign from my late sister in law. It made me laugh. I don’t know if I really trusted her directions in life and wasn’t sure if I was safe doing it in death. I pictured her in the passenger seat. It seemed so natural as I happen to be driving her former car. With these observations I made others. I was driving through some beautiful countryside. It was a gorgeous day with a bright blue sky and my gas tank was full. The backdrop was a luscious green from the vast amount of rain we had received and colorful beds of flowers could be found in every direction. I located a road whose name was familiar. Thank goodness I enjoy Civil War history as I recognized the road, knowing it would take me to the battlefield. I could easily find my way to the office once I had made it to this neighboring town.

When I reached the office, it was much later than I anticipated. I had missed a good portion of the business but it didn’t matter. I made a grand entrance with a joyful countenance. I had a story to tell and a lesson learned. Although I was physically alone in the car, I didn’t feel like I was driving solo. It took me a little longer than I would have liked but the realization that prayer is always an important option calmed me. Although I am still not sure I would trust directions from my sister in law, it was a pleasant reminder that the love continues once someone has transitioned to the other side. My son will always be my life line and I will think of him as my greatest blessing for so many reasons. I continue to trust that I am where I am supposed to be, when I am supposed to be there, regardless of my plans. As I enter a new stage in life, I am reminded I am not alone. There might be some unexpected detours along the way but I will reach my destination. I need to acknowledge that I have support, appreciate the scenery and enjoy the ride.

My Vote

Featured

Posted on by
1

I have given myself a challenge. Would I be able to write a blog, with politics at its foundation, and not raise anyone’s hackles? If I were to issue myself a second challenge, it might be finding a reason to use the word “hackles”. We live in a society where there is bipartisan bitterness at levels that are both unhealthy and unproductive. Being a self-professed political junkie, I have a definite opinion on policy, but I also try to carry a healthy dose of respect for others. As I wish not to be ridiculed for my opinions, I diligently try to be accepting of others, no matter how divergent our belief systems might be.

Recently, the 2024 primary election was held in my state. I was prepared to go into the polling center and be approached by those who volunteer to bolster their candidate’s chances at success. As usual I decline the pamphlets and brochures of the candidates who will not be found on my ballot. I do so with a smile and don’t shy away from pleasant small talk. Interestingly, my rejection of printed material caught the attention of the local president of the opposing political party. He invited me to join them and offered to bring me over to what he deemed the correct side. The conversation that ensued was filled with lighthearted banter and laughter. It carried me into the polling place where another pleasant conversation followed with a poll worker who was knitting in between her role in assisting voters.

Once my vote was complete and inserted into the machine, I headed for the doors. On the other side, conversation resumed with the volunteers outside. As it winded down and I was almost to my car, the local president told me he liked my attitude. With that, I was soon headed to the parking lot exit but not before waving to those to whom I had just spoken. It might have been the first time in a long time that an encounter, due to politics, brought a smile to my face.

I live in a small town and enjoy the atmosphere that it provides. Although I would be considered a transplant I have made friends, connections and consider myself comfortable in my surroundings. Something that has given me pause lately is the vitriol that I see coming to the surface because of the unyielding nature of some political supporters. Our community has a group on Facebook. It has been a helpful resource to know that the traffic is backed up on the interstate, which businesses or people come recommended for their services and other pertinent information. I am having a hard time understanding why sarcastic and mean-spirited political comments must be made on these timelines or as something as benign as a person seeking their lost pet or sharing that they found one.

There is solid reasoning behind those who hold themselves to the adage that it is never wise to discuss politics or religion. In the proper venue, with the appropriate decorum, any subject matter can be debated. We are all unique individuals, and it is that uniqueness that makes this world an interesting place. Our journey is a personal one. We might invite others to join us, but odds are that our path is not their path, our preferences are not theirs. I am not longing for the good old days. I can vividly recall the threat of Communism, the Vietnam War, the Civil Rights movement, and the unrest caused by all. No, I am praying for a world that has peace and acceptance at its core. Now that I think about it, I wish I had used that as a write-in on my ballet. That is what I would like to see leading all our communities.

Memories of Mom

Featured

Posted on by
3

I would be remiss not to express my thoughts on motherhood as we approach Mother’s Day. It’s not that I am lured into the commercial side of the day but rather appreciate the recognition that it garners. Giving birth to my son will always be the most important thing that I accomplished while on this earth. The fact that he has grown into a thoughtful and caring man only adds to my joy. My focus is not on myself though, but rather my own mother. She has been gone for a long time but her presence is still felt today. Memories, from early in my childhood, linger and have my mother prominently at the center.

Mom had the misfortune to lose her own mother at the age of four. Several years later, her step mother was to also die at an early age. My mother and her sister were raised without the benefit of a lasting maternal role model in their home. Their aunts were there and offered what they could, but basically, they were motherless. I feel that this experience taught my mother a life lesson that remained with her. She understood what a void she had experienced in her life and ensured that my brothers and I would never suffer the same consequences. No, she didn’t make a pledge to longevity but rather loved and guided us with every bit of her being.

When I was very young, we made the move from Philadelphia to the location where my father had been stationed for recruiter duty. Totally in agreement, my parents felt like it would be a good place to raise children and that is where we stayed. Looking back, I believe that this made us a tighter family unit. We were removed from our extended family and were making our way in a new community. Initially we had depended upon each other. Our world would expand to include our neighbors and friends but I was much too young to exist beyond the circle of my family. It might have been different for my older brothers but I was very much attached to our mother.

As we acclimated ourselves to our new community the time came for me to attend kindergarten. It was only for half a day but it was my first venture into the world beyond our home. The day came when an open house was held for registration. I recall going into the large room with my mother. There were other children there with their mothers. The room was large, colorful and filled with a variety of toys and activities. As we made our way around the space I was intrigued by a toy that was perched on a shelf. It was a wheel with wooden letters placed upon a wire that encircled it. I was enthralled by the object. I’m sure I didn’t grasp the educational concept behind the toy but I remember the simple enjoyment that sliding the small blocks around the wheel brought. When I tired of it I turned to look at my mother. She wasn’t there. Immediately I panicked and began to cry. It didn’t take long to realize that my mother had only moved to the other side of the room. I was never in danger and hadn’t been abandoned but I have not forgotten the terror I felt when I couldn’t immediately find her. I was the same age that my mother was when she permanently lost her mother. I have a hard time grappling with a loss so profound at such a young age.

It is clear that my year in kindergarten was helpful in expanding my world. My time there can be considered a success. I made friends, some of who I am still in contact with today. With an increase in my social skills and all the other necessary requirements met, my classmates and I prepared for graduation. The girls must have been instructed to wear white dresses and come with a bouquet of flowers. It must have been enjoyable for my mother to choose a dress for her only daughter to wear for this rite of passage. Actually she must have reveled in the idea of having her little tomboy wear something so special. A white dress was selected and my bouquet would consist of deep reddish peonies. Since the flowers made such a nice contrast, my mother thought adding a red sash to my dress would really set it apart. Then she must have thought that to complete the ensemble the anklets needed to match. Bright red socks were selected to blend with the sash and flowers. Decades later, when the topic would arise, she would never concede that it was anything other than a perfectly matched outfit. Mercifully, I believe this fashion faux pas is something only my family remembers, albeit with laughter.

Thinking of how we were raised, again I am in awe of our mother. After we had relocated, my father had to complete his last tour of duty in the Navy, a six month deployment. When he retired from the Navy his next career had him work second shift. My mother had the unenviable role of often being the sole disciplinarian. It is no wonder that one night, after dinner, I made a rude comment about her choice of serving rice pudding. At that point she lost patience with me and I was sent to my room without dessert. Thank you, Jesus! She did a remarkable job of raising us but I am sure Dr. Spock never contacted her for parenting advice after that episode.

Mom was blessed with a long life. Although being her only daughter and the closeness it brought, we never considered ourselves best friends. I held respect for her role as my mother. She did rely on me and we had some very honest and heartfelt conversations before her death. I told her that I planned on eulogizing her, just as I had done for Dad many years earlier. I confessed that I was going to share comical parts of her life. She would smile and had no reservations. As we held vigil around her bed during her last hours I wasn’t thinking about red socks or rice pudding. I told her that she did well by us and we would be okay. She let go and I can rest easy knowing that there was nothing left unsaid. She is missed everyday but I have no lingering grief over anything that should have been addressed. I can’t imagine how heavy that burden would be if I had followed a different path. I wouldn’t want anyone to travel that road and if I had any words of wisdom to share they would be simple and few: call your mother if you have the good fortune to still have her.

This is not the first time I have written about my mother. You are welcome to read another post on a previous blog: https://mypunchline.wordpress.com/2015/08/16/my-mother-and-loss/

Quotations

Featured

Posted on by
Reply

I heard this come from the depths of a septic tank:

“If you’re really a mean person you’re going to come back as a fly and eat poop.“

– Kurt Cobain

Then I thought I would take my own advice and go with a kinder, gentler quote:

“Spend some time observing babies. They don’t work; they poop in their pants, and they have no goals other than to expand, grow and explore this amazing world. Be like that baby you once were, in terms of being joyful.“

-Wayne Dyer

Full

Featured

Posted on by
2

I count myself a very fortunate individual. I can be inspired easily by mundane surroundings. Observations that are truly unique may seem rather comical. If I tell you that seeing a septic truck brought creative thoughts to mind, you might think I have a need to talk to a professional. I think not and I will share why I feel that is the case, at least this particular time.

First, let’s discuss what a septic tank is and what service it provides. Then I will touch base on the importance of septic trucks. A simple search on Google will tell you that a septic tank is an underground chamber made of concrete, fiberglass, or plastic through which domestic wastewater (sewage) flows for basic sewage treatment. That is a rather delicate way to describe how to keep up with human waste. Those who live in a more populated or metropolitan area will rely on a sewer system which carries the waste off through underground pipes that transport it to a treatment plant. I understand if you think this topic may be bizarre but I promise you, there is a point to this blog.

I grew up in a household where we did make use of a septic tank. We were a family of seven, three adults and 4 children. That would equate to a lot of water usage and disposal. My father would try to combat some of that collection by having our washing machine drain outside through a hose. That way all the used water would not unnecessarily fill the septic tank and there were no concerns about it being a biohazard. You can imagine the amount of laundry that our family generated. It was a world of woe when the tank would reach its limit and a call was made to bring in a septic truck. I don’t recall what would trigger that request and it is probably just as well that I don’t remember. I do know it was a big deal when it happened. The truck would come and the driver would access the underground tank and pump out its contents. I don’t know what leads someone to choose that as a career but it remains an essential service.

Now let’s get back to my original premise, that inspiration can be found everywhere.  Whether it be a sewer or a septic tank, everyone needs something to rid one’s life of collected waste. The human condition insists that it exists. I’m asking you to use your imagination and not refer to bodily waste but rather negative thoughts, unkindness, nastiness or anything that could be considered within the realm of hatred. We don’t need to maintain it as part of our life and it is so much more beneficial if we rid ourselves of it and make room for the good. Life has so much goodness to offer. There are glorious experiences, relationships and positivity that exists. Just because this unpleasantness lay dormant below the ground, or under the skin, it not recommended that it be allowed to stay and fester. It is much healthier to wash it out of your system and purge yourself of it. Life is much too short to expend energy by lugging that heaviness around with you. Burdens find it hard to exist within the lightness. One more observation comes to mind. Be watchful and don’t let your tank ever get close to overflowing. Keep your thoughts and actions in check so the septic truck doesn’t need to make a house call. No one wants to be full of it!

