All in a Day's Work....

Sometimes I look at what I have “done” during the day and chastise myself for not doing more.  Since I am retired, I can always do whatever needs to be done “tomorrow” if I want.  Ah, but tomorrow never comes, does it?

So, what did I have to do today that didn’t get done?  Truthfully, nothing.

Maybe I feel guilty because he spent so much of the day outside, mowing the lawn and working in the yard.  I don’t have nearly as much to show for my efforts today….. Let’s see: I have done two loads of laundry, cleaned up the kitchen, put some things away, and worked on my scrapbooking.

Is that enough to do in one day?  Does every day have to have monumental results?  Is there really anyone who would be impressed if I did more?  Or less?

Actually, there is more that I did today.  I was online, finding out more about Harald Hardrada.  He was the King of Norway and my 33^rd great grandfather, on my mother’s side.  Funny thing, he tried to conquer England in September of 1066 but died trying.

 

He was known as the last of the Viking warriors.  After King Edward the Confessor (of England) died, there were three men who claimed the throne: an Englishman, Harold Godwinson, a Norman, William of Normandy, and Harald Hardrada, King of Norway.

After defeating Harald Hardrada at the Battle of Samford Bridge, Harold Godwinson marched his army to Hastings to meet his other foe, William the Conqueror, husband of my 33^rd great grandmother on my father’s side, Matilda of Flanders.  Exhausted from the previous battle and forced march, Harold’s army was defeated by the Norman.  What my maternal ancestors couldn’t accomplish, my paternal ancestors could.

No wonder I’m so tired…

Cali

Forgotten Heroes...

On Memorial Day, we honor those who died in service to our country.  To all of them, throughout the history of our country, I am grateful.  And to a special group of veterans who are near and dear to my heart, I am especially grateful.

Vietnam was my generation’s war.  Every corner of this country was touched by the loss of sons, brothers, sweethearts, fathers, and husbands.  Some 58,000 Americans gave their lives in the Vietnam War.   They were drafted, or enlisted.  They were America’s future, the generation that would lead the nation into the next millennium.  They were my friends…

Some who went to Vietnam did not carry weapons.  They did not go through Boot Camp.  They didn’t jump out of airplanes, rarely walked through jungles, trying not to be ambushed, didn’t fly choppers, or build bases.

They were the registered nurses who went to Vietnam to care for the troops, to treat the sick and wounded.  They were volunteers.  Whether they felt a patriotic duty to serve, or not, they were committed to caring for those who needed their help and expertise.

As the choppers landed, those nurses rushed out and triaged patients, deciding who could be saved and who couldn’t.  Performing tracheotomies, starting IV’s, infusing blood, giving pain medications and dressing horrific wounds, they spent long hours living with trauma, death, and dying.

Moreover, they became mothers and sweethearts to young men whose lives were cut short.  “Yes, I’ll be right here with you.  Yes, I’m holding your hand.  Yes, I’ll tell your mother that you were brave, and your sweetheart that you love her.”   They saw too many young men die, holding their hands.  They promised too many young men that they would write to their mothers.  They cried more tears than the oceans could hold.

Some died when hospitals were bombed.  Some came back to the States and suffered the consequences of exposure to Agent Orange.  Some woke in the night, sweating and hysterical, as they lived the war in their dreams, all over again. Some came back and furthered their nursing education.  Some quit nursing altogether.  And all of them were/are heroes, too.

To those who ministered to the sick and dying American soldiers serving in Vietnam, I am eternally grateful for your service to your country and to your fellow man.

God Bless all of you!

Cali

Another Birthday...

Another year has passed.  I’m another year older and, hopefully, another year wiser…

I remember my mother’s last birthday: she turned 65.  I was in a real quandary, trying to think of something to give her for her birthday.  She had everything she wanted, so there wasn’t much left for me to give her.

After spending a very long time wandering around the mall, hoping something would inspire me, I went in the Hallmark store.  On the end of an aisle, perched among other photo albums, was the perfect one.  It was a lovely white, leather-like material with seashells embossed on the bottom, right corner.  Eureka!

