For those of you who stumbled upon this blog in the hopes of finding a sequel to the bestselling novel Shades of Grey sorry. That's not what purpose of this blog, but stay awhile. You are most welcome.
This morning as I gazed out the window with my morning coffee in hand I began to review where I was 10 years ago versus the present tense. Fortunately, the comparison held few regrets. Of course, I dearly miss my husband. The career much missed taught me many lessons. The people I worked with beyond a shadow of a doubt were the best in the business. My analysis continued to take a strange turn. It wasn't about what happened around me, but rather what happened within me.
Did I seek some sort of startling outcome? Did I discover a turn in the road that would have changed my life's course? I have to admit early on in my work life black and white suited me just find. I was the quintisential rules girl. By the book or else. I held onto facts, figures (which is hard to do since I'm so math-challenged) and other folks' rules so tightly that I'm lucky I didn't break in two. Yet, I wouldn't describe myself as rigid or I just didn't want to see myself as rigid? Did I suck the joy out of my own life by neglecting to look at it? Maybe.
Today, without any shadow of a doubt, I'm in the gray (or grey). The events of the last ten years have shaken me to my roots. I'm lucky I didn't snap. Really snap. My decor would have called "Early Goodyear" for the rubber-covered walls. My life now centers on the spirit within. That feeling that a Great Source loves me and I, in turn, love that Source back. I live in a fluid world, but not one where those changes occur on the outside. My life is no longer a spectator sport. It's an active being trying to figure things out armed with hope and belief, which are subject to change.
Going forward some shades of gray are going to be darker, but if I keep my face toward the lighter shades with the faith and the strength I believe I inherited from my mother and father, my roots will seek deeper soil and my limbs stretch toward the light that contains more love than the world can fathom.
Maybe in this life as a care giver, I'm learning to be a care receiver. Hmmm.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Sunday, July 29, 2012
The Universe Responds: It's Batty
After my recent post, I decided that today marked my day of rest. The house looks a wreck, but in order to take care of all that requires my attention, especially Mom's needs as she transitions to widowhood, I need self-care.
I find myself out of focus, yet living in the moment. Strange sensations since I've always regarded myself as a person of determination. Drifting as if in a dream doesn't suit me too well, but lately it happens more than I care to admit.
My aimlessness leads me to one place - my front door. Don't know why. Do I feel trapped? Hm mm. Am I waiting for something? Someone?
This morning's scene outside my front door became very familiar as I realized the car parked in front of my house belonged to another friend. We spoke for a short while. He expressed his condolences to Mom and me. I finally asked why he idled in front of my house. He said he had been dispatched by a mutual friend to help my next door neighbor who reported bats in her attic (as opposed to those in my cerebral belfry). I laughed. He looked puzzled as I grinned.
It was at that time that "Great Deluge of July 2012" became the topic. The flooding discussed, my frustration vented. He knows about chimney caps. He knows about bats. The fix? Easy.
With gratitude to the Universe for listening and showing me again we are all One in good times and in bad, through sanity and battiness.
Namaste
I find myself out of focus, yet living in the moment. Strange sensations since I've always regarded myself as a person of determination. Drifting as if in a dream doesn't suit me too well, but lately it happens more than I care to admit.
My aimlessness leads me to one place - my front door. Don't know why. Do I feel trapped? Hm mm. Am I waiting for something? Someone?
This morning's scene outside my front door became very familiar as I realized the car parked in front of my house belonged to another friend. We spoke for a short while. He expressed his condolences to Mom and me. I finally asked why he idled in front of my house. He said he had been dispatched by a mutual friend to help my next door neighbor who reported bats in her attic (as opposed to those in my cerebral belfry). I laughed. He looked puzzled as I grinned.
It was at that time that "Great Deluge of July 2012" became the topic. The flooding discussed, my frustration vented. He knows about chimney caps. He knows about bats. The fix? Easy.
With gratitude to the Universe for listening and showing me again we are all One in good times and in bad, through sanity and battiness.
Namaste
Of Chimneys and Tears
This morning brought overcast skies and a case of the "drearies." Mom's had breakfast, I've had a cuppa, and time to read the posts I've missed over these past few weeks. One in particular brought me to tears as it illustrated where I am now in my life with all its sadness, tears, and challenges.
Jon Katz over at Bedlam Farm had the courage to put out to the universe what he felt in this post Feeling Blue/. His thoughts reflect what I've been dealing with lately: life after Dad's passing, Mom's health, my financial health, life after Mom and Dad, etc., etc.
Last night, we had a storm. Thunder. Lightning. Rain. Rain. Rain. I sensed that someone had opened a dam resulting in a huge force of water upon us. I had been doing laundry and went to the basement only to discover we had a mini-flood on our hands. I checked the water heater. Good. I checked the furnace. Also good. The water came from the middle of basement. Nothing leaked around the windows. Again, good. Where did this come from?
I called the water heater and furnace insurance folks. No one home. (Someone remind me again why I'm paying for service that doesn't happen?) I called the gas company who casually told me to call a plumber. I ran back down to the basement for mop-up detail. It was at that very moment I became angry. Really angry.
Mom's answer to this dilemma? Call a man. In her generation, the "damsel-in-distress" worked, not so in this era. Maybe I suffer from pride because my brain usually works for me and I can figure things out on my own. My feelings overwhelmed me. I can't take this, all this stuff, everything raining down upon me and I haven't even buried my father. I'm not a 21st Century Job from the Bible who sits there in quiet strength ignoring everyone who advises him in the name of faith. (Although, I have to admit the part about the "boils" would have weakened me.)
My fury continued (something I'm not used to feeling). I returned to the basement for further clean-up. As I spread the towels, I heard it. The "ping, ping, ping" coming from the chimney into the furnace, which I had turned off. Could it be possible? My next action involved calling my dearest friend's husband to check my hypothesis. Did I just do the damsel-in-distress thing? He concurred with my theory. I ran back up the stairs and out into the deluge to look up at our chimney only to discover no chimney cap. Nadda. It stood tall against the elements as it has in years past - open and vulnerable.
As of Midnight my tears, anger, and the water in the basement had dried. The same weather that had channelled the rain through the chimney now carried a drying breeze. It's as though nothing had happened.
In the past few days, I've made list upon lists of things I need to do before the season turns. Lists concerning my father's funeral service and lists of ideas to write and share. Capping a chimney doesn't appear on any of these reminders, but in a strange way, attempting to put a cap on what life presents should have been Job 1. My situation resembles the chimney. Open to life and everything that falls into it. This life needs something to shield Mom and me from these life occurances. This life cap won't stop that "stuff" completely, but deflect as much as possible.
Next week, after the funeral, the chimney gets a cap.
Jon Katz over at Bedlam Farm had the courage to put out to the universe what he felt in this post Feeling Blue/. His thoughts reflect what I've been dealing with lately: life after Dad's passing, Mom's health, my financial health, life after Mom and Dad, etc., etc.