Empty

Featured

Posted on by
3

I believe everyone has a bucket list. They might not call it that, but there are things in life that we all wish for, strive for, and want to put in our “accomplished” pile. There are other things that fall into another category. They are experiences that no one necessarily wishes to have happen, but often become a part of one’s life. They are the type of items that you find in a social media questionnaire: broken bones, ambulance rides, or being locked out of your car. I feel like I now have membership in a club I didn’t plan to join.

I attended a seminar one weekday evening in a nearby town. By the time the event was over, nighttime had fallen and the skies had opened. I was aware my gas tank was low but I had no desire to stop and fill up on a dark rainy night. I knew there would be no trouble getting home. Making a mental note, I planned to fill up the next day. I also did some mental calculations and thought I could get to work without any trouble but would need to fill up on my way home. The message on the dashboard nudged me into action: Fuel level low. Usually the message allows for the number of miles afforded you prior to the tank going empty. When the mileage number hits fifty, the message changes and you are left to your own devices to determine where you are within that fifty mile limit.

When the workday ends, I find myself driving home, usually with a joyful countenance. Not a care in the world hangs over me. It is because of that carefree exuberance that I overlooked the fact that the car needed gas. I passed several opportunities to fill the tank but none of them jogged my memory. I was almost home when I realized I had overlooked this important task. I am frugal by nature and usually I cross the state line to purchase gas as it is much cheaper. I live close to the border and ordinarily it doesn’t present a hardship. I said a silent prayer and kept driving. There were no other options left by this time and the usual drive through pastures and farm land was neither pleasant nor relaxing. With whiten knuckles, I continued on my course.

Just prior to reaching the location of the little country convenience store, there is a traffic circle. As I approached the circle I could feel the difference in the car. I asked for a miracle, that the large truck ahead of me would have no reason to slow or stop and we could both manage to make our way around the circle. It was necessary to stop for oncoming traffic. Starting again, I made my way around the circle, followed by a quick right turn and found I had exhausted even the fumes in my tank. I was just a few yards from the entrance of the gas station. I had an odd feeling, a calmness came over me. I edged the car to the right shoulder and turned off all the accessories. Putting my emergency blinkers on, I wanted to avoid a careless driver running into the back of the car. I opened the door and with my left leg out I knew it was not possible to push the car any further. Years ago, as a young woman, I had been successful pushing the VW Beetle off the side of the rode when it would intermittently die on me. Those days were long gone and I made a plan that I would hopefully be able to purchase a gas can and resolve my problem. Fortunately, I didn’t have to execute that plan.

As a car pulled up behind me, the driver, a young man, rolled his window down and asked if I needed help. He was out of his car and behind mine in a matter of moments. The driver behind him reacted in the same way. Another driver, advancing from the opposite direction, pulled his car into the parking lot and came running across the street. I sat back down in the driver’s seat and put the car in neutral. As the three men pushed the car I was steering it to the closest pump. It was over just as quickly as it had begun. Feeling foolish, I did make a point to thank all of them for their kindness. The only one that seemed to linger was the gentleman who had pulled into the parking lot. As he walked out of the convenience store, I found it odd that he thanked me. Evidently he was looking for a reason to stop and purchase a lottery ticket. I was his excuse. I would be interested in learning if he received a windfall as payment for his gallantry. Even with the purchase of his ticket, I realized that it took me longer to fill my tank than it did to have strangers see my plight and rectify it.

I suppose it isn’t all that bad that this was the first time that I experienced such a misfortunate event. Actually, it was refreshing to be the recipient of this gracious act coming from strangers. Upon retrospect though, I realize this wasn’t the first time I have run out of gas. As I approached my divorce I found I was deplete of energy, physical and emotional. Professionally, I had experienced the elimination of two positions. Again, I was running on empty. These, and other challenges, have miraculously still let me arrive at my destination. Sometimes I had to rely on myself to find a way to get my vehicle back on track. Other times I was assisted by a solid support system that helped push me and allowed me to find my way. I have come to the realization that we all have run out of gas one time or another. It could be literally, figuratively or both. It has taken me a considerable amount of time to realize that life isn’t a race but we need to remain driven. The course may change but sitting it out, by the roadside, should never be an option.

Mountains

Featured

Posted on by
Reply

Which do you prefer, the ocean or mountains? Most people I know answer with a resounding preference for the ocean. I’m not one of them. I will admit that the ebb and flow of the waves can be relaxing but if I am given the opportunity to choose a natural backdrop, it would be the mountains. It makes me smile to think I have found one more subject that has me differ from what most people consider the norm. I will share why I find them captivating but I doubt that I will change anyone’s mind. Perhaps, I will offer a few thoughts, not previously perceived.

I have always enjoyed that the change in seasons is so evident in the mountains. As spring approaches, the trees and vegetation begin to awaken and offer a backdrop of color that would make Monet envious. Leaves begin their journey sporting a lovely shade of pale green. A spattering of delicate pink and white blossoms soften the harsh peaks and valleys. Soon the deciduous trees will catch up with the evergreens and offer shade that can often feel like a disco ball when the sun finds its way quickly peeking through gaps. I don’t feel there is much need to comment on the splendor of the changing leaves in the fall. Who wouldn’t find the colors that blanket the terrain beautiful?

I am also taken with fog and how it can decorate and embellish the mountains. Don’t confuse the thick, dense covering that frightens one when it is even hard to see the lines on the road. The fog I enjoy is the playful layer that shows up in ways that doesn’t threaten one’s safety. If you are fortunate, you might find yourself above the location where a cloud has decided to settle. It’s almost as if it is tired of its elevation in the sky and it comes down to lay low across the valley. Maybe the angels sprayed a can of whipped cream in between two towering mountains. One morning as I approached the mountain I could see fog, blushing as it laid across the top of the ridge. The sunrise was a glorious shade of pink and its reflection colored the fog in an unexpected way. If the angels were at work again, this fog was strawberry infused. Fog can also show its lighthearted side by looking like wisps of white smoke dancing here and there but not wanting to settle anywhere in particular.

Although it feels like a lifetime since I have enjoyed tales of giants, I can’t help but think that mountains could be the embodiment of them. During the winter, I find humor in the mountain giant in need of a shave. When the trees are barren and a fresh snow has fallen, the mountain takes on the appearance of stubble. Maybe the giant felt no one would be visiting in the snow and he went without shaving. In the spring, before summer has us cast off our blankets, I find a giant slumbering under a patchwork quilt. Farm fields, arrayed in various shades of green, cover a rolling landscape which might just be a giant taking a nap. There could be other giants in hiding, laying quietly until the time they are noticed.

I find there is so much to admire while in the mountains. I envy the flight of the eagles and hawks who get to see it from breathtaking heights. I watch for deer, raccoon and fox that claim the habitat as their own, while I only visit. Yes, the ocean can offer serenity and lull you to sleep with its wave action but I find the mountains rejuvenate me, no matter the season. Do I have any converts?

Winter

Featured

Posted on by
1

Everyone seems to have a favorite season. I gave some thought to this and feel that autumn might be mine. I enjoy the colorful backdrop that the changing leaves provide. I appreciate the chill in the air that has one transition from iced tea to hot tea and also prompts the addition of a blanket to the couch. I find I am lulled into the coziness that the season brings. I think there is something for everyone in every season but as winter’s last hurrah is upon us, I would like to focus on it.

I know those who enjoy winter’s brisk weather. It could be the chance of snow that brings a smile to their face, or possibly the holidays within it. I find I appreciate winter, but maybe for reasons unnoticed by others. I enjoy the lack of vegetation as things that might be hidden in other seasons are now visible. I am always impressed by taking notice of a hawk among the branches of a tree. These majestic birds might want to remain hidden as they watch their prey but I enjoy seeing them sit high and mighty without the cover of leaves. I also appreciate the work that went into creating a squirrel’s large nest. There are condo’s that don’t hold a candle to them. Winter is a time for Mother Nature to show off some creations that go unnoticed through the remainder of the year.

As a tribute to Mother Nature, I play along with her during the winter months. The blanket I introduced to my couch in the fall often finds me under it, enjoying its warmth. I can admire those animals who hibernate through the season. I, too, find I am happy to dig in on the dark, cold nights. A big pot of soup works its wonders as the bounty from the previous seasons creates an aroma that makes you glad your windows are closed and the scent doesn’t quickly escape.

I also think of how our lives mimic the seasons. This can be true where our relationships are concerned. In the spring when all is fresh and new, a heart can be full of anticipation. Planning what plants might be introduced to a barren flower bed is enjoyable. One looks forward to future blossoms. Summer can bring heat and weeds but those issues can all be creatively handled. As the time progresses winter can make itself known. Those can be the gloomy days of a relationship. As in winter, when Mother Nature introduces a barren landscape, so can true feelings be uncovered. I don’t see that as necessarily bad, rather an opportunity for the development of unconditional love. No cover-up, but an acceptance of seeing someone for who they are and loving them, blemishes and all. Unconditional love is such a beautiful gift that we can give one another. A beautiful bouquet grown through commitment. There are never any guarantees but hope springs eternal. Everyone will continue to have their favorite season but if something blossoms into unconditional love then maybe winter isn’t so bad after all.

Homesick

Featured

Posted on by
5

So many times I cross paths with items I recall from my youth. It is with disbelief that I find these items are designated as vintage. Usually seeing them brings a smile but every so often I find tears forming. I am struck by the fact that beyond seeing something tangible from years ago, they are now accompanied solely by my memories. I grew up in an era that there were no phones to capture pictures or videos. Times like this can trigger a feeling of homesickness for my childhood, now just a memory from long ago. I miss the big rambling brick house, surrounded by maple trees that sheltered our three generations. More than that, I miss the people and the love that existed under its roof.

Our home was hot in the summer and chilly in the winter. We lived there without the benefit of air conditioning. Once released from school for the summer I would spend much of my time reading upon one of the many porches that surrounded our home. I would also enjoy sitting on a porch swing that our father actually fashioned into a patio swing with the construction of a metal frame. It was placed on the concrete patio that he created incorporating the landscape. Opposite the swing, a planter was placed. It was formed from a barrel, cut in half. Every year our father would plant coleus. I was not impressed. I always thought regular flowers would have been more attractive than the red, green and yellow foliage. Now I smile and think of him as I plant coleus in the flower beds found in my shady back yard. While I might have been dissatisfied with the choice of landscaping, our grandfather would be toiling in our large garden out back. His choice of uniform for such a chore was a straw hat, sleeveless undershirt and a handkerchief tied around his neck. He would lay out these pristine rows of vegetables and we would enjoy the bounty of his efforts. Days loomed long and endless in my mind as a child.

