WINTER ADVENTURE IN A SPACE LONG AGO- A LETTER TO MY GRANDCHILDREN

Hey Grandkids..this one is for you!  

Four of the six of you visited last night for dinner and a few lively hours.  When I awoke this morning, my heart was still smiling and full of hope!  

The subject of skiing was in the forefront of the discussion, as you are all in different phases of learning the sport.  While I remain a total chicken around downhill courses, I am so thrilled that you are sharing in an activity that your parents have enjoyed for some time.  The lessons and the helmets, along with proper equipment and good mentors assure me that you are as safe as it is ever possible to be.  Since you have all outgrown my wrap around arms, I suppose the safety measures out in society, and the love of your parents will have to suffice.   Enjoy!  

I remember my own skiing experience many years ago.  Memere and Pepere, my folks and your great grandparents , decided it was time to expand our experience of  the outdoors and get some good exercise.  Neither of them were skiers, but being ever resourceful they outfitted us as best they could at a nearby Ski House with used equipment to get us started.  I  was in my late teens at the time, and not at all as brave or agile as my three brothers!  In  fact, I was the pensive shaking soul who stood at the top of the "bunny slope" waiting for the other skiers to clear so that I would have the course to myself, hence not having to steer much!  I recall an unofficial lesson or two, perhaps from my Dad, in  how to come to a stop with my legs and feet pointed inward- a position I find much more comfortable now than I did back then...but only on my yoga mat!

While a freshman at RI College, I joined the Ski Club, because it sounded like a good idea.  Again, I was alone quite often at the top of the smallest run at Diamond Hill Ski Area, an enterprise which no longer exists as such.  I believe the current vineyards that grow there are a friendlier place to stretch my legs than the ski area proved to be!  You will no doubt find your own preferences and passions change over the decades too.  

At any rate, I continued my participation with the Ski Club because I liked being outdoors in the winter and away from school once a week.  
The season and my downhill skiing experience did not end well for me though.   Because I was quite tense while descending the icy hill on a frosty March day I fell.  The old fashioned bindings of my skis did not release, and I broke my leg in two places.  You might think this was a disaster, but the memories of my parents care at the time, and the new me that grew from this crisis is something I will always be grateful for. 

 Now do not let your parents stop reading in order to keep you from worry!

Yes...it hurt and it was scary to be taken to the hospital in an ambulance.  But at the other end was my Dad, your Pepere,  telling the doctors how I was to be cared for at every step.  My Dad was always a very discerning customer, and able to make himself clear in the politest if sometimes too persistent ways.  He requested a certain orthopedic doctor and I was treated very well.  My mom showed up every day with magazines and to keep me company.  I could not shower, so she brought me a dry shampoo product to use as well as a mirror to check out my 18 year old reflection.   RI  Hospital was there to help me, and both my folks assured that my care was the best.   I left with a leg cast that stretched from my foot to nearly my hip!  Over time that was cut down to a shorter cast, but the adventure in plaster lasted for six months!  My legs are rather good looking today, so it ended well!

I commuted from home in Bristol for a few weeks, and it was my mom  who helped me move back into the dorm after that.  She arranged with the campus security folks for me to be driven from building to building in a cute little golf cart in order to attend classes, until I conquered the rhythm of my crutches!  

This is a long ago memory for me, but one that I wanted to share, because who I am today has a lot to do with that time and space in my life.  Hugo and Andre will receive this story, because you  are also active children, currently learning to swim and play soccer....which makes me so proud and happy for you. Your mommy and daddy are making good choices to keep you healthy and having fun!

So here's what your Baba learned because long ago she skied, got hurt, got better and kept on growing!

1. I learned that you should "go for it" and try new things, even if they are initially your parents idea and maybe not your own.
2. I learned that the love of parents and their experience in making good decisions is a gift that one can be grateful for throughout your life.
3. I learned how to be a smart shopper and look for quality and expertise whether in a doctor or the stuff I buy.
4. I learned that even broken parts can be fixed over time, though it is a good idea to learn to do something well and stay fit as much as possible!
5. I learned that even years later when my body complains of an "old injury" there are practices that can help me feel better.
6. I learned how to cross country ski and snowshoe, because I felt more confident and could still enjoy the great outdoors in many places and  here in RI.

I learned to be a life long learner when it comes to being as healthy and as fit as I care to be.  That way, I feel better AND keep up with your Pops in the great outdoors!

