I am also thankful that I have a job but when the week winds down, I am especially thankful that for the next two days that I can rest. Well, not really rest insomuch that I do nothing, I have weekend chores but I am generally at my home and I find it a place of comfort and peace. It is a place away from the busyness of life and the noise of non-stop opinions and chaos. I don’t have to dress for the world, or put on a face for the world; I can just be me.
My sweet Becky often sends me an “Aloha Friday” text message. That phrase comes from the 1940’s when the Hawaiian clothing industry encouraged businesses to allow there workers to wear Aloha shirts on Friday. The trend hit the Bank of Hawaii when it’s President adopted it and allowed his workers to do the same. When the practice spread to the mainland it was known as casual Friday.
The Hawaiian Island Clothing Company says this about Aloha Friday, “Friday is more than just an opportunity to dress casually to work, it is a reminder to help others. It is our reminder to spread Aloha.“
And… according to the Skyline Hawaii Blog:
“Aloha is an essence of being: love, peace, compassion, and a mutual understanding of respect. Aloha means living in harmony with the people and land around you with mercy, sympathy, grace, and kindness.”
Thankful for family… those connected by blood and those connected by heart. You’ve heard the saying that blood is thicker than water but I say that when God joins two hearts, the bond is stronger than blood.
Without getting too deep into the crazy mix of my family, I want to say I am so thankful for the family God has added to my life.
One of these family members is Karen. Karen is actually married to my ex who is also my step-brother. In the past introductions were a little awkward (once we looked at each other like…what do I call you?) but now it is truer and easier to say she is my sister-in-law but really better yet a sister. A sister that came into my family when I needed it most.
Karen joined my family circle in a crisis. We first met when my oldest son was in the hospital after a near-fatal motorcycle accident 30 years ago. She was a supportive then and has stayed a source of strength and comfort through many highs and lows over the years.
Over the years, we went to graduations, we saw a son go to war, we attended weddings and funerals and welcome grandchildren. In 2018, she put in three long days in Texas helping us clean out our parent’s house. A task above and beyond any obligation or call of duty. We had many moments of laughter and it surely took a saint to work through more than 40 years of clutter and dust.
Throughout this difficult year Karen stood by us all as we said goodbye to mother. Not just my mother but her mother-in-law and the mother who loved her, her husband and his sister more than any mother could love a son or daughter.
My mom told me one once that Karen told her we were “buds.” Yes, we were, but we are more than buddies and friends, we became family and we will remain family to the end.
Today is Karen’s birthday. Happy birthday Karen. We met just before your 34th birthday and you have proven to be an amazing gift and blessing in my life.
Those of you who know my husband will understand. He is a motivated, driven, hard working never going to stop kind of man. Some would say a workaholic but to him his work is his passion, it challenges him and it keeps him going and he loves what he does.
Below is a post from 2015 and it is even more relevant today.
Once again he is home safe. Chrissie has always traveled a lot, I teased once that I’ve lived in Seattle 30 years but he’s only been here 15! It became common for him to be gone often. However, it seems now that whenever he is away, I am more concerned that he is well and taking care of himself and I am more thankful when he makes it home safely.
So you get the picture, he travels a lot and he works a lot. His last trip overseas was February 2020, just at the beginning of the Covid pandemic. Five days before returning home he became sick with what he felt was food poisoning. By the morning of his trip home he was pretty well depleted of everything as you can imagine after three days of dysentery. It was a grueling trip back, and because the food poisoning caused his GI track to react in a fiercely negative fashion, he neither ate or drank during the trip. Well that was a recipe for disaster, I picked him up from the airport and took him to an urgent care facility, who then in turn sent him to the Emergency Room. It was food poisoning caused by E-coli and Campylobacter infections which caused him to become extremely dehydrated (along with the no fluids on the flight). All of this sent him into acute renal failure and he spent four days in the hospital.
So in 2020 I was very thankful he made it home, albeit in rough shape. Then Covid hit and all travel came to a grinding halt.
While he was home all this time, from February 2020 to November 2021, he did not lay idle. As I said, he likes to stay busy and if he has 15 minutes of free time he’ll find an hours worth of work to cram into it. He became interested in the local homeless shelter organization. He eventually accepted a position on their Board and worked to help them find solutions to expand their capacity during the covid pandemic.
Last week was his first overseas trip in 20 long months. Believe me, he had been trying to organize me too and I was actually looking forward to a little “down time.” Although the covid outbreak in Eastern Europe was high, Chris had been fully vaccinated and received his booster in September.
Off he went into the skies. Traveling again but armed with tools for sanitizing and many cautionary words of advise from his dear wife. He arrived safely on Sunday and then on Tuesday he became ill. Almost a repeat of 2020 – this time it went on for five days. On Thursday he went for his required covid test to reenter the US, it was NEGATIVE, so he was going to try and get home.
He made the first leg of his journey, a five hour flight to Amsterdam and when he got off the plane he was nearly too weak to walk. His traveling companion, who was headed to Detroit, helped him to the KLM Lounge. He tried eating and drinking but his heart was racing and he was short-of-breath. After a very worrisome phone call, I called the Amsterdam Airport Schiphol. I asked for the medical clinic and a very kind doctor answered in Dutch. I asked, “Do you speak English?”
“Yes of course” he replied. Of course he did, according to Language on the Move, 77% of people in the Netherlands are trilingual. In my panicked tone I explained the issue. He calmly told me to have someone from the KLM Lounge bring him over. The compassionate and concerned ladies at the KLM lounge took him in a wheelchair to the Medical Center – Schiphol. The medical staff there quickly assessed him and administered three bags of IV fluids. After four hours he was feeling a boost from that and was ready to go. The clinic wheeled him back to the KLM Lounge where they rebooked him on a flight home for the next day. They then took him to the hotel within the airport where he rested and spent the night.