Days would come to an end and summer nights would find us, sitting in the dark, on the patio. The cooler night temperatures were a welcome change when they came but heat and humidity often seemed to be a constant. When we would turn in for the evening, the window fan in the stair landing was our only source of relief. Each of us would open a bedroom window, but not fully. A door stop of sorts would be placed at our doors to keep them ajar and to allow for the movement of air. The fan would be set to pull air through the house and the smaller openings to the bedrooms ensured everyone would benefit. At some point, during the night or early morning, the fan would reach the end of the set timer and it would shut off. The sudden loss of movement of the air and the quietness would be felt by all of us. Either our mother or father would get up, cross over the landing, and turn the fan back on. It was a ritual we knew well every summer night.

Those summer days would wind down and bring the season of autumn. All those magnificent maple trees would shed their leaves and we were tasked with raking. We would always make use of the large canvas laundry cart that our grandfather brought with him when he moved in with us. I’m not sure what lead to the decisions of which items and furniture would be brought from Philadelphia. He had once owned a laundry business and I recall the basement housed an unused press. We found the laundry cart was indispensable in capturing those leaves and transporting them to the compost pile. Playing in the leaves would, in time, become playing in the snow. There was shoveling and sledding in equal portions. Our home would transform at Christmas time. A large lit plastic Santa head would be hung for all to enjoy as they passed the house. Our stockings were hung on a hanger on the back of the closet door in the TV room. We had no fireplace and that was as good as any place to display them. I don’t recall anyone ever asking how Santa found his way into our home. There was always joy on Christmas morning as Santa never disappointed.

In a blink of an eye spring would be upon us. Days would pass, seasons would change and years slipped away. Sounds are the backdrop to the memories of those days. The sound of a train passing less than a mile away, the chain covered tires on a snowy road, and the voices, now forever silent. I recall our grandfather saying he chose to speak English as he was an American. He was indeed, but one who never lost his Italian accent. Our father’s speech would match his pipe smoking tradition, one that was slow and deliberate. He might have left the red Georgia clay behind but his soft southern drawl remained. When we sought our mother, she could be found in the kitchen, outfitted in her cobbler apron and humming as she cooked and baked. Thinking about it now, she had a slight nasal quality to her speech but it is one that I would be overjoyed to hear again. I miss those days, those ordinary, mundane days. Life will always offer special moments but it is the regular day to day activities that consume our time. Don’t blink, they pass so quickly. Pay attention and hope that homesickness doesn’t have a reason to often come visit your doorstep.

Random Conversations

Featured

Posted on by
2

I am one of those people who strangers talk to in a grocery store. I’ve checked and there is no signage on my forehead that invokes conversation. I have often thought I might possess a resting bitch face but if I did, I doubt people would want to talk to me. Those who know me, generally call me a positive individual and perhaps that is the aura or demeanor I project. Either way, it is interesting what a total stranger will offer in conversation. What I have to share is not a scientific study, rather observations made when paying attention to those conversations within a twenty four hour period.

I was making my way through a checkout line on a Friday afternoon. I told the cashier that I was glad the weekend was upon us but I recognized that I wouldn’t feel that way if I worked retail. The cashier, with joy in her voice, said she was going to be off on Saturday. I shared that I was going to take my cat to a vet appointment. She asked if she was sick and I explained that I had adopted her within the past two months and she had severe arthritis. I was taking her in to the vet for her monthly shot. When asked, I did reveal the cost of the care she was being provided. The cashier blessed me for taking the responsibility of pet ownership to heart. It was not lost on me that the next customer also responded, although not with the spoken word. Her eyes bulged out to the point that she reminded me of a cartoon. I had almost expected to hear her actions be accompanied by a sound much like those animated characters, a-wooga. If I was ever looking for an opponent to play poker with, I would select this woman.  I gave no evidence that I witnessed her reaction.

It was clear, the customer behind me, thought I was foolish for the money I was spending on my newly acquired cat. I let it go. The next day I also kept my thoughts to myself when having a brief conversation with one of the attendants at the local dump. I have definite ideas and interest where politics are concerned but I withhold them until I’m in the proper setting. Many who spend time with me on a regular basis probably don’t have a clue where my beliefs lie. I have learned to be polite and keep my mouth shut. It is always wise to choose your battles but it makes no sense to pick a fight with a total stranger. The attendant at the dump would have made it easy. I am still shaking my head over how Groundhog Day could be cloaked in politics. It never fails to amaze me how views can vary. In my opinion, bringing an innocent groundhog into the mix goes beyond the pale.

Not to fear, I won’t leave you with anything but a positive note to end this blog. While I was shopping in a craft and fabric store I saw a woman with the most beautiful bolt of soft fleece. It had shades of turquois, chartreuse, and other colors that would put you in mind of a tropical seascape.  I was drawn to both her and the material. She shared that she was going to make a bed jacket for her sister. Did I know what that was? I certainly did and went on to tell her that I had my mother’s for many years. She correctly guessed that it was made of satin. It was pink satin with lace. She further shared that her mother called them lady linens. It seemed like such a practical type of apparel. How did we get away from wearing something warm over our arms as we read in bed? We both enjoyed our brief walk down memory lane and went on our separate ways.

My thoughts about this very unscientific study seem to be clear. Most people enjoy talking and the topics go far beyond the weather. Just as I have a well-defined perspective on most topics, others do too. It is those diverse opinions that show how we are all unique in our world vision. I believe what might separate us is the ability to filter those thoughts or know when it is appropriate to share them. I will happily go through my day making conversations with strangers on inconsequential topics. If I should come across someone who seems not to respect the ground rules of keeping conversations about politics and religion out of the fray, I will remain polite and let it go. I learned a long time ago that opinions are seldom altered, especially by a brief exchange. I am not easily offended nor do I feel I am a hypocrite but rather an individual who enjoys chatter and banter that leaves a smile. Who needs a scowl, especially if your face were to stick that way?

Timing

Featured

Posted on by
3

I received my education from the School Sisters of Notre Dame. When I was young, and the most vulnerable, they impressed upon me ideas beyond the typical school subjects. One, stressed in many different ways, was to always remain prayerful. There was a prayer for everything and special times to recite them. If you were to hear the siren of an emergency vehicle, it was cause for prayer. In particular, if it was that of an ambulance, one was to pray for the victim to overcome an illness or survive an accident. I would think that it doesn’t come as a surprise that I still carry that with me to this day. I’m not the least embarrassed to admit that I am prompted to pray for a total stranger during their time of need.

If the nuns assisted in giving me a foundation of prayer, as an adult I have not only claimed that as beneficial but have continued to build upon it. I feel a sense of gratitude that I am not the victim in need of transport by ambulance when I hear one on its way. I don’t have a sense of better you than me.  I have experienced it for myself and know how helpless one feels when your body reminds you that you are not immortal and you are the one on the stretcher taking a bumpy ride to the hospital. It is a sincere feeling of gratitude that I am not experiencing it this time and I pray for the well-being of the individual whose turn it is.

I also have a feeling of gratitude when I realize I avoided some misfortune, possibly due to timing. Again, it is not my wish that anyone suffer but often I have thought that there for the grace of God go I. One recent morning, when ready to head to work, I noticed sleet as I got into the car. I was running late, as usual, but I wasn’t concerned about the state of the roads. A little bit of sleet shouldn’t disrupt travel. As I approached a nearby town the sleet turned to snow and it was quickly laying. I didn’t see any snow plows, nor did the roads look like they were treated. As I approached the mountain I cross daily, I was stopped by a line of vehicles ahead of me. They were blocked at the base of the mountain and I could see flashing lights ahead. The ambulance prompted a prayer and then I offered an additional one of gratitude. If I had been on time, maybe it would have been my car that would have been caught in the collision. There have been several times that an unusual circumstance changed my timing and it left me wondering if I was being protected from harm.

I will share with you the time that I could have been the unfortunate victim. I have a level of comfort when driving in the snow. I don’t wish for it but when it comes I don’t shy away from getting behind the wheel. Upon returning from work one evening, I was close to home on a well-travelled, straight stretch of road. Although I didn’t see it or feel it, I must have hit a patch of ice. The car crossed the line and I found myself staring at oncoming traffic.  I might have tried to correct the direction when the car went into a spin. There was nothing I could do to stop the momentum. It was literally time for Jesus to take the wheel. Soon I found myself in my original lane but was facing the vehicles that were initially behind me. At that point I slid off the road, down into a slight ditch and finally came to a stop. I was inches away from hitting a telephone pole. There was barely any time to catch my breath when someone knocked on my window and asked if he could help. Although he was wearing a trapper hat with the ear flaps down, I still can remember what he looked like. His curly ginger hair was visible under the brim of his hat and his eyes were a bluish gray, his face sprinkled with freckles. I was in no position to refuse help and he quickly went to the rear of the car and pushed me out of the hollow and back onto the road. Although he appeared to be slight in build it took him no time at all to push the car out of the ditch and back onto the road. I was shaking but continued on and, when at a safe spot, turned around to go my original direction. I instantly thought that I should have thanked him for his kindness but it all happened so quickly. I passed the spot where I had gone off the road and there was no sign of him. Initially I thought I was so fortunate that during a snow storm there happened to be someone out in a cow pasture, right where I was to go off the road. What were the odds? Was it timing or something else? In hindsight I realize that my car returning to the road without tires spinning in the snow or additional assistance to push the car up and out appears to be rather unusual. Then I question what others around me might have witnessed.

Years later, I have deemed the experience as miraculous. I wasn’t granted the timing to stay removed from peril yet I was kept from harm during a potentially dangerous event. It was an answer to prayer that I barely had the time to utter. The experience was more than a decade ago yet I can relive it in my mind as if was yesterday. I have come to understand that there are things that life sends us which are beyond our control. There can be events where timing is on our side and others when that may not be the case. Although it might appear that there is no rhyme or reason, it is all part of the human experience. Let’s hold on tight and see what timing might bring us next.

Quotations

Featured

Posted on by
Reply

“New year—a new chapter, new verse, or just the same old story? Ultimately we write it. The choice is ours.”

Alex Morritt

Because I sometimes have trouble deciding on a flavor when the choices are plentiful, I offer you these quotes focused on ice cream:

“Scoop up the joy; it’s ice cream o’clock!”

unknown

“I like my ice cream in a waffle cone, and my days in sprinkles.”

unknown

Happy New Ice Cream

Featured

Posted on by
3

Now that we are well ensconced in 2024, I have a confession to make.  I have never been one to get excited about celebrating the New Year. My contention is that if you had no calendar or clock, there would be no way to tell one year from the next. I know that sounds cynical and nonsensical. I don’t feel that way about other holidays. It could be because their focus is not specifically based on time. Maybe I didn’t always feel this way but long gone is my childhood tradition of watching Guy Lombardo ring the New Year in on television. If that doesn’t make sense to you, I suggest you google it. No, I am one who stays home, safe and warm, as another year rolls in and the last becomes history. Even though I don’t have the desire to celebrate, I find I must witness the change. It feels like my civic duty to oversee the event.

As in all aspects of life, attitude plays its part in how we view things. Watching the ball drop on television, or any other media, gives you the impression that it is so large that it must light up all of Times Square. I have actually seen the ball, in place prior to the New Year celebration, and it didn’t look huge. It actually looked dwarfed by its position on the building. This year I had the feeling that the performer wasn’t finished singing as the descent of the ball began. I might be the only one who was annoyed by what appeared to be an example of poor time management. I don’t feel that is the optimum way to start a new year, especially when the focus is upon the last minutes of the outgoing year.

