Tonight

With three layers on top
and two layers everywhere else,
I was dressed for the arctic
as we headed out into 
the night and the
Blossoms of Light
at Denver's Botanic Gardens.
It was cold,
but not THAT cold, and
I was over-dressed,
but I like to be toasty.

Colored lights everywhere,
kind of strange to light the night
with electric colors -
adding to the lights
that fill up the sky so much
I could only count
five stars out of the
infinite number
that are shining out there.

Putting that aside for a moment,
I do have to say
that it all was impressive.
The work, talent, and money invested
in beauty, the oooohs and ahhhhhhs,
families out together, toddlers
only caring about the snow
beside the sidewalk, lovers
holding hands under warm
lights on a Spruce.

And still, I come back to
memories of
the awe-inducing beauty of
a sky so full of stars that I shrink
to infinitesimal; a single, silent candle's
cozy glow; a snow-frosted tree
outside my house.  Do we
need to add to the miracle
that's already here?

I think I'm a Glitz Grinch.

Just say "You're Welcome!"

She:  "Thank you for all you do."
Me:  "Oh, I don't do anything."

Another She:  "I like your hair."
Same Old Me (with scrunched up face):  "Today was hair washing day, and I didn't wash it."


Me:  "The massage you gave me took about ten pounds off of my shoulders. Thank you!"
Another She:  "That's great!"


I am tired of negating what people say.  I might as well be telling them that they are crazy and I don't believe them.  I want to learn from the Another She that just said, "That's great!"  I want to just celebrate or say "You're welcome!" when people compliment or thank me.

Here I am, wanting Dharma to immediately stop her chewing habit-of-a-lifetime, and I (so far) have not been able to stop my habit of being a poor compliment acceptor. 

Maybe I need to ask people to give me treats or at least pet my hair and tell me what a good girl I am when I gracefully accept their compliments.  I might learn faster that way... 

Little Ms. Dharma

I shouldn't be writing this right now.  The Cutest Puppy In The World is asleep. 

This is my opportunity to clean the kitchen, deal with the papers on my desk, and pick up shredded newspaper that decorates the floor of the bedroom, hall, and my office.

It's actually really nice to be able to sit at this computer, uninterrupted and un-bitten, though.  The hands that type these words are polka-dotted with injuries from puppy teeth.  I am Swiss cheese.

It's a good thing that puppy faces, puppy bellies and the popcorn smell of puppy feet can win me over every time.

When Nothing Needs to be Said

My parents' anniversary is this Saturday.  It will be the first wedding anniversary since my dad died.  My mom just wants this week to be over.  Funny, when I was a kid and said that I wished it was such and such a day because I was really looking forward to whatever was supposed to happen then, my mom would tell me not to wish my life away.  Now she's wishing a part of her life away. 

Mom was all watery on Sunday when we went over there.  She was fixated on a sad dream.  At first, I tried to be logical.  Kind of stupid to do that at that moment, and I'm sorry for that.  I finally realized that there was absolutely nothing that I could do except to be there.  So I shut up.  I sat and looked at my mom and felt compassion for how hard this is for her.  People aren't used to having others shut up.  I think Mom thought I should be saying something, but there was nothing to say.

Actually, contrary to my perceived need to say something to my mom while she was all upset, I have not had a lot to say lately.  I kind of find this baffling, but I mostly like it. 

When I left for my last retreat, I felt so full of noise, I thought that if I never heard another conversation again, it would be fine.  More than fine.  That's why I needed five days of silence.  I was full and needed to be emptied.

Empty is good.  It feels spacious.  There's room for wondering and not knowing, for spontaneity and magic.

They'll Have To Do It Without Me

I have stood in vigils for peace since the build-up to the war with Iraq in 2003.  Nine years.  I started a Women in Black vigil in my town over seven years ago.  I figure that I stood for peace for at least 350 hours, just in that vigil alone.  It has been a powerful and moving experience for me - in so many ways. 

