Gladys

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Sharing a verse from 1978 written by my mother about her cousin Gladys. It is about a person that loved her through a time of loss and change.

In tribute to Gladys 12/31/33 – 8/23/20

GLADYS

Once, so many years ago; a time came in my life: a time of change-

    A change of place, a change of face, a change of family came into my life –

Once so many years ago; once so many years ago I gained a sister in my life-

    Not a REAL sister – in that way-I wasn’t blessed, once so many years ago.

This sister that I did acquire, once so many years ago, was truly of the family,

    The family kind; because as close as we could come was through our mothers,

Once so many years ago; For 14 years we did not know, this sister of mine-

    We did not know that such a closeness, a love, a kindredship could exist.

Once so many years ago.

Sometimes I wonder as I think back on once so many years ago, if there might –

    Just might have been some unspoken thoughts between us two; so many years ago,

Unspoken thoughts that may have said—I don’t want you here—you intrude—intrude

    On me and my family – go away – Did she think these things, many years ago?

Once so many years? If she did – she didn’t say – didn’t say these things out –

    Out loud to me, once so many years ago.  We fussed, we played, we grew,

We fell in Love ( Oh! How many times?) Once so many years ago. 

    Such great, great things. Great things as we plundered through the years,

Once so many years ago.

Once so many years ago, 14 can seem so old, so old we really thought we were,

    Once so many years ago—we thought we knew just everything, just all the-

The world was at our feet — boy we were really dumb, once so many years ago.

    Once so many years ago? Ha! Have we ever changed? This “sister” and l –

Have we changed from once go many years ago? This “sister” is my cousin, my

    Cousin, or did you know? This cousin that I loved so dear, so many years ago!

No we haven’t changed from once so many years ago—we haven’t changed, but years,

    Years have changed, changed us both, we’re not as near as once so many years ago.

But, Love? Yes love is there—is there any doubt it’s so? Any doubt it would not—

    Would not live—from once so many years ago? Oh yes – it lived, it lived and

And even grew – grew into a different kind of love from once so many years ago.

    We don’t climb trees, or run through orchards, or eat ice cream brunches,

Like once so many years ago. Or even sit on top of the bunk beds and play rummy —

    Yes, for hours, once so many years ago. There are so many things that over,

Over, over the years we’ve out-grown, since once so many years ago.  When we —

    When we were only 14, only 14, so many years ago and thought the world was ours.

Once so many years ago, are days l won’t forget, wouldn’t want to even If I could—

    Could forget those years – those years before we grew so fast and grew away—

Away each other in miles, in miles but never in thoughts, in miles but— 

    But once in a while. not often, but once in a while—a letter, a talk, a talk,

Once go many years ago – I had “sister-cousin” — once so many years ago, and yet

     Tho’ oh so many years have passed, I have that sister still—to share our—

Our thoughts, our loves, our disappointments, our sorrows, our plans for things–

    For things yet to come, to come to our children, things that maybe we missed.

We missed once so many years ago —Missed?  Us? No we didn’t miss out-out on any –

    On anything once so many years ago, because I had a sister to love and who–

Who loved me in return, even tho’ it was never said; said outloud, but still —

   Still was there and is today, the love, I have for her, Gladys, this sister –

Whom I love today and never see, oh, seldom, yes but

   Not like once so many years ago, when 14 was  just

Just the age to be — with Gladys

Once so many years ago.

HPVHA 2-16-78

Life and Loss

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Life is trying these days. So much adjusting. Adjusting to a virus that has us second guessing each move. A virus that takes its greatest toll on the elderly — in loss of life and in loss of emotional support.

As I have written before my mother is in a nursing home facility in Texas. A facility that’s 2000 miles from me. I was visiting once every couple of months but once this virus hit I have been unable to visit. The facility was locked down on March 12.

Since that time I noticed a decline in my mother’s health, her mental health and physical. Every phone call she ask when I’m coming to see her. Every phone call I tell her no one can visit because of the virus. Every phone call I tell her the virus is everywhere.

She began asking about different family members and saying she was worried about them. She would say things like, “I wonder if they’re dead. Are they dead?”

One person she asked about often was her cousin Gladys, they were as close as sisters. A few months ago I was talking to my mother on an early Sunday morning and she asked those questions about Gladys.

Gladys lives in North Carolina. Only six months younger than my mother she has no dementia and lives a full life. So that morning I called Gladys then called my mom back and set up a three-way call. They talked for 45 minutes laughed and giggled just like schoolgirls. It was so sweet and Gladys was so patient with my mother as she repeated the same questions over again. The questions were mostly about the present because the past my mother remembered fully.