I have a solution for myself and anyone else who might feel the need to make this holiday a bit more palatable. Let’s make the New Year ice cream and proceed that way. Incorporating sweaters and blankets might be needed rather than hats and noisemakers but I think we can meet everyone’s expectations. I fear there could be a select population that might not be fans of the idea. I personally hope my suggestion doesn’t alienate anyone.

I have heard, how you spend New Year’s Eve, is an indication of what to anticipate for the following 365 days. There are decisions to be made. How do you want your ice cream? Are you going to play it safe and have it served in a cup or are you going to incorporate a little bit of risk into your choice? If you go with a cone you not only get the ice cream but the additional treat of the cone. Are you courageous enough to take the chance? Yes, it could get messy, just like life, but there are napkins along with soap and water to help correct the situation. Another thought, as you prepare to celebrate Happy New Ice Cream, give some consideration to the flavor you select. Are you going to choose your favorite flavor or try something new? Your tried and true favorite might be a safe way to go and you will know what to expect. If you consider stepping outside your comfort zone and try another flavor, it might bring your taste buds excitement and sheer happiness. You never know unless you try. The decision of how you want your ice cream is entirely yours.

I doubt my suggestion will take the country by storm. Even though you won’t find me at a party reveling, I do believe that the New Year offers us all a fresh start. Resolutions aren’t required but meeting each day with anticipation and purpose will make it more appetizing. My wish for you would be the ability to look back and see that you not only had a delicious year but you might realize it was topped with sprinkles, or better yet, with whipped cream and a cherry. Now, you must excuse me. For some reason I feel the need to go to Dairy Queen.

Cat’s Tale

Featured

Posted on by
4

Indulge me, please. I want to share with you my most recent experience with rescuing a cat. If you recall, I recently posted a blog entitled Season Changes. After having to put down my 18 year old cat I found myself in the unusual situation of not having a pet in the house. It had been roughly 35 years since I was without a furry companion under the same roof and it was unsettling. When I was a child, it was acceptable to have pets but they were not allowed to live in the house. Years later, when I was living 300 miles away from my parents, that rule appeared to have changed. During a visit back home, I was offered a kitten. I wasn’t looking for a pet but I didn’t have the heart to say no. Ironically, it seemed totally acceptable to now have a pet in my parent’s home. I don’t know if they had mellowed with age or maybe they were comfortable with the situation as it would only be temporary for them. Either way, she was welcome inside and thus began my journey to having cats become members of the family.

The cat who was responsible for my indulgence of feline ownership was well traveled. She had lived in a total of three states when she left me at the age of 22. Others were to follow and it wasn’t unusual to have at least two at a time. When I lost my last one it was difficult to cast off the usual habits of feeding, litter box scooping, being met at the door when returning home and snuggling. Her departure left a void. Although there is grief in the loss of a pet, I have never been one to mourn for a great deal of time. I have always believed that as a cat left it was to allow for the inclusion of another homeless one in need of a family. There were plenty of offers for strays but I found myself checking Petfinder and began keeping tabs on those who caught my eye.

I settled on one who was noted to have been a sole indoor cat and a couch potato. She sounded like a possibility. I am well past the stage in my life that I feel up to entertaining the antics of a kitten. An adult cat who could settle into a quiet environment would appear to be a good fit. The shelter was a half hour drive and I headed there the week before Thanksgiving. Initially I was told that she had been adopted just hours prior to my arrival. I was disappointed but asked to see the other cats after making the trip there. It was then when I spotted her. The identification tag had been erroneously switched. When staff went back to the reception area to check things out, I opened the cage and met a cat who was receptive to my attention. It was late in the day and the shelter was about to close. Hastily I decided she was destined to be my cat and I made arrangements to adopt her. I was not prepared to take her home then but advised I would be back the following Friday afternoon to pick her up.

There was joy in my heart as I made my way back to retrieve her. I had to remind myself that it had been years since I brought a new cat into my home and we would be strangers to one another. Still, with my many years of cat ownership, I felt that there was nothing that I couldn’t handle. The shelter had labeled her as special needs and there was a discussion about her diet. Again, from my prior experience, I knew I could handle that situation as I had been through it before. They did share that she was surrendered when her previous owner had to go into a nursing home. I brought my carrier in and staff escorted me to her kennel. The door was open and she automatically walked from the kennel into the carrier. I was amazed at how easy she made the transition. Maybe she knew I was breaking her out and good things lay ahead.

When we arrived home, I opened the carrier door and she walked out. I watched as she made her way cautiously around the living room and into the hallway. At that point I noticed she had a severe limp. It hurt me to watch her walk. Without hesitating I called the shelter and asked if they were aware of her limp. I was told they were and they had it checked. At the time they couldn’t determine the cause. I was heartsick and felt betrayed. At no time was this shared with me as a potential adopter. Choosing a cat is different than selecting a shelter dog. You don’t walk them and checking their mobility is not usually a factor. Why were her dietary needs shared rather than her limp? I immediately had rescuer’s remorse. What was wrong with her? My pockets are not deep and I was concerned that I would not be able to afford the medical care she might need. I was torn. She is a living creature and the thought of possibly returning her was upsetting. It’s not like making a return to customer service with merchandise. I was angry with myself for making such a hasty decision. I was angry with the shelter for not having full disclosure. The only one who elicited a compassionate response in me was the cat.

A trip to check her out medically was a necessity. I poured my heart out to the vet and explained the dilemma I was facing. She was sincere in her support of me keeping the cat and acknowledged that a cat like her would most likely remain languishing in the shelter. I don’t know if that trip caused more anxiety for me or the cat. She was stressed to the point that x-rays would not be possible that day. I was sent home with prescriptions and the plan to return the following week for the needed x-rays. Trying to bond with a cranky cat who was not interested in taking medication proved to be difficult. Soon time gave way to her appointment and I learned sedation was needed to get her to cooperate for the x-rays. I won’t leave you in suspense. The limp is caused by severe arthritis. There are no options other than a daily supplement and monthly shots. Even before I learned of her diagnosis I knew I couldn’t return her to the shelter. I took the responsibility of bringing her home and that is where she will stay. The vet, again supporting my determination, wrote off a large portion of the bill.

I can tell you that just after one month she is doing well. The limp has not totally subsided but it is obvious she is feeling better. She is affectionate and playful. The hissing and growling has subsided. I recognize that she was trying to make an adjustment while in pain. I am comfortable in my decision to keep her. I felt all along there was a reason that we were connected. She never asked to be in this situation, surrendered and in need of medical care. My adoption of Molly may not change anything outside of our lives but it brings a sense of satisfaction. I would not ordinarily think that rescuing a cat could be considered taking a risk but in a way it was. Her unexpected medical needs made me realize that I am not only her source of care but also her voice. You may wonder if I learned anything more from this experience. Taking the chance on one of God’s creatures opened my eyes to other possible expectations of myself. How much greater would it be to take a risk and act as a supporter and advocate to another human being? Again, it might not change the world but the individual that I reach out to may find their load a bit lighter. As this new year begins and resolutions are made, I will look upon the needs of others as opportunities rather than burdens.

Quotation

Featured

Posted on by
1

“Life is all memory, except for the one present moment that goes by you so quickly you hardly catch it going.”

Tennessee Williams

“Memory is the diary we all carry about with us.”

Oscar Wilde

Time Has Passed

Featured

Posted on by
Reply

On a recent Saturday, during this holiday season, I couldn’t help but reflect on how life constantly changes. So often we are called to resurrect old traditions as we gather and celebrate and yet sometimes we choose to keep them tucked away. Time can show us that what was once the norm can be replaced with something more currently appropriate. Memories can become a tangle of events, possibly never sorted through or offered the light of day again. There are times, like this particular Saturday, when a memory strikes a nerve and one must acknowledge that it is just that, a memory and time has passed.

My career has centered mainly on nonprofits. Many times I witnessed how volunteers would be the lifeline of these organizations. During my tenure I have worked side by side with those called to generously share their time and talents. During a shopping excursion, on this particular Saturday, I thought I spotted a former volunteer. It has been at least 20 years since we held our positions and worked together. I momentarily held back but as I was sure it was him I did decide to call his name.  I was met with a smile and a warm embrace. There was the usual exchange of pleasantries and a quick catch up on what we were currently involved in, career wise. I shared with him how I have never forgotten an event where he provided service above and beyond what was expected. Although he was humble in his response, it felt good to share that particular memory. After our parting, I recalled the energy and passion I possessed while in my role. Time has passed. I may currently support programs which benefit the community but it is now from a different vantage point. Then I was ready to lead the charge, currently I remain conscientious in my role but the drive to lead has subsided.

Later in the evening I went to the cemetery where my parents are buried to see the annual luminaria display. The landscape was aglow as each grave had a candle lit in memory of those who have passed. I parked the car and walked to my parents’ grave. There was a young couple with their son visiting the grave located above my parents. They lingered and in the darkness I didn’t know if they were aware I was behind them. Concerned that I might startle them I advised them I was there. Conversation was not lengthy but I learned her father had made his transition in 2009. Judging from her current age, it appeared that she must have been young when she lost him. Not being able to ease the grief she must still carry, I invited her to use my family’s marble bench whenever she visited her father. The loss of my parents is not fresh and the grief is not as intense as it was originally. Time has passed. I realized I am at the point in my life where it is my generation that has stepped up to fill the void. A lifetime of experience and memories can fill one’s soul. Forward movement, no matter what the pace, is always important.

On my way home that evening, I passed the house where I lived in my early adult years. It was the home where I resided as a newlywed and as a new mother it was the home where I brought our son.  It was also the home I inhabited when I realized my marriage was over. Although it looks much the same as it did years ago, time has passed. If I were to stop and cross the porch and threshold as I did thousands of times previously, I would be met with resistance. The current owners are oblivious to the lifetime I spent there. The conversations held and the breaths taken are long gone. There is no reason to resurrect the dreams that were once held close to my heart as I am a different person now. I am content to leave them where they lie.

It felt ironic that a particular Saturday, during this holiday season, could impose the reality of the passage of time and the losses it has wrought. I am proud of the accomplishments I achieved while I climbed the proverbial ladder of success. The view was invigorating while I was there but I am satisfied with my current vision. My parents might no longer be here physically but the memories of them remain strong and the lessons they taught continue to resonate. I am cognizant that I must carry the torch for them. It has been several years since I lived in a household with others. I am very much accustomed to being responsible for all aspects of my life. Time has passed. Every day brings a fresh start. It is important to choose what part of the past is no longer serving us and pack it away. It is never truly gone but by putting it aside one allows a newness to enter and keep stagnation at bay.   

My wish for you, during this holiday season, would be to create lasting memories with your loved ones. Hopefully these memories will remain with you and are light to carry.  If that isn’t possible, treat yourself well and hold hope for the New Year. Time will pass. I hope what you choose to carry with you is well worth the energy it takes to pack and it brings you joy as you continue on your way.

Featured

Posted on by
3

“There are hundred of paths up the mountain, all leading to the same place, so it doesn’t matter which path you take. The only person wasting time is the one who runs around the mountain, telling everyone that his or her path is wrong.”