Last night, we had a storm. Thunder. Lightning. Rain. Rain. Rain. I sensed that someone had opened a dam resulting in a huge force of water upon us. I had been doing laundry and went to the basement only to discover we had a mini-flood on our hands. I checked the water heater. Good. I checked the furnace. Also good. The water came from the middle of basement. Nothing leaked around the windows. Again, good. Where did this come from?
I called the water heater and furnace insurance folks. No one home. (Someone remind me again why I'm paying for service that doesn't happen?) I called the gas company who casually told me to call a plumber. I ran back down to the basement for mop-up detail. It was at that very moment I became angry. Really angry.
Mom's answer to this dilemma? Call a man. In her generation, the "damsel-in-distress" worked, not so in this era. Maybe I suffer from pride because my brain usually works for me and I can figure things out on my own. My feelings overwhelmed me. I can't take this, all this stuff, everything raining down upon me and I haven't even buried my father. I'm not a 21st Century Job from the Bible who sits there in quiet strength ignoring everyone who advises him in the name of faith. (Although, I have to admit the part about the "boils" would have weakened me.)
My fury continued (something I'm not used to feeling). I returned to the basement for further clean-up. As I spread the towels, I heard it. The "ping, ping, ping" coming from the chimney into the furnace, which I had turned off. Could it be possible? My next action involved calling my dearest friend's husband to check my hypothesis. Did I just do the damsel-in-distress thing? He concurred with my theory. I ran back up the stairs and out into the deluge to look up at our chimney only to discover no chimney cap. Nadda. It stood tall against the elements as it has in years past - open and vulnerable.
As of Midnight my tears, anger, and the water in the basement had dried. The same weather that had channelled the rain through the chimney now carried a drying breeze. It's as though nothing had happened.
In the past few days, I've made list upon lists of things I need to do before the season turns. Lists concerning my father's funeral service and lists of ideas to write and share. Capping a chimney doesn't appear on any of these reminders, but in a strange way, attempting to put a cap on what life presents should have been Job 1. My situation resembles the chimney. Open to life and everything that falls into it. This life needs something to shield Mom and me from these life occurances. This life cap won't stop that "stuff" completely, but deflect as much as possible.
Next week, after the funeral, the chimney gets a cap.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Dad's Angel (Final Hours)
I've spent the past 24 hours trying to get things sorted. Important things. Feelings. Details. List making. Everyday things. Dressing. Eating. Things that I do automatically without a second thought. I'm wearing the cloak of grief (again) and those tasks that I take for granted have become difficult to achieve. I'm in a surreal place right now. Sort of like walking between two worlds: life and death.
The events leading up to my current state of mind vividly replay. Images that flood me with a mixture of feelings that take me away from what I intend to do vs. what I hope to achieve.
On Tuesday evening, Mom and I sat with Dad as we have done every night. He had developed a high fever. I attempt to cool him with compresses. My mother asks me why his body has morphed into a furnace. I have no answer . Nothing works to relieve the fever. It's as though his internal thermostat has broken. I continue to apply the compresses and moisten his mouth, but it's a losing battle.
At 9:30 PM, Dad's breathing pattern has changed from one of measured respirations to labored, unequal inhalations and exhalations. I speak to the Hospice nurse who tells me this happens when the end is near. Strangely, I did not panic, although it seemed to be a viable option. I call upon everything within me to be present for Mom and Dad. After a short while the labored breathing quiets a bit. Crisis averted?
Midnight arrives and I encourage my mother to go to bed. She's been staying up far too long. She agrees and says goodnight to Dad. She's weary, worried, and scared. I assure her I'll stay up with Dad.
At 1 AM, I look over at Dad while at the same time I feel a funny sensation in my chest. Not painful. A feeling of warmth. It's as though my heart has swollen with love. A comforting feeling that I can't explain. I sit by his bed continuing to cool and comfort him. His labored breathing has returned only this time it has slowed and I count the seconds between each breath. The engine that is his body slows. At last he takes one final breath. It's over. He has passed before my very eyes. I notice the time on the clock. It's 1:11 AM. I wake my mother and gently break the news. She leaves her bedroom to say goodbye to her husband of 64 years.
Throughout my life and in the days leading up to his death when asked, "What would you like to pray for?" his answer never waivered. Dad prayed for peace. He yearned for it. Craved it. That's all he ever wanted. Never prayed for one material thing. Only peace. Peace in the world. Peace in his home.. Peace for those he loved.
As the funeral personnel gently lifted him on the stretcher, I noticed his face. He had arrived. He had reached that place of peace. One might describe his look as angelic. His angel had found him and taken him home.
My emotions ebb and flow. The inner child within me cries out, "I want my Dad!" That little girl who sat on her father's lap as he read to her needs comfort, love, reassurance. The adult daughter, the mature daughter, knows Mom needs my presence. She requires comfort. She needs love. The caregiver in me needs to step up, despite my feelings of profound sadness.
Later in the day, my best friend and her daughter, Katie, visit. Katie won a garden statue during a fundraiser she and I worked on recently - an angel. A blessed angel. A visible reminder of the unseen things that take place on this earth. A reminder of what's truly important.
Rest in your heavenly peace, Dad. I love you. Thank you for being my father.
 |
| Dad's Angel |
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Signs of the Divine
Mom and I are keeping watch as my father enters his final hours on Earth. The turn he took late last week has resulted in a nose dive. His pain continued unresolved until Hospice changed his medicine medical delivery system yesterday. Now his face has a look of comfort and rest. His body has lost the rigidity the other medications could not conquer.
Nursing personnel have visited daily. A change made here and there to maximize care. Yet, it feels like there's nothing to do but wait. There are things to say, but strangely, I believe he knows everything we think and feel about him. Love. No-strings-attached love, but nothing like a little reinforcement.
This past week as I sat with Dad, I felt something - a shadow, a presence. I shook it off saying to myself, "I must be more tired than I thought." On the following days, as the Aide worked on Dad's personnel care other "occurances" happened. On Monday as we turned him he said, "I'm not going to take this **** much longer. On Wednesday, I heard him say, "But, I don't want to go." I attributed the latter remark to some delusion, but I'm not certain. All along, I've felt forces at work that I couldn't see or hear. Yet, feeling comfortable that something, Someone, bigger than me had come to our aid.
What Dad's final hour may look like remains to be seen. His life has affected mine this past four years in ways I could never have imagined. Yet, I am fixated on each moment. Listening to each breath, feeling his forehead, insuring his mouth is moist, and insuring my mother has her private time with her husband. I'm a product of a marriage, not an active participant in their private love story. There are things to be said to each other. Things that my husband and I said to each other that no one else should be involved.
One of the aides told me that I'd know when the end was at hand. He said I'd feel a presence. That I would know someone else had arrived to be with us. I like that. As an only child, the future does not hold that siblings are on the way. Nor are distant relatives. I welcome a heavenly visitor.
As many television programs promise "reality" scenarios each week, I wonder if folks studied end of life issues or walked with someone to the end, if they would buy in to this genre or if people would be interested. For me to understand death forces me to live life large, not from an aspect of materialism, but from one of love.
