Remembering Daddy...

As I opened the door late last night, to let the dog out, I realized that it was a lot cooler outside than it was in the house…

I followed the dog outside and sat down in a rocking chair on the patio.  Of course, I immediately looked up at the stars.  I cannot look at the stars without thinking about my daddy.  We used to lay on his USMC green, wool blanket on the back lawn and look at the stars.  He would tell us the names of the constellations and how sailors used the stars to navigate.

I’ve told the story many times before, along with a lot of other memories about my daddy, on my blogs.  I guess the star-gazing memory is special to me…

As I sat there, looking up at the stars, I realized that my memories are tangible to me; perhaps because I think about them—and Daddy—often.  Something else occurred to me as I sat there: all those memories from so long ago happened right here in this same backyard.

Tangible memories….

I can sit where he sat, eat where he ate, look at pictures from our house back then….that is still my house now, and remember him.  And when I do, I feel surrounded and comforted by those same memories.

Life ends, eventually, for all of us.  I am so glad that my daddy lives on in my memories…

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!

Friends....

I am sitting here looking at a photo of a long-time friend.   I can see her, and hear her, as I look at the photo.  She had an infectious laugh, a heart of gold, and she never met a stranger.  Unfortunately, the photo is on the front of the program for her memorial service: she died March 25^th.

We became friends in high school.  I loved being around her because she was always so upbeat.  She had that kindness that many espouse but few really practice in real life.  She was only a stranger for ten seconds after you met her, and then she was a friend for life…..

Our children were just about the same age: the oldest being a girl, followed by two boys.  I remember when she used to come visit me at my home and bring her kids.  All the kids got along well and played together so we could sit and talk.  I remember, too, that her daughter taught my daughter the names of all the colors, or at least, all the colors that M&Ms came in….

A lot of stuff happened in her life that could have made her angry, or sent her in a downward spiral, or caused her unbearable bitterness.  But she wasn’t that way.  She was resilient.  She had an abiding faith in God and in her ability to bear anything that happened to her through His Grace.

I didn’t want to go today.  I am not a fan of funerals, but then, who is?  I asked John to go with me and, of course, he did.  The church is just two doors down from our home, so we walked.  And in the warm sunshine, I felt a shiver.  Regret? 

Perhaps.  I know that the last time I talked to her on the phone was too long ago, and I was calling to cancel a lunch date.  She lived at the coast and I was vacationing there and wanted to see her, but life intervened and I had to come home early.  I never, ever thought that I would never talk to her again.

But life is like that, isn’t it?  We postpone things we ought to do until “another day” and that day never comes.   And today, that feeling would not leave me until I got into the church and saw her smiling face in the photo slide show.  And I know now that she thought of me as often as I thought of her, and that we could get together tomorrow and it would be just like old times.

But there won’t be a tomorrow with her.

As we walked in the church, we were greeted by another friend from high school days.   She approached me, smiled, and gave me a hug.  I heard someone else say my name and I turned around to see another friend from high school.  And I got another hug.

As we were trying to decide where to sit, I saw more friends, and decided we would sit right behind them.  And there were more hugs.  And introductions, although they all knew about John and our “adventures” from my posts on Facebook.

The service was amazing.  The eulogy caused many, many tears in the church.  And the testimonials from all those high school friends made us all smile and laugh despite our tears.

Is it possible to learn lessons from someone who is dead?  Or maybe it’s lessons from the exemplary life she led…. She reminded me to stop having regrets and to act on my instincts.  “Get out there and live and stop being so introverted!”  I can hear her saying that to me and then laughing.

The tragedies that befell her in her life were terrible, but the joy she brought to each and every day of her life was inspiring.  She never felt sorry for herself, and she never stopped trying to find the good in everybody and everything.

After the funeral, we walked home and I cried.  I was overwhelmed with the outpouring of kindness and the hugs I received.  I was deep in thought about my friend and wondering how to deal with my thoughts.  I decided to go shopping….

Retail therapy?  No, not really.  There are two new babies in our family and we want to send them gifts to let them know how happy we are to have them in our lives.  No more assuming that they will know how much we care.

I have to tell them…..

I was shopping in a craft store when I saw someone I used to work with in the operating room.  Being somewhat introverted and socially awkward (in my opinion), I would normally have just kept going and assumed that she was too busy to talk to me or she wouldn’t remember me.

Not today: I walked right over to her and said “hi!”  We spent almost 45 minutes “catching up” on what has been going on in our lives.  It was good to see her again, but it was great that I didn’t just walk away, knowing that she didn’t see me…..