Sadly yesterday, I learned that Gladys had passed away, a casualty of the COVID-19 virus. Such a great loss to her family. She full of energy, so loving and giving to all around her. I loved to hear her speak, her southern accent so much like my grandmother’s in the way she called me darling drawn out into a melodic – “Daah-lynn’.”

Now I am faced with a choice as to whether I should tell my mother. One side of me leans toward not telling her. Her mental decline has been so noticeably great since this lock down. The other side of me faces the same old question can I/should I lie when she ask about her?

After am e-mail exchange with the social worker, Christy, (she is an angel on earth) I decide I will not tell her. Christy tells me my mother has days when she will have a moment of clarity and remember the loss of her step-son earlier this year. She mourns all over again and it takes days for her to recover. Just deflect the question or tell her Gladys is fine. I have decided on the latter.

After all, Gladys is fine, she is more than fine. She is in the Heavenly realms with her maker and the lover of her soul. They will meet again one day.

Silence – Cowardice or Wisdom

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Something I have been thinking a lot about lately and that is my reluctance to voice my opinion on political or controversial topics openly.  I remain silent often and it causes me to wonder, am I a coward, or is it wisdom or something else?

I learned silence at a young age, it was taught in our home.  I can still hear my mother say, “What happens in our house is our business.”  Meaning. Don’t tell anyone about how you are beat with a belt, the fights, and the abuse.  Remain silent, keep secrets.

Others said, “This is our secret.” Meaning: Don’t tell anyone that I am molesting you (I didn’t even know that word) but I knew it was not right.

Also.  “If you don’t have anything good to say, don’t say anything at all.”   This one I think was the most useful.  It is most likely the reason I keep a lot of thoughts to myself except for on this blog.  Sometimes ranting about things says more about oneself than the person which is the topic of the rant.

I am content with my beliefs; beliefs about God, about politics, about people.  I don’t find a need to have anyone believe the same as I do.  I won’t force my beliefs on them and I don’t need them to force theirs on me.

Lately however, there are many who become unhinged at people who voice views and opinions which differ from theirs. If you disagree you are a ______ (fill in the blank) racist, bigot, religious radical, pacifist… degenerate of some form.

Those who prefer not to remain silent seem to be everywhere and in my face.  They want others to hear what they believe and they want them to embrace it. They repeat their views over and over again and shout them louder and louder.  Neither of these tactics are effective nor do they make it true for me and many others.

So I remain silent.

I understand the “Silent Majority” and I believe I am one of the members of this group.  It is often fear that prevents me from speaking; I do not want to engage in any argument with people who disagree or have rabid views.  I don’t want to be ridiculed, villainized, disciplined or enlightened.

The numbers of the silent majority may be known very soon and when the time comes, I will privately make my voice heard.

owl

The verse inside the graphic has always been one of my favorites.  There are several versions and one that was used during WWII was used to remind the soldiers their silence saves lives.

Unclear Vision

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2020 Vision
A perfect sight they say
But this year
That is 2020
Didn’t turn out that way.

Winter’s end turned to spring
And started with great hope,
Sadly spiraled downward,
When people started buying
All the TP and soap.

The virus that at first
We were told was not a worry,
Soon showed it had a deadly side.
The future became uncertain
More crazed, weird and blurry.

The message came,
Fifteen days to slow the curve.
With lockdown it was slowed
But days grew into months
Which cause many to unnerve.

Keeping a six foot distance
Our faces fully masked,
Lest we make a human touch.
Following all the protocols
Doing what was asked.

One tragedy upon another
A murder lit a fuse
Protests turned to violence
Lawlessness arose
The situation to abuse

Phases of reopening
Now we’re into summer
This has become a waiting game
And this year of 2020
Is thus far a real bummer.

2020 Vision
Is always better in hindsight.
Knowing what we know today,
We wonder
If all choices were exactly right.

Hopefully by year’s end
We’ll see the past more clearly
With empathy and wisdom
Not taking for granted
All the freedoms we hold dearly.

Trish © 8/4/20

 

Not all Hope is Lost

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This year 2020 is now more than half over and I revisited my New Year’s Day poem that expressed my hope for the coming year and decade.  As I read it now and knowing all that has transpired, I couldhope3 easily toss it all away and say there is no hope left.  However, I refuse to do that.  I will not let the virus, the unrest, the violence or the drama get me down.  I will continue to believe there is HOPE for a brighter future for us all, but we must look towards the future, learn from the past but do not live there.

Hope for a New Year and a New Decade

As we start a new decade,
Begin a New Year
I am encouraged with hope
For all I hold dear

Hope for family,
The old and the young,
Hope for dreams for a future
And every song unsung

Hope for those who are struggling
With trials in their life,
Hope that would well up inside them
Through the turmoil and the strife.