The poor little kitchen lays trashed. I'd make a meal for Mom to enjoy, only to return to Dad's care. I don't have time for pots, pans and dishes. My only hope if we do receive a divine presence, neatness doesn't count and that angels and saints realize just what a great guy they've called.
Peace,
Nursing personnel have visited daily. A change made here and there to maximize care. Yet, it feels like there's nothing to do but wait. There are things to say, but strangely, I believe he knows everything we think and feel about him. Love. No-strings-attached love, but nothing like a little reinforcement.
This past week as I sat with Dad, I felt something - a shadow, a presence. I shook it off saying to myself, "I must be more tired than I thought." On the following days, as the Aide worked on Dad's personnel care other "occurances" happened. On Monday as we turned him he said, "I'm not going to take this **** much longer. On Wednesday, I heard him say, "But, I don't want to go." I attributed the latter remark to some delusion, but I'm not certain. All along, I've felt forces at work that I couldn't see or hear. Yet, feeling comfortable that something, Someone, bigger than me had come to our aid.
What Dad's final hour may look like remains to be seen. His life has affected mine this past four years in ways I could never have imagined. Yet, I am fixated on each moment. Listening to each breath, feeling his forehead, insuring his mouth is moist, and insuring my mother has her private time with her husband. I'm a product of a marriage, not an active participant in their private love story. There are things to be said to each other. Things that my husband and I said to each other that no one else should be involved.
One of the aides told me that I'd know when the end was at hand. He said I'd feel a presence. That I would know someone else had arrived to be with us. I like that. As an only child, the future does not hold that siblings are on the way. Nor are distant relatives. I welcome a heavenly visitor.
As many television programs promise "reality" scenarios each week, I wonder if folks studied end of life issues or walked with someone to the end, if they would buy in to this genre or if people would be interested. For me to understand death forces me to live life large, not from an aspect of materialism, but from one of love.
The poor little kitchen lays trashed. I'd make a meal for Mom to enjoy, only to return to Dad's care. I don't have time for pots, pans and dishes. My only hope if we do receive a divine presence, neatness doesn't count and that angels and saints realize just what a great guy they've called.
Peace,
Friday, July 13, 2012
Scenes from the Garden (Distracting Myself @ 4 AM)
 |
| Bumble Bees scaling Mt. Anise Hyssop |
 |
| Wildflowers by the birdbath. |
 |
| These flowers just look so happy to me. |
 |
| Whoa! Startled by what it sees. |
 |
 |
 |
Turning the Corner
It's 2:30 AM on Friday, the 13th. The superstition behind the date doesn't mean that much to me; however, the significance of Thursday, the 12th, weighs on me
Dad took a turn. A bad turn. He couldn't breathe. I gave him the medication as directed, which usually does the job. I wait. Dad doesn't relax. The coughing continues with abandon. He moans. I try to determine the source of his pain. What compromises his breathing? He will not respond. I can't panic. I cannot morph into his little girl who cries for help. I am his help.
The Hospice nurse returns my call. I report what little Dad has shared with me concerning his discomfort. Recent vital signs are recited in a cool professional tone. I hold it together. The nurse tells me I'm doing the right things. Keep up the med every two hours.
One hour later, I'm back on the phone with a different Hospice nurse. Dad's still in distress. I swallow my panic in order to focus on bringing him some comfort. She's a straight shooter and shares some comfort measures. She says, he's "turned the corner", a euphemism for "buckle up, things are going downhill."
I read somewhere that some faith traditions recommend leaving a window open in order for the soul to take flight when its ready. I walk to the window, open it, and reflect on the loneliness of the night.
I need to circulate some caffeine in my body in order to be of any help to Dad.
Mom's asleep. Oblivious to what's going on with her husband. A blessing in disguise.
I shuffle over to the coffee brewer and pour a cuppa Joe. This vigil isn't about me, but my eyes are heavy with fatigue. I don't dare close them because I don't want to know what's around that corner.
Dad took a turn. A bad turn. He couldn't breathe. I gave him the medication as directed, which usually does the job. I wait. Dad doesn't relax. The coughing continues with abandon. He moans. I try to determine the source of his pain. What compromises his breathing? He will not respond. I can't panic. I cannot morph into his little girl who cries for help. I am his help.
The Hospice nurse returns my call. I report what little Dad has shared with me concerning his discomfort. Recent vital signs are recited in a cool professional tone. I hold it together. The nurse tells me I'm doing the right things. Keep up the med every two hours.
One hour later, I'm back on the phone with a different Hospice nurse. Dad's still in distress. I swallow my panic in order to focus on bringing him some comfort. She's a straight shooter and shares some comfort measures. She says, he's "turned the corner", a euphemism for "buckle up, things are going downhill."
I read somewhere that some faith traditions recommend leaving a window open in order for the soul to take flight when its ready. I walk to the window, open it, and reflect on the loneliness of the night.
I need to circulate some caffeine in my body in order to be of any help to Dad.
Mom's asleep. Oblivious to what's going on with her husband. A blessing in disguise.
I shuffle over to the coffee brewer and pour a cuppa Joe. This vigil isn't about me, but my eyes are heavy with fatigue. I don't dare close them because I don't want to know what's around that corner.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Life(lines) and Lace
If anyone reviewed this care giver's life, they might come to the conclusion that she experiences a measure of isolation. Now, according to the experts, isolation is a care giving "no, no". Isolation breeds resentment, fatigue, and a whole host of other unhealthy things. I agree with the experts. Feeling as if I'm on a precipice has not served me well, but it has not been a lasting condition.
As you may or may not be aware, I love the art of knitting. Well, I have to own up and say I love some aspects of knitting. There are various forms that I have avoided like the plague, for example, entrelac (a textured knitting technique involving diamonds), stranded knitting (knitting with many colors), and lace (well, that's the fabric with the holes in it). Over the years, I overcame the stranded phobia and had small forays into lace making, but nothing serious.
In caring for my parents small blocks of time allow me to do other things: clean the house, read, write, and knit. Last month, I decided that I had avoided this lace thing long enough. Christmas would be here before I knew it, so I'd better get on it. A visit to Ravelry (a knitter's haven and information central) led me to a group aptly called "Beginner's Lace". After joining, the group I discovered they did something called a shawl knit-along and discovered a technique I thought beyond me - a lifeline.
Knitters use lifelines as a line of fibre defense. A piece of waste yarn inserted between the needles and the live stitches secures the project from mishaps, such as a dropped stitch or a major unravel. Truth be told, I felt I didn't need to use a lifeline. Who? Me? Are you kidding? Such mental
hubris led to the failure of my first project. I lost stitches, gained them, discovered huge chasms open below the needles, aka "a hot mess."
The second shawl project cruised along with a better outcome. I have to attribute its success to those lifelines. Oh, sure I dropped a stitch or two, but the lifeline caught them. I noticed an error after I finished the project and, luckily, a lifeline rested just under the faux pas. I frogged (knitting term for undoing) the knitting and am currently reknitting. Yay, lifelines.