And tonight, I will wrap baby gifts and address the boxes, then mail them in the morning.  I think I will also send an email to each of my kids and remind them that I love them and I’m thinking about them.  And I think I’ll send messages on Facebook to the friends I saw today and tell them how good it felt to see them again.

Thank you, Jeannie……

Cali

Out of the Dark

It’s hard to describe how I feel today.  It’s beyond hopeful, more like joyful.  As I have been saying for almost a year now: I am on my way.

Where?  You ask.  There is no easy answer but, “out of the dark” describes it to me.  Out of the dark that was my life last year.  For a year after I retired, I was in daily pain, spiraling into a deep depression, and full of self-doubt and self-loathing.

During the time that my back injury was treated as a Workers’ Comp issue, I had physical therapy and several spinal injections.  The first two spinal injections provided some relief for a few weeks.  The final injection was terrifying, merciless, and of no use: the pain was greater, not lessened.

And so, I retired.  To what?  A loving husband, a nice home, and a constant state of pain.  I couldn’t take a step off a curb without serious pain in both my knees and one or both hips.  I couldn’t walk very far without becoming winded.  I was eating the same as I did when I was healthy, active and pain free and the pounds were adding up.

I couldn’t look in the mirror.  And I made jokes about my wardrobe: “it’s not hard to find something to wear because very few of my clothes fit!”   Hahahahahahahaha…..

Or not….

My physician sent me to a rheumatologist: he offered suggestions that were immediate and addressed the “now” and not just the future “when you lose all this weight.”  And I was humiliated beyond belief: I hadn’t weighed myself in years and the numbers on the scale were frightening.

I came home resolute: I will get beyond this place and get my life back again.  I signed up for Weight Watchers Online the very same day.  I was overwhelmed by the task at hand and the changes I had to make.  At the same time, I was determined to do something for myself so that I didn’t have to be ashamed of how I looked and felt.

It’s been a slow process: ten months and counting, so far.  But I can see the light at the end of the tunnel and, if it’s not just a freight train, I will keep heading toward it.  One day at a time, one step at a time, one meal at a time, and one pound at a time….

I have lost more than forty pounds.  I am four sizes smaller than last summer, and I have LOTS of clothes to wear.  In fact, there are so many choices that I don’t know where to begin sometimes.  And isn’t that a lovely dilemma?

Out of the dark and into the light.  It’s a glorious feeling.  My depression is mostly gone, my activity level has improved: going to the gym, hiking in the mountains, and walking any chance I get has helped me realize the progress I have made.

There is no magic pill.  No diet.  No sacrifice.  What little I have had to give up (Diet Coke and sweets come to mind) is far outweighed by my sense of well-being and my ability to move and do and be, once again.  

The darkness that was retirement life in pain has given way to the light that is enjoying every day for what it is and smelling the roses along the way.  As Nora Ephron admonished: I am once again the heroine of my life and not the victim…

And it feels good….

Cali

Farewell....

What can I say?  My heart hurts right now.  A beautiful lady who was a huge part of my life for nearly forty years has died….

  

She has had Alzheimer’s disease for more than a decade and didn’t even recognize her own sons when they came to see her.  I know it was hard on them because my ex-husband (her first-born son) and I have talked about it.

My daughter told me today that she is saddened, too.  She thought she “shouldn’t be” because Grandma has been gone from all of us for a long, long time.  As I told her, the fact is that we are never prepared to lose a loved one, no matter how imminent the death might be.

She’s gone.  How can that be?  It isn’t fair, that’s for sure.  She was more to me than a mother-in-law; she was my Other Mother.   She was my shelter from the storm of my relationship with my own mother.  She was everything I wished my mother had been: kind, caring, gentle, loving and approachable.  As odd as it might sound, my mother was never approachable……  Yet my Other Mother was always there for me, as I tried to be for her.

Walking in the orange groves, after supper, so many years ago when I was pregnant with my first child, we would talk.  My husband worked evenings and my in-laws invited me out to their ranch for supper at least one night a week.  So, we talked.  We walked along a row of orange trees highlighted by the setting sun and she answered my questions about my pregnancy.

Over and over again, I asked her to tell me about “labor” and what I would be going through.  I asked her what things I needed to have on hand before the baby came home from the hospital.  And I listened in amazement as she described how I would feel when I saw my baby for the first time.

And she nailed it…

I remember after Steve and I separated that  she hoped we would reconcile.  She even “set us up” by asking each of us to come out to the ranch and help her on a Saturday afternoon.  I hadn’t seen Steve in a while as he was dating someone else and so was I….

It was hard to see her so desperate to fix something that was irretrievably broken, and neither of us could get mad at her for trying so hard.  And neither of us was in a place to try to fix it.  It was over, but NOT my relationship with my Other Mother.