You are living in a time and space where you too are so lucky to be learners.  My wish is that you will always be grateful for the love that has brought you to this life and to the very special people you call parents. 

Oh yes...I am learning still,  that after a time even our children and grandchildren can teach us something!  What a world! 
                                                        Love, Baba

I

Finding the Heart-space to become an Ally!

Alliance...a new life space "The invitation to the ally is always to follow the leadership of those who are at the center of the pain. The story matters. And choosing to work toward liberation of any kind requires a commitment to support the narrative of the ones who own the story.  The role of the ally is not to lead or to fix. The ally holds the story and amplifies the voice of the storyteller."   -Traci Blackmon I have become a reluctant ally!  I should say, alliance happened to me before I was ready!  On July 1st of 2017, an unexpected family from Syria arrived into my life, and I have learned so much about myself and the space I occupy in this world! I was ill prepared to accept my role as ally.  I never really contemplated this at all!  After all...I am a "fixer".  I "get the job done" and move on.  Just call me if you need me and think I can help.   Ally is a different role, as defined in the above quotation.  It implies "presence" when needed.  Staying power most likely. This has me curious, if somewhat reticent.  There is an open book possibility in this relationship, and no counting on a past practice, expertise or guidance.   I avoid most written directions at all costs...too time consuming!  Perhaps my improvisational bent has indeed prepared me for this new unknown? The sweet and very young refugee Mom teaches me volumes every time we meet.  With her exuberant greeting and kisses on both cheeks, I am swept into her joie de vivre, like one overtaken by a warm gust of wind off the bay.  Immediately her plight and three year separation from extended family become the lesser issue.  It is our friendship that matters.  Mere exchanges of greetings, expressions of worry or requests for help are difficult to negotiate with the distance between the Arabic language and English.  Still, we navigate the distance with hand signs, exaggerated facial gestures and when desperate, the I Phone google translate ap, in order to make ourselves understood to each other.  This matters to us as women and neighbors. It is our unspoken alliance and an understanding, that I will answer my door and greet, help, commiserate as needed. When her three little ones descend like a tornado, I am at once thrilled and wary.  No doubt they would move into my small cozy space in a heartbeat, and stay to wile the day away if I let them.  These are not the grandchildren that fill my heart in a very different way- whose daily lives I ponder, whose growth and sensibilities map my own growth as "Baba".  My private but social self swoops somebody else's babies up in arms and smiles because those distant relatives cannot. Then, I admit, I set the parameters for the visit-  perhaps a stroll through a child's book, a serenade accompanied by the toy guitar the five year old finds in its trusty hiding place, or a quickly devised snack to send them on their way.  The duration of our surprise visit depends on the time of day and where I am in my retired therefore insanely hectic lifestyle plans for the day! Our conversations are always lively, interspersed with directives about how to handle whatever knick knacks or "stuff" may be scattered about the unprepared apartment.  I find myself stocking little kitchen spaces with interesting children's books or accessories that I can handily present to the kids.  It's such fun to hear their peels of delight! Recently, our school age sweetie showed me the broken zipper on her school back pack.  The trendy but cheaply made Princess bag could not be repaired, and my heart broke to tell her so. As I duct taped it to make the trip to school, I promised myself it would be replaced.  To my chagrin, the closest I could find to "girlie" was a leopard pattern one.  Do you think that was a problem for this little one?  No...it was from Auntie Denise, and she still wears it with pride one week later!  I guess allies take what they can get from each other, not directing the exact terms, but grateful for the care supplied. I find myself ever more relaxed with the tiny invasions of these three.  I find my spirits lifted when I didn't know they were down!  I am discovering the joy of alliance, without knowing the way ahead. The distance away from and back to Mama is a mere 14 steps out my  door!  There is a childish freedom that my little friends enjoy..and I am grateful for this on their behalf.  Though steps away most of the time, the joy these children deliver to me with each visit is as delightful as a long anticipated and very special delivery.  Indeed, they are an exotic treat I never ordered!  I guess alliance can be that way...if we but "support the narrative of the ones who own the story".

OLD TRADITIONS...NEW MUSINGS

 December 5th, 2016.  Light snow offering a fresh start to the morning…cold, brisk… a challenge to get warm and then stay that way.  Bob- out the door for a much needed separation, especially in this time of “too much to do!”.  Me-determined to get the thoughts out of my head and down in print.  Pack up the computer, drop my beau at the Middle School and drive straight to the coffee shop.  Not stymied by the tangle of information needed to connect to the internet here, I open a blank in Pages. Already more challenge than I want on a Monday morning…push through…Tiger Hours, my daughter calls them…about one left to write if I will make it to Yoga too.  