I had found the perfect gift to give a woman who had everything, and was leaving on a cruise to the South Pacific in just a week or so.  It was a little pricey but I decided to get it anyway since it was such a perfect gift.

My parents went out to dinner for her birthday, and then stopped by my house to see us and have cake and ice cream.  I proudly presented her with my carefully-selected gift, nearly unable to contain my enthusiasm.  It was going to be so great to see her smile and exclaim over that beautiful album!

She opened it, looked at it, and without expression on her face or in her voice, she simply stated: “I already bought albums for the cruise…..”  I was crestfallen.  Crushed.  And  hurt, too.  I had tried so hard and failed so miserably.   She did realize what she said and hastily said “thank you!” but it was too late…

So, on my birthday, now that I am of a certain age, I worry about my children putting too much effort into trying to find me the right gift.  After all, I DO have everything …..already.

Not to worry: I received gift cards for my birthday from each of the kids.  “Buy something for yourself” was the phrase that went with the gift, spoken or unspoken.  And that was fine with me…

You see, they each gave me much more than a gift card.  Their present was their presence.  Their presence in my home, on my birthday, and their presence in my life every day.  My daughter only had one day off before working the weekend, and a million things she needed to do at home.  Instead she drove to Podunk and spent the day with me, even taking me out to lunch.

My son stopped by after work, before going home.  It was Friday night and I know he was tired and anxious to get home and relax, yet he spent nearly two hours with me, sitting around the table and chatting about his life and his plans and his interests…

When the day was over, I was very tired and very happy: It was one of the best birthdays ever.  In this frenetically-paced life we live, two of the most important people in my life took the time to be with me and just visit.  Giving me the gift of their presence speaks volumes to me.

Whatever I am, or am not, I am loved…

Cali

First Voyage

Recently, when cleaning out boxes in the closet, I came across a treasure.  No, not savings bonds, or rare coins, or the deed to a gold mine.   I found a story written by my father.  And hand-written by him in calligraphy….

On the cover, he wrote: To my beloved daughter….From Daddy, Christmas 1979…

I couldn’t remember seeing it before, yet I obviously did.  I suspect that, since I was working night shift at that time, and had to leave his home to go to work on Christmas Eve, I probably didn’t give it more than a cursory look after he gave it to me.  I know I didn’t read it….

It was a different time then.  He was alive and well.  I was a fairly new RN, working the night shift, married, and raising three children.  Daddy was always in my life, and I couldn’t imagine his being gone from me any time soon, so there was no rush to read his story.

How things have changed.  Daddy has been gone for almost 15 years now.   And somehow, this booklet, with his story, has surfaced again.  What was once a simple Christmas gift has taken on much greater meaning: it is no longer just a story, it is Daddy’s legacy.  To me.  From him. 

I was shaking as I opened the booklet.  On the first page are the words “First Voyage”…..  I was intrigued.   As I read the next page, and the next, I was enthralled.  It is a story of my father’s first trip to Europe, as a young man, and it is a delightful recounting of a trip, yes, but also of a young man who later became my father.

His words make me smile:

"Other eight-year-olds had toy ducks floating in their bathtubs.  I had a wind-up scale model of a World War I battleship.  I wore navy blue “sailor suits” in the winter, and white in the summer.  Both came from Brooks Brothers in New York, where my dad bought his clothes."

There was never any question in my mind as to what I would be when I “grew up”: I would be either Captain of a big liner, or Admiral-in-Chief, U.S. Navy."

He relates that his father met Lord Louis Mountbatten, and through him, Captain Arthur Rostron, RNR, captain of Cunard Line’s HMS Mauretania, “fastest liner in the world”….  He was Captain of the Mauretania when the Titanic sank and was awarded a special Congressional Medal for rescuing the survivors…

As his parents became fast friends with Captain Rostron, they had lunch with him every other Saturday when the Mauretania was in New York.  "I had complete run of the ship; I knew Mauretania from keelson to truck."  Captain Rostron became Sir Arthur Rostron when my father was a teenager. 