It's funny how knitting and care giving go hand-in-hand in my life. As with the members of the lace group, as in life I rely on lifelines in the form of nurses, nurses aides, doctors, pharmacists, friends, and the volunteers to answer questions, offer guidance, and help keep me sane as we strive to make comfort the fabric of the day. We do miss stitches here and there in the form of communication or try to go too fast, that's when I unravel. If my lifeline are in place calling up past training and wellness guidelines, those lifelines keeps me from becoming an abandoned hot mess...
And for that I am very grateful.
As you may or may not be aware, I love the art of knitting. Well, I have to own up and say I love some aspects of knitting. There are various forms that I have avoided like the plague, for example, entrelac (a textured knitting technique involving diamonds), stranded knitting (knitting with many colors), and lace (well, that's the fabric with the holes in it). Over the years, I overcame the stranded phobia and had small forays into lace making, but nothing serious.
In caring for my parents small blocks of time allow me to do other things: clean the house, read, write, and knit. Last month, I decided that I had avoided this lace thing long enough. Christmas would be here before I knew it, so I'd better get on it. A visit to Ravelry (a knitter's haven and information central) led me to a group aptly called "Beginner's Lace". After joining, the group I discovered they did something called a shawl knit-along and discovered a technique I thought beyond me - a lifeline.
Knitters use lifelines as a line of fibre defense. A piece of waste yarn inserted between the needles and the live stitches secures the project from mishaps, such as a dropped stitch or a major unravel. Truth be told, I felt I didn't need to use a lifeline. Who? Me? Are you kidding? Such mental
hubris led to the failure of my first project. I lost stitches, gained them, discovered huge chasms open below the needles, aka "a hot mess."
The second shawl project cruised along with a better outcome. I have to attribute its success to those lifelines. Oh, sure I dropped a stitch or two, but the lifeline caught them. I noticed an error after I finished the project and, luckily, a lifeline rested just under the faux pas. I frogged (knitting term for undoing) the knitting and am currently reknitting. Yay, lifelines.
It's funny how knitting and care giving go hand-in-hand in my life. As with the members of the lace group, as in life I rely on lifelines in the form of nurses, nurses aides, doctors, pharmacists, friends, and the volunteers to answer questions, offer guidance, and help keep me sane as we strive to make comfort the fabric of the day. We do miss stitches here and there in the form of communication or try to go too fast, that's when I unravel. If my lifeline are in place calling up past training and wellness guidelines, those lifelines keeps me from becoming an abandoned hot mess...
And for that I am very grateful.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Saying Goodbye to a Friend
Today's not my favorite day. In fact, if I could skip today, it would be all well and good.
My friend passed last week after a 16-year battle with cancer. He fought with every fibre of his being. Procedures, surgeries, or medications couldn't overcome this dreaded disease, but watching the battle between this man and this illness brought to light a valuable recipe - life is one part faith, one part attitude.
Al, in spite of all the internal conflict going on inside his body, chose to live each day with a smile on his face, spoke gently, and never forgot how to laugh. In fact, a few years ago he suffered a back injury and during my visit he began to laugh. I asked him what he found so amusing and he replied, "I'm in pain and I don't know why, but I just laugh at it." Maybe Norman Cousins was right when he proposed laughter as a way to a healthier lifestyle.
As I write this I realize that in remembering his life, I've been gifted by how he enriched my life. Al loved iconography and taught me to appreciate those beautiful symbols. He educated me on matters of faith and social justice. Our friendship opened me up to the world in a broader context. He cross-stitched. What he produced could be displayed in any museum. There have been many more gifts that are now part of my journey. Permanent reminders of his life on earth that are now embedded in my heart.
So, as much as I dread going to his wake this afternoon, I think that the visit has a different, yet still emotional meaning for me. I'll go to say prayers over his coffin and to discuss with gratitude the many gifts his life meant to others. I know there will be tears. Tears of sadness and tears of celebration for his life on earth and that in the hereafter.
His pain is no longer. His life well lived.
Thank you, Al.
My friend passed last week after a 16-year battle with cancer. He fought with every fibre of his being. Procedures, surgeries, or medications couldn't overcome this dreaded disease, but watching the battle between this man and this illness brought to light a valuable recipe - life is one part faith, one part attitude.
Al, in spite of all the internal conflict going on inside his body, chose to live each day with a smile on his face, spoke gently, and never forgot how to laugh. In fact, a few years ago he suffered a back injury and during my visit he began to laugh. I asked him what he found so amusing and he replied, "I'm in pain and I don't know why, but I just laugh at it." Maybe Norman Cousins was right when he proposed laughter as a way to a healthier lifestyle.
As I write this I realize that in remembering his life, I've been gifted by how he enriched my life. Al loved iconography and taught me to appreciate those beautiful symbols. He educated me on matters of faith and social justice. Our friendship opened me up to the world in a broader context. He cross-stitched. What he produced could be displayed in any museum. There have been many more gifts that are now part of my journey. Permanent reminders of his life on earth that are now embedded in my heart.
So, as much as I dread going to his wake this afternoon, I think that the visit has a different, yet still emotional meaning for me. I'll go to say prayers over his coffin and to discuss with gratitude the many gifts his life meant to others. I know there will be tears. Tears of sadness and tears of celebration for his life on earth and that in the hereafter.
His pain is no longer. His life well lived.
Thank you, Al.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Thunder and Lightning
As parts of the country suffer through the heat without power my thoughts go to those who need it most-the elderly and disabled. We, who are in pretty good shape, are uncomfortable and dismayed by this week's power outages, by food loss, by sleepless, sweltering nights, but at least our health helps get us through the night.
Thunder storms have always attracted me. I loved seeing the dark clouds roll in, counting the time between thunder and lightning, watching those bolts of electricity shoot from the sky. The majesty and power hidden within those clouds kept me spellbound. This summer has presented a different sort of challenge. The storms seem to go on longer, the thunder louder, the lightning more intense and, based on the fallen branches, angrier.
Now as a caregiver, my blood pressure goes up a few notches as the clouds begin to march over the neighborhood. A loss of power requires action on my part. My Dad lies on a air mattress. One that continually circulates air to help prevent bed sores and other skin problems common to a bed bound patient. Should we lose power, I must turn him and insert something called a "waffle mattress" under him. The waffle mattress must be manually inflated using a hand pump. All this needs to occur before the other mattress deflates, which would indeed leave Dad resting on a hard slab.
Additionally, there's the matter of oxygen. Dad uses a powered oxygen compressor. Should nature knock our lights out, Dad must be switched to an oxygen cylinder or tank for the duration of the outage. Not too big a task, but not one I look forward to actually doing.
During the duration of the outage, matters of hydration are high priority for Mom and Dad. They become annoyed when I'm touting fluids on a good day. Now "the daughter" roams the halls with a pitcher full of water or lemonade coaxing them to drink more. In their minds, drinking more results in increased bathroom time and swimming through the "Hazy Hot and Humids." just doesn't cut it. The heat slows them down, way down. Lack of fluid causes confusion.