Hope for friends and for family
Living near and faraway;
Hope for the day that we are reunited,
In our homes or on holiday.

Hope for peace far and near,
For nations and people everywhere,
Hope that we can explore
more kindness
As opposed to the tension in the air

A new year is dawning
Three hundred and sixty-six
days ahead,
Hope that each one is full of promise
With never a kind word left unsaid

A new decade is before us,
Ten years into the unknown,
May hope always be a our
guiding light
Knowing we are not alone.

Trish © 1/1/2020

The Last Time

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I wish I could remember
The last time I touched or saw you,
As I departed was it with a joke and smile,
Or were you sad or blue?

I wish I could remember
What the words were we said,
And as we said our goodbyes
If any tears were shed.

I wish I had only known
That touch would be our last,
And that we’d be kept apart
By a quarantine that came along so fast.

I’m certain that we always
Left with an embrace and a kiss,
But little did we know
About the time we’d miss.

I wish I had only known
That visit would be the last
And with this awful illness
You’d be gone so fast.

I wish I could remember
If I held you extra tight
Or if you stood to watch
As I disappeared from sight.

I wish I could remember
That day so long ago
A day that was like any other
Except for what we didn’t know.

I wish I could remember
As it held our last earthly embrace
But we’ll embrace again
When we see the Father’s face.

Trish ©️

America’s Brotherhood

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Today is day number 183 of the year with 183 days left; half way through this year 2020. I want to believe that everyday for the rest of the year will not be tragedy among tragedy but I do not have any real hope we will make it through the coming weekend without the world falling into an abyss.

It is as if we are in an altered universe. For the past few years there has been a pot of continuously simmering hot water. With Covid19, the noodles (us) were thrown in the pot and now the foam is bubbling over the top. The noodles in the pot are done but the heat will not turn down until we break apart.

Independence Day weekend is upon us, I will be praying for the first responders more fervently than ever as I fear many people will use the holiday to create further mayhem and destruction.

We are standing on the dividing line. It’s time for the rest of us to stop being noodles, remove the pot from the fire before it is too late, stand up and show our brotherhood and outshine the hate.

“ America, America God shed his grace on thee;
And crown thy good with brotherhood,
From sea to shining sea”

img_3963

 

They Are Precious in His Sight

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Can I love all people without bowing allegiance to BLM?

Does it make me a racist because I do not agree with the precepts of that organization?

I will never support BLM. However, I do support my neighbors, friends and fellow human beings regardless of the color of their skin.

If you are hungry, I will help feed you; if you are homeless, I will help shelter you; if you need a friend to talk to, I will listen.

I will not follow the crowd for one day and think it will make a difference in the world. What does change the world is living every day with compassion and care for the others. I cannot help everyone in the world but can help the one in front of me.

At the same time, I will not apologize for the color of my skin. I was formed by God and although my skin color may have not been an impediment for me, I had my fair share of trials and struggles in my youth. Things, that although unfair, brought me to where I am today. Those experiences gave me a greater compassion for the weak and helpless. When I look at people, I try to see their hearts, the color of one’s skin is not a factor in how I feel about a person. I try to see them as God sees them.

The simple Sunday School song from my childhood taught me all I needed to know. Listed by colors the meaning is clear, every race, every person, no matter their skin tone… “they are precious in his sight…” All people are precious, all are valuable.

Finally, my silence or decision not to join the BLM movement does not make me a less accepting or a less compassionate person. I have never been a follower of popular movements and there just seems something unsettling about the hate being spewed with this one  

Love yourself no matter the color of your skin. Love your neighbor no matter the color of their skin. Listen to others, help others, love others.

My decision to not join, you label as silence and you say it is violence. My silence is not violence. My silence is living my beliefs. My silence is peace. My silence is love.

The Police

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This conversation started in 2016 after a  police incident when someone said they didn’t understand all the killings by police.  These are really tough times and there are some horrible incidents that are examples of police misconduct in the forefront.

So many views on this and I am not justifying any unlawful action by the police officers or citizens.  All life is precious but the fact is your doctor is more likely to kill you than a law enforcement officer.

Annually 400 thousand people die as a result of medical errors.  This year (2016) just over 500 people have died as a result of police shootings. The DOJ has a report out that shows that of complaints for all the police officer contacts, by all officers in the US, less than 1% are deemed sustained.

However, these facts don’t fit the agenda of the media and political policy.