The rest of the story is about his first sea voyage.  He was 23, footloose and fancy free.  "Despite youthful dreams of a maritime career, a shrinking Navy, limited berths in the Merchant Marine, and—above all—the Great Depression—made nautical openings hard to find."

So, in 1935, he embarked on the S.S. Black Tern (“a Hog Island single-screw well-deck cargo vessel, built in 1919, and refitted in 1930 with an oil-fueled GE steam turbine, multiple gear power plant.”) He worked his passage as an Ordinary Seaman.  For the grand sum of .01 cent, he worked his way from New York City to Antwerp, Belgium.

In his story, he recounts the tasks he was assigned while aboard ship: polishing the “bright”, chipping paint, and painting, battening down the hatches, and coiling wire cargo halyards, among other things.  The captain took a liking to him and let him stand watch on the bridge. 

As he recounts his voyage, I learn more about my father as a person.  I read his words, first scribbled in his journal, during the journey.  I feel as if I have met my father as a young man.  A man who worked hard and had the respect of his shipmates.  A man who enjoyed the beauty of the ocean and the stars and wasn’t afraid of hard work. 

As the voyage came to an end, he writes:

”For the first time in more than a week, the sea is calm.  No rolling, no pitching, whatsoever.  The water is almost an emerald green.  All about us are ships and birds. To port, we can see the chalk cliffs of Cornwall.  We steam past Penzance, and a thrill runs up my spine at the memories the name evokes of high school operetta days when a certain work-away sailor was Major General Stanley in ‘The Pirates of Penzance.’”

The adventure ends at a restaurant in Antwerp: four shipmates met for lunch and then split the check four ways: 45 cents each.  Daddy was leaving for Brussels and the World’s Fair the next morning.  As he said goodbye to his shipmates, they went off in one direction and he went in another….

The voyage was over, and a new adventure was about to begin…..

Cali

Extras...

No, not the nameless faces in a movie crowd scene or the toppings on a pizza…… I’m talking about people, and the little things they do, every day, for others.

Today was the day we had an appointment at the DMV.  We rushed through a smog inspection first, and then off to the land of wait-in-line.  It’s not the first time we have attempted to register his Honda in California and get new license plates.  The last time, our DMV was closed, so we went to another nearby town.  As we pulled into the parking lot, the line was out the door and around the corner…..we went home.

As he was talking to a man behind the counter, another employee told me to “move over” so she could help another customer.  I was taken aback but then remembered where I was and obediently moved over….

We sat in the sea of people and listened to a variety of languages being spoken, and sob stories about misplaced pink slips or “undeserved” tickets….  When it was our turn, the gentleman who waited on us was very courteous and helpful.  He even loaned us a screwdriver to get the license plates off the car: no new plates without turning in the old plates.

As I stood at the window, writing the check for the registration, he went out with the screw driver to get the plates off the car.  The look on his face when he came back in told me that it didn’t go well.  Not only was the screw driver not the appropriate tool to get the plates off, but he locked his keys in the trunk….

Now it was my turn to go outside and call AAA.  The very nice woman I spoke to told me that she would have someone out to help me “within a half an hour”………I explained that we were at the DMV, being waited on, and could it be sooner?  She said she would make us a priority call….

I went back inside with the DMV clerk to finish the paperwork while he stayed by the car to wait for the tow truck driver.  He came back in after only five minutes: the tow truck had already been there and retrieved the keys. 

We made an appointment to come back in an hour and a half, with the license plates, and then went home to try to get them off.  No luck….  So, I called the only person I could think of who might be able to help us soon: the contractor who is remodeling our kitchen.

 

And yes, he came over within half an hour of my call.  And with a few attempts to find just the right tool, he got the screws off and our license plates, too.  It didn’t hurt that we squirted WD-40 around the screws before he got there….

We rushed back to the DMV, paperwork and license plates in hand.  As we stood in “Line 1”, waiting to get a number, the man who helped us earlier spotted us and motioned us to come over to his counter.  Within five minutes, the paperwork was complete and we had our California license plates and were out the door….