The page at last...respnding to inspiration….the gift of over 100 university students at Brown University's  100th Lessons and Carols ceremony yesterday.  The format is familiar…ancient stories from creation through the birth of Christ, old carols, complex anthems from standard choral literature and new anthems penned by alumni.  The sensations are also familiar-the squish of bodies in smaller folding chairs ( an approach designed to conform to the regulation that all must be seated), the indescribable sparkle of  a brass ensemble, the smell of hundreds of burning candles creating a glowing congregation of  seekers singing the story song, Silent Night. 

The message is the same…He promised to come among us, the weak, the hopeless, the fearful and the discouraged, and He kept His promise.  So many have lived so hopefully as a result. 

To keep a faith, one must adopt a certain mindset, a simple and optimistic one.  Some would call it childish.  Perhaps that is the draw for me.  I have spent a lot of time among young children, and I recognize their overwhelming optimism and persistence.  “Ask and you shall receive”, especially if the ask comes in multiple, persistent and exhaustively inventive ways.  Is it their innocence that moves us to say “yes”, or our overwhelming love of those childish voices and personalities?  Does the "yes" come for reasons too mysterious and numerous to ponder?  Within a context of safety and care, how can it hurt a child to make them happy in the moment?  How can it hurt us to believe that we too are worthy of the attention of a greater power than ourselves? 

Simple knowledge of  God, as described in the old and new testaments, leads us to a belief that He (or she?) is loving and fair, just, wise and has high expectations of us. Sounds like a good parent.  Hence the naysayers may be correct...faith is a childish behavior.

This season, I choose childish!  

As a result, 

I feel no embarrassment when moved to tears, as in yesterdays case, by the powerful sound of the organ in Sayles Hall, coupled with countless voices singing “Hark the Herald Angels Sing”.  

I am thrilled by the sight of so many students giving me a gift of their festive presence and voices, singing lyrics both poetic and enchanting. (the adult me wonders how many are in the throes of exams today, and did they sleep or stay up all night to prepare?)

I am happy in the moment, surrounded by strangers who pose no threat to me. 

I don’t feel the biting cold as I exit the Hall post concert.  I’ve got my sugar cookie and cider to keep me warm!

I am content and refreshed, knowing that someone(s) cared enough to “hold me tight” for a couple of hours and made all my angst go away.  

Today, I tuck the child snuggly inside me, and return to my adult world.  I recognize the worries, heed the warnings, sympathize with the grieving, and ruminate on the challenges ahead.  The optimism I feel is adult in nature, knowing the resources I have at hand.  The view I bring to each situation is longer on perspective, having reached the age of reason decades ago.  The wisdom I am grateful for calms my jittery nerves, as I recognize patterns in human behavior and the impact of collaboration, education, intellectual discourse and  compassion in any given crisis.  

Today, I heed the words of the wise university chaplain, who reminds us of the work in front of us, even as we revel in the light and love of the season.   I am conscious of the yearly refrain spoken by all at the Ceremony of Lessons and Carols- that the work of Christmas only begins on December 25th.  

I will make as merry as a child today, as I sort the stocking stuffers and plan for the weeks ahead.  I will fear no evil for a time.

I will also tap my adult sensibilities to reach for a higher purpose in some small or big way, to make the season equally bright for some unknown creature, also determined by God to dwell among us, and in need of my attention…

I will make no pretense that things are not tough for many, and I am but a small voice in the wilderness.  

I will, however, let hope fill a few extra corners of my heart and mind.

Childish Adult…nice to know me!

Heartbreak I will Never Know....

It has been too long since I have found the space in this life of mine to write, though I have mused over many topics.  Tonight the urge was overwhelming, perhaps because of the pull to express the gratitude I feel.  

Having listened to a familiar aria from "The Merry Widow", I am instantly reflecting on the tears that fill my Dad's eyes when he hears beautiful music.  The heartbreak I will never know is to have lived without the stirrings that music creates in a persons soul.  I too feel the music and the words so deeply, even when the language is foreign!  Thank-you Dad!  