It's during these extreme conditions, I worry about those who don't have anyone to care for them. Who are they? Can a neighbor assist? Are they locked up in a 100 degree apartment too worn out from the heat to get a glass of water? Where is their help? Could I be their help? Could you be their help?
All it takes to know may be a small measure of awareness. Does an elderly or disabled person live in your neighborhood? Have you seen them since the power outage? Did you notice an air conditioner sticking out of their window? Is it on? Do folks come and go from their home?
I realize it can be hard to just knock on someone's door with a pitcher of lemonade or water in your hands, but if you're a born extrovert, it couldn't hurt. If you don't dare knock on a stranger's door, then by all means call your local fire department or elderly affairs board to discuss next steps. The point being do something. Who knows? You just might save a life and it doesn't get more powerful than that.
Thunder storms have always attracted me. I loved seeing the dark clouds roll in, counting the time between thunder and lightning, watching those bolts of electricity shoot from the sky. The majesty and power hidden within those clouds kept me spellbound. This summer has presented a different sort of challenge. The storms seem to go on longer, the thunder louder, the lightning more intense and, based on the fallen branches, angrier.
Now as a caregiver, my blood pressure goes up a few notches as the clouds begin to march over the neighborhood. A loss of power requires action on my part. My Dad lies on a air mattress. One that continually circulates air to help prevent bed sores and other skin problems common to a bed bound patient. Should we lose power, I must turn him and insert something called a "waffle mattress" under him. The waffle mattress must be manually inflated using a hand pump. All this needs to occur before the other mattress deflates, which would indeed leave Dad resting on a hard slab.
Additionally, there's the matter of oxygen. Dad uses a powered oxygen compressor. Should nature knock our lights out, Dad must be switched to an oxygen cylinder or tank for the duration of the outage. Not too big a task, but not one I look forward to actually doing.
During the duration of the outage, matters of hydration are high priority for Mom and Dad. They become annoyed when I'm touting fluids on a good day. Now "the daughter" roams the halls with a pitcher full of water or lemonade coaxing them to drink more. In their minds, drinking more results in increased bathroom time and swimming through the "Hazy Hot and Humids." just doesn't cut it. The heat slows them down, way down. Lack of fluid causes confusion.
It's during these extreme conditions, I worry about those who don't have anyone to care for them. Who are they? Can a neighbor assist? Are they locked up in a 100 degree apartment too worn out from the heat to get a glass of water? Where is their help? Could I be their help? Could you be their help?
All it takes to know may be a small measure of awareness. Does an elderly or disabled person live in your neighborhood? Have you seen them since the power outage? Did you notice an air conditioner sticking out of their window? Is it on? Do folks come and go from their home?
I realize it can be hard to just knock on someone's door with a pitcher of lemonade or water in your hands, but if you're a born extrovert, it couldn't hurt. If you don't dare knock on a stranger's door, then by all means call your local fire department or elderly affairs board to discuss next steps. The point being do something. Who knows? You just might save a life and it doesn't get more powerful than that.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Questions
There are questions for which I need answers. Tough questions concerning this election year. Questions about how the candidates view our growing elderly population. Questions about point of view. Questions that I believe touch all of us - the elderly, their families and the nation as a whole.
In the interest of full disclosure, I do not belong to a political party because it's the person's record that gets my attention. Celebrity endorsements, massive campaign contributions and all the media advertising doesn't sway me one bit. Interviews from panel discussions to news conferences are usually very well rehearsed to avoid turning off voters and staying "on message", so they are not worthy of my attention. I've worked in the media long enough to know how it all works with campaigns. (And, I have to say I've always regarded these folks from campaigns as "cam-pains" with the incesant polling telephone calls.) Call it New England pessimism, but it takes a lot to impress me.
According the Administration on Aging's "Projections for Future Growth" data, there are approximately 57 million folks who turned 60 years old in 2010. The numbers are staggering when one considers the total population of this country stands at 308,745,538. More recently, the Huffington Post presented this article on caregiving and the numbers are even more telling. Additionally there are approximately 40 million unpaid caregivers in the United States. Why aren't these candidates paying attention to this issue when so many people are affected?
In the past, politicians have often used the line "for our children's future" to fight terrorism, engage in budget battles, and as an argument for or against health care reform. Yet, I haven't seen or heard any candidate applying that rhetoric to our elderly population and their caregivers? Why? This is an issue that directly impacts our childrens' future. I know that the election boards in every state visit nursing homes and assisted living centers to aid the elderly in casting their votes, but otherwise the silence leading up to that critical time is deafening. Our children may or not become caregivers. Trust me it effects their future.
There's an old saying about "a fence is a strong as its weakest link." In this case that link in our society must be considered the care of our elders. Those who came before to craft a nation and honored as the "The Greatest Generation." If 40 million unpaid caregivers walked away from their loved ones, the economic strain would be huge. Same has to be true for the unemployment figures because those 40 million caregivers go unreported. Those 40 million aren't eligible for anything. Those 40 million caregivers may not be able to leave their homes to vote because they can't leave their loved ones. Those 40 million are love in action.
Candidates go on and on about National security, border security, and the threat of terrorism all the while ignoring that which they are going to face somewhere down the road. If we are to maintain our strength, we must shore up our weakest links. To be there for our fellow citizens in their last days. Why is the discussion about this issue so weak and elusive?
Is this country only for the young? For the most productive demographics? Are we dismissive of the older demographic? Recently news accounts have announced that the elderly are living too long. A line to which my mother responded, "Sorry to disappoint you." What? Shouldn't that longivity serve as a symbol of our greatness? Are we turning into a country who believes that folks in their 70s, 80s, and 90's are a detriment? Someone, please answer the question. It's disturbing to me that these accounts appear to assign blame for our economic woes on a demographic that may be too fragile to defend themselves. What does it take for our candidates to acknowledge this important stage of life?
I believe if we are to continue being the great nation that we are, then we have to include care of our elders as a matter of social and economic security. Proper healthcare programs, support systems for caregivers, and respect for those who came before us have to be of utmost priority. Politicians may blabber about the need to reduce "entitlement" programs. Those are the folks who get a checkmark in my "Clueless" column. To me such statements demonstrate an ignorance that no statesperson should possess.
If anyone has answers to these questions, perhaps you can share them here. Until then, I'll just keep asking.
In the interest of full disclosure, I do not belong to a political party because it's the person's record that gets my attention. Celebrity endorsements, massive campaign contributions and all the media advertising doesn't sway me one bit. Interviews from panel discussions to news conferences are usually very well rehearsed to avoid turning off voters and staying "on message", so they are not worthy of my attention. I've worked in the media long enough to know how it all works with campaigns. (And, I have to say I've always regarded these folks from campaigns as "cam-pains" with the incesant polling telephone calls.) Call it New England pessimism, but it takes a lot to impress me.
According the Administration on Aging's "Projections for Future Growth" data, there are approximately 57 million folks who turned 60 years old in 2010. The numbers are staggering when one considers the total population of this country stands at 308,745,538. More recently, the Huffington Post presented this article on caregiving and the numbers are even more telling. Additionally there are approximately 40 million unpaid caregivers in the United States. Why aren't these candidates paying attention to this issue when so many people are affected?