I honestly believe that we get back what we give out.  I think it’s human nature to be kind to those who are kind to us.  I’d like to think that kindness is contagious, truly….  I do appreciate the smog guy, the DMV guy, the AAA guy, and our contractor, for turning a difficult situation into a positive experience….

Cheerfully….

Cali

Holding On....Letting Go...

(Written a couple of months ago…)

My daughter is a scrapbooker.  Online and “for reals” too….  She called me today and asked me about this photograph and what I might remember about it…

Not much, since I was less than two years old.  I did know where it was taken: at the Santa Monica Pier….  I don’t remember the stuffed animal at all.  Or the circumstances of the visit to the merry-go-round.

I have shared photos with all my children.  I load them onto my Photobucket account and have allowed them to view what is there.  In return, I am a “guest” on their photo accounts and can grab pictures that they have posted.

It’s funny:  when my father died, my brothers divided up the pictures.  Some of the ones I wanted to have were kept by one or the other of my brothers.  These days, they could just scan them and load them on the internet and we could all have copies of the special pictures.

Special pictures.  That’s what I need to remember and hold close.  Those memories and photographs that will forever be in my head and my heart.   No one can take them away from me.  Of course, Alzheimer’s would take them away but I wouldn’t care, would I?

I spoke to my brother last week and got some disturbing news: it seems that there’s a remote possibility that, when my stepmother dies, I could lose my home.  I felt like I’d been kicked in the gut.  I have put more than $200,000 into purchasing this home and repairing/restoring it and I would hate to have that all be in vain.  I am going to hire a real estate lawyer to help me sort things out.   It won’t be easy, but it’s necessary.

In the meantime, I will enjoy what I have today, as it might be gone tomorrow.   My daughter’s scrapbooking project brought me back from the brink.  Nothing can happen that I cannot handle.  I will do what I need to do to keep my home, yet prepare for the worst, too.

And I will remember that what matters in life are those people in those photographs.  They will live in my heart forever, if not in my mind….

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

Surprises!

Yesterday, as I got out of my car and started walking towards the entrance to Walgreen’s, there was a woman standing at the Red Box movie rental kiosk.  She looked familiar.  Very familiar.  I didn’t say anything to her because I knew it couldn’t be who I thought it was.  Paula moved to the coast a couple of years ago, so she wouldn’t be in Podunk on a hot Saturday afternoon, would she?

I went to the photo counter and picked up the photos from our trip to Monterey.  We weren’t going to stop at Walgreen’s today but, it was on the way home…..

As I came out of the store, I was disappointed to see a young kid at the Red Box kiosk.  I had missed my chance to see if it was Paula, I guess…  And then I noticed the gray SUV pulling out of the parking space right next to mine: the lady at the kiosk was driving it.

She looked right at me and I knew it was Paula.  I pointed a finger at her.  She grinned and pulled back into her parking space.  Hugs, grins, tears, and a lot of catching up ensued.   I was her mentor when she came to work in the Home Health Agency.  We spent many work days together, seeing patients, helping her conquer the computer program, and laughing.  Sore stomach kinda laughing…

She still comes back to Podunk once a month to work a weekend in Nuclear Medicine at the hospital.  This was that weekend. And the time I decided to pick up my photos was the exact, same time she decided to look for a movie.

Serendipity!

As if that wasn’t wonderful enough, when I got home, the mail had arrived.  There were the usual things in the mail, and there was a magazine: “Coastal Living”.  I couldn’t figure out how I had gotten it, I didn’t subscribe to it, but there was my name on the mailing sticker, so it’s mine.

This morning, when I was reading it, I showed it to my husband and told him I didn’t know how I got it. “That’s easy: I ordered it for you.”  Another surprise: he’s ordered another magazine for me, too.   I quickly admonished him to not tell me what it was.  I want to be surprised! Another smile…

And earlier this afternoon, he went out and washed my car.  My poor, little Prius was filthy and now he’s clean and shiny!  I didn’t ask to have him washed, but I do appreciate the effort and the results.