What occurs to me as well, is that this kind of appreciation and shared passion is not dictated by curriculum, nor studied in prestigious volumes.  It is the education of the soul and the shaping of values that create emotions like these.  Nurturing experiences that only humans can appreciate requires time, shared opportunity and space, relaxed surroundings and, apparently,  natural teachers.  The unexpected work that my parents took on when they sang in the car, over dishwashing and with choirs , family and friends was to instill in me and my siblings that music can stir the soul and color ones life throughout the decades.  

Dad, at 90 years old, no longer sings.  His fingers have forgotten how to manipulate the CD player or the radio which used to transport him to another time and setting via opera.  Though I find it so sad that he no longer seems to even miss the sound of music in the room, and forgets that the CDs and player are there for his use, I am grateful when I see that music still stirs his soul when I play it for him. 
 I am most grateful that the love of music has taken a stronghold in my own life and that of my children.  It feels as if an important part of Dad lives on in our souls and always will, first taught to him by his own parents and then passed on to me by him and my Mom.  There may not be many expensive heirlooms in our family home, but the love of music continues to uplift and transform my moments and days.  The legacy that Dad leaves will be first and foremost  that we humans are born to feel, to savor the beauty and pathos of life, to appreciate the intricacies of sensory knowledge and to find meaning in each and every experience which comes our way.  

I have been spared the heartbreak of a life without music.  I have been given a treasure beyond compare.  I sit here in a quiet and ordinary space richer than most can imagine, to have felt the shared awe of a beautiful aria with the best of teachers. 

Freedom...in this space of my life

It's hard to remember how early in my life I heard the word freedom.  It might have been within the boundaries of a patriotic song or in the context of patriotic exercises on Flag Day or Veterans Day. Perhaps the occasional art project or a literary document, copied and/or memorized by me and my fellow fourth graders, were the strategies used by the Sisters of Mercy to impress upon us the importance of freedom.  At any rate...the significance of the word "freedom" has evolved and morphed with each passing decade of my life. 

No one book, article, podcast, experience, conversation or documentary can be solely credited with changing or growing my perspective on freedom.  

I could try to convince you that I know something of the loss of freedom or the exhilaration of new found freedom that many others experience...but I will not.  The spaces I describe in these posts are personal and most meaningful because they speak of and clarify my own experience.  SO...

Freedom,  in the form of days "off",  is a recent gift to Bob and I from my siblings.  We are currently providing assistance to my elderly parents in what was until 6 months ago our own home and empty nest. The kind of freedom that my brothers and sister afford us is a release from responsibility for meals, transport and any personal needs that arise in the course of Mom and Dads day.  Whether we are at home or away, we are free to "do our own thing".

 I realized after three free hours yesterday, that I felt so grateful for this time, that a reflection on freedom would become my latest post. What follows is a happy memory of time spent in a space upstairs at home. 

In the space of our home that includes laundry, wardrobe, bath, bedroom, desk, sewing table and music area, I have created a sanctuary.  Complete with soothing colors, candles, stereo, photos and memorabilia, it enhances my sense of indoor happiness and peace.   Being pragmatic and one who enjoys ordering my living spaces, I chose to polish heirloom furniture, laundered, sorted and stashed clothing destined for our use, that of Mom, Dad's and my mother-in-laws, and for good measure some to donate!  I listened to a game show on NPR (thus elevating my brain function), showered, smiled at and shared Facebook images of my grand babies, checked in on the bank account and made lists for the days errands and mother-in-law related tasks to be completed.  I drank too many (?) cups of Bobs awesome coffee, stashed dress clothes in a bag for dinner and theatre at the end of the day, exercised and organized a drawer.  I read e-mail and responded, made my bed and enjoyed the snowy view outside of several windows.  I shared smiles and plans with my husband before we parted ways until noon, when I at last emerged from my cocoon to greet my folks and chat awhile.  

Surely there have been equally, if not more, enjoyable experiences in my life.  Surely I have enjoyed other spaces, as well as pleasurable and awe-inspiring moments and hours.  But on this frigid Saturday morning as January prepared to make its exit, I experienced a significant time of freedom.  As I recall it,  I am grateful for the mundane pleasure of it all and the time to smile about it!

Let the light in....vs National Grid

There is no avoiding sitting myself down this morning to write this post....National Grid made me do it!  I have been mulling over a post that speaks to my passion for light in January.  As I backed out of my driveway, I spied two National Grid trucks at my corner (a diagonal stretch from my bedroom window).  For the fourth time in my 28 years of living at this location, I politely approached the workman to request that no streetlight be installed at "my" corner.  In the past, I have been relieved to learn that there was no intention to do so.  This particular worker decided I needed a tease, so he put on a serious attitude and informed me that my longest running neighbors had requested two!!  WHAT!  Then he chuckled as he revealed the truth...once again, no light planned for these posts.  Whew!  