Hindu proverb

Solitary

Featured

Posted on by
3

What makes us who we are? Is it heredity, environment, experiences or innate personality? This question has resonated with me various times in my life. I often feel that I fall in the minority of what most consider the norm. None of us should exhibit cookie cutter uniformity and our uniqueness should be celebrated. That being said, being content within one’s choices may come into question by those who choose another path.

For the last twenty years I have walked solo through life. This comes as a result of divorce. It’s not that I am against relationships. I dated and married. My son and I are close, my immediate and extended family care for one another and I have a large and varied circle of friends. Yet for the past two decades I have not had a romantic relationship. To be honest, I looked around when I was newly divorced and spent some time cruising through the dating sites, yet I could not bring myself to seriously pursue it. It might have been the expected activity but throughout my life I have always bristled at following the standard.

I could safely say that I would have been considered a tom boy. I thought my future was to either join the Navy, following in my father’s footsteps, or be the first female player for the Baltimore Orioles. The second would have never happened for many reasons but mainly because I was no athlete. I did have a sense of propriety as I matured. I chose not to take typing in high school as I knew I didn’t want the role of being someone’s secretary. The ability to type was remedied later as it is difficult to exist in the professional realm or as a writer without having command of the keyboard. As I look back at this time in my life I see where I was laying the foundation of individuality.

I would like to return to my original question. What elements in life contribute to one’s personality? I evidently never saw a wedding as a glorious event to dream about starting early in life. When I turned eight a friend gave me a bride doll. She was about six inches tall, covered in what appeared to be a satin and lace gown. As a miniature bride, she was showcased in a cardboard box with a cellophane front. The doll stood before a fancy backdrop and that is where she would stay. I remember those at my birthday party being envious of such a beautiful doll but it did nothing for me. She would never have the opportunity to escape her display and mingle with my Barbie and all her friends.

I was responsible for the fate of my bride doll and I continue to fashion my own. I don’t let life stop as a result of not having a significant other. I go to concerts solo and have the realization that I am there to see the performance and not to chat with someone sitting next to me. I take vacations without a travel partner. My house is decorated as I like yet there are times when I think it would be nice to have someone else living under the same roof. Those times are few and far between. Honestly, the only time I have felt that way would be the times I had to step up to do something undesirable. The removal of a black snake from my dining room was one such time.

Is my choice of a solo lifestyle so unusual? I can recall my late mother often saying that she wish I had someone in my life. I appreciated her love and concern. I also recognized she was part of a generation where you married and your husband took care of you. I am grateful that I am not bound by those constraints. When I look in the mirror I see an independent and courageous woman. I can appreciate someone as being attractive or an interesting conversationalist but I don’t need to have another individual in my life to feel whole. I am not critical of those who do seek to share their life with someone. I revel in their joy when they find that special person and admire their dedication and commitment. We are all on a personal journey and the path we follow should be our own. It may be cliché’ but the time tested practice of live and let live should be embraced. Our passage through this life will be so much more rewarding if we follow the course meant for us and let others navigate theirs.

Behind the Door

Featured

Posted on by
4

Our father was career Navy and he had a very sea intensive rate. Toward the end of his career he was able to secure a billet opening as a recruiter. It was during this period that our parents felt like it was time to relocate and permanently move to this new location. They thought it would a good place to raise children. A search for a house was undertaken and they chose the home where our roots were planted and we were raised. I was too young to appreciate it at the time but I have the suspicion that it might have been considered a fixer-upper. We settled in and shortly found expansion was needed. Our youngest brother made his entrance and our grandfather came to live with us. Thus began the constant renovation and repair that kept our father busy.

One major transformation that took place was the expansion and enclosure of the upstairs back porch. My father fashioned it into a dorm-like room for my three brothers. I, being the only girl, had the benefit of having my own room. The walls were covered with a juvenile print that remained in place much too long. My room also held the entrance to the attic. The door hid the enclosed steps and created a bit of an alcove. At one point my desk took up residence in that opening. Although my father had spent time picking up this unfinished piece of furniture, covering the top with laminate and staining the remainder, it wasn’t used all that often. I preferred to do my homework sitting on my bed. For years I had no desire to be close to that door.

The house is just over a hundred years old now but it always seemed older. The access to the attic didn’t allow for use beyond storage. As you would walk up the steps you would need to lean in and hunch over to reach the actual floor space. There was such a steep pitch to the roof line at that point that no one with any height could traverse it without earning a severe bump to the head. The chimney rose up through the middle and boxes of seasonal decorations and other items took up space on the wooden floor. A bare light bulb, hanging from above, was needed if you went up after dark but it was much more comfortable to go up during the day and make use of the natural light the windows provided. There was another reason I chose not to go up into the attic at night, one that I presumed would keep me safe. I learned something treacherous would be found behind the door at night.

My one brother spun a tale, so believable, that I had no doubt it was true: a hunchback lived in our attic. By the nature of his being, this creature was both cunning and devious. His focus, as I understood, would be to continue to live in our home without detection. As much as I might protest his existence, my brother had a convincing reply to every one of my utterances. I never saw any sign of him in the attic space. I was told that he vacates the space during the day. He would climb out my window and onto the roof that covered the front porch. He would grasp for a branch from the maple tree which would allow him to climb down the rest of the way. He would have returned by nightfall, when he would slip down the steps and into my bedroom while I slept. I found it unsettling to hear how he would stand over my bed and drool. My brother thought it was incredible that I wasn’t aware of the residue on my sheets and blankets. Surprisingly, there was no validity to this story. I smile now to think about how gullible I was and how creative my brother was to provide such a convincing tale. It makes for a terrific story now, often told with a great amount of laughter. The hunchback, that I dreaded all those years, has now taken up residency in the crawl space under my house. I have no doubt it is true as I was informed of this development, again, by my brother.

These days my brother shares other bits of wisdom with me. It is he who has told me that worry is paying for a debt that seldom comes due. I think fear might work the same way. For years I feared the hunchback, when in reality he was only a figment of imagination. There was no danger in opening the attic door at night. I might not have missed any opportunities by not going into the attic after dark but there have been times in life that I felt apprehension about what was on the other side of the door. Life isn’t as frivolous as a game show that has you make a choice between doors number one, two or three. Often it does nudge you forward through a figurative door and into new territory. Fear, a natural emotion, can become a hindrance. I am not proposing that one moves forward without thought or by taking dangerous risks but don’t let the weight of fear rob you of new possibilities and growth. It takes courage to open the door and perseverance to walk through it. Don’t be frightened if that door appears to slam behind you. Let the gust it creates boost your forward movement and continue to carry you onward with additional support.

Season Changes

Featured

Posted on by
Reply

I have been home, recovering from surgery, for two months. While recuperating, I realized that life has continued and my lack of participation has not stopped the march of time. I missed the end of the summer season. The farm stands that offered corn, watermelon and cantaloupes now are full of pumpkins and squash.  The lush green canopy of trees have become swirling red, yellow and orange leaves, providing a colorful carpet upon the ground. There have even been changes in my personal life. Prior to returning to work I decided it was time for a new hair style. I am now revisiting my short and curly look. There is one more obvious change in my life; for the first time in over thirty five years, I have no cat underfoot.

I don’t plan on making this a memorial to Scout, but I do want to share a bit about her. When I purchased my home eighteen years ago, she turned up in my yard. Whenever I was outside she would be there, bouncing and jumping around. For being such a tiny kitten she was spending her time with the big cats as part of a feral colony. I was not looking for another cat as I already had two residing with me. I reconsidered when thinking about the age of one, who was nineteen at the time. I thought for sure I would lose her sometime in the near future and rescuing Scout would allow me to return to life with two cats again. My elderly cat lived to see twenty two. For several years I was the crazy cat lady with three cats.  

Scout spent years unapologetically continuing to show her feral roots. She was often referred to as the invisible cat as she would make herself scarce if I had visitors. During her life with me she shared space with a total of three other different cats and she was left when it was time for each of them to cross the Rainbow Bridge. For the last two years of her life, she was my “one and only” and she easily adapted to life without competition for food and affection. She finally came out of her shell and acknowledged that she was comfortable with receiving attention from my guests. In the past two months, as I recuperated, she had been my constant companion. I noticed her weight loss but attributed it to the fact that she had reached the age of eighteen and time was taking its toll.

I think that there is something to human psychology and spending time together that has you overlook gradual changes. Those who have not seen someone for a period of time can readily pick up on them. Scout continued to lose weight and yet her appetite increased. I didn’t initially notice as she maintained her normal routine. She would wake me each morning and would talk to me as she led me into the kitchen. She was affectionate as ever and I would pet her, listen to her purr but I could feel her bones under her skin. Her coat remained shiny and silky. A vet visit confirmed that her organs were well but she had developed a mass. I knew that a tough decision lay ahead of me. I resented the fact that I had to return to work. If I remained home I could monitor her and not feel like I was cutting her life short.

I finally came to the conclusion that I was denying the true state of her health and wasn’t doing her any favors by not taking the responsible steps. I continued to vacillate until the final moments. Once she was gone I realized that I had a sense of relief. She loved me unconditionally and trusted me. For years she knew she would be fed and the litter box would be clean. She knew she would be safe, warm and loved. This was the final step in our relationship. The change I dreaded has happened and I go on. There is positive side, I realize that the loss of Scout allows me to offer a safe haven to another homeless cat in the future. I also recognize there is a greater lesson. Sometimes the changes we dread the most, propel us to a new environment filled with opportunity and unexpected rewards and goodness. The loss of a loved one creates a figurative void in our hearts. I have come to understand that grief can expand your heart to a point that it feels like it will burst. It feels as if it has been stretched, creating an even larger void.  When the time is right, there is a possibility that we can be blessed by something else that will fill that void. It won’t be the same, nor should it. As we continue to live and breathe, our hearts are still beating and capable of love. It’s up to us to be open to it.

Timber!

Featured

Posted on by
3

Trees provide pencils, paper and oxygen. Growing up I remember the smell of fresh lumber in the house as my father always had something under construction. During my childhood Christmases, the aroma of some type of evergreen would permeate the house. I say “some type” as I am not an expert on trees. As a young girl I enjoyed watching Here Comes the Brides. The show’s concept was built upon the trials and tribulations experienced by the single women that were brought out to Seattle to accompany the lonely lumberjacks. I didn’t learn much about the lumber business by watching because, like everyone else, I had a crush on Bobby Sherman, one of the lumberjack brothers. Later, as an adolescent, I was an avid fan of the Waltons. Their family business had them operate a saw mill. I vaguely remember them harvesting the lumber strategically and being cautious not to strip the mountain. That little gem might have caught my attention as the concept of commemorating Earth Day was taking off. To celebrate its inception, President Nixon planted a tree on the White House lawn. If I haven’t lost you yet, you may have noticed that my knowledge of trees is enough to complete one paragraph.

Fast forward to present day. Surprisingly the lumber business has frequently come to mind. This time it has nothing to do with a television show but rather my place of work. I cross the mountain each day to find myself often staring at the edges of cut trees, piled high on a flatbed truck, as I wait for the light to turn green. There have also been unfortunate delays occasionally, as a truck is unable to complete a turn onto the narrow streets. Traffic is held up until the truck can inch its way to freedom. This current experience has expanded what has been my very shallow interest where lumber is concerned.