Just a few minutes ago, I found a friend on Facebook.  I invited her to be my friend and she accepted.  We IM'd each other, via FB, for several minutes.  I hadn't been able to talk to her in awhile, so finding her on FB was another pleasant surprise...

Little, positive surprises.  That’s what makes getting up each morning such a treat.  What will the day bring?  What’s in store for me?  And mostly, will I be aware, and in the moment enough to appreciate it?

I surely hope so!

Cali

Comfort Zone...

(Written in February of this year….)

I just put a batch of brownies in the oven.  It’s a cold, rainy Saturday afternoon and a little dessert after supper tonight sounds good. 

Ah, but working in a partially demo’d kitchen presents interesting problems.  The ingredients for the brownies are in the cupboard in the laundry room.  The wooden spoon to mix them, in the family room.  I have choices, too: bake them in the oven, which still works, or bake them in the toaster oven, in the front bathroom.

I chose the oven.  In the kitchen.  Habit, I guess….

The mixing bowl and brownie pan were both still in the kitchen, but both needed to be washed before using them: plaster dust.  We are mostly through with the plaster dust now.  But some still lingers in the cupboards and drawers.  But that’s nothing new: the drawers, over sixty years old, rub wood on wood when I open and close them, so anything I use out of a drawer has to have the sawdust washed off of it…

Having traveled extensively in an RV, I know that it doesn’t take much space to cook a meal, or wash the dishes.  I also know that food containers can be squirreled away in any nook or cranny, if need be.  So, having a kitchen that only partially functions is not such a big deal.

It’s nice to be able to function outside of my comfort zone.  How many people can do that?  How many of us have to have things “just so” in our kitchens?  In our lives?  How many of us are uncomfortable when things vary from the norm?

Well, I think it’s a good thing to wander beyond the limits of our comfortable place in life.  That’s how we learn new things.  And see new places.  And meet new people.  If we stay put, in that comfort zone, we are cut off from the possibility of new and different adventures, aren’t we?

Besides, at our age, we ought to have enough self-confidence to know that we are capable of doing things we have never tried.  Or eating something new and different.  Or participating in an activity we have only watched before….

Of course, there are times when we have to have our ducks in a row, most certainly.  As a nurse, I could never give a medication until I had verified that I was giving the right medication, in the right dose, to the right patient, by the right route, and at the right time.  No deviation from that was tolerable, period.

But this is life, not work.  This is trying sushi, not giving medications.  This is fun, not a chore.  Trying something new is an adventure.  Failing at something new is okay.  At least you tried.  Well, failing at bungee jumping, or skydiving might have consequences, but not most things…..right?

So, are you willing to step out of your comfort zone?  And try something new?

Cali  

Creativity...

I really identify with that.  And I’m a survivor, too….

I think creativity in our lives is as important as eating.  One nourishes the body, the other nourishes the soul.  The id.  The ego.  The identity.  The survivor in all of us.

There are as many ways to be creative as there are people on this earth.  Writing a journal or blog is one way.  Painting masterpieces is another.  But then, so is arranging one’s memories into a scrapbook, or decorating a mailbox.  Or cooking something special for supper.

Writing, drawing, painting, photographing, paper-folding, baking, arranging, stirring, putting, etc.  It’s all active, not passive.  Taking something imagined and turning it into something visible.  Or audible.  Or tactile; that’s creativity. 

Yes, creativity is not about BE-ing, really.  It’s about DO-ing.  It’s about rising above the mundane into a world limited only by our imagination.  A world colored with crayons of our choice.  A world cut and pasted and smashed into a scrapbook we fondly refer to as our Life.

Creativity is one of those things that puts smiles on our faces.  The joy of creating something out of something else, or from nothing, is truly addictive, in a good way.  Being able to see beyond something’s intended purpose and making it something much more wonderful and joyful, is quite an accomplishment, I think.

Sometimes, being still and quiet and enjoying the beauty all around us is enough.  Other times, it is the doing that inspires us….

How about you?  Did your child survive?

Cali