And today I quit.

I won't go into the details of my crazy decision-making ways.  I will just say that, while on my most recent retreat, which you can read a little about here, it became very clear to me that I was done.  I know that when I hear a voice inside telling me to do or not do something, it's very wise to pay attention. 

It will be strange to have nothing scheduled in the middle of the day on Saturdays.  But you know what they say about a vacuum...

I don't know what will replace my commitment to the Women in Black vigil.  I'm thinking that it needs to be something very life-affirming.  Something that speaks to our commonality as humans and gives us joy, no matter our politics, our religion, our nationality, or anything else. 

I feel smiley inside just thinking about that!

Shades

Today our interreligious group met.  We took turns answering the question, "How does your tradition/path benefit your life?" 

It was fun to listen to everyone share what it is about their religion that gives them comfort/feeds their soul/resonates as truth/supports them in life.  Basically, I felt that I was hearing the same beautiful story over and over, but it was told in diverse ways, using varying languages and descriptors. I started to wonder..  Do we all really see the same thing but through different colored lenses?

For brief moments, I was able to view various spiritual paths through the lenses of those whose lives are enriched by them.

After our group, I drove to the eye doctor to pick up my spiffy new glasses.  They come with sunglasses that attach by magnets.  We have lots of sun here, and I sure don't do well out in it unless I have on sunglasses.  You may as well just give me a white cane and lead me where I need to go, because I can't always keep my eyes open when I'm out in the bright sunshine. 

Anyway, my new sunglasses make the world look a completely different color than the ones that I have worn for years.  These are more yellow than green - close to the look that the land takes when a tornado is brewing.  And even though I saw the same sights on the way home from the eye doctor as I did on the way to her office, the different colored lenses changed the look of my world.

I'm thinking that there's potential here in this realization.  There needs to be a mixing up of our lenses - especially those of people who seem to hate those whose lenses aren't the same color as their own. 

I just can't figure out how to make this happen...

Hey! Who Turned Out the Lights?

For some unknown reason, I have begun (again) to read the book, "A Peace Carol (2008 - 2011)".  It is a book of the posts of this blog which Mr. CFP had printed into a nice, hardcover book.  This photo of the late, great Buddha dog is on the front cover.

Sigh...

I am actually enjoying my moments of reading my first (and last) published book.  That surprises me. I have journaled off and on for much of my life, and I usually get slobber-on-myself bored when I go back and read my own writing.  Not so this time.

So I start to wonder who turned off the lights?  There has been so little creative light illuminating this place.  Over the past few months, I have felt like a dried up ballpoint pen.  All of the wonderings and philosophizings and editorializings that were fodder for my earlier blog posts are gone. 

Something died. 

Or it's sleeping. 

If you're in there, WAKE UP, creative juices!

***

Today, while standing at our Women in Black vigil, a young man walked up to each of us, one at a time, to say something.  I couldn't hear exactly what he was saying until he got to me.  Here is what he said:  "Excuse me, could I borrow a smile?"  I couldn't help but to burst out in a BIG smile, because I had kind of thought that this was what he was saying:  "Excuse me could I borrow a cigarette?"  I was all prepared to indicate that I had none, so the "smile" word caught me completely off guard, and the young man got his request.  Only I didn't LEND it to him.  I gave it away freely.


***

There must be a dog that wants a new home somewhere in the Denver area, because there is a magnetic pull which is drawing Mr. CFP and I toward the local animal shelters.  I think that tomorrow, we will go see if we can find the source of the pull.  Trying not to get too excited, because we are holding high expectations for a pretty darn perfect dog after our experience with Buddha.  Can any living creature meet such expectations?  I am thinking that the addition of an unconditional love type of animal into this home might just help get the lights turned back on.  I hope so...

If Mr. Right doesn't find us tomorrow, he will have to wait until next month, because I will soon be going away to get rejuiced at one of my favorite hermit-supporting destinations.