The next morning, he woke up not feeling quite as well as he did after the IV fluids but because they had booked him on a direct flight to Seattle in First Class, he thought he could make the trip home. I was still very anxious about the whole situation but getting home was the thing that was driving him to press on. It was a long, long night. I kept tracking the flight and my heart skipped a beat when it no longer showed on the tracker, however it was due to the fact they were out of range over Greenland and Northern Canada. I tried texting him as some airlines offer free texting via iMessage but it was radio silence for ten agonizing hours.
When I arrived at the airport he showed up after only a few minutes due to the fact he cleared Customs with his Global Entry status. I have to say, he did not look as bad as I expected, although he was sweating profusely. We left the airport and went straight to the hospital skipping the urgent care step this time. After five hours we left the ER, we discovered he had similar issues as before but added inflammation and infection in his colon; again acute kidneys injury (although not as bad as 2020, I think due to the fluids he received at Schiphol) and again E coli plus giardia lamblia infections. The doctor said that because of his age they would ordinarily keep him to continue IV fluid so insure his kidneys recovered, but hospitals are not the safest places these days. We came home with two different antibiotics and stern instructions to return if he did not improve.
So there it is. Once again he made it home and although not completely safe, he had the prayers of friends I had called during my panic and guardians along the way to help him. Quite possibly guardian angels. He has plans to travel to Israel in three and half weeks. All I can do is pray he makes it home safely which is what I have done for the past thirty-nine years. I tried telling him that although he feels 35 his body is 70. He’s not buying it.
I’ve written nothing for weeks, it seems the only thing on my mind is our eventual end in this world. Death.
I feel like I shouldn’t write about it anymore but it has consumed my thoughts. I want to move on but after I lost my mom, my BFF lost hers only a few weeks later. Then two other friends followed the same sad path. We are all moving from one plane to another. Being daughters and caretakers to wondering what do we do now after we finish sorting through our mother’s belongings and closing down their lives.
What is the meaning of life if it just comes to an end and we are reduced to a few boxes of our treasures and we are remembered only by a few close loved ones?
Recently an older couple that owned the townhouse next to one we owned in Seattle, downsized and moved. Before they moved the husband asked if he could use our trash and recycling to dispose of some extra things. Of course I told him it would be OK. The next week I went to put some things in trash and inside the trashcan he had tossed a cat litter box and some folders in the bottom. I picked up one of the folders and it was his diploma from the University of Pennsylvania. The others similar diplomas representing accomplishments in his life. It really made me sad … is this what it comes down to – all that you worked for, all your goals in life are tossed out in the trash with a dirty old cat litter box? I wanted to rescue them for him, I wanted to preserve what he had worked for, his life’s achievements. It seemed so final, so futile. What is left, what is the purpose of it all?
As I think about all these things, I realize summer has past and winter is fast approaching. I look forward with dread, I dread winter… I dread the wind, the rain, the cold, the dead plants in the garden and the mess in my yard. My mood is already deep in winter. Can I just wake up tomorrow in Spring?
I know the answer. I must go through this winter, the one in my heart and the one outside. I am calling out to God, please Lord rescue me. Pull me through this season a of life and carry me to the end.
“What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
I live near the foothills of the Cascade Mountains in Washington State. Today, July 27, is the 42nd day with no measurable rainfall. This is amazing for several reasons. One, this area gets an average of 66 inches of rain a year compared to Seattle, which is famous for its rain as it is its coffee, that gets only 38 inches. Two, the rain rolls in here and just lingers around the foothills dumping rain, rain and more rain. All this rain keeps the grass growing and the moss green.
During this 42 day dry spell, the grass has turn brown and is as dry bed of straw. However when I look across my lawn it is speckled with spots of green. Those green spots are the weeds. The drought conditions have killed everything —- what I don’t water dies, but the weeds seem to flourish even when conditions are dry, hot and harsh.
I did a bit of research on this phenomenon and it seems several things contribute to this; in dry conditions weed seeds are protected from bacteria and fungus that break them down which preserves them until the rains return. The other reason is that weeds have strong deep root systems that are successful in searching out the water deep in soil.
Weeds are survivors —- strong, with deep roots and their renewal systems are protected. I know some people that are like weeds, no matter what life throws at them they dig deep for the the water of life to give them the strength to face each new day. They store up the seeds of hope and joy, so that after they have survived the hot dry harsh circumstances, those seeds flourish in another season.
So as I look around my dead and dying lawn dotted with green blotches and I think I may prefer to be a weed. When life is harsh, I want to be a survivor and maybe, just maybe, I have virtues that are not yet discovered.
I live in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains in a community that has a large herd of Rocky Mountain Elk in residence. According to the Upper Snoqualmie Valley Elk Management, who do an annual census, there are an estimated 450 elk in the greater Snoqualmie Valley area. In my area and around my house we see small herds up to about 30.
These beasts are like spirit animals; they are huge and yet they can walk under my open window early in morning and I hear nothing. Sometimes I will walk outside and they are all laying down under the trees taking an afternoon siesta and just as quickly as they appear they can vanish into the forest without a sound. They are beautiful, so large and majestic. No matter how often I see them, I am always in awe and can never get enough photographs. I just love them and love having them around. Although they are quiet they do not come and go without leaving an indication of their presence. Most evident is the leftovers and scraps from veracious appetite. They will strip the leaves off small trees, devour roses and ornamental bushes, and flowers. It is difficult to maintain traditional landscaping so I sought advise from the local nursery and purchased a variety of plants that they recommended. Plants that elk are not fond of, mostly herb-like plants or plants with strong bitter tastes.