At some point, in school, I am sure we covered trees and their internal rings. I was not a big fan of Science but I do recall the concept of each ring signified a year in the life of the tree. It’s ironic that piece of knowledge has come back to me as I am presented with actual examples on a regular basis. During a lengthy wait behind one of these trucks, I took the time to notice that the size, color and thickness of the rings would vary from tree to tree. Nature is the catalyst or culprit behind these variances. If a tree was exposed to harsh outside elements, record of it would show in the rings. Fire and drought would leave its mark. The age and history of these trees would have remained hidden, under their bark, if they hadn’t met an early demise due to the handiwork of a saw.

I think we, the human race, can compare our lives to those of trees. Our exterior can hide the history of our growth and what we have encountered. There might have been times when we experienced drought. Maybe we felt like our lives were devoid of something: love and companionship, a decent wage or living situation, or the focus needed to select a better path. Possibly we were scorched or singed by living a little too carefree or pursuing a passion that was destined to go up in smoke. If we are fortunate, we live our lives without constant challenges. Just as a tree adds its rings, time goes by and we age, adding learned lessons and wisdom with each passing year. No one knows, as it could all remain hidden like the trees. If our experience is one that allows us to continue to rack up the rings, I would suggest we follow the example set by trees. Reach for the sky. Continue to focus on what is above and always look upward, constantly striving to become stronger each year. When the time comes to count your rings I pray they are immeasurable and unique.

Friends, the Family We Choose

Featured

Posted on by
2

Not to sound egotistical but I must have been a very smart little girl. At the age of eight I made a friend. At the time I had no idea what the future held, my focus was on play and laughter. Now, over half a century later, I still claim her as one of my closest friends. We are very much our own people but I have found comfort in our like mindedness. Her honesty and fortitude have been invaluable over the years. For decades we haven’t lived close physically, but rather 1600 miles apart. The distance hasn’t lessened the connection.

Years later, as an adult, I had the experience of making a lasting friendship during my time as a Navy wife. The connection was actually made through our sons who found each other in friendship as classmates. We shared an uncanny connection through husbands and the Navy but I don’t think that had us tip the scales in the creation of our bond. Fortunately, a solid relationship was the end result. It has been over thirty years since the foundation was laid. Countless numbers of family celebrations and events have been shared. There are 100 miles between us, but again, the distance hasn’t dampened the relationship.

It would almost appear that my closest friends are the furthest away. That is not necessarily the case. I have a wonderful group of women that I share a meal with on a regular basis. They are supportive and compassionate and their presence in my life is positive and uplifting. I met another friend, also living nearby, through one of my previous professional positions. The job was eliminated but the friendship remains strong. Again, she is another one that brings a positive spin to my life. A former classmate, who returned to live in the area, is always ready to join me in an adventure or come to my aid when needed. No matter how these bonds originated, I am glad they remain.

As life is fluid, I feel no one should become stagnant where friends are concerned. I have a bounty of longtime friends and I am fortunate that recently I have increased my abundance. If you read my recent blog Airing Dirty Laundry I make reference to a friend that helped me organize and clean prior to my surgery. What is so remarkable about this experience is that this is a relevantly new friendship yet it has been profound. I found myself asking for help and graciously accepting it when I was the most vulnerable. That is nothing that I would have anticipated from a new acquaintance.

When I think about those I have known over the years, I realize that I have had some friends that existed for a finite period. There was nothing that terminated our alliance but a change in life’s circumstances created a natural separation. I have countless numbers of acquaintances that have enriched my life in various ways. I treasure those whose friendship has been tested with time, distance and other bumps in the road. I also recognize that these precious relationships are a two way street. Distance could be a deterrent to remaining close but it is worth the effort to stay in touch. There are no guarantees in life so it is worth the effort to never take anyone for granted. Life can be ordinary in so many ways but can present challenges that could blindside us. There are those who could offer support and enrichment and it is worth the effort to remain open to the opportunity of meeting them. I believe that true friendship binds you by impenetrable heartstrings. Friends are the family that you choose. You might not have the same blood coursing through your veins but you share history and a sense of caring and connection that can be as strong as any root in a family tree.

Connections

Featured

Posted on by
2

It was not hard to decide to attend Ruth’s Celebration of Life. Although I was 2 ½ weeks beyond my surgery I felt I would be mobile enough with the help of my friend. I wanted to be there for several reasons. Ruth had been my Girl Scout leader. At a time when young girls were exploring who they were and what they might aspire to, it was important to have someone step up and guide that process. I also had the good fortune to know her after I had become an adult. Although it was a given that she was a loving and selfless mother and grandmother, she was also known for her involvement with her community and faith life. Her daughter was a long time classmate of mine. We were not close growing up yet I feel we have created a bond through today’s social media. As my mother died over a decade ago I felt I wanted to offer my presence as one who understood the loss.

I didn’t know many people in attendance but there were a few familiar faces. Of those, I didn’t know what connection might have been forged between Ruth and them. I could have asked as I feel I possess enough social graces to inquire without being offensive. I decided not to and allowed conversation to go elsewhere. I found that after the day, I continued to question the connections life offers us. How are these relationships formed? Do they come to us randomly? Granted, Ruth was fortunate to be blessed with a long life, and there were multiple relationships she must have enjoyed over the years. So very often after someone dies, age will often dictate how many people attend their memorial. It might be a matter of practicality, illness, mobility issues or death itself that might strip someone of their vast social connections. It is comforting to see contemporaries as well as others from different generations come and pay their respects.

I continued to dwell on the thought of how a lifetime of connections would translate to the loss family, friends and community may feel in the passing of one of its members. If someone has the good fortune of living many decades the relationships built and enjoyed could be immeasurable. I am not contemplating the six degrees of Kevin Bacon but the reality of all of us and how our life creates interactions with those on an exponential level. As much of my professional life was spent working within the community I know there are those whose lives I touched, whose names and faces would be unfamiliar to me now. Truthfully, I relish the idea of being of service to someone who remains unknown to me on a personal level. That is the purest form of giving of oneself and I count myself fortunate to have the opportunity to have experienced such a blessing. I also am blessed by the myriad of people whose relationships are personal.

Is there a goal that comes as a result of my contemplation? It might not be what you expect. Do I want standing room only at my memorial? No, but I would like to think that those I leave behind would find comfort and solace in having a shared connection with me being the common denominator. We are inundated with news of climate change and how important it is to leave the smallest carbon footprint possible. On the other hand Chief Seattle was known for saying, “Take only memories, leave only footprints.” I know what goal I choose. I am not concerned about any remaining footprint that I might cast but I would rather bestow a smile and full heart with those I share a connection. I will make an effort to be civil, kind and thoughtful to those whose paths I cross. I hope that I would never hesitate to offer a hand or support when I see the need. I will continue to live my mantra: If I think something nice I share it. Further, I pray that gratitude be at the very core of my being, not just for every breath I am given but also for every connection made along the way.

Balance

Featured

Posted on by
Reply

I recently had surgery. It was major. Although I thought I was prepared, the scenarios I created in my mind fell short of what would be reality. With this necessary recovery I have had to slow my pace. This downtime has allowed me time to think about items I ordinarily wouldn’t have the time to explore. I am beginning to think that I could insert the word “life” for surgery and make some comparisons.

If you have read any of my previous blogs you might have identified my appreciation of being self-sufficient and independent. Retaining that was part of my strategy. I don’t like the feeling of being vulnerable but surgery aka life often has a different lesson to teach. The surgery presented me with mobility issues and I couldn’t expect my days to run routinely. My game plan was not to totally shut people out but not to have anyone stay with me. I implemented that approach but found that I was grateful when help found its way to my doorstep.

There seems to be a recurrent theme in my life. Stubbornness and pride often get whittled away. What I initially view as strong traits, perceived as gifts, have often been challenges that need to be addressed. This recent surgery has had me look upon daily activities, those that we all take for granted, as challenging and almost impossible tasks. No one considers jumping into the shower a physical challenge but I learned it took thought and energy. Struggling to find the ability to follow through with normal routine care made me feel subhuman.

I am fortunate to be doing well. I have been blessed with a great medical team and a support system without rival.  There are those who have encouraged me from a distance by offering their well wishes and prayers. My 18 year old cat took a week to adjust to the upheaval but she soon realized that the change in routine and additional equipment didn’t change who I was. Her attention and affection have brought me great comfort. I cannot think of one item that has gone unaddressed. Once again, I have had to learn to be humble and gracious. There is a question as to whether I could ever repay the many ways I have been cared for but I realize those who are assisting me are not doing it for recompense. I look forward to being able to find ways to pay it forward and assist others when opportunity permits.

Life often brings us items that need to be addressed. It could involve any aspect of our existence: health, finance or relationships. Shielding our eyes never resolves the issue and can often make the challenge a larger one. Making the needed improvement takes time and planning. Nothing worthwhile can be rushed. During that time of correction, it can be uncomfortable. There could be days that one wonders if it would have been easier to ignore it but it is important to face it head on and continue to move forward. In time the pain and difficulty will ease and soon be forgotten. The gain can be celebrated. Life doesn’t promise that we only have to meet the test once but with each trial we acquire the skill and ability to face the next challenge with grace. It’s all a balancing act. When my recovery is complete I will rejoice but I pray that I don’t soon forget the lessons imparted.

More Than Words

Featured

Posted on by
Reply

When I was ten years old, I experienced something that would stay with me my entire life. I don’t recall how it happened, but I managed to find To Kill a Mockingbird. At the time I was interested in the story as I thought it would help me understand my father’s upbringing. He was born in southern Georgia in 1924. For much of my life, I lived a stone’s throw from the Mason Dixon line. It didn’t provide me with the environment and history that he would have encountered in his youth. It felt foreign to me and I thought for certain that this book would provide me with the background that I was seeking.

Now, as an adult, I realize the content might have been an eye opener for someone whose life experience was only a decade in the making. I remember there were subjects and terms that went over my head. At those times, I would turn to my father for an explanation. Once I remember asking him what a “war” lady was. As my father had a hearing impairment, he looked at me quizzically and asked me to repeat the question. I asked again what a war lady was. When my pronunciation wasn’t getting the job done, he finally asked me to spell it. W-H-O-R-E. At that point there was a clear understanding and I was given a clear explanation. Other questions I posed might have shown my lack of knowledge but this one proved my innocence. Now, with a slight grin on my face, I realize that time has replaced the embarrassment with humor.

Although To Kill a Mockingbird was published over 60 years ago, it has remained a mainstay in my life. It was not a coincidence that I had a pair of cats named Scout and Atticus. Scout is the only one who remains and she is often thought to be male due to her name. Calling her Jean Louise would not have felt right. When I recently saw that Richard Thomas was in the current stage production and would be performing at the Kennedy Center, I knew I had to be there. Admittedly, there was a teenage girl’s voice in my head saying how exciting it would be to see John Boy in person. Aware that his role in the Waltons was relegated to history and my crush had long since faded there was still every reason to want to see him. He has a reputation for being a fine theater actor and I relished the idea that the portrayal of my childhood hero was entrusted to him.