Hubba Hubba!

I know that I have bragged about our garden carrots before.  Usually, I have fun showing off their crazy shapes.  Today, I'm impressing myself with the big, fat juiciness of the two carrots I pulled today.  These big boys are going to become a part of a huge cabbage salad:

This is where they lived before I uprooted them.  Our raised bed gardens are built out of cinder blocks, and we have carrots and beets planted in every hole.  The carrots above were brothers in this now-bare-naked hole.  I almost got a hernia trying to pull them out - I think they liked their home. Sorry, guys...

Carrots in the outer holes, chard in the flatlands.

Happy Dance!

POTH #8

Had to blow the dust off my camera tonight in order to take some photos while sitting on the front deck.  The POTH (Photos Of The Happy) hasn't been occurring as regularly as I had thought it would.  These photos could actually be titled POTHIT (Photos Of The Hanging In There), because sometimes that's about all that's happening around here.  I haven't felt too great physically or psychologically lately, but I'm on the mend. 

Looking up from my perch on the front deck.

The Purple Coneflowers are on their way out, while the Black-Eyed Susans are, like me, hanging in there.

 

Begonias.  

I found out that the Grateful Dead did a song called Scarlett Begonias.  I considered adding a YouTube of the song, but I just couldn't do it.  I don't think that I "get" the Grateful Dead. 

Right now, the sun has set, and the crickets are in the seventh verse of their nightly chorus. The daylight is getting obviously shorter each day.  I love the summer, but I do have to say that this one has been intense.  The unrelenting heat was wearing.  The drought keeps trying to drain the life out of the plants.  Add to all of that my *ah-hem* advancing age, and you get a woman who is feeling happy to see the first gentle signs of fall arriving. 

A Silent Summer Walk

A summer Thursday morning, 6:00 a.m.
Walking with my friend, Arnie, on my left,
the South Platte River and Denver skyline to my right.
Everything is right here.  
Everything.
I sometimes think I hear
the sound of a train or the song of a bird, but it is really
One Alive Sound of
TrainSquealingGrindingHighwayTrafficDinningRed-WingedBlackbirdTrillingWaterFallingArnie’sFootstepsRhythming.

We pass dogs leading people with leashes.  
Bikers announce, “On yer left.”
The newborn sun silhouettes runner on bridge.

Arnie and I don’t talk, and neither do most of the people passing us.
It’s a no-talk kind of morning.

On a grassy hill, five or six people lie motionless,
bedded down in red and khaki sleeping bags
despite the noisy yawns and complaints of a city waking up.
I am an uninvited guest in their bedroom,
witnessing them in their most vulnerable state
as their Earth Mother cradles them.
So very intimate.

A summer Thursday morning, 6:00 a.m.
It is all happening, like a choreographed dance.
And everything is right here.
Everything.

The Computer Ate My Homework

After washing and cutting ginger, a beet and its greens, apples, celery, broccoli and carrots for our morning juice, I felt so happy.  The colors and textures on my cutting board were a work of art.  Finally, I had a photo idea for the Photo Of The Happy - a project that has been sorely neglected.

I moved the cutting board to a more photogenic location and took two photos, hoping one would come out well.  But, in the downloading of the photo onto my computer, wham!

Somewhere out in space, in a place never visited my humankind, there are now two photos of multi-colored objects that humans consider food.

Fortunately, the happiness that arose at the sight of all of those fresh veggies still exists here on Earth.

There would be more Photos Of The Happy to post, but I have yet to figure out how to photograph my heart.

Summer POTH #7

I can't make any more excuses.  Photos Of The Happy will come as they come.  Photos are not being taken daily.  It would seem that it would be an easy task to take one photo each day - a picture of something that gives me happiness.  There are certainly plenty of opportunities to acknowledge happy-inducing phenomena.  But still...