She continued to be my friend and called me frequently to see how I was doing.  After her husband died, she called me and asked me to come by and see her.  She had a gift for me: a beautiful, dark red flower vase.   She wanted me to have something of hers to remember her by.

As if I needed an object to remind me of her…..

And now she’s gone.  Gone to a place where she is whole again and not suffering.  We are left with our memories—wonderful memories—of a beautiful woman, a beautiful person.  We will talk about her often, sharing stories and remembering her with much love and affection.

 

And shed some tears, too….

Cali

Ordinary Days...

Today was just a day.  Just like any other, more or less.  For me, anyway….

Yet, as I think about it, I can’t tell you how many babies were born today.  I do know that we have surpassed 7 billion people on this planet….  And I don’t know how many people died today, but quite a few, I’m sure.   So my own, ordinary day, was somebody’s birthday.  And someone else passed on from this veil of tears.

Perhaps it was the actual birth day of someone’s long-awaited baby.  Or perhaps it marked the end of suffering and pain for someone else’s beloved family member, or friend.

And today, somewhere, somebody moved into their new home, making their dreams come true.  And someone else was forced to leave his home, after fighting foreclosure.  And still someone else lost their home to a fire, or a flood, or some other natural disaster.

Today, somebody ate too much, and promised herself she would go on a diet tomorrow.  Someone else has an aching emptiness in his stomach, from day after day of not having enough to eat.  And somewhere else, a teenage girl looked in a mirror and saw a “fat pig”……and won’t eat anything at all.

Someone is recovering from surgery today.  Some surgical procedure was done that was not even heard of twenty years ago.  A life saved.  And somewhere, the organs were harvested from someone who lost their fight for life, and in return, their organs will save the lives of countless others.

Somewhere, a father hugged his child today.  A mother picked up her children at daycare and took them home and fixed their supper.  And somewhere else, a mother sobs unrelenting tears, frightened and separated from her child.  Somewhere, a kidnapped child is living the terror that no child should ever know.

Today, a child received an award in school for being the best at math.  Or language.  Or sports.  And elsewhere on this little blue ball, another child sits in the dirt and longs to be able to go to school and learn.  Today, a teacher inspired a young mind to grow up to be a scientist and discover the cure for cancer.  And today, a scientist in a research lab got one step closer to a cure for diabetes.  Or muscular dystrophy.  Or asthma.

As I sit here, complacently, thinking that I had a good day but an ordinary day.  People all over the world are proving me wrong.  Life is not ordinary, even on the most ordinary day.  It is a fascinating dance between us and this thing we call Life.  It is as much, or as little as we make of it…..

There are no ordinary days….

Cali

Perspective...

Well, I was running errands again this afternoon….  He went to the dentist, so I took advantage of the opportunity to shop alone…..and buy his birthday gift.  (Can’t tell you more: he reads my blogs!)

As I drove, I was thinking about all the things I want to accomplish this week: more painting, shopping for groceries, preparing a Red Velvet cake for the birthday party on Saturday, working on my scrapbooking and, and, and so many other things.

Not feeling bad about it, just a little pushed for time.  You know how that is: more to do than time to do it.  And so, I’ll probably compromise and put something off until later.  That’s perfectly fine, too.

With my head full of thoughts, I pulled up to a stoplight.  The car in front of me had one of those custom license plates.  It was a nondescript car, a Saturn Vue, I think, but the license plate stood out boldly, to me.  The actual plate was the one with the American flag background, with the letters “TR WARD” on it.

On the license plate frame, on the top, it said “My Son” and on the bottom, “2/14/63 – 9/11/01”.  As I read it, I felt unable to breathe, almost……

Sitting in the car in front of me, at the stoplight, was Tim Ward’s mother.  Although he was living and working in Los Angeles at the time, Tim was from Podunk and graduated from the same high school as I did, and my kids did….

I felt a pressure in my chest, and tears welling up in my eyes.  How silly of me, or not.  As I sat at the light, trying to figure out how to get so many things done, the woman in front of me was dealing with something much more important.  Tim Ward was on the first plane that crashed into the Twin Towers on that terrible day…

I had the urge to get out of my car and go hug her, but the light turned green and we were off on our own separate ways.   I said a little prayer for her, wishing her peace….

And I haven’t stopped thinking about her since…  Sure puts my life in perspective…

Cali

Routines...

There’s something about springtime that makes me happy.  The sun and green grass after a long, cold winter?  The chance to begin anew?  The reminder that life is seasonal?  Perhaps the answer is “all the above”….

It’s been sunny and mild in Podunk this week.  The tulips are a riot of pink in the container garden on the patio.  The first lilac blooms are opening.  The grass is greener than green, and the sky is blue and cloudy.  It feels like spring….

