GRATITUDE...LIKE THE CALM AFTER THE STORM

        It is early morning and my husband, who turned sixty six while we were sleeping, is savoring his birthday sleep-in snooze.  I am awake and checking off  list items in anticipation of our Thanksgiving trip to New York.  Except...now I am taking that well deserved pause to reflect and be grateful.  I reflect a lot but cannot seem to manage the pause, the writing of it.  I realize that after the storms that life presents us, one must do a thorough cleaning of the debris shaken from the trees or the shelves or the soul sometimes...and then assess...and then rebuild... or at least re organize...be that the spirit or the space.  
        This Thanksgiving week is just that.  I have been shaken loose by the mini eruptions of emotion as I again remember the loss of my mother and Bobs, just this year.  They left us peacefully, before the full bloom of spring, two months apart.  No doubt they have much to be grateful for, as their unanticipated(to us) passings, and their journey to final moments were brief... each accompanied more by a quiet tide of emotional suffering than a physical one.   I imagine heaven is made of husbands to dance with once again, and sisters to share a word or a day with as well.  It is a balcony from which to view the earthly goings on of those they call family, living a different life here, but one still familiar.    I imagine there are no storms in heaven...much to be grateful for!  I do believe they are with us still, in our manners and traditions, the capabilities and the challenging demeanors, the invisible bonds of love and angst, the ultimate "YES" and the struggles with forgiveness.  
Thanks for the lessons ladies!  For you I am most grateful.  All the storms of those final years, the lessons learned about aging and graceful living, regret and persistence taught me what I am made of.  Sadness still creeps in, like the leaves that blow into ones path even after the raking and the bagging of autumns debris is done.  
      Tears and spills stain the fresh tablecloth that covers the wear of the table.  There is no hiding wear and tear nor pain and loss.  There is cause for gratitude though...in the memories made at that table and the lessons learned so long ago about bounty, style, finesse, beauty.  There is gratitude for endurance-for that is what is we soak in as a result of the ravaging waters of living.  It is there whether we know it or not, appreciate it or ignore it.  Like the calm after a storm, there is loss to face indeed.  Steps may seem heavier and bodies so hard to energize.  After all assessment, there are choices, and so many decisions to make...the stuff of exhaustion!  Endurance finds us unexpectedly and we move on.  
       The year has indeed been stormy, accompanied by the whining and the tremors of incredulous happenings in the world beyond my doors.  I could make the list of so much to be unhappy about, and  forgive myself for the drowning of it in excessive eating or drinking or complaining or moping.  But,  the daughter in me has learned that this healthy body will not exit stress and malaise quite so easily!  There is a breeze of fresher air gently lifting me from my chair, and a pink morning sky that signals a new day rising.  I will follow the impulse to move to a place of gratitude once again. 

     Out on the harbor I am so grateful to see from my window, there lies a stillness...a calm.  The day looms innocently and free of expectations.  Let that be my vision as I head out into its arms.  Let me be gently nudged by gratitude should the thoughts or occasion arise.  Let nothing shake my sense of wonder, nor break the core of endurance I am building within.  Then, like one who weathers a storm, I shall emerge ready to move on, beyond the debris and distractions to the shelter of a beautiful world...still.  Thanks giving indeed!

Lost, Without a Map

Lost, Without A Map             October 7, 2019      

Life has a way of delaying some things...trips, new discoveries, understandings.  In an effort re-enter this writers space, I recognize myself as a little lost and so in need of a map!  I have always been one who appreciates the tangible evidence that a paper map can provide...the proof that roads exist and I will find my way, whatever the destination. There is no map for this space in my life.  I am in need of a self guided rescue, one dredged from a weary spirit.   Unlike the quick  clicks that bring me WAZE and instant direction for the journey, spirit is sluggish today. 

This day marks six months since I said goodbye to my mom.  The spaces around me, whether at home or on the sidewalks of town are blurred by unexpected tears, appearing like pesky pedestrians on the edges of my path...not easily ignored or avoided.   Writing, like the soothing touch of a travel mate in the passenger seat, will my recourse.   I admit this may be an exercise in self pity, but some trips are just that, and must be endured.  

Mom, even at her frailest, was true North.  From the earliest times I can remember, she gave direction and example in how to conduct oneself in so many situations...but not the one that matters to me today.  At times the weight of not seeing her stops me like a roadblock.  The detours are necessary but just serve as a reminder that once again, I am not in control.  I can dredge up one of her favorite mantras..."You have to talk to yourself"- a phrase that I know helped her through many a disappointment and challenge.  But Mom...it's you I want to talk to! 
You were so quiet in your final days, finding a gentle smile when you could, but mostly withdrawing.  I know you were tired.  I know life without Dad had become so very lonely, even as you tried to find companionship with the new and old folks in your life.  None of us could compare to the routine and comfort that life with Daddy had provided.  Your path in this life was slowly crumbling and you could only find your way to him. 

I miss your strength Mom, even though I so wearied of those habits that diminished your health and well being.  You knew what you were about...always.  You did not trod an easy road to heaven, as you had a strong heart and the "bonne sante" that kept you vital, even to the week of your passing.  You asked me, "Why is it taking so long" when you wearied of the process of dying.  I could only whisper that all would be well and sit by you.  How I wish I could have sat longer, and learned how one faces the ultimate challenge of letting go.  I don't want to let go Mom!  I look for signs of your presence.  I believe they are with me, but buried too deep in my own nature and lifestyle to differentiate.  I don't see you in dreams or signs Mom.  Perhaps you were too big for a mere symbol to comfort me.  Perhaps your legacy to me is to accept, to talk to myself and eventually find a temporary rest stop where I can feel your love, and smile with the assurance that truly we will meet again.  

It's that road map thing that gets in the way of acceptance Mom.  There is no document for this time, ...only faith and the experience of living the ride.  I can do this, but I sure would love a glimpse of you in the rearview or the side mirror from time to time...just to know you're still part of my journey.  Think that can be your new super power Mom...to share with the little girl inside me that still feels lost from time to time? 

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!