Law enforcement like any profession have those who bring shame and disgrace to them all.  However, more than 99% of them are devoted,  caring and heroic men and women who serve an often very difficult public.

http://www.bjs.gov/content/pub/pdf/ccpuf.pdf

https://www.sciencebasedmedicine.org/are-medical-errors-really-the-third-most-common-cause-of-death-in-the-u-s/

When I made the statement comparing law enforcement to medical deaths, I was hit with a comeback that what is going on is not about medical malpractice.   No it is not, but when people say the police are out of control in causing the deaths of citizens,  in comparison to the deaths by medical error, it is minute.  I was using it as an example of how things are exaggerated and the numbers are really quite small.  Compared to other professions based on total number of contacts with citizens, and total number of police,  the police have a  less than a 1% level of sustained complaints.

I hear statements like “the police are out-of-control” they are targeting black young men, or that they are systematically racist; I do not believe the facts support that and it’s just hyperbole that adds fuel to the fire.

If the media started a campaign about doctors and telling people what the races were of medical error victims, if they injected how incompetent doctors were, and how they were targeting a specific group of people, I wonder would the public get all up in the arms about that too.  People rebel against authority and people don’t like the police and it’s a very tough job. But I don’t believe the facts support that they’re out of control.

There are over 750,000 sworn police officer in the US, if only 1/2 of 1% were corrupt, that’s 3750.  A huge number.  The police want to weed them out as well.  Even at that high number, I think it is astounding that there are not more incidents.  Demonizing the entire profession does not solve the problem.  It is sad.  All of it sad

Life on the street is really tough right now for officers. They go out everyday prepared to save lives and put their own lives on the line for complete strangers, often in very difficult situations.  I venture to guess that they never ask the race, color or nationality of the people they are going to help or or risk their lives for.  They are called to switch on and off their emotions from one call to the next where they go from performing CPR in a child pulled from a pool, to listening to people complain about where their neighbor parks his car.

Yes, there is and should be a higher standard for officers and for the majority of the nations approx 750 thousand officers that standard is met. At the same time, contrary to the media’s hype, the incidents of excessive force over all the 53 million contacts police have with the public, less than 0.0039% have been sustained. (From Bureau of Justice Statistics)

Please keep your local police officers in prayer, they present a tough exterior but have a calling to do a tough job that even their critics could not manage for a day.

ANEVER

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I saw recently where someone wrote, “I am and always will be anever Trumper.”  When I first saw it I read “AN EVER” … I thought that’s an interesting way to support the president reversing the phrase. Then I realized they were really saying “A NEVER” unless it was an interesting parapraxis.

What a difference a space makes. A space that can turn something positive into a negative. I was intrigued by this little typo and wondered if i was “an ever” or “ a never”

F037A17D-F786-411C-98D8-651EAA0EE950

I want to be AN EVER faithful friend, an ever hopeful person with an ever positive outlook, someone an ever joyful heart, with an ever song on my heart and be an ever believer in the living God.

I pray I do not fall into the A NEVER side of life, a never happy spirit, a never loyal friend, a never helpful person, a never kind word to say, a never respecter of life, a never believer in a higher power.

The space before the “N” or after the “N” may determine your fate. Decide before “the end” because after will be too late.

 

Watercolor Image by Stephanie Ryan from 2019 Gratitude Calendar

I Found a Nickel

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Recently the AC unit was replaced at our office; a very old unit it still chugged along but no longer efficient.  A80AD951-E1D4-407D-BBBA-06B6B34BAB26The new unit was relocated to the back of the building leaving a concrete pad on the side of the building. After the work was done and the unit hauled away, I walked by the pad and noticed a dark circle on the pad. I reached down to pick it up and found it was a nickel; an almost black discolored nickel.

I tried to rub away enough tarnish to see the date but it was not easy to read. Finally in the light I see it is stamped 1980.  I thought, not really so old for it looked like it had been there 100 years. Then I realized that although it did not seem that old it had been there forty years —- forty years just hiding under the AC unit as the world and time moved forward.

This nickel in it’s shiny new condition was cloaked from the light when Ronald Reagan was elected the 40th President of the United States, November 4,1980. There in 1981, when the AIDS virus was first identified. In 1982, when I met my husband of the past 37 years which was long before I ever set foot in this little town, it was there.

Unseen in 1985 when the nuclear reactor at Chernobyl exploded sending 8 tons of nuclear reactive material into the atmosphere.  It remained hidden in 1986 when the shuttle Challenger exploded shortly after launch.  There in 1988 when a PanAm 747 exploded from a terrorist bomb that sent it crashing  to the ground in Lockerbie, Scotland.

Concealed in 1989 when the Berlin Wall came down and in December when the Romanian uprising overthrew the Communist government just days before my youngest son was born at the University of WA Medical Center.

It had possibly lost some luster in 1991 but it made no movement as the Soviet Union broke up after President Gorbachev resigned.  In that same year my oldest son was nearly killed in a motorcycle accident.  In 1992 when Bill Clinton was elected president and when my middle son graduated high school just a few miles away it remained sheltered from sight. It was there one year later as the same son was wounded in Somalia during the Battle of Mogadishu, on October 3, 1993.