I was enthralled by the production. I didn’t need a reminder why the book has always been so special to me. I have long acknowledged the importance of respect and human dignity. I believe it fueled the professional success I have had working out in the community all these years.  Atticus exemplified living the golden rule. He was a role model to his children but was challenged by his neighbors when doing the right thing. It comes down to truth and the struggle between good and evil. As the show was coming to an end I found tears in my eyes. I didn’t look to see if others were moved in the same way. Could it be the enormity of the subject matter struck a nerve, the same as it did when I was child? Maybe it was the simple fact that I could only spend a finite amount of time stepping back into the past and into the embodiment of one of my favorite stories.

I left the theater with a ticket stub, a program and a vivid memory. I had adhered to the rules and didn’t even try to sneak a picture. There was no last-minute grab for a souvenir at the stand. I was content, actually, more than content. It was a bit of an epiphany. Upon the end of the production, I walked out with an experience and I didn’t want anything more.  This revelation won’t leave me, much as the impact of reading To Kill a Mockingbird all those years ago. The words printed on the pages of the book are tangible but its effect is where the importance lies. Tom Robinson was unjustly found guilty, Boo Radley had come out, and I will continue to climb into someone’s skin and walk around in it to try to understand their perspective.

Airing Dirty Laundry

Featured

Posted on by
3

With a smile on his face, my father would often proclaim that God only made two perfect people and one was crucified. He, obviously, was the second one. I have further added to this statement. I have said that I accepted the mantle of my father as he passed decades ago but the joke is on me. The apple might not fall far from the tree but it doesn’t come as a big surprise that I can’t claim perfection.

Although the themes I share by way of my blogs aspire to living a good life and being the person God intended me to be, I am still very much a work in progress. Recently, I have been focused on preparing for some upcoming surgery. I want my home to be neat and organized for several reasons. I will need to be able to maneuver during my recovery without any surplus items in my way. I also want my home to be orderly in the case of having visitors who might come offering assistance. If you are able to read between the lines you will see that maybe tidiness has not one of my strong suits lately. Honestly, I have grappled with two major shortcomings when it comes to housework and I can’t tell you why they exist or what might have caused them.

I will own up to dragging my feet when it comes to emptying the dishwasher. I didn’t always have a dishwasher throughout my adult life. When I washed all my dishes by hand they were put away once they air dried. To this day, items that are hand washed find their way back into the cupboard much quicker than those in the dishwasher. What is the difference between clean dishes on the counter top and those in the dishwasher? Out of sight, out of mind? One day I hope to learn how this aversion was created and know how to overcome it. Until then, the dishwasher will be emptied but under no circumstance would I receive a medal for breaking any records to get it done.

Another household task that has never held any interest for me is finishing the laundry. Translated: I don’t enjoy folding and putting clothes away. The clothes I wear are clean and if I see they possess wrinkles I don’t delay in using my steamer. I enjoy being able to go to my closet or drawers and choose an outfit but somewhere there is a disconnect. Again, I don’t know why this is so firmly planted in me but it’s far time that I address it. My dryer must have known I was going to own up to my shortcoming and has decided to give me reason not to worry with it this weekend. There is no need to fold and put clothes away when the dryer has stopped working and everything has remained wet!

As you must have surmised by this point I have owned up to my quirks surrounding some of my tasks at home. I took a deep breath and decided to come clean and share this with you. I am at the point that I must take action. I have the good fortune to have a friend that has come to my assistance and will ensure my home is clean, neat, and tidy prior to my surgery. She has been an answer to prayer, one that I didn’t realize I was uttering. There have been times that I simply felt overwhelmed due to fatigue and often a lack of time. There would not be any happy ending to this saga if I didn’t allow my humility to come to the forefront and accept help.

I have decided that it is important to show my authentic self. That was the foundation that I determined this blog would be built upon. Due to my independent nature I have long struggled with accepting assistance. I have not only opened the door to this aid but I have been able to swallow my pride. I am relieved that I didn’t choke on it as it went down and it has not been difficult to be gracious. I know that when it is time for my life review I won’t be judged by my housekeeping duties but rather my acceptance of the gifts that have come my way. I am hoping though, that I do get a few extra points for living in a home that is not screaming for attention.

Gifts

Featured

Posted on by
3

We are all familiar with the time and thought that goes into selecting the perfect gift for someone. The selection could be the consequence of knowing them so well or maybe it is the result of a conversation that never left your memory. The satisfaction of giving could be equal to the delight of the recipient. To witness the joy in one’s eye or the smile that lights up their entire face is a reward in itself. What if that moment is only fleeting? What if you never see them wear the outfit or never witness the item displayed in their home? I wonder if God feels that way when we don’t incorporate his gifts into our lives.

I imagine God patting each infant on their head and sharing with them the main gift he is bestowing upon them as they prepare for their transition to a mortal existence. To some he generously offers teaching and the ability to enlighten children or inventing creations that will be immeasurably helpful to mankind. Some might be given the opportunity to continue to add to the beauty of the earth as a stonemason or landscaper. Others could add beauty through artistic endeavors: sculptor, photographer, musician and poet. This generosity doesn’t stop at talent but also has a combination of personality traits that could allow one to be compassionate, empathetic, kind and generous. God would know the appropriate talent and trait for each earthbound soul. I imagine he smiles, satisfied, as each one of his creations begins their passage through life, supplied with gifts, talents and traits.

I also believe that no one who is given the breath of life gets off free of charge. There are challenges interspersed along the way. I have learned that they too are blessings. They present us with the opportunity to look at the source of our creation and ask for help. I am certain that we don’t stand alone. When we were sent on our journey in life, God didn’t treat us like the candy on the conveyer belt in the I Love Lucy episode. No matter how swiftly life and its events seem to move, he hasn’t let one piece escape him. It’s okay if we have a complaint as customer service is always open. I don’t feel I am being irreverent but rather, because of my gifts, I have been able to maintain humor in light of challenges experienced.

Sometimes gifts are uncovered quickly, others take a while to develop and some might require a lifetime before they are integrated into someone’s existence. Not all talents are necessarily destined to be a professional calling. They can be a passion that sparks your imagination and brings delight. No matter how those abilities are presented, sabotage and a lack of confidence can be an individual’s worse enemies. Their pull can be so strong at times. It may be cliché but true, each day presents us with another opportunity to try again. There is only one expiration date on the goods we have been given. I don’t know about you, but when I reach my expiration date, I want to know I haven’t left any of my gifts unwrapped.

Pandemic Scar

Featured

Posted on by
1

I don’t believe there is anyone whose life hadn’t been touched by the pandemic in some way. There could have been subtle changes and inconveniences or a major upheavals, like severe illness or death. Without much warning or choice, we were collectively thrown into that reality. Although steps were enacted to prevent infection and lessons were learned, I feel the general public has been ready to sweep all of that under the rug and get on with life. I have moved on as well but there has been a loss left in the wake. It appears that when the tide went out it took my previous views with it.

I consider myself fortunate to exist within several social circles. I can claim friends that are former classmates, some that I have acquired through the work force and others have been met through mutual friends and other organizations. When out and about I appear to be quite the extrovert but what is equally true is that I can enjoy solitude along with the best of introverts. When the decision had to be made about how to handle exposure to COVID, I had to use my best judgement with the input of my doctors. It was strongly suggested that if I was to contract the illness the odds of survival were stacked against me. That was all I needed to hear in order to tip the scales. For the following year I worked remotely.

There was a trade-off, working from home didn’t tempt illness, but social interaction was no longer a part of my daily life. There didn’t seem to be much preparation taken on my part. I remember years ago, while with Red Cross Emergency Services, we would meet and plan for such an event. We discussed how to safely provide food delivery and how to handle a surplus of those who had succumbed to the illness by utilizing ice rinks for morgues. All those discussions came back to me in swift succession. Faced with it in reality found me poorly prepared emotionally, yet moving toward isolation at lightning speed. I would soon live my life with my view to the outside world through the glass of my storm door.

Those who know me are aware of my health challenges. I’ve not known anyone to be critical but rather understanding and compassionate. During that year my friends were extremely helpful and respectful of my choice of isolation. I was not milking the situation but rather holding myself to a rigid environment to keep any infection at bay. In hindsight, it is hard to comprehend the apprehension I felt about opening myself up to any potential exposure. I was adjusting to my self-imposed quarantine when a friend came to visit and I didn’t invite her inside. She told me that I was making too big a deal of the situation. At no point during this time could I be called a hypocrite. If I was not going to work or allowing any other social exposure, I was not going to invite anyone inside my home. She left and with her went a long time friendship.

I have thought about how this loss came to be and why it still exists. There had been overtures from this individual to talk and I didn’t find it difficult to be gracious and engaging but I have never made a point to initiate contact myself. I’m not one to usually hold a grudge and normally take the stance of live and let live. Yet on the heels of the pandemic, I find I view life differently. I have come to identify certain aspects that I might not have paid much heed to originally. I now realize that I do take my illness seriously. For years I have had a somewhat cavalier attitude toward health but now I no longer approach it so casually. I also recognize what a precious commodity time is and that it shouldn’t be squandered. I clearly can see the importance of who I choose to spend my time with and how I choose to spend it. Possibly the rest of my thought would be I don’t care to have others sit in judgement of me, nor I of them. In sharing what I have come to believe, I acknowledge that every day is a gift. I have no desire to address the Almighty and advise him that I would like to return it. There have been times that I felt that the gift I was presented didn’t fit perfectly but I have since grown into it. Now that if fits well, this is what I will continue to model.

Apologies

Posted on by
1

When this blog originated it was done with the promise, to you the reader, and myself that it will be posted every other week. In between, a quotation is offered that is in sync with the previous post. I have kept the promise but I am breaking it tonight.

I have felt fortunate that inspiration has always come easily. That is still the case but due to family circumstances I am unable to pull my thoughts together and offer something that would be cohesive in thought and message. I am asking you for a reprieve this week. I will be back shortly with blogs that most likely will reflect the knowledge and experience I am currently acquiring.

For those who reside in the states, Happy Thanksgiving. Never forget to give thanks for the good that comes your way, no matter the size of the blessing.

Hometown Heroes

Posted on by
Reply

I live in a small town. Banners decorate the street lights downtown showing veterans in uniform and a notation of when they served. I have never looked into participating in the program as it is my understanding that the locale where the banner is hung is within the hometown of the veteran. As I have shared several times, my father was career Navy. What I might not have shared is that he was born in a very rural area where there are still no street lights or sidewalks. Fortunately, my father is enrolled in the US Navy Memorial in Washington DC.  When it was established, he took pride in knowing his time in service would be immortalized. His picture is there, in uniform, smiling for prosperity.

Again, living in a small town doesn’t always give one the opportunity to appreciate the information that is shared on the banners. There are few street lights here and I don’t often have the opportunity to stop at a red light and take in the name and timeframe of service. The subtext varies, but many of them note the individual was missing in action or killed in action. It is hard to believe that a small town could have made so many sacrifices.

Today may be observed as Veteran’s Day but the sacrifice made by our brave service members is something that we should carry with us for more than just one day. I look at those pictures, frozen in time, and think about those same individuals walking down these very same streets. Their clothing may have been different but I imagine their dreams were much the same as ours. For some those dreams were transformed to a greater sacrifice that gives us the opportunity to comfortably walk down these same streets safely and securely.