Here are some happy photos that were taken on a few recent days while I was in California visiting my precious daughter:

Two women and two dogs, conquering the wilderness

Don't we humans think that we are so funny when we spit in the face of laws?  And we're willing to mess up our own nests in order to do so.

This was along the road as we left the wilderness.

Me and my grandpuppies

I needed to dump out some water, so my daughter suggested that I pour it into one of the doggie water bowls.  When I went to pour the water into a dog bowl in the television room, a small face was looking up at me.  I certainly wasn't expecting that!  How a little frog got in some door and made his way through multiple rooms to get to the bowl will forever remain a mystery.

Summer POTH #6

Judy Collins singing, Who Knows Where the Time Goes?, comes to mind.  I've missed another three days.  I'm a slacker.  What can I say?  Slacking brings me happiness.  :-)

I love this assignment which invites me to think of the things that inspire happiness in my life.  Thanks, G.G.!

6-29-12 I love love LOVE getting mail - of the personal variety.

The first two beets we pulled from our garden this year.  After a bath, they went straight into our juicer with carrots, celery, broccoli, ginger, and apple.  

YUM!

POTH #5

Oh, I am SO flunking this assignment!  No HAPPY photos for a few days. 

Can't even say the dog ate my homework.

In my defense, I DID take photos at our big Celebration of Life party on Friday, but they were taken with a disposable camera which we had out on the table for the purpose of capturing awesome celebratory moments.  Those photos are still hiding inside their plastic housing, waiting for the time when someone will take them to the store to be freed and put onto a disk. 

Other than that, nothin', nada.  No photos taken all weekend.  But here's today's Photo of the Happy:

6-25-12:  At the party, I put out a couple of big pieces of poster paper where people could write something.  This one was for "Happiness Inducers". I love hearing what inspires happiness in people.

Our Celebration of Life party was a huge success.  Amazing people and stuff-yourself-till-you-can't-stand-it food.  Oh, my god... the food...  We had one of our favorite restaurants cater the party.  Ali Baba's has THE BEST hummus in, well, in the U.S., at least.  I haven't been to the Middle East to see how it compares.


Everything was perfect, and I'm still smiling at the fact that our home and yard were filled with some of the nicest people in, well, in the U.S., at least.  I haven't been to many other countries to see how they compare.

The two days after the party were spent napping and going through a lot of emotions that have been stirred up by a healer we're working with.  Intense...

And yesterday... now, this would have been a perfect moment for a POTH opportunity, but did I bring my camera?  Nooooooooo!  Yesterday, I got to meet with two women who I haven't seen for FORTY years!   That was food for my soul.  Oh, the sweetness of it all.  I don't have photos, but I have memories of the sight of their smiles, the feel of their hugs, and the love in their words.  That's enough.

Looking at the things that inspire happiness in some of our friends, I see that they are all very simple, and most don't cost a thing.  Isn't that the way of things?

Summer POTH #4

My Photo of the Happys for the last four days:

6-18-12:  The evening light shining through the trees and on the bushes.  Most evenings, we eat dinner on our back porch and watch the light show.  I love it!

6-19-12:  My hands (both hands, even though we can only see one here due to the fact that the other one was busy with a camera). When I was still practicing massage therapy, while working on a client's hands, I would often be taken back to when that person was a small child.  I would see their hands as those of  the baby they once were, and then I would see many of the things that those hands had done throughout the years.  The stories their hands would tell!

6-20-12: Finches nesting under our eaves.  This is the fourth finch family to be incubated and raised at our home this year.  Pardon the poop - Ms. Finch is not a good housekeeper.  We're thinking that this batch is being raised by Momma as a single parent as there haven't been any sightings of Dad for a while.
Update:  Tonight while we were eating dinner out on the porch, Dad flew up and landed on the curve of the drainpipe (which you can't see here, but it's close to the nest).  He sat there for about a minute, looking at Mom.  Then Mom flew out of the nest to some unknown location where moms go for respite.  As soon as Mom flew out of the nest, Dad flew into it.  It was so beautiful to watch!