Fast forwarding through the rest of the 90’s – wars in Serbia, Croatia, and at home in Oklahoma City. OJ killed his wife and the president cheated on his.

When the world entered the new millennium this nickel was now 20 years old.  In 2000, I technically became the owner of this hidden coin as we purchased the building with it’s old AC and it’s hidden coin that remained safely beneath.

This nickel stayed in the dark through the darkest days of 9-11 in 2001. There as the younger Bush became president and we went to war in Iraq and Afghanistan.   It remained as as dictators were ousted from power or died… Saddam, Arafat, Milosevic and many other men who’s hearts were set on evil.

In 2009 Barack Obama was sworn in as the 44th president of the United States.  In the middle of Obama’s years my world was rocked by my own personal tragedies as my youngest son was diagnosed with IBD, underwent 5 surgeries and spent weeks and months in the hospital and ICU after several life threatening events. Through all this, a nickel now tarnished and black lay hidden.

There have been many changes in the world in those 40 years.  I didn’t think this nickel was so very old but in the time it lay undiscovered under the AC unit it had aged and tarnished just as much as we had as we found our way through the last forty years.  As much as things changed they have stayed the same. There is still war and unrest in the world, people no matter how much they talk about peace can’t even make peace with their neighbors and fellow citizens. It seems there is a greater desire to be right than to find common ground.

I found a nickel and it spoke to me

If it were Possible Not to Forget

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What do you do when your mother forgets you?

Christmas 2016, I surprised my mother with a visit. As I stood at her door she greeted me with a simple “hello” and told me to come inside before her cat got out. Once inside, she looked at me and said, “Do I know you?” I replied…”I don’t know, do you know me?” Then she realized who I was and the tears began to flow. That was three years ago and I chalked it up to the fact that she had recently fallen, hence the reason for my surprise visit.

After this visit there were several more and one that included visiting her doctor with her. He had been telling my step-sister (who will will call my sister here on out because she is closer to me than biological siblings I have and I love her with every ounce of my being) and me that the time was coming she should not be living on her own. She was fighting for her autonomy with every bit of fight she had left. She avoided going out, she told white lies, she pleaded with her friend to not tell us about her memory lapses or drives in the night thinking it was daytime…she knew she was losing a battle with her failing memories and ability to know what was going on around her, to manage her finances and take her medications.

My sister and I visited several assisted living facilities and nursing facilities. We encouraged (begged and pleaded) with Mother to come with us but she would have none of it. She wanted to stay in her house until she died.

Fast forward 18 months, on a July morning she walked outside her house, tripped and fell. As a result of the fall she had fractured her pelvis and was placed in a nursing facility to recuperate. When it came time to make a decision to go home she was insistent that she was going home. I was torn because after her few months in the nursing home she seemed more cognitive of what was going on and seemed to be moving better as well. All this was a result of better diet, attention and care, consistent medications, lack of worries or stress from being in survival mode. Although it was difficult, with her doctors help, we did tell her she would no longer be able to live on her own.

note I live 2000 miles away and although I don’t she her every week, over the past year and a half I have been to see her eight times. The last several times, when I walk in with my sister she looks a me for a moment but pretty quickly realizes who I am. Last week, I traveled down and with my sister went to tell her that her step son had passed away. She had claimed Albert as her own when he was ten years old, the youngest of all of us he past away suddenly and unexpectedly at 59. When we walked in she said to my sister who sees her every other week, “Who is that woman with you?” My sister replies you don’t know who this is? It’s your daughter. Sister quickly reassures me that the reason she did recognize me was due to the fact my hair was up in a bun.  She says that Mother sometimes doesn’t recognize her at first if her hair is in a ponytail.

We held Mother’s hand and told her the sad news about Albert and his passing.  All in all she took it well,  but repeated the same questions over and over about how, where, funeral etc. We took her to dinner and when we left she was a little weepy but accepting. The next day we came back and took her to lunch with her friend. We had a good lunch, then went back to her room and put up valentine decorations and gave her some new sweaters and blouses we had gotten her. She was in good spirits although she still keep repeating the same questions, not fully grasping or remembering the answers. When we left she walked us to the door and we said our goodbyes.

Today, one week later, I called her to see how she was doing. It was my second call this week. The first thing she said to me today was, “Did you hear Albert died?’ I said, “Yes I heard. Remember Paulette and I came to tell you last week?” No, she didn’t remember me coming, she remembers my sister but not me. She asks again about Albert’s funeral, and then switches the subject  tells me she got new shoes but she doesn’t know where she got them or what they look like. Then she asks me, “When are you coming to see me?”