In the past, politicians have often used the line "for our children's future" to fight terrorism, engage in budget battles, and as an argument for or against health care reform. Yet, I haven't seen or heard any candidate applying that rhetoric to our elderly population and their caregivers? Why? This is an issue that directly impacts our childrens' future. I know that the election boards in every state visit nursing homes and assisted living centers to aid the elderly in casting their votes, but otherwise the silence leading up to that critical time is deafening. Our children may or not become caregivers. Trust me it effects their future.
There's an old saying about "a fence is a strong as its weakest link." In this case that link in our society must be considered the care of our elders. Those who came before to craft a nation and honored as the "The Greatest Generation." If 40 million unpaid caregivers walked away from their loved ones, the economic strain would be huge. Same has to be true for the unemployment figures because those 40 million caregivers go unreported. Those 40 million aren't eligible for anything. Those 40 million caregivers may not be able to leave their homes to vote because they can't leave their loved ones. Those 40 million are love in action.
Candidates go on and on about National security, border security, and the threat of terrorism all the while ignoring that which they are going to face somewhere down the road. If we are to maintain our strength, we must shore up our weakest links. To be there for our fellow citizens in their last days. Why is the discussion about this issue so weak and elusive?
Is this country only for the young? For the most productive demographics? Are we dismissive of the older demographic? Recently news accounts have announced that the elderly are living too long. A line to which my mother responded, "Sorry to disappoint you." What? Shouldn't that longivity serve as a symbol of our greatness? Are we turning into a country who believes that folks in their 70s, 80s, and 90's are a detriment? Someone, please answer the question. It's disturbing to me that these accounts appear to assign blame for our economic woes on a demographic that may be too fragile to defend themselves. What does it take for our candidates to acknowledge this important stage of life?
I believe if we are to continue being the great nation that we are, then we have to include care of our elders as a matter of social and economic security. Proper healthcare programs, support systems for caregivers, and respect for those who came before us have to be of utmost priority. Politicians may blabber about the need to reduce "entitlement" programs. Those are the folks who get a checkmark in my "Clueless" column. To me such statements demonstrate an ignorance that no statesperson should possess.
If anyone has answers to these questions, perhaps you can share them here. Until then, I'll just keep asking.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Contest Winner Announcement!
Congrats to Debbie! She has won the $25.00 Barnes & Noble Gift Card!!!! Woohoo!
Stay tuned for July's contest and thank you for visiting "The Daughter."
And, Happy 63rd Anniversary to my Mother and Father. In a time when some marriages last 65 minutes, I'm proud of them for sticking together. In honor of this wonderful occasion, Mother Nature pummeled us with a 100 degrees of hazy, hot, & humid.
More adventures in caregiving to come...
Stay tuned for July's contest and thank you for visiting "The Daughter."
And, Happy 63rd Anniversary to my Mother and Father. In a time when some marriages last 65 minutes, I'm proud of them for sticking together. In honor of this wonderful occasion, Mother Nature pummeled us with a 100 degrees of hazy, hot, & humid.
More adventures in caregiving to come...
Friday, June 15, 2012
Who Wrote the Book on Caregiving?
Late last August when I finally decided to take my folks home from the rehabilitation center, an overall sense of helplessness surrounded me. Questions circled my head, uncertainty swelled in my stomach. Where did the answers live? Who or what resources existed to help me if I need it?
The 36-Hour Day came to me as gift in the form of a recommendation from a friend, so I immediately ordered it and felt like I'd won the lottery when it arrived. Although no where does this book deal with caregiving a deux, it provides an overall landscape to deal with a such an abrupt turn in the lives of our loved ones and ourselves.
I have to say, this is one of the few books regarding caregiving that attempts to hold up the family and the caregiver. The authors understand just how deep and real the dynamics are and, in turn, offer suggestions on making life a little better for everyone involved.
So, if you are a caregiver, if you are contemplating caregiving, or are just curious concerning what might be down the road, gift yourself.
 |
| The 36 -Hour Day by Nancy L. Mace, M.A and Peter Rabins, M.D., M.P.H.
|
The 36-Hour Day came to me as gift in the form of a recommendation from a friend, so I immediately ordered it and felt like I'd won the lottery when it arrived. Although no where does this book deal with caregiving a deux, it provides an overall landscape to deal with a such an abrupt turn in the lives of our loved ones and ourselves.
I have to say, this is one of the few books regarding caregiving that attempts to hold up the family and the caregiver. The authors understand just how deep and real the dynamics are and, in turn, offer suggestions on making life a little better for everyone involved.
So, if you are a caregiver, if you are contemplating caregiving, or are just curious concerning what might be down the road, gift yourself.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Thoughtful Thursday
 |
| Busy bumble bees! |
 |
| Anise hyssop in bloom! Yes! |
 |
| Lemon thyme through new lavender haze |
 |
| Nice to know she's doing her job. |
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Have You Seen My Angel?
Last Sunday as I readied Dad for bed, he asked me, "Have you seen my angel?" The question caught be off guard. I asked him if he HAD seen his angel. He said, "No, but they tell me my angel is coming." I told him that if I saw the angel I would tell him? her? you were waiting.
Now I, for one, believe in those messengers between heaven and earth. I love looking at magnificent pictures of angels with gossamer wings, protecting us from evil or urging us on to do the right thing. As a little girl I prayed every night to my guardian angel to keep me safe from monsters that roamed the night or to give me the wisdom to get through a difficult exam.
Dad's question left me wondering about who 'they' were. Does heaven or the afterlife operate much like the secret service sending an advance team? Are there celestial beings who prepare the dying to meet their angel? Really? A Celestial Advance Team (CAT)?
So, how does one become a CAT member? Perhaps the difference they made on earth earned them their calling in the great beyond. I really don't know the answer, but there's a saying, "Treat everyone with love and care, for they might be an angel in disguise." Or in Dad's case a member of CAT.
Take care.
Now I, for one, believe in those messengers between heaven and earth. I love looking at magnificent pictures of angels with gossamer wings, protecting us from evil or urging us on to do the right thing. As a little girl I prayed every night to my guardian angel to keep me safe from monsters that roamed the night or to give me the wisdom to get through a difficult exam.
Dad's question left me wondering about who 'they' were. Does heaven or the afterlife operate much like the secret service sending an advance team? Are there celestial beings who prepare the dying to meet their angel? Really? A Celestial Advance Team (CAT)?
So, how does one become a CAT member? Perhaps the difference they made on earth earned them their calling in the great beyond. I really don't know the answer, but there's a saying, "Treat everyone with love and care, for they might be an angel in disguise." Or in Dad's case a member of CAT.
Take care.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Contest: Stories That Stirred Your Soul
For me, reading brings enormous pleasure. Walking into a bookstore can be overwhelming. First, I search for my favorite authors wondering if I've missed the fruits of their labors. Next, off to what's new on the bookshelf. I'm a kid in a candy store and I don't want to leave. After scouring the shelves, I sit in the cafe and savor what's to come. What's the story? What does it promise? Is there a tug from deep down inside telling me this is THE one. I keep one eye peeled on the time honoring my curfew, but hope time stretches.