About half a minute later, Dad flew away, too.  Here Mom was thinking that the kids were safe with Dad, but nooooooooo.
He and I have got to have a talk.

6-21-12:  Me.
Happy Birthday to me!

Grace

On Father's Day, we took my mom to Boulder where we hung out on the Pearl Street Mall.  The Pearl Street Mall is a great place for people watching, and there are always buskers playing the piano...

...or dressed as a raggedy dog

...or showing off their super-human flexibility.

It was a sweaty day (how did that person tolerate the heat in that dog costume???), and we took a few breaks to stand or sit in the shade.

At one point, we sat on a bench under the umbrella of a well-placed tree.  Cool air flowed out of the open doors of the store to my left - not the best use of energy, trying to cool the great outdoors, but I have to say it felt really good.  As I sat there, I could watch some of the people crossing the street about 1/3 of a block away from me.  I noticed a man in a wheelchair who, as he started to cross with a green light, was having a hard time getting his momentum.  The orange hand beneath the stoplight that tells pedestrians they'd better get done crossing or they'll be squished bugs was flashing its warning, and the man was only halfway across the street.  There was a young man in front of him who kept looking back, obviously wanting his fellow human to make it but, for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.  Before the light turned red, another man, who had been crossing in the opposite direction, turned and pushed the wheelchair-bound man across the street.  MY HEART FELT SO BIG IN THAT MOMENT!

And yesterday, a friend who lives in Washington State told me that she had had to stop because the car in front of her stopped to let A RAT cross the road.  The rat couldn't make up its mind for a moment, so my friend and the amazing person in front of her had to wait for a short while in order to avoid killing the little guy.  My friend said that the whole thing brought tears to her eyes.

So many moments of grace in this life.  They are happening all around us all of the time.  We can watch the news and not believe that this is a very friendly place or we can watch what goes on around us and know that life is chock full of grace and beauty and kindness.

Summer POTH #3

Where operator error changed the course of the post...

6-15-12:  My HAPPY feet! 

(They even made a movie named after them.  Only the star was a cartoon penguin instead of me.)

6-16-12:  My HAPPY leg

On this day, using my cellphone, I took a photo of one of our Women in Black vigilers.  That photo would have gone here.  The story of this POTH post was supposed to be that 1) I'm happy for my feet which, 2) allow me to stand on the corner with a sign of peace every Saturday.  (I hadn't figured out what the third photo would be yet.)  Anyway, I forgot to save the photo on my cellphone, and when I looked this morning, it was nowhere to be found.  Which means that I am cheating by posting two photos from 6-17-12 in order to compensate for my booboo on 6-16.  :-( 

6-17-12:  Michael's HAPPY hair

In keeping with today's theme of Carol body parts, I did take a photo of another body part of mine, but, well, let's just say that I need to work on my artistic skills a little more in order to enhance the photographic beauty of many of my parts.  I'll let ya know if that happens.

Summer POTH #2

I feel a theme a'brewin' in my head.  Only one of these photos offers a hint of just what that might be. 

For now, I offer a hodgepodge of Happy photos.

My hair.  There are days when I think the untameable cowlick on my forehead is a curse, but mostly I am grateful for a head of hair that keeps me warm in winter and sunburn-free (at least on my head and neck) in summer.

Me and the mister (ha!  I love that! Can just see us out there with our corn cob pipes and our spittoons) sit out in these chairs and watch the goins on around these here parts.

It used to be that all you had to do to create a happy day for me was to give me a bunch of daisies.  As I have gotten older, I still feel happy when I see them, but nowadays, I feel happy when I see any flower.  Or tree.  Or bee.  Or creek.  Or...

Summer POTH #1

Ah.  I'm cracking myself up.