I imagine the Hometown Heroes program will continue to flourish. I hope it does. It’s a wonderful way to pay tribute to those who served. Our gratitude may be nudged by those banners fluttering in the breeze but I hope that is not the only thing. I also hope that remembrance is a part of us always, and not just one day in November.

The Greatest Generation

Posted on by
Reply

(It is not lost on me that Tuesday, November 11, is Veteran’s Day. I posted this blog over two years ago in lieu of Memorial Day. I have never forgotten the experience, nor the man, and felt strongly about sharing it again. I will pick up my figurative pen and post something more on Tuesday in honor of our veterans.)

An elderly man was pushing his shopping cart through the check out and I didn’t realize that I was blocking his exit. His white hair was neatly trimmed and combed into place. I noticed that although it was spring, he was wearing a flannel shirt. It looked as if the tags had recently been removed as it appeared new. Work pants completed his outfit. His cart contained two boxes of Cheerios and a bag. He politely let me know that he was trying to move around me and I stepped to the side. With a smile I asked him if he had a license to operate his shopping cart.

What I thought was a humorous passing comment opened a conversation that I didn’t anticipate. Not knowing if he misunderstood my remark, he chose to tell me that he was 99 years old and has been able to maintain his driver’s license. I didn’t get a sense that he said it in a condescending way but rather with understated pride. I could see that he was someone that didn’t take his independence for granted.

Although I have played our conversation over in my head several times, I am still unable to remember how he introduced the fact that he was a veteran of WWII. He was an infantry soldier and it has left a mark on him that is evident to this day. Ironically, he was soft spoken, yet his words suggested that during those years he experienced hell on earth. He spoke of the heat and the bugs and how collectively it had played havoc on their health. There was no relief at night as they slept on the ground and the morning dampness only added to the damage to their skin.  However harsh the environment might have been, it played only a small part of what they contended with regularly. His battalion saw heavy fighting and heavy losses. With pride he shared that there was a monument erected as a result of their service.

If he shared the particular information identifying his battalion or the actual location where he fought, I don’t recall. I do feel I heard what was important. Here was a man who selflessly put his life on the line for what he believed. I had been given the perception that he questions why he was able to survive when so many others didn’t. He has done more than survive as he anticipates celebrating his 100th birthday by the end of summer. He has had many years to reflect upon his life and what his purpose might have been as he made his way on this journey. After our conversation came to an end he smiled and said he was going home to read his Bible.

I don’t know who this man is and I am certain I will never see him again. I know nothing of him other than what he chose to share. I have no name to identify him and no way to congratulate him on his anticipated 100th birthday. He could say the same of me. Yet the universe felt it was necessary for our paths to cross. An elderly man was able to share a part of his life that was traumatic yet deemed necessary. Although I was a receptive audience, I look at myself and wonder what the purpose might have been.

It might be natural to think of the greatest generation during this Memorial Day weekend. How many of that population never had the opportunity to grow old? They experienced the Depression and made it through to the other side. They did their part in the sky, on land and sea. For those not serving, they kept the home fires burning with ration books in hand. They raised families where many of their offspring let their hair grow and questioned the necessity of war. Yet this resilient group of people continued to move forward. Every day their numbers dwindle and their lives full of service and sacrifice go with them. I felt like I was given a gift to have a window into this stranger’s life. By accepting this gift I feel I must pay it forward. I chose to make payment by honoring this individual, those like him, and most importantly, those who gave their lives. This blog doesn’t scratch the surface of recompense for their sacrifice but it comes with a profound sincerity.  

Pride Before the Fall

Posted on by
Reply

Most people that know me well, know that my favorite place to shop is Kohl’s. Much of my wardrobe spent time there before being bagged and making its home with me. I maintain restrictions on what I buy. It must come from the clearance rack and I must be accompanied by a coupon for 30% off. I make no excuses and am proud of how far I can stretch my dollar. I had put my Kohl’s shopping to rest when I retired last year. I was no longer in need of an expansive wardrobe. With my new found freedom, I didn’t miss my shopping extravaganzas. I didn’t miss them one bit until I received a coupon for a $10 savings in an email. Like an addict, I relapsed and found myself headed to Kohl’s.

I have never been one to shop for special designers or specific brand names. If I happen to buy one, that would be considered an added bonus. Since I don’t live under a rock, I am familiar with top of the line clothing, which is why I was proud to pick up this exceptional bargain. I came across a Vera Wang sweater, marked down to a ridiculously low price. It was styled like a cardigan, only longer, and its thickness would carry me into the season of winter. With its neutral shade, it would match a considerable amount of my pieces. I even managed to find yarn in my stash that would make a lovely scarf to go with it. If one could be smitten with a piece of clothing, I believe that best would describe what I was experiencing.

Monday morning came and putting my usual attire aside, I dressed for the continuing education class I was enrolled in at the community college. I put my favorite pair of pants on and a new top that I picked up previously at Kohl’s. The pants are an odd color and hard to match. My new top went with them perfectly. Before heading out the door I picked up my new sweater and wrapped myself in what I felt made a stylish statement. It would have been perfect if I felt better but I am sure my appearance didn’t give away the struggle I felt I was having with my health.

After the two hours of classroom time, I was absolutely ready to return home. Even though I reveled in my new outfit I began to realize it was probably foolish to go out feeling that way. When I reached my driveway, I took time to gather what I had in the car and then stepped out of the vehicle. It felt as if someone pulled me from behind. There was no way to stop the inevitable and I fell backwards. For the most part I thought it was fortunate that I landed on my bottom. It did nothing to erase the embarrassment. There was a slight breeze and I watched my handouts from class escape my grasp and dance upon the lawn. At some point I realized my left elbow felt wet. Initially I thought I had managed to land in such a way my elbow had made contact with my lawn, rather than the driveway. It didn’t take long for me to realize that my elbow took much of the brunt of the fall and it was bleeding profusely. Yes, there were copious amounts of blood on my new top and sweater. After seeking medical assistance and being stitched up I was left to deal with a sore elbow and a bruised ego. As an adult it is embarrassing to fall but ruining a new outfit added insult to injury. The biggest lesson I took from this episode was I should never covet any clothing, even if that clothing bears a designer name. I will put my pride on ice in the future so I don’t have to put any other part of my body on it.

Exploring

Posted on by
2

I don’t know why I was there. The house, although still furnished, was no longer inhabited. It was clear that no one continued to call it home. It stood silent, an interior that once must have boasted a vibrant past, one full of life, now stood quiet as dust collected on every surface. Exploring buildings of this nature was not a normal activity for me. Long gone are the days that I provided disaster relief and had to enter impacted homes in order to assess and validate the damage. This house didn’t tell a tale of disaster but rather sadness. I didn’t fear my safety from a compromised structure but I did feel uneasy. The sun didn’t provide much illumination throughout the rooms and apparently there was no electricity.

Entering the hallway, I saw a large opening into a room. I took notice of the wooden pocket doors at the entrance. They were tall, thick and still in working order. I didn’t attempt to close them but someone I was with took steps to pull them together. Just as the doors were closing, I noticed a figure move inside the room. It had the shape of a human but with the swift movement I couldn’t tell if it was a shadow or an actual person. Either way I believe we were given proof that we weren’t alone in the house. The movement startled me. As the pocket doors were coming together, I was conscious that I held something in my hand. I chose to ward off any harm that might beset me by throwing it into the room. There was no time to aim with precision but my gut instinct was to show that I was aware of their presence and I would take steps needed to protect myself. As the doors were within a foot of closing all the way, I threw the object toward the doors and heard a crash.

It was then that I woke up, safely tucked in bed. There was a soft illumination in the room as the television was on. It gave me enough light to notice that the noise in the room not only startled me but also woke my cat. Her head was up, staring in the direction where we heard the crash. Instantly I knew that I had been dreaming. It was obvious that I had quickly fallen asleep while checking out whether there might be a program that I wanted to watch. I still had my glasses on and they were propped up on the tip of my nose to allow my focus from that angle. What was missing was the remote. My right hand was empty and I swiftly recalled it was the same arm I used to throw the item in my dream, the one I used to keep myself safe. I would check for damage in the morning and locate the remote. The cat and I both settled back into a peaceful sleep. If I explored any other houses in my dreams, I don’t recall.

Dreams have always held an interest for me. I have understood that they exist so your unconscious mind can explore solutions for various issues while you sleep. I have yet to explore what the frightening exploration of that house might mean. No matter how many times I have checked into the meaning of my dreams, I have yet to find a resource that gives me a definitive explanation. Upon retrospect, I imagine that is the way it should be. We are all individuals, exquisite and special in our own right. No interpretation would suit everyone. I will continue to question the meaning of my night time visions but revel in the dreams I enjoy during my waking hours. Those are the ones I plan to fully explore, the dreams that provide my guidance to the future.

See You, Hubbell

Posted on by
Reply

Lately I have noticed that entertainers that I grew up watching and listening to, are making their transition. Their names catch my attention and depending on my attachment I usually let out a slight gasp or sigh. The level of my connection usually matches the level of my vocalization, never anything loud or close to a shriek. I can’t think of anyone, outside my family and friends, whose death would truly impact me. That being said, when we lose entertainers in the future, the like of Alan Alda or Elton John, I will bemoan the loss of their talented offerings. I will remember the years of enjoyment they gave me. That is much of what I felt with the recent loss of Robert Redford. Although he was up in years, he like the others, appeared immortal to me.

I mentioned in a previous blog that I recently joined with my former classmates for a reunion. It was a landmark occasion and it has been decades since we gathered to accept our diplomas and embarked upon our adult adventures. We shared stories and laughter over the weekend. I was surprised that Robert Redford was highlighted in a few of these stories. I’m not proud but will admit we would regularly sneak into the drive in theater. We would maneuver through a farmer’s field, adjacent to the theater’s lot. I can remember going that route to see The Way We Were more times than I could count. It was worth it to see Robert Redford on the big screen. The farmer became wise to our bad habit and one night he sprang up out of his crops and pointed a rifle at us. I was just happy it came after the run of The Way We Were was complete.

That was not the only exposure we had to Robert Redford. In our senior year we traveled to New York City for a conference. Although our school won an award, none of us were present to accept it. We were making merry in the Big Apple. One of the most outstanding memories was the night we crashed the premier of the Great Waldo Pepper. What possessed us as unruly teenagers to walk into a New York theater as a premier showing was letting out, is beyond me. It net us quite the reward for being so brash. We found ourselves up close and personal with Robert Redford, Paul Newman and John Denver. Seared into my memory is how Redford flashed that famous and charming smile. So much time has passed that all three of the celebrities are now gone yet at the time of our reunion we would still have Redford for three more days.

I offer this as a remembrance of a talented individual and how I had the good fortune to have a brief experience when my life intersected with his. He doesn’t need my accolades yet in his lifetime he realized he was in a position to make contributions to aid others. Redford initiated the Sundance Film Festival to give those lesser-known film artisans an opportunity to explore and highlight their talent. Why not follow his lead? Maybe we can offer brightness and optimism to others not by Sundance but by Dancing in the Sun. It can be our way of lifting others by acknowledging them and offering praise. It won’t cost us a thing other than taking the time to share a positive thought. It would be a wonderful habit to establish. There will be no awards and no one will look at us and say we remind them of Robert Redford. Wouldn’t it be wonderful though, at the end of our lives, we could smile and say that was The Way We Were?