My e-reader sits in my handbag. It saves me time and money; however, as old-fashioned as it may sound, sometimes my hands yearn to hold a book. Perhaps turning the pages heightens the anticipation of what comes next. Please don't get me wrong, my e-reader works like crazy. It's my right arm. For me, the digital or the printed book are merely containers. Ones that house the precious gift of story. I'm flexible to a certain extent. Lately, my reading time has been few and far between, but I manage a little in the evening or the wee morning hours.
So, I'm hosting a contest to answer a simple question: What's stories have you read recently that stirred your soul, gave you a different life perspective and opened your heart? The story that awakened your soul, pulled at your heartstrings, hurt to stop reading, and left you wanting more after the final page. Yeah, THAT book.
What do I need to do? Simple. Leave a comment including the title, author, and what the story means to you.
What do I win?: A $25.00 gift card to Barnes & Noble. (BTW, I saving the gift card that I received from a friend for Jon Katz' newest release this August.)
What if I don't have a B & N in my area: I believe you can use the card to order online.
When does the contest begin?: Now
When does the contest end?: Wednesday, June 20, 2012 at Midnight
How will the winner be selected: The winner will be selected at random using a randomizer.
When will you announce the winner?: I'll announce the winner on Thursday, June 21, 2012 (my parents' 64th Wedding Anniversary.)
How do I know if I won?: I'll contact the winner via email & on this blog. You must send me your address at that time in order to send the card to you via USPS. Winner has 7 days to claim their prize; if he/she doesn't respond, another winner will be chosen.
I'm looking forward to learning about some inspired reading. At the end of the day, we'll have developed a pretty great summer reading list!
More to come...
My e-reader sits in my handbag. It saves me time and money; however, as old-fashioned as it may sound, sometimes my hands yearn to hold a book. Perhaps turning the pages heightens the anticipation of what comes next. Please don't get me wrong, my e-reader works like crazy. It's my right arm. For me, the digital or the printed book are merely containers. Ones that house the precious gift of story. I'm flexible to a certain extent. Lately, my reading time has been few and far between, but I manage a little in the evening or the wee morning hours.
So, I'm hosting a contest to answer a simple question: What's stories have you read recently that stirred your soul, gave you a different life perspective and opened your heart? The story that awakened your soul, pulled at your heartstrings, hurt to stop reading, and left you wanting more after the final page. Yeah, THAT book.
What do I need to do? Simple. Leave a comment including the title, author, and what the story means to you.
What do I win?: A $25.00 gift card to Barnes & Noble. (BTW, I saving the gift card that I received from a friend for Jon Katz' newest release this August.)
What if I don't have a B & N in my area: I believe you can use the card to order online.
When does the contest begin?: Now
When does the contest end?: Wednesday, June 20, 2012 at Midnight
How will the winner be selected: The winner will be selected at random using a randomizer.
When will you announce the winner?: I'll announce the winner on Thursday, June 21, 2012 (my parents' 64th Wedding Anniversary.)
How do I know if I won?: I'll contact the winner via email & on this blog. You must send me your address at that time in order to send the card to you via USPS. Winner has 7 days to claim their prize; if he/she doesn't respond, another winner will be chosen.
I'm looking forward to learning about some inspired reading. At the end of the day, we'll have developed a pretty great summer reading list!
More to come...
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Dear Dad
Happy Father's Day! That's right, the day we celebrate our paternal line or those who were paternal toward us approaches soon.
I didn't get you a new grill or some snappy new power tool. Didn't get you a DVD or aftershave. I think we've past that point.
I have so, so much to thank you for today, namely:
I found breadcrumbs from the past; clues left by our dearly departed. Poverty, loss, and systems too blind to see the real story. Yet, you worked so hard to keep your family fed. The chicken story still makes me laugh, but it also teaches me the stark reality of hunger. You did good, Dad. You gave it your all.
In these recent months I've seen you through a different lens. Early on, images rose of a young strapping soldier full of bravado, ready for a fight. Next, as a baby who quietly drifts back to sleep after eating. Words can't describe how those images have touched my heart.
When you asked me if I meant it when I said I'd care for you and Mom at home, I have to admit a heaping measure of apprehension. But now I can honestly say to do so has been heaven sent. Had I not accepted the challenge, I would have missed out on your stories. They would have been lost on strangers who didn't understand their meaning. So, while I gifted you by caring for you, I received a far richer gift in return.
We don't know how much time we have left together as a family. I pray each day for a little longer. I pray that you be pain-free, and, most of all, I pray you finally get the peace you fought for and so rightfully deserve. These prayers conflict with each other. Selfishly, it hurts so much to know we'll have to say goodbye. That's something I'm just not ready to do. Not yet.
I'm sitting next to you in your hospital bed in our living room as I write this entry. You might ask, "Why would a daughter write an open letter to her father on the Internet?" My reply, "I want the world to know what a gift you are to me and my mother. Not gifts that wear out in two or three years, but an eternal gift living our hearts."
I love you, Dad.
I didn't get you a new grill or some snappy new power tool. Didn't get you a DVD or aftershave. I think we've past that point.
I have so, so much to thank you for today, namely:
- for surviving the Great Depression.
- for falling in love with my mother. (Good one, Dad.)
- for putting me on a racehorse at three-years old and igniting my passion for horses. (As you might remember, Mom didn't take that too well.)
- for the Friday fish and chip lunch dates on your days off from work.
- for driving down to Ft. Jackson, SC from Rhode Island in a Volkswagen Beetle when you found out I'd injured my knee in the Army. (That had to hurt your six-foot frame.)
- for giving me a love of nature.
- for challenging me every blessed day. (OK, I fought you tooth and nail on THAT one.)
- for showing me your quiet determination.
- for instilling in me the true beauty of living an authentic life, not a flimsy one built from pretension.
- for teaching me to seek and celebrate peace.
I found breadcrumbs from the past; clues left by our dearly departed. Poverty, loss, and systems too blind to see the real story. Yet, you worked so hard to keep your family fed. The chicken story still makes me laugh, but it also teaches me the stark reality of hunger. You did good, Dad. You gave it your all.
In these recent months I've seen you through a different lens. Early on, images rose of a young strapping soldier full of bravado, ready for a fight. Next, as a baby who quietly drifts back to sleep after eating. Words can't describe how those images have touched my heart.
When you asked me if I meant it when I said I'd care for you and Mom at home, I have to admit a heaping measure of apprehension. But now I can honestly say to do so has been heaven sent. Had I not accepted the challenge, I would have missed out on your stories. They would have been lost on strangers who didn't understand their meaning. So, while I gifted you by caring for you, I received a far richer gift in return.
We don't know how much time we have left together as a family. I pray each day for a little longer. I pray that you be pain-free, and, most of all, I pray you finally get the peace you fought for and so rightfully deserve. These prayers conflict with each other. Selfishly, it hurts so much to know we'll have to say goodbye. That's something I'm just not ready to do. Not yet.