My cousin, Larry Blackwood, Master Photographer, sends out a POTD (Picture Of The Day) each day.  In response to my summer assignment, assigned by one, Ms Goodnight Gram (how's that for laying the blame on someone besides myself?), I have created the POTH (Photo Of The HAPPY.  It could also be Photo Of The Beautiful, but since for me Beautiful = Happy, I'll stick with my original plan).

I love the idea of a POTH!

I'm a little behind on this.  I have taken a photo every day, but I haven't posted any of them yet.  The assignment indicated that I was to keep them for a Power Point at the end of the summer.  That won't work for me.  I need to post them every once in awhile as I go along.  It takes patience to keep them all hidden until the end of the summer - patience that I don't seem to have.  Plus, I'm old enough to make up some of my own rules.

Let the unveiling begin.  Here are my HAPPY photos for the past four days:

  6-8-12 ~ On my front porch

 

 6-9-12 ~ In my office

 6-10-12  ~ My daughter suggested that I photograph my cellphone, because it makes us happy that we can talk with each other A LOT.  (I just happened to catch Mr. Lion sneaking a call in on my phone.)


 

6-11-12 ~ I am a Swiss Chardaholic (and don't tell me I need Swiss Chardaholics Anonymous - I'm happy this way!).  We have a whole 20 foot x 3 foot garden dedicated to this delectable vegetable.

The easiest part of this assignment will be to find things inspire happiness in me.  The hardest part will be remembering to photograph those happy things every day.  

I am a kind of paranoid in reverse. I suspect people of plotting to make me happy.  - J. D. Salinger

Incomparable Sweetness

Can't ya just smell 'em?

When I put my nose in them, my whole body turns into one, huge, Kool-Aid giggle.

Where the Rainbow Touches the Ground

My blogging career (ha!) began when I was knee-deep in social activism.  I had a point, a purpose, a focus.  Since then, I've been morphing and bending and twisting into what, I don't know.  With Michael's diagnosis, the need to spend a lot of time with Mom, and other assorted chocolates, I am less active in the world out there.  Still, I stand in silence for peace every Saturday, as I have for many years, and I participate in an interreligious group.  I feel that the interreligious group contributes to world peace as much or more as any vigil or march or letter to my congressperson could.  Maybe I don't know what I'm talking about when I say that.  How can anyone know?

One of the members of our interreligious group asked me to write something about the group.  I had no clue about what he wanted from it, but as I stared at the blank canvas of the page, this is what came out of me:

A Jew, a Muslim, and a Catholic walk into a bar…

No, actually, they walk into a room where they meet with a Sufi woman, along with a man whose spiritual path is a smorgasbord of varied, but, on many levels, interrelated beliefs. 

Every two or three months, I join a handful of men and women from different spiritual traditions in coming together to deepen our own spiritual paths while learning about the paths of others.  None of us are clergy or any other type of leader in our faith community, and our meetings are not focused on the academics of the teachings.  Instead, we speak to how our spiritual paths inform our personal experiences.  Over the last two years, we have investigated numerous topics ranging from holidays to prayer to death. 

Why would we take our commitments to this group so seriously?  I can only speak for myself when I say that these gatherings have made me a better human being.  The more I participate in our group meetings, the more I learn about myself and the more I can understand just a little of what others see as they practice in their spiritual traditions.  I find the many ways that we are alike and the few ways in which we see the world differently.  I do my best to set aside judgment while noticing that these friends are doing the same for me.

Each time this interreligious group meets, we use a different topic as a starting off point.  The topic keeps us focused, and it ensures that we cover a variety of aspects of our lives.  At our last meeting, our topic was “pain and suffering”.  At the time, I had been experiencing a lot of sadness and confusion over the recent cancer diagnosis of my husband as well as the even more recent death of my dad.  The opportunity to delve deep into the teachings of my tradition regarding pain and suffering, and then to share those and hear the view of others, was a salve on my perceived wounds.   