It is a little stab in the heart, she doesn’t know me but she does; she wants me to visit but she doesn’t remember. I dread the day she doesn’t know me when I come or doesn’t ask when I am coming back. Sadly,  I know one day my mother will forget me.

 

Patsy Cats

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File this under, “Crazy things you do.”

I am up at 2AM perusing Ebay for kitty cat pins.   My mom, Patsy, is/was a Texas cat lady extraordinaire. She always had a cat on her lap, in addition she had shelves full of figurines, teapots, cookie jars, bookends and every sort of ceramic cat thing ever made. Mostly all gifts from her friends, kids and grandkids that knew she would “just love them.”

Last year I shared about my mom’s dementia and fall which lead to her being unable to live on her own. I shared about the difficulties of clearing her house. Trying to treat her treasures with respect and knowing I could not keep everything. I took a few cats figurines, my sister took a few, I gave some “Patsy Cats” to her friends, I brought some back to Washington and gave to my friends who had met my mom.  “Patsy Cats” were re-homed around the country yet many remained that in the end we donated to charity. It was heartbreaking to dismantle my mother’s possessions and treasures but it had to be done.

When the doctor told her she would not be able to live on her own, my sister and I went out to her house and picked up a few treasures to decorate her room. A book shelf, pictures and several cats to put on the shelves. In addition to all the cats mentioned above, my mom also had a large collection of kitty cat brooches. She had them on her sweaters and blouses and never left the house without being adorned with a golden cat pin. When we were at her house, I found a small metal box, when I opened it I found full of all her brooches.  There were at least 20 in there plus all the ones we found still pinned on her sweaters she probably had 40 or more. I took them to her at the home, at least she could have all of these.

Now comes the sad and tragic bit. My mom has been in the nursing home a little over year now and all the pins are gone.  A few months ago my sister was going to put one on her sweater as she was taking her to lunch and she couldn’t find the box. She told the staff that her box was missing and they did a search. They found the it in a ladies room next door but only one pin inside. You cannot get angry because like my mom, this lady doesn’t comprehend what is going on.  Matter of fact, she insisted that the box was hers.  The pins? They could not be found. Are they hidden around the care facility somewhere? Did she give them away? We do not know.

8BA74499-CFE9-4BFD-A796-E8064664AAF5So here I am at 2AM searching Ebay for kitty cat brooches. I thought these things weren’t so much valuable as they were treasures, but apparently not. They are anywhere from 5-30 dollars or more. So I bought five, a couple were similar to ones she owned.  I am going to bring them to her when I go down to Texas next month. Whether she realizes she has lost so many is hard to say, but when she sees these she will “just love them!”

Journey of Faith

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Tomorrow: My youngest son’s 30th birthday. For over 10 years he has battled with several auto-immune diseases. Sometimes referred to as invisible diseases, as many suffer without external signs that are obvious to those around them, but for them they are more than apparent. His decline over the past year and a half has been heartbreaking to witness.

Prompted by a video made by friends regarding healing, where they visited the pools of Siloam and Bethesda and prayed, Chris and I made the decision to use our upcoming Israel trip to visit these places and pray for our son and pray for healing.

As time drew near I worried that my planned journey may have some element of superstition attached to it. That going there gave the appearance that those places held some sort of power that bordered on the mystical where I was expecting a miracle that God could only deliver from there.  I did not want that.

We talked about it and decided we would go as planned and pray; to go and be open to any message God had for us.

We started our day early and had reservations to stay overnight at the American Colony Hotel in Jerusalem. We made it to the American Colony about 12:30, as our room wasn’t ready, we hired a taxi and made our way to the Pool of Siloam.

The driver drove through the Arab neighborhood in East Jerusalem to find the entrance where our friends, who had made the video about healing, had gone. The man at the entrance sign near the street told us we had to go through the City of David to reach the pool. So the taxi took his back up the hill and dropped us off at the entrance.

When we got inside we paid the entrance fee and were told we’d have to walk through the Canaanite tunnel, a narrow tunnel from an earlier period of more than 1000 years older than Hezekiah‘s Tunnel, to reach the Pool of Siloam.

Oh my, what a walk, we ventured for 30 or 40 minutes through this long and narrow passageway — down old stone stairways, modern steel wire stairways, down and down more and more stairs — finally to reach a tunnel that looked more like a crack in the earth of less than a foot and a half wide in many places. It was dimly lit and had a stone floor less than a foot wide in places.  However, even though it widened higher up, I still had to turn sideways in many places to squeeze through. When we finally reached the end and exited the tunnel,  we were in the Arab neighborhood where the taxi had originally taken us.

We continued to follow the signs as they lead us through the residential streets and at last we arrived at a worn, rusted gate painted green with paint that looked like it had begun to peel years before.  I was so hot and tired and somewhat frustrated over the detour but it set me thinking.