So generally everything in my greater open yard is free for the taking. I have a lot of things they don’t like — stinky daisies, wild foxglove and bee balm, rhododendrons, and azaleas. Other things that they may like are planted at my own risk. A few years ago I planted a golden chain tree that was about 7′ tall and I thought they might eat the lower leaves, but no, they grabbed it by the top and broke it right in half then left it. They will try most things and if they don’t like it they just leave it on the ground and move on. Very frustrating.
So that’s it, there are no tender plants, no annual or perennial flowers in my yard; for those I have my patio. There I have hanging baskets, geraniums, shamrocks, coleus, Japanese maple, a dogwood and lots of flowering annuals. My patio was somewhat “guarded” by a collection of decorative, yet not sturdy, fence sections. Those sections were really no defense against a 600 pound elk determined to snack. Occasionally they would break-in and ravage my patio pulling the plants up by the roots and the ones they didn’t like they just dropped. Last summer after one such attack they broke four flower pots because as they pulled the plants, the pots lifted as well, when the plants pulled free the pots dropped and shattered.
Enter, my friend Rogelio, (see my post 11/14/20) this spring he constructed a sturdier permanent fence. I am thrilled with my new well-fortified fence. My lilies in the large pots that faithfully come back every year, (even though the elk would bite the heads off most of them before they bloom) are flourishing. My planters are full of colorful flowers… it is a patio paradise.
Then, this morning, I see a small group of elk wandering around the back of the house and I rush downstairs to make sure they have not entered my patio garden by way of the sidewalk next to the house. I open the back door and I want to scream! Two pots by the back door, one with zinnias and the other with several beautiful coleuses, are both knocked over and those big beasts have eaten the coleus down to a nub. I am furious.
This is the other other side of our relationship. I don’t want to say “hate” because that is a strong word I don’t use to describe my feelings towards anything… except maybe yogurt, but I am not liking these beautiful beasts much at that moment.
I shout at them, clap my hands, “It is time to move along guys – go away!” Several beasts, a few feet away, just move a few steps and look at me like I am no threat and true enough, I am not! So there you go. On my way back inside the house I notice they also decapitated the only lily growing in the bed out side of the patio.
June 23rd, it has been an entire month since you passed away and yet, you are not gone. You are in my dreams, every night. I am trying to change the outcome, trying to do something different, trying to think of what I missed, what if I had made different choices, the right choices. Did I make the right choices?
You are with me during the day. It seems everyday there is something I read, something I hear, something I smell that brings you alive in my mind. Words of wisdom, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all” or “beauty is as beauty does’ or maybe just “God is so good.”
Saturday, Chris came home from the store with yellow crook-necked squash. Oh how I loved the squash casserole you would make with cheese, green chilies baked to a soft gooey consistency of mac and cheese except with a yellow vegetable.
I look in the mirror and I see you staring back at me. People would always say we looked alike but I never saw it as much as I do now. At your funeral, your dear friend Leslie came to me and said, “If ever a day you looked liked your mother, today is the day.” Is this how it is, from this day forward I am the living replica of who you were?
Yes, we look alike, but we were different in so many ways. I am more bling, you were more practical. You never painted your nails, never wore more makeup than lipstick. You loved cotton and white, from socks to undergarments and I know you never owned red knickers.
I am more outspoken and sass, you were more patient and kind. You had endless faith and mine often waivers. Your poetry is all about how much you love God and how good God has been to you; mine is about life and perceptions and thankfulness.
Because we lived so far apart, I think some days I don’t really realize you are gone. I get up and think you are there, in Texas sitting your recliner with Precious in your lap watching Andy Griffith in Matlock or listening to the Gaither family or reading your bible. You probably have a big glass of ice tea with lemon and will have a baked potato with lots of butter and cheese for lunch.
I will never have answers to the questions in my dreams. I know that you were suffering and that you would not have wanted to continue living that way. However, knowing does not, for now, end the doubt in my head.
I hope you have had a wondrous first month in heaven with your Lord. I know I teased you once because you loved artist depictions of Him and I said that you were going to get to heaven and not recognize Him. Your response, “OH YES I WILL” and I’m am sure you did. Have a fabulous day mother, and even though I was the “bossy one,” all my actions were done out of love.
Tomorrow, I say my final goodbye to the person who gave me life, my mother. She crossed the threshold from this earth into her heavenly home on Pentecost Sunday, the day God sent His Spirit as a comforter, a helper and a friend.
I had been sitting by her bedside for ten days. The last five she was unresponsive, “resting peacefully” the nurses would say. However the days that proceeded those she suffered so much pain it broke my heart to hear her cries.
Sunday morning, I whispered in her ear, “Today is Pentecost Mother, the day God sent his spirit to earth. Perhaps he will come today to take you home.”
My mother needed the comfort, help and friendship from the Holy Spirit these past few months and weeks. She relied on Him from the time she was 16. He was her stronghold and guide through many difficult days.
It was ten long days of saying goodbye, of singing hymns, of holding her hand, of listening to sweet anecdotes from staff and others that loved her.
I thought I was prepared, I thought I would be relieved, but the moment her spirit left her body and she took her last breath, as peaceful as it was, the reality that she was gone overwhelmed me with a flood of emotion that was unexpected.
The truth is, no matter how many days you prepare yourself, there are very few sorrows in life that are as deep as losing your Mother.
“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.”
In 2000 I visited Israel for the first time and I purchased this small blown glass tear bottle or tear catcher. It is said that use of these bottles date back over 3000 years when in Middle Eastern societies mourners would collect their tears in them.