We went to the nursery yesterday and came home with some new plants: snapdragons, hydrangeas, and a calla lily.  Something about purchasing new plants for the garden is so exciting.  The only thing that is better is getting plant cuttings from friends.  The blue iris, a gift from a friend, is doing well, as are the narcissus that he replanted.  I guess they were a gift from my mother, who planted them so many years ago…

A renewal of another kind is happening, too.  It has been ten months since I retired.  Although they’ve been busy months, they’ve been somewhat disjointed.  Or unplanned, or something.  After a career of planning every moment, wearing the clock out by looking at it, and recording every movement and action, I was feeling lost.  Very lost.

Nurses assess the patient and write a plan of care.  We then evaluate the efficacy of the plan as it is implemented and make any necessary changes.  Medications are given at specific times.  Procedures are done on a schedule, too….

It’s no wonder that I felt adrift when I first retired.  Nothing is planned to the nth as it used to be.  While that fact has a definite up side, it also left me wondering what to do and at what time.  Sort of.  It has been fun to sleep when I’m tired, eat when I’m hungry, and hop in the car and go somewhere when I’m bored….

There’s no more TGIF, because every day is Friday.  There ARE weekends, and I keep track of them so we don’t end up needing groceries when the rest of the world is in the store.  And there are appointments, duly written down in an appointment book and on my iPhone.   At least the phone beeps at me to remind me where to go, and when….

I truly don’t get bored very often.  I do get tired of doing one thing and move on to another, leaving the first one incomplete.  But who cares?  What I don’t accomplish today I can do tomorrow.  Right?  I hope so…..

Slowly, but surely, some sense of routine is developing.  There are times for doing chores and times for being creative and times to just relax and enjoy the day as it unfolds.  Since I’m no longer working, there are more hours in the day, my day, than there used to be.  I figure it’s time to use them as I see fit….

Like driving up to the lake to watch the sunset….

Cali

Simple Things....

Rain falling from fat, gray clouds. Drum, drum, drumming on the roof. It's staccato beat is reassuring: it's warm and cozy inside. And dry. The smell of meatloaf baking in the oven wafts through the house, lending its fragrance to the sensory joys of being at home in a rain storm.

Candles flicker in the gathering dusk. Familiar sounds punctuate the silence: the washer and dryer humming as they work, a basketball game on TV, and my fingers pushing the keys on the computer. Familiar and safe and restful sounds.

Life is full of familiar things. Things that have become too familiar, perhaps. Sights and sounds and smells that need to be noticed and appreciated because they are truly the fabric of life. And it's a complex fabric, tightly woven and durable and long-lasting.

I have lived here for most of my life but, until recently, I didn't look at the mountains every day. And now, I do. Today they were beautiful, bluish tinted with caps of snow. And then their caps disappeared behind the fat, gray clouds that engulfed them. Last night, those same clouds were a fierce orange in the glow of sunset...

Simple things, daily things, familiar things....that mystify, and cause awe, and brighten each and every day.

Rain or shine....

Cali

Choices...

It's cold and gray and drizzling here. It has been for days. Other than a jaunt up to the mountains, I haven't seen the sun in about a million years. Maybe a little less. Maybe more.

I'm trying to stay busy and stop looking outside. It's the same every time I look, so why bother?

It's just that time of year. The sky is gray and so is life, sort of. The holidays are over and it's a long time until bar-be-que season. Taxes are due in just a little less than three months. I should be getting everything together to take to my CPA but, of course, I don't want to.

The house needs airing out. I want the sun to shine so I can throw open the windows and let the fresh air in. I have burned candles, almost every day, to rid the house of cooking odors, but it's not the same as fresh air.

And then, I have to stop and remember: I cautioned a friend not to wish her life away. She was lamenting that winter was getting her down and she yearns for spring to get here.

Another friend told me yesterday that this year is a “bad” one, for her. Less than three weeks into the new year, and she's already decided it's a bad year? Oh dear. That's awful.

Today is today. Cold, gray, and not exactly bright and hopeful. But it is a day. The only day I have, right now. And it's mine to do with as I choose.

I choose to be happy. I choose to look around me and find the joy in today. I choose to be grateful for the people in my life, the work that I do, and the life that I lead. I choose to be thankful that, when I go shopping, there is a hand holding mine. Someone to help me choose the groceries and then carry them in the house. Someone to talk to when I have nothing to say.

And tonight, we will eat grilled cheese sandwiches and baked beans, then watch the first episode of American Idol. Together.

And it will be dark. Not gray and cloudy. Or sunny and bright. Just dark.

And tomorrow is another day....

Cali