The interesting thing is...I LOVE light....just not the artificial kind that disturbs your sleep on a long winters night.  My husband and I hauled the Christmas tree out to the back porch last night (light strings in place) to mark the end of the holiday season and the beginning of our wait for Spring.  We plugged it into the outdoor socket, informing my Dad that's why we installed one there :) Each evening, the tree will glow beyond the sliding glass door...and I will not mind the early darkness  descending once again.  By the time the tree begins to shed all its needles, it will be time to chop it for outdoor firelight.

The lighting we add to our home during the late winter months helps to brighten the gap between the glow of Christmas and the firepitside chats we enjoy in later seasons.    Ever notice how one tiny tea lite can make you as happy as a roaring fire.  It's all in your perspective.

Light also seems to lend a new energy to old bones...be they 60 something or 90 something!  The sunlights rare appearance this past Tuesday inspired a field trip for my homebound folks and I.  Even  two hours out did not zap Dads energy...the sun provided the extra lift he needed to negotiate the final steps into our house...I swear!  

I do believe in letting "the light shine for all to see"... grateful when I can ignite my own interior glow on a good day, or reach for the kind I conjure with candles and cords.  It keeps me productive and hopeful, as I await the  promise of warmth and natural light-the generous gift of encroaching spring. 

Grateful thought number one for today...light is everywhere I choose to find it or create it.  Grateful thought number two...my outside space, though changed in unfathomable ways these past years, will remain subject to natural light, and National Grid will once again go peacefully into the night...somewhere else. 

To My Dad..."standing knee deep in a river of abundance"

There's a favorite author of mine, whom I have been turning to for years, as I seek to live my life peacefully, while managing the occasional chaos and angst.  Sarah Ban Breathnach authored a book called 'Simple Abundance" years ago, and I have treasured my copy since finding it in (you might guess) a local Thrift Shop.  Today's quote fits this entry well, as I intend it as a tribute to my Dad, about to turn 90 years young in two days.  
Dad knows all about abundance, and appreciates every bit that comes his way.  A new member of our household since July of last year, Dad never ceases to inspire me with his appreciation of all things beautiful, curious and mundane.  Dad is never bored, as his senses serve up a constant stream of things to speculate over, comment on or just simply observe.  Most notably, as I write, there is a hum of the local contractor's excavating equipment, heard most days from 7am to 5pm.  I have dubbed my Dad supervisor of the construction across the street, as he is so interested in whatever the "guys" are doing.  They may be inside and out of sight, but Dad is sure about what they are up to...windows, insulation, constructing a  fireplace?  Naptime requirements include my turning his bulky recliner just so, in order for him to see outside and over there!

Construction is only the latest of Dad's occupations, abundantly available in our neighborhood  since he moved here. Though Dad's knees may buckle and the shortest trips to the bathroom are challenging at times, there is always the strength to stop and notice the photos on the fridge or on the family calendar.  Occasionally, there is a new plant or a forgotten gift left under the tree or on a counter...all cause for observation.  Even the hand towels in the bathroom are not overlooked, and we frequently converse over where I found the lovely ones...can you guess? 

The more time I share a space with my Dad, the more I realize that I have learned to observe, listen to and speak of  beauty from him.  Music...whether Broadway tunes, French folk songs, operatic arias or classical hymns has pervaded our lives and our lifestyles....underscoring all our celebrations as well.  Dad was a member of the adult church choir when I too participated in the youth choir.  I remember the pride I felt in singing Gregorian Chant at Catholic Mass, knowing I was "just like him".  ...Opera on the basement radio, Gilbert and Sullivan recordings in the living room, harmonizing to "When Your Hair Has Turned to Silver" in the car with Mom...abundance of  musical opportunities...abundance of joy!

Abundant thanks to my Dad, Andre Pierre....thanks for the love of so much and so many in the simplest of places-sunsets out the car window, music everywhere, savoring "slivers" of luscious and pretty desserts, people- wherever we find them being just who they are.... 

Thanks for continuing to "stand knee deep in a river of abundance" though your legs are weakened  and your aging heart aches at times.  Thanks for not letting the depth and occasional current of life's river disturb you, but for persevering and exulting in it's abundance!