My mother cried many tears. She was tenderhearted. Emotional. She was, I believe, an empath; if someone was hurting she felt their pain, her heart would break with theirs and she would shed tears with them.
When look at this little bottle, I realize that sadly it would not have held my mother’s tears. She shed tears of sadness, tears of sorrow, tears of regret, of loss and rejection. She also shed tears of happiness, tears of joy, tears of love and of thankfulness.
Mother read her bible and several devotionals every morning and after her study she shed tears through her prayers, for her family, for her friends, for her past mistakes, and for God’s love for her.
Sometimes it seemed her tears were endless and ofttimes hard to understand or cope with. When I would call and find her crying, I would ask her why? Her most frequent answer was, “because God is so good”
Today I rejoice because my mother is in heaven with the Savior she loved and served all her days. She can feel through her very being the overwhelming depth of God’s love. She is singing and rejoicing and all the things of this earth that brought sorrow and sadness are gone.
So even though this little bottle would not have been large enough to hold her earthly tears for even a day, I know that the bible says the place where she is today is a place where…
“He will wipe every tear from [her] eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”
It has been a long week sitting at Mother’s bedside. She is still with us and she has not had food or drink in 3 days. We are not eager to let her go but want her suffering to end.
On Wednesday night the nurse said that she felt Mother is waiting on someone. I told the only one who has not said goodbye (of her children) is my brother who is an alcoholic. They had not spoken in ten years. I told her that I cannot call him as the last calls I had with him were abusive.
I told my mother on Tuesday that if she was waiting to hear from Howard, it was ok to go because God was going to handle it and he’d explain it all once she was in heaven.
Yesterday, Thursday, we talked to the social worker about calling him. The social worker did call my brother and he agreed to speak to Mother. Miracles of miracles, he was decent and told her he loved her and it was ok to go. Actually he said more than I ever hoped for or expected. He tried to bring up their past relationship issues and the social worker told him “That is in the past, this is now, and your Mother needs to know you’ll be ok when she leaves.”
I could have never had that conversation with him, it would have ended in an abusive tiraid.
When the night nurse came in, she told us that after we left on Wednesday night a young aid came on duty who had a good relationship with Mother. After she went down to check on Mother, she came back and asked “Has Mrs Patsy been verbal at all?” The nurse told her she had not been for days. The the aid said, “She just told me ‘I am waiting for somebody’ “
We told the night nurse about the call to my brother. She called the aid at home on her day off and brought the phone to us so she could tell us exactly what happened.
I pray that ‘someone’ was my brother and she can now be released from the cares and worries of this world and move onto glory.
Ten minutes after the call to the aid she showed up to see us. She was so young and sweet. She told us she would dance down the halls with Mother on the way to the showers and how Mother want to be sure she didn’t lose any of her big bobby-pins. Oh my, we all knew about those wave holding bobby-pins and we all laughed. I know if Mother could still hear she was laughing with us. It was a sweet, sweet moment.
Today is Friday, May 21. Say a prayer that God will call her home.
Is life ever really fair? With all the talk about equality and leveling the playing field, I wonder if that is ever really possible? There may be some areas that life can be made easier for some but every situation is different. Is it fate, circumstances or poor life choices that lead to the the unfairness we see in life?
Where does society step in to ease these inequities?
Is it fair that new parents have to bury their 8 month old who dies of leukemia? Is there social program to end their hardships?
Any illness not caused by lifestyle that strikes the young is more than unfair. Childhood diabetes relies on costly insulin for survival. How do we compensate for their hardships?
Is it fair that a tender age girl is abused and her childhood is stolen? Can society do anything to change what she lost?
Is it fair that a person works their entire life gives to others and then is diagnosed with Alzheimer’s spend their twilight years just existing? No joy, no understanding of life around them.
Is it fair for an infant to be born into poverty and an addictive mother? Can they overcome this difficult start and prosper in life?
What we may deem as unfair, our minor little day-to-day annoyances, are really nothing at all to compared to the many who know real suffering in the world. For them, I would say life really does not seem to be fair.
When I was in my twenties I knew a lady, Anita, who was in her 60’s and she shared this nugget on life and fairness with me. “ Life is not fair, however if we all hung our troubles on a clothesline for everyone to see and we were given the opportunity to choose a line of troubles —- we would return to our own line.”
Many times over the years I have thought of her and her simple wisdom. In life we all face obstacles and hardships.
The most successful people I know that overcome the obstacles in life are those who keep going. They work hard, they get up even when it is hard, they change the things they can — they don’t quit.
So often we do not know the burdens people are carrying but think of those you do know. List your troubles and imagine you had theirs. Would you trade?
All is not fair or equitable in this life; yet life is a gift. Live it.
Again I saw that under the sun the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor bread to the wise, nor riches to the intelligent, nor favor to those with knowledge, but time and chance happen to them all.
One of DrB’s favorite sayings goes like this, “The rear view mirror is small and the windshield is big because you are suppose to focus on what is ahead of you while being reminded and learn from what you left behind.”
For the most part I can see the logic in that, however I see a reversal in the perspective. Recent events have led me to believe that the window to what lies ahead is very small. It is really like looking through the peephole and trying to determine what lies outside. Looking back through the rearview mirror you see how decisions you make were not always the best for all concerned.
My mother had been living in a nursing home for the past several years, her days were filled with greeting people in the lobby and spreading joy among the staff. In all reality her health was better than it had been in years. She spent time around other people, she got more exercise because she walked the halls and she definitely ate healthier. Her short-term memory was shot, but she knew us all and she was still a bit of a flirt and had that impish sense of humor.