I'm sitting next to you in your hospital bed in our living room as I write this entry. You might ask, "Why would a daughter write an open letter to her father on the Internet?" My reply, "I want the world to know what a gift you are to me and my mother. Not gifts that wear out in two or three years, but an eternal gift living our hearts."
I love you, Dad.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
My Mother's Hands
 |
Every day Dad's aide comes into her room to speak with her. Mom noticed the aide's manicure and complimented her nail color - blue. She asked her where she purchased the polish. She had to have THAT color. The aide asked if she really wanted blue nail polish. Not too many people my mother's age opt for blue nails. Mom insisted, "It's pretty. I want my nails to look like yours."
The following day our kind aide got to work and applied the polish, along with a topcoat of sparkles to liven things up a bit. She's shown her manicure to anyone who looks her way - the gardener, the neighbors, our cat - anyone. Dad's nurse came in to speak with her about Dad and up flew the hands, "See my nails. They were just done. I love my nails!"
But this photo isn't simply about a manicure. You are viewing a lifetime of stories. These are the hands that cared for her mother and father. The ones that worked on a comptometer and later a calculator to support herself and her family. Fingers that made beautiful music as she played her violin. Hands that held me as a baby and consoled me when my husband passed. Her hands are a gift.
The rings she wears tell stories as well. Her school ring reminds her of her life on the debate team, of times with her best friend, and of a nun who acted as a second mother to her. Cherished memories that she's taken with her all of her life. Not merely a piece of jewelry, but contained within this little ring are memories that shaped her.
She wears her wedding ring on her right hand. Her left hand so tiny that it slips off. A few weeks ago she panicked when she realized the ring slipped off overnight. Mom looked up at me and said, "Does this mean he's going to die today?" A gentle search of bedclothes uncovered the ring. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Today her tiny fingers reach over to caress Dad's cheek as she sits next to his hospital bed. She knows what's happening. I leave the room so she has her time with the man she loves. These are sacred moments never to be recaptured. Every moment matters as she conveys the love lying deep within her heart.
I love my mother's hands.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Reflections from the Garden
 |
| Working the bugs out.. |
The small gardens surrounding this house not only produce, they produce with purpose - flowers to attract the bees, herbs for teas, fruits and vegetables just outside my window, and, someday, chickens to provide necessary protein (but there's a red tailed hawk nesting in the back yard which means waiting for him to move to another neighborhood.)
 |
| Beauty |
So, I thought I'd fire up the old Coolpix Nikon to share my serenity spaces. Those little patches of earth that soothe and heal my soul. Being with such beauty quiets the mind. This little universe keeps itself quite busy and worthy of further exploration if one looks hard enough.
 |
| Smiling Pansy |
I love pansies because they are easy to grow and come in so many expressions. This one reminds me of a bandit. All it needs is a sombrero.
 |
| Blurry Blueberries |
Pancakes await my little beauties. Hope it happens as so often the ripe ones are consumed before they hit the batter. Ooops.
 |
| An Ocean of Irises |
Bumble bees wind their way from flower to flower collecting pollen. It's the interconnectiveness of nature. One small flight for bee, one giant bloom for mankind.
 |
| Vitamin K(ale) - sauteed or baked crisp in the over with a roast chicken. |
Jenna Woginrich of Cold Antler Farm wrote about the goodness of the mighty Kale. I often thought it a bitter lot of leaves, but that all changed when I tried it with roast chicken. Unbelievably delicious!
I've learned so much from these and other plants. It's the dawn of my urban farm. Every year I add a little more and every year the garden responds in kind.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Thanks Beyond All Thanks...
to Jon Katz for recommending this blog to his Facebook followers. Jon, you made a girl's dream come true! Talk about the kindness of the universe!
Jon resides on Bedlam Farm in upstate New York with his fibre artist wife, Maria Wulf, his dogs, donkeys, and chickens. He creates with words. She creates in stitches. She operates Full Moon Fibre Arts.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with Jon's work, he is a bestselling author, farmer, photographer, and inspiration to many folks. Every one of his books reaches deep into my soul, stirs it up, and has helped me "stay up" as he encouraged me in a recent email.
Here's a list of Jon's books:
Change cannot be escaped or hidden from, it happens. Currently, as Mom and I prepare for a huge change in my life, Jon and Maria are as well. They are planning a mid-summer's move to New Bedlam Farm where they are renewing their lives in a new space, replete with an elderly pony, named Rocky. Rocky came with the farm.
I wanted to thank Jon publicly sooner, but my father's condition has worsened. These last few days have been spent with medical personnel and other things, such as writing his eulogy, as Dad's days left on earth are few.
I believe people come into our lives for a reason. We either "get it" right away or not. I think I get it. I hope I get it. Jon helps us to "get it." Visit his website, visit her website, Facebook friend him.
Again, a million thanks and gratitude to Jon and to you for your comments and support. You'll never know how much they truly mean to me.
More to come...
Jon resides on Bedlam Farm in upstate New York with his fibre artist wife, Maria Wulf, his dogs, donkeys, and chickens. He creates with words. She creates in stitches. She operates Full Moon Fibre Arts.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with Jon's work, he is a bestselling author, farmer, photographer, and inspiration to many folks. Every one of his books reaches deep into my soul, stirs it up, and has helped me "stay up" as he encouraged me in a recent email.
Here's a list of Jon's books:
- Running to the Mountain: a journey of faith and change (2000)
- A Dog Year: twelve months, four dogs and me (2003)
- The New Work of Dogs: tending to life, love and family (2003)
- The Dogs of Bedlam Farm: an adventure with sixteen sheep, three dogs, two donkeys and me (2004)
- Dog Days: dispatches from Bedlam Farm (2005)
- Katz on Dogs: a commonsense guide to training and living with dogs (2005)
- A Good Dog: the story of Orson who changed my life (2006)
- Izzy and Lenore: two dogs, an unexpected journey, and me (2008)
- Soul of a Dog: reflections on the spirits of the animals at Bedlam Farm (2009)
- Saving Izzy: the abandoned dog who stole my heart (2010)
- The Dog Who Loved - Lenore: the puppy who rescued me (2010)
- Rose in a Storm: A novel (2010)
Change cannot be escaped or hidden from, it happens. Currently, as Mom and I prepare for a huge change in my life, Jon and Maria are as well. They are planning a mid-summer's move to New Bedlam Farm where they are renewing their lives in a new space, replete with an elderly pony, named Rocky. Rocky came with the farm.
I wanted to thank Jon publicly sooner, but my father's condition has worsened. These last few days have been spent with medical personnel and other things, such as writing his eulogy, as Dad's days left on earth are few.
I believe people come into our lives for a reason. We either "get it" right away or not. I think I get it. I hope I get it. Jon helps us to "get it." Visit his website, visit her website, Facebook friend him.
Again, a million thanks and gratitude to Jon and to you for your comments and support. You'll never know how much they truly mean to me.
More to come...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Subscribe To
Posts
All Comments