We humans tend to gravitate to “our people” – either family members or people who align with our views of the world.  That is normal and comfortable.  But our growth comes from either the stretching that life asks of us or our willingness to choose to go beyond the comfortable.  I believe that by making the effort to connect deeply with people who we consider to be “other”, we become more of ourselves and we help to create peace in this world for our children and their children.

Through finding the Divine behind our facades of differences, the above joke may evolve until it becomes, “A person of the Jewish faith, a person of the Muslim faith, and a person of the Catholic faith walk into a room where they find people of every faith that exist on Earth.  There, a woman from the Buddhist tradition asks the host to “make me one with everything”, and every mind in the room suddenly recognizes that, no matter what path we travel, we all come from the same creator.

May it be so.

The Secret of Life

I love this:

You will go through your life thinking there was a day in second grade that you must have missed, when grown-ups came in and explained everything important to the other kids. They said, "Look, you're human, you're going to feel isolated and afraid a lot of the time, and have bad self-esteem, and feel uniquely ruined, but here is the magic phrase that will take this feeling away. It will be like a feather that will lift you out of the fear and self-consciousness every single time, all through your life." And then they told the children who were there that day the magic phrase that everyone else in the world knows about and uses when feeling blue, which only you don't know, because you were home sick the day the grown-ups told the children the way the whole world works.

But there was not such a day in school. No one got the instruction. That is the secret of life. Everyone is flailing around, winging it most of the time, trying to find the way out, or through, or up, without a map. This lack of instruction manual is how most people develop compassion, and how they figure out to show up, care, help and serve, as the only way of filling up and being free. Otherwise, you grow up to be someone who needs to dominate and shame others, so no one will know that you weren't there the day the instructions were passed out.

 
- Anne Lamott writing to her new grandson in her book, Some Assembly Required

I stole it from here.

And then I went to my library's website and ordered the book.  

A Great Gift

On my Healing into Life blog, I recently posted a list of things to remember as I go through this incredible journey with Michael and the diagnosis of Mantle Cell Lymphoma that he has been given.

A few days before I wrote that post, I had visited with a friend – a good friend, one who I look up to for many reasons – and that friend had said things about cancer and Michael’s choice of treatment.  I took it all in and by the next day, it was throwing me into a tailspin. 

It was not pretty. 

I felt scared and confused and totally depressed.  I don’t know how much the decision to decrease my hormones at that time had to do with my extreme black mood.  I wasn’t suicidal, but I did warn Michael that I was going to work my way through all of this, and if I did get to be suicidal, I wanted him to do something to stop me.

After two days, a good nap, and the release of negative ions that a gentle rain offers (we don’t get those moments often here in Colorado), I came out on the other side.  I was still not happy about what the person had said, but I could once again see the sun shining.

Still, I set up an appointment for today with a therapist I had worked with in the past.  I realized that the next time I spoke with my friend, I didn’t want to lay my stuff on him as he had done with me. 

But last night, everything changed.  I suddenly saw that my friend had only been holding a mirror for me so that I could see my fears regarding Michael’s diagnosis.  If I hadn’t been afraid already, my friend’s fears would have only been…. well HIS fears.  I would have felt compassion that he was so scared.

He gave me a wonderful gift!  The gift of having my worries all spread out in the open, on the table like a breakfast buffet. I could either keep living with them or clean up that table. 

I don’t want to live in fear.  This moment is absolutely wonderful, precious.  I have no idea what the future holds, and I don’t need to make up stories that probably won’t even come true.  I choose to show up fresh, clear, and loving RIGHT NOW.  THIS is what I have.

I was an easy study for my therapist today.  I had already done most of the work.  We took a few minutes to see if anything on the buffet was even real food - it wasn't.  It was all made up stuff about what might happen in the future.  So we threw it away. 

We never know how our friends will help us out, do we?