A few months ago my mother had a clogged artery in her leg. The doctor called me with this grim news and indicated considering her age there was likely nothing that could be done. When he described to me how she would pass I nearly lost it. As a small glimmer of hope he indicated that he had placed a call to a specialist and as soon as he heard something he would call. That was 10AM, I heard nothing until midnight when a surgeon in the neighboring town called to give me his assessment. He would do the surgery, there could be many roadblocks along the way, she might not get blood flow restored to her lower leg and she might not survive the surgery. I felt like I was looking through that peephole in the door but I wanted to give her a chance. I believed she had so much still to give.
The procedure was a complete success, blood flow was restored all the way to her foot. Within a few days after the surgery she was her mischievous self, flirting with the male nurses, and eating well. Physical therapy had been in and stood her on her feet. I was hopeful for her full recovery. That was October, this is April. Six months later I am looking into the rearview mirror and questioning my decision.
My mother has not walked since the surgery. In addition her memory short and long term have declined, she cannot recall words and struggles to get her thoughts out. She will mimic and repeat what I say but struggles to find her own words. She recently became a Great-great-grandmother but she doesn’t comprehend that amazing fact. She will ask “Who?” and I tell her but she doesn’t really remember her great-granddaughter visiting, she doesn’t even remember her grandson.
It breaks my heart to see her in the convalescent recliners wheeled out into the common area in front of everyone. I know she would not want this! She would not want to present herself to the world (albeit her small world) like this. She never wanted people to know she could not manage and take care of herself, pride maybe, but she was always a very private person keeping her failings to herself was a form of maintaining her dignity.
Was this a false hope on my part? Should have let her go? The day after the surgery she asked my sister, “Why didn’t you let me die?” I ask myself that now. When I see her now, my heart breaks. She would not have wanted this to be the way she lived her final days. She would not want to live like this, I would not want to live like this.
If I could only have seen then, what I see now, looking into the rearview mirror. I was looking through a peephole, it would have been nice to have a full view through the windshield but that is not the way life works. Decisions are based on your best hopes for a positive outcome and looking behind does often give you an opportunity to learn.
Remembering my Uncle William today on the 91st anniversary of the day of his birth. He was affectionately know as UW to me and my family and he was one wild and crazy guy. If you had the pleasure of meeting him, you’d never forget him. He was a Texan’s Texan; one of a kind, a big heart, a loud voice, a swimmer, and athlete with drive and determination to live life to the fullest.
So many memories of him in my heart, here are just a few.
He was an adventurer. In the late 50’s and early 60’s, he lived and hunted and worked as a guide in Alaska. He had many trophies on his wall from those days and at Christmas he hung lights on the big moose-head in his house.
He had a heart as big as Texas: When I was very little (under three) my mother was a single mom trying to support three young children on the money she earned working as a waitress at Walgreens. She told me he would come to dinner once a week and leave a $20 bill under his plate.
He was a loving brother: As many tales as I have about him, my mother has repeated dozens more. Several years ago I recorded many of her stories on tape. He was the complete opposite of her and he extended his love to her in many ways. When I was clearing my mother’s house, I found a Valentines card he had sent her. Inside he had written over and over again until it filled every space inside the card… “I Love You!” I framed that card for her and it is with her at the nursing home.
He could be stern: When I was little I would go and stay with him and my aunt for a week in the summer. One summer I remember, I had been riding one of his bikes and when I came in, I just just let it drop to the ground and ran inside. I got a very stern (and loud) lecture on the value of things and caring for them properly. I know it made me cry but I have always remembered that and I remember it every time I am feeling lazy and am tempted to not put something away properly.
He was fun (and sometimes inappropriate): For most of my childhood we would have Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner with Uncle William, alternating houses each year. Every single year, at the dinner table, my Uncle William would tell a joke. It often revolved around the grace or a holiday theme. I can often remember asking what they meant and my mother would always say, “It is for adults.”
One I do remember, as I must have pondered it’s meaning for years. He was buttering a dinner roll and he asked, “Did you hear about the lady in the mini-skirt who went to buy butter? When she bent over the refrigerator case instead of getting butter she got bred.”
He was a teacher: For many years he taught swimming at his home in the outskirts of Houston. After he died one of his students wrote these memories on his obituary. “Bill [VH] had more influence on my life than anyone outside my family. He took me under his wing when I was only 8 years old – I loved him immediately… he asked me to work with him – I didn’t know you could make money doing something so fun… he wanted to scuba dive again – he’s the one that got me started on that – scrubbing the algae off the bottom of his pool!…. I loved the way he gave me bear-hugs. My eyes are tearing just thinking about it. I loved him so, so much and I will be forever grateful for the knowledge, experiences and love that he gave me.”
Last but not least, he was a lady’s man: After his death we found envelopes with pictures of some of his lady friends. One envelope was labeled, “naughty but nice ladies.”
Later in life, I stayed close to my UW. I volunteered and worked at the Sr. Olympics in Houston when he competed and won many events; we traveled to California to cheer him on when he did the Alcatraz swim. He shivered for 2 hours after he got out of the water that day and he told us he never would have made if that one female swimmer in front of him had not jumped in nude. He said, “I just kept trying to catch up with her!”
In the 90’s he joined us several times in Campbell River, BC salmon fishing. UW was an avid sportsman and my young son, Josh, was a a budding environmentalist. UW and Josh had a special relationship but on this trip it was challenged. UW had caught a big salmon and I guess procedure is to whack them on the head to kill them and put them in the cooler. Josh was mortified by what was happening and he told UW, “If you bonk that fish again I’m gonna bonk you!”