That path through the Canaanite tunnel with ups and downs on a rocky floor, its twists and turns squeezing through narrow spots, reminded me of the journey we take in life when we have trials. We cannot see the end and we do not know what lies around the next corner,  or what it’s gonna take to squeeze through the next difficulty, however, we must keep pressing forward.

We walked through the gate that lead to the pool and down a steep stone stairway.  No one else was there; it was a rectangular space 360C348C-BA82-4E4D-9D3D-B1E32C233EE5enclosed with rock walks and the quiet sound of water trickling through the shallow pool.    

Chris and I said a prayer.  We prayed, “Lord we’ve made this journey to this pool not that it’s a mystical place where we would get special attention to our prayers but we came here as an act of faith, a reminder that you are a God that heals, a blind man was healed here and that you are still a God that heals.”

Thanksgiving

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I love Thanksgiving!

A truly American Holiday that transcends all beliefs. A day we can all participate in regardless of our background or religious affiliations. Being thankful seems like such an easy task yet so often fall short.

This morning I am remembering many Thanksgiving days past. Ones from my childhood with my Grandfather, Wallace VH. He was bigger than life and made sure our plates were never empty. He also ate dessert first! I think today pie will be my first choice. Those dinners also included my Uncle Wm always loud and boisterous, he made us laugh, and my Aunt Barbara who I admired so much. She was the Martha Stewart before Martha. They have all moved to heavenly realms but the memories and memories of those special Thanksgivings,  will always live in my heart.

The first Thanksgiving Chrissie and I had together, Chris got up from the table and made a plate for Lucy my little dog. A tradition that went on for the rest of her years.

Multiple Thanksgivings over the past 20 years included many sweet friends that have all moved on to new places and stages in life. At home in Snoqualmie, one year we filled the dining room and living room with a super extended table. I think there were 17 of is that years from 2 months old to ninety. Although we are miles apart these days, those days, and those Thanksgiving memories, welded us a family that God organized and knitted together.

The grand to the simple. For several years when Josh was young, we celebrated in Hawaii at the Old Sugar Factory, warm breezes and the fragrance of flower leis around our neck did make us feel like we were in paradise. In 2014 our Thanksgiving dinner was a turkey sandwich in that same son’s hospital room. To say we were thankful for the blessings and miracles that year doesn’t express the full extent of our gratitude.

Finally, this year is the third year I am able to return to Texas and celebrate Thanksgiving with my mom and Paulette at the American Legion in Corsicana, TX.  Back in the day my mom and her husband could put on a spread fit for royalty. They were both extremely good cooks. I remember all the favorites my mom would make and I have never been able to duplicate; southern cornbread stuffing, ambrosia, sweet potato pie and the best squash casserole anyone ever tasted. Once, I reminded my mom of that casserole and how she made the best fried chicken fried on the stove in a cast iron skillet. She said, “Those days are long gone.”

Yes, those days are long gone, but the memories will last forever.

One day, I will look back on these Thanksgiving dinners at the American Legion and be thankful I had these days with my mom and create a new set of memories. Life progresses forward and the foods, scenes and people may change but one thing remains the same: We have so much to be thankful for.

A Man Who Can Teach Us Much About Gratitude

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“No onight2ane is as capable of gratitude as one who has emerged from the kingdom of night. We know that every moment is a moment of grace, every hour an offering; not to share them would mean to betray them. Our lives no longer belong to us alone; they belong to all those who need us desperately.”

~ Elie Wiesel

These words spoken by a Jewish man born in the Carpathian Mountains of Romania. He was deported by the Hungarian government to Auschwitz with his family at 15. His mother and youngest sister were murdered immediately while he and his father remained and labored at Auschwitz. They were later moved to Buchenwald where he helplessly listened as his father was beaten to death.  When the camp was liberated in April 1945 he was 16 1/2 years old.  

Elie Wiesel spent the rest of his life fighting against injustice and man’s inhumanity to his fellow man. In 1986 he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Along with the quote above in his acceptance speech he says:

“I remember: it happened yesterday or eternities ago. A young Jewish boy discovered the kingdom of night. I remember his bewilderment, I remember his anguish. It all happened so fast. The ghetto. The deportation. The sealed cattle car. The fiery altar upon which the history of our people and the future of mankind were meant to be sacrificed”

In his 1999 book “Perils  of Indifference,” he says;

“Gratitude is a word that I cherish. Gratitude is what defines the happiness and humanity of the human being.”