Dec 2010 – One Last Hug
My Uncle William was athletic and he was physically fit into his 80’s, however his mind did not keep up. He was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in his late 70’s. The last time I saw him was in December 2010. He was at a memory care facility in California. He was overjoyed to see me and Chris. We brought him some pumpkin bread from Starbucks and he kept asking me if I had made it. Our visit ended quickly when it was lunchtime and a little lady knocked at his door. I guess she was his standing lunch date and you can’t keep the ladies waiting.
He was a man of his time, he had opinions and you knew what they were but he had a charisma that drew people to him; he was bigger than life. He was my Uncle William, a mentor, a father-figure, and a friend and not only my ‘Uncle William’ but he was an uncle to my sons, my ex and to Chrissie. We will never forget him and I am thankful for his impact on my life.
This morning I received my first Covid19 vaccine. My appointment invitation came through my doctor’s office on January 19, and was scheduled at an affiliate hospital. Three days before my original appointment date, I received an e-mail to say they had cancelled my appointment to prioritize second doses. A second e-mail informed me the vaccination was rescheduled two weeks away and the location had been move to the Microsoft campus in Redmond. When it comes to change with things I am uncomfortable with in the first place, I do not react well. This was no exception.
Now generally, I am not a conspiracy-prone type of person. However, there is so much good/bad and true/false information out there, it leaves one struggling about what to believe or who to trust. First of all, I have several friends and acquaintances who for moral and/or religious reasons are adamantly opposed to the vaccine and they had been bombarding my mailbox with videos from every well meaning, self-proclaimed expert and God-fearing prophet in the ether. Secondly, I am 65 and I have only ever gotten one flu shot and that was only because I was caring for my son who was extremely ill and immune compromised. I am not an anti-vaxer; I am cautious about foreign substances in my body and even the “experts” have changed their stories. Finally, I do believe God sends us signs and messages and I have been praying for answers. When the original appointment was cancelled then moved further away to a campus that has thousands of people, I began to question whether or not I should go. Maybe it is a sign I should not, and I have had the past two weeks to fret over the issue.
Awake at 4 AM, I go downstairs to search out some final truth about this vaccine. I send a Whats-app message to a friend in Israel who has received the vaccine in hopes of gleaning some knowledge from her. She messaged back that the congregation there is online streaming a worship service. I tune in and was encouraged by the message and song. Then I searched for a God-lead perspective and I find an organization that I trust. This organization had a podcast that discussed the vaccine, the origins of the cell-lines used to test it and the moral ethical issues surrounding the use. The video that followed that one was from ZDoggMD, a doctor I have listened to in the past who has a podcast where he openly and honestly gives easy to understand explanations on medical issues. I listen to his podcast and his experience with the vaccine and why many, as he himself did, have a stronger reaction to the second dose.
By this time I have decided to go to the appointment at Microsoft and take everything one step at a time.
As you can imagine, the vaccination center there was very, very organized. People greeted me warmly at the door as I walk into a sectioned off area with attendants in plexiglass booths. They ask to see the QR Code that was sent, took my temperature and gave me a sticker to wear that says, “I’ve been screened.” (Later when it in a mirror notice it is upside down…I was in a a daze and my glasses weren’t on). I was sent down a long roped off hallway to the next check-point where they again ask to see the QR Code on my phone. Another person greeted me and took me into a room with ten plexiglass booths, where I was asked to verify my name and address, show my ID and the QR code again. When I finished I was directed to the entrance of large room with about thirty vaccination stations; there I was escorted to one of the stations, each manned with a nurse and a tech (also encased in plexiglass). The tech verified my QR Code again and the nurse greeted me and asked my name.
Now this is were things get interesting. I smile and although we all have masks on, I can see she smiles back. I tell her that I am very apprehensive about getting this vaccination. This nurse, Kim, is so kind and understanding; she tells me not to worry that I have an old nurse that she has retired from Swedish Hospital (we discover later she is really not that old… just a few months younger than me.) I tell her my son is in Swedish Hospital right now with a bowel blockage. She says she had a blockage and a resection once and that she knows all the GI’s down there.
As she starts to name names, I ask, “Do you know Dr Menon?”
She replies, “Oh my gosh he is the sweetest man.” (I agree, in many of my stories from 2013, I talk about what a guardian angel he was when my son was so very ill.)
She tells me she was in charge of the ER in the hospital where Dr. Menon did his residency and she says half jokingly that she trained him. We go on to have this semi-Love-Fest conversation about Dr Menon. I get her name and tell her I will let him know that I saw her.
The final step in this journey is waiting in a large conference room for the prescribed 15 minutes to pass to insure there is no adverse reaction to the vaccine. Ten numbered rows, ten chairs each spaced six feet apart. By time I reach my chair I am elated. All my anxiety and angst have flown away. Was this a coincidence? Or was it confirmation that even in the littlest things in life, God knows our hearts and cares for us? He, in the most amazing way, set up the plan to put my mind at ease and comfort me.
I was going to title this “God’s Care and Love – Part II” but when I got back to the office I messaged my friend in Israel to tell her the story. She replied, “Wonderful story! God kissed you today!”
Last week my dear husband tells me he is going to come into work late because he has a delivery coming. Imagine my sobering surprise when he informs me that he purchased a 75” Q800T QLED TV. Chris’s choices and decisions have always followed the motto – Go-Big or Go-Home. Why should he change now?
Now mind you we have no TV in our living room, a medium size TV on my dresser and hubby already has a big 65” TV in his man cave. I ask why? Why? Why do we need this big thing?
My sobering surprise quickly turned to complete shock when he informed me he was going to put it in the bedroom, on top of my 6 ft wide dresser. It will be awesome he insists and it’s a smart TV we can hook our computers up to it.
When I arrived home, it was here, in the hallway; the box was as large as a twin bed. It is even more massive than I envisioned, what one might call Texas-sized. I grew up in Texas and they are proud of the slogan “Everything is Bigger in Texas.”
This TV is against everything I am comfortable with — being subtle, understated, quiet and doing everything you can to not stand out or be noticed. Even so, I do not protest. I’ll tell you why, because Chris works hard, and if this big TV makes him happy then I am happy for him to have it. Chris will be 70 soon and over the past few years advancing age makes one realize life is short – a reminder to not sweat the small stuff. Although, this TV is big, very big, its presence in my bedroom is insignificant… not worth a battle, small stuff.
This morning we installed this behemoth. I’ll spare you the details of two senior citizens pushing and pulling it up a flight of stairs with a 45° turn near the top, or the details of me lifting it shoulder high to get it on top of my dresser with my frozen shoulder or after 1.5 hours spent setting up and being unable to sync to Comcast. It finally connects… then we learn the cable system was down. What timing.
So my Texas-sized 75” Q800T QLED is firmly on it’s 40” pedestal (my dresser) and it is awesome. Watching from my adjustable bed which is only 4’ away is like be front and center at a Texas drive-in theater. All we need are the swing sets and monkey bars out front for the kids and the popcorn. Don’t forget the popcorn.
In searching for an old email I found this note from 2006. I remember the incident well but had forgotten the lesson I learned.
It was early October and I was sitting at my desk at the office when I heard a disconcerting racket from about 10-15 crows out back. I looked out the window and saw what I thought was a mother duck in a shallow ditch trying to protect her duckling from the crows.
I quickly hurried down the stairs outside and as soon as my feet hit the bottom step the crows dispersed like a crowd of hoodlums that had gathered to watch a fight. I walked over to the area of the ditch and couldn’t see a duck or duckling or anything. Then I looked under a patch of grass and there was a small frightened pigeon laying on the ground. I looked around for the crows that had quieted down considerably and I saw the thing that I thought was a duck. It was a huge hawk sitting on a low branch in a nearby cedar tree! He had been attacking the pigeon and the crows were either calling for help or more likely cheering him on hoping for some leftovers.
I wasn’t sure what to do and I was a little hesitant to pick the pigeon up without a gloves or a towel, but when I looked up in the tree again I knew if I walked off to get something that HAWK would finish off his catch. So I reach down and picked up the pigeon; he was so scared I could feel his little heart beating wildly in my hand. He had one small puncture wound under his wing. He did not struggle with me at all; I guess at the time, I was the lesser of two evils. I put him in a little outside storage area off the front deck at the office with some food and water. I left the door slightly open should he want to leave. My pigeon friend was still there the next day although not as happy to see me. When I checked on him the following day he was gone.
I know that this is the way of nature. The hawk was beautiful and needed to survive as well, but that day, this poor little pigeon was going to be rescued. Chris and I had been going through a stressful period with enemies attacking relentlessly and there were groups of gawkers watching on the sidelines waiting for us to be devoured. Considering all these things, I really needed this little pigeon to be rescued and saved.
It was an illustration to me of how God cares for us even when it seems we are being attacked on all sides. I realized He cares for me and loves me more than I cared for this little wild pigeon that I wasn’t going to abandon to be destroyed by his enemy the hawk.
A gentle comforting reminder that God is always watching over me and protecting me from my enemies. He picks me up, takes me in his arms and shelters me in his hiding place.
Lord, how I love you! For you have done such tremendous things for me. The Lord is my fort where I can enter and be safe; no one can follow me in and slay me. He is a rugged mountain where I hide; he is my Savior, a rock where none can reach me, and a tower of safety. He is my shield. He is like the strong horn of a mighty fighting bull. All I need to do is cry to him—oh, praise the Lord—and I am saved from all my enemies! ~ Psalm 18:1-3 NLT
Chris and I went to Seattle back in November to drop something off for youngest son. We stop at a local favorite, Ivar’s Fish Bar, for fish and chips. As we watched people wait in line, properly social distanced, I said to Chris, “People in the city all look like they are lost souls.”
Maybe they were just caught up in their thoughts as they wait for their orders, but it seemed they were sad. You could see no smiles as they all had masks but also there was no nods or greetings, no air of happiness around them, people that were together just stared at the ground. The mood was as grey as the day.
As we left, we drove past rows and rows of tents, in the parks on the roadside, in parking lots and on the sidewalks in front of homes and businesses. I remember just 7 years ago when I lived in Seattle with JD for six months that I would occasionally see a tent or homeless camp. Now, trying to figure out what changed it all, is mind boggling. Especially in this city where there is so much opportunity and wealth.
Drugs are a big part and our lenient system has drawn people here from other areas. It is heartbreaking for the people, those on the streets and those trying to raise their families and work.
Chris is on the board of the local homeless shelter and everyone’s situation is different and complex. It takes more than just providing shelter, it takes investing in their lives and providing services to overcome the crisis they are in, whether it is mental illness, drugs, alcohol or abuse. Sometimes tough love is appropriate.
A few weeks after our Seattle trip, Eric Johnson’s “Fight for the Soul of Seattle” documentary was released, a follow-up to his March 2019 piece, “Seattle is Dying” which received Edward R. Murrow Regional Award for documentary as well as a Northwest NATAS Emmy Award for Documentary. I watched the 90 minute video in tears; not only for the lost, addicted and forgotten but because it seems we have no ability to provide long lasting help for the people.
The problem overall seems insurmountable. How can I, as one person, fix this enormous problem with so many complicated and unique variables? I cannot, other than supporting sound policies. However, I am of the belief that God often places people in our path that need guidance. Many times, we have extended support for people who have lost there way. Sometimes it lasts only a few weeks, and for others it is a long process. Who knows if there was really a lasting impact on their lives but Chris and I are in one accord about this: We cannot help the whole world but we can help the one in front of us.