Full text of his acceptance speech here:

Artwork from Night by Elie Wiesel – 1982

Appointed Time

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4A403F71-69CB-412E-9EAF-F503AB6E5204Thankful that in this ever changing world there are some things that remain the same and bring balance to my life. It is demonstrated to me again this year in my Thanksgiving cactus. It is possibly 25 or more years old and it is large. It needed a larger pot years ago, I sometimes forget to water it, and yet every year it blooms at its appointed time  

On a larger scale the day and night rise and fall;  the seasons change,  sunshine comes after rain, young people still fall in love, children are born and the old pass away.  There is a rhythm and flow to life that encourages me to tune out the noise and remind myself I am not in control of these things but a never changing God is and He never forgets to take care of the details.

 

 

Intersections

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Warning.  Old ladies must be careful and stop at all intersections. I got a call this morning… someone asking me to take them to the ER in Issaquah. We got there at 9 by 11:30 the doctors had decided to do a test and they asked me to step out of the room. 

I came out and started down one of those long hospital corridors when all of a sudden BAM… I felt like I was hit by a bus.  I went flying across that 10ft hallway, landed on my arse, and hit the wall with my head.  It was not a big yellow bus, but it was a young 6’ something Justin-bus of the human male species.  

60E01375-A8F8-460E-9C69-FA202524CE58A lady came running out if the ER and after a few minutes and accessing everything, I got up.  She asked me if I wanted to see a doctor but my thought process said no  – they were swamped and other than my wounded sense of dignity, and a sore wrist, hip and head everything still moved.  I didn’t want to waste time for someone to say, “Looks like you got knocked on your rear!” Therefore, I declined.

I could make some comparisons here, such as, the other intersections in life that catch you off guard.  The loss of a loved one, a tragic diagnosis,  dealing with aging parents, aging and retirement. These intersections should also be approach with caution.  Take the time to look both ways and reflect on all possibilities  and outcomes.  Should you get sidelined, stop, take a deep breath, pick yourself up and move forward.  Life is a highway with many crossroads. Proceed with caution but stay on the road to the final destination. And…

Always slow down at intersections!!

Child of my Childhood

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just a young girl, a child
very meek and very mild

suffering abuse
of adult mistrust and misuse

desperate to escape
the next incident of childhood rape

summer of nineteen sixty-nine
appeared a tall hero and seemingly lifeline

not as much a child as man
together, young formed a plan

to many foolish though it seemed
somehow a life was redeemed

a child within the union set
left behind the evil threat

this child born of desperate time
a living doll that was mine

infant years held strong love
this doll of mine i write of

so many years between
understanding was lost… unseen

mother child in heart retains
regrets of youthful mistakes and pains

now this child of my childhood
long has left age of boyhood

starting now a fiftieth year
since child became a mother here

love, frustration, hope and despair
all have been a part of this pair

both older now and wiser still
overcoming lost good will

reaching out to understand
events that all the years have spanned

child of my childhood know
love was always there to bestow

to a child who forever changed
a life that needed rearranged

the years that life will here to span
know you were part of God’s intended plan

from a burden path a child was set free
heart full of gratitude forever for thee

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Why Old Ladies Wear Lots of Jewelry

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Something I remember from my youth, southern ladies draped in jewelry;  a ring on every finger, some with two, bracelets up their arms and three or four necklaces of varying lengths.  Gold, silver, diamonds and gems sparkling like a star filled night.

I’ve read, in looking at this phenomenon, that it’s possibly the flashy jewelry  takes away from the “wrinkles, thinning hair and double chins” Interesting theory, but no.

Back then, in my schoolgirl days, I wondered if it was just an exhibition of wealth.  These rich old ladies adorning themselves with jewels to show they’ve made it. Looking like a walking, talking jewelry store, jingle and jangling with every movement.

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However, now that I am hitting my mid-sixties,  I more fully understand. Each morning I get ready for work and put on my favorite daily-go-to-bracelet and I rotate a few favorite earrings and necklaces; three or four pieces and done.   I wear the same basic things every day.

The amazing thing is that over the 37 years of marriage Chrissie has given me lots of fabulous baubles. Some I have not worn more than a handful of times, on “special occasions.” They are safely tucked away in their velvet boxes. Occasionally I check on them, open the box and admire them but almost never wear them. Too much for everyday I thought, but I lately I am thinking, “How many more special occasions will I have left in my lifetime? “ I should wear them more than one every now and then. I need to stack up on bracelets… maybe four one one arm two on the other.  Either I am going to enjoy these baubles or they will just go to the next person down the line and to me they would have been just hidden treasures.

So here it is, the real reason old ladies wear lots of flashy jewelry is because we realize time is short and we realize there was no reason to save these baubles for special occasions. Everyday we old ladies wake up and put our feet on the floor and face the day, it is, a special occasion.   So here we come, love or not, we are going to sparkle and shine.