Lost souls, they are out there. Offer what you can when they are in front of you, it may only be a granola bar in your pocket but if we all add a drop to of kindness maybe it will grow in to a sea of compassion.
Today is a palindrome day, the first of a 10 day stretch of them. The date is read the say forward and backwards, a good analogy for the times…Everything will be the same forward and backwards.
God is on the throne, His will be done. People will love and people will hate, there will be births and there will be deaths, good and evil, loyalty and betrayal, leaders will rise up and leaders will fall. If you are looking for something new, something different, want change? Don’t look to any leader. Look to God.
My prayer: God, help me look into my own heart, examine my own thoughts and actions find the what it takes to overlook the flaws in others and make the change in my heart and mind.
Nothing new on this earth, set your heart on eternity.
Ecclesiastes 1:9-18 GNT What has happened before will happen again. What has been done before will be done again. There is nothing new in the whole world. “Look,” they say, “here is something new!” But no, it has all happened before, long before we were born. No one remembers what has happened in the past, and no one in days to come will remember what happens between now and then. I, the Philosopher, have been king over Israel in Jerusalem. I determined that I would examine and study all the things that are done in this world. God has laid a miserable fate upon us. I have seen everything done in this world, and I tell you, it is all useless. It is like chasing the wind. You can’t straighten out what is crooked; you can’t count things that aren’t there. I told myself, “I have become a great man, far wiser than anyone who ruled Jerusalem before me. I know what wisdom and knowledge really are.” I was determined to learn the difference between knowledge and foolishness, wisdom and madness. But I found out that I might as well be chasing the wind. The wiser you are, the more worries you have; the more you know, the more it hurts.
I saw my mother yesterday. She was a little confused and in quarantine because of her latest hospital visit.
Over the years my mother and I have had our shared joy and trials, times when we saw eye-to-eye and many times that we clashed. There were times I felt suffocated and pulled away and times she clung tighter.
The last few years because of her decline into dementia it seemed the clashes were more frequent and heated. I was not-so-affectionately called the “bossyone” In reality, I was trying to enable the very thing she wanted, to remain independent in her home, by making sound decisions and managing her finances.
An unfortunate fall in 2018 lead her to rehab where she could no longer hide her advancing dementia.
She will still produce a beautiful smile on request.
We have been through a process the last three years. Just as infant grows and advances at a rapid pace between birth and four years. It seems dementia takes a turn and in three short years my mothers abilities have declined at a rapid pace.
She had surgery in October and the decline has been even more sharp since then. When I saw her this week she was so frail and helpless, she stared off into space as a newborn does when it is seeing the strange new world for the first time. She found comfort in being held, holding my hand and was soothed by the sound of music – the old hymns she would play for hours. The words to those she has not forgotten.
We have gone from my birth and total dependence, to growing, changing, challenging, disagreements, coming together, growing apart, to facing the honest truth of our relationship. Then it reversed: growing apart, coming together, disagreements, challenging, changing (especially in my views about her illness and motives), to her growing old and total dependence on others.
Now she just wants to be loved, be safe and protected. We have come full circle from the newborn daughter a mother held in her arms 65 years ago to yesterday as a daughter held her innocent elderly mother in her arms.
I braided her hair and put the pearl necklace on her that my auntie sent. Girls should always wear their pearls.
There is no fight left, what is left is only pure love.
Several years ago my friend Pam introduced me to this poem, God Knows, written 1908 by Minnie Louise Haskins. Since that time I have posted this photo at the eve of the new year with the first verse that begins… And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.” “Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”
I immediately fell in love with her wisdom and prose on how to face the unknown… that holding God’s hand is safer than knowing the way. How awesome is that?
I occasionally see this photo in my phone’s photo album and it is a reminder to me that whatever lies ahead is solely in His hands and God has always been beside me.
This year that has been horrific for many, has spared me most of the struggles to which others have suffered. However there has been loss; due to covid – I lost a friend and a cousin. Sadly, I also lost three friends to cancer and a step-brother to heart failure. Every loss is painful, every struggle is trying but I have learned from past trials that these days and times will pass.
In 2013 and 2014 there were the days that I feared taking another breath because I was afraid of what the future would deliver. I wanted time to freeze and stand still, but however bleak the future seemed, God walked me through. It is remembering those moments and countless ones before that help me walk by faith into the future.
Each time God showed me His compassion, His love, His strength, it gave me one more brick to stand on and when trials come, I have those bricks from His past faithfulness to rely on for the courage to face each day. Where I once fell apart, I may now mourn and grieve but I know God has a plan and He will see me to the other side.
As I stand at the gate of this new year, I put my hand in the hand of God. Whatever 2021 brings, I will strive to: Make everyday a new beginning; Remember every evening as the sun sets, to give thanks for the blessings in my life; Forgive others, and forgive myself and ask for forgiveness for the wrongs I have done. Remind myself, that God is always faithful.
The Lord’s acts of mercy indeed do not end, For His compassions do not fail. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23 NAS
God Knows
And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.” And he replied: “Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.” So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night. And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day in the lone East.
So heart be still: What need our little life Our human life to know, If God hath comprehension? In all the dizzy strife Of things both high and low, God hideth His intention.
God knows. His will Is best. The stretch of years Which wind ahead, so dim To our imperfect vision, Are clear to God. Our fears Are premature; In Him, All time hath full provision.
Then rest: until God moves to lift the veil From our impatient eyes, When, as the sweeter features Of Life’s stern face we hail, Fair beyond all surmise God’s thought around His creatures Our mind shall fill.
Emyloom ~ Words Woven Within My Heart 