Give What We Would Like To Receive

There are people who have kind of gone away since Michael's diagnosis and my dad's death.  I understand that.  We all do what we can do.

One woman who I have worked with on a volunteer basis for a few years recently responded to a message I sent her.  In her response, she asked about my family.  I told her about Michael and about the recent death of my dad.  A week has gone by and she hasn't responded, even though I've seen posts of hers on Facebook.

For a few days, I felt hurt.  And that didn't make much sense, since I believe - in my head, anyway - that people do what they can do.  I haven't always been perfect at supporting people when they were going through hard times.

Today, I realized that, even though it seemed justified and harmless, I was placing expectations on someone while not having a clue whether or not that person was going through something hard also.

So I wrote this person a card, telling her that she was in my thoughts and expressing my gratitude for the qualities I admire in her.  It was important that I only did this with no expectation of anything in response and with absolutely no ulterior motives - like wanting to induce guilt.  I knew I had to do it with true appreciation and best wishes for this person.

I could do that.

Right now, I feel a sweetness toward this woman.

And I feel free.

My Gift

Mom is doing better than I would have expected of her at 5 1/2 weeks after my dad's death.  Today I went with her as she visited the care center where my dad lived his last year.  I have no strong emotions about the place, but Mom was there two times a day for over a year.  The love of her life was there, and she also bonded with nurses, aides, and other residents.  It was hard for her to go back there today, but I think it was good.  In less than an hour, she got at least a week's worth of hugs and good wishes.

There are two young men who work as aides at the care center, and they are the epitome of kindness and compassion.  How does a 20-something year old do that?  I was not so mature...  Each of their hearts is bigger than this world.  I wish that their salaries were at least twice what they're making.  Not only do they do the hard work to earn that, but in my dream world, the good guys would at least make a nice living wage. 

After we visited the care center, we drove to the city's senior center for our first Sit and Stay Fit class.  I know... you don't think I'm old enough to be able to participate in senior classes.  (Snicker)  Well, this place has a low bar for considering anyone old enough to partake in its offerings. In fact, years ago, I took the yoga class they offered.  Just like in this class today, in the yoga class, I was at least 20 years younger than the next youngest participant..  And that class beat my butt!

The Sit and Stay fit class is not a challenge for me, but next time, I'll know to get the strongest bands and some heavier hand weights so I can spice things up a little.  I will stick with this, because this class is a gift to my mom.  Twice a week, we will go mingle with THE SWEETEST ladies and get ourselves A-MOVIN'!

And if Mom complains about this exercising, I'll tell her she can drop it if she will replace it with a woodworking or computer class.  That oughta get her excited for a bicep workout.

Fences

He was some kind of hound dog.  Black with white spots.  And jowls that funneled water and half-eaten food out of his mouth and onto the floor or any other surface within a twelve inch diameter from his head.  He found his way to me when he was just a few months old.

It was the mid-seventies, and I worked at an answering service in Little Rock, Arkansas.  I sat in front of a switchboard and answered phones for about fifty businesses, including the local animal shelter.  When some young man called and described the puppy he had found but couldn’t keep, I broke all rules and told him to hold on – I would be over as soon as I got off work.  I hadn’t even been thinking about getting a dog, but fate or karma or the magnetic field of two souls pulled this lanky pup and me together.

We named him Jethro, because there was no name more appropriate for such an easy-going, southern dog with jowls.

I was living in a rental house in a low-income neighborhood with the man I loved.  We had no fence.  And Jethro had no leash.  So when Jethro wasn’t with us in the house, he was free to roam the neighborhood.  Today, I find it hard to believe that not once did the police or animal control or an angry neighbor haul Jethro away or ticket us for not fencing in the dog I considered to be the most wonderful dog in the world.

Jethro used his freedom to perform acts of public service.  The elderly woman next door shared with me that, when she walked to the grocery store – a distance of about four blocks – Jethro would trot by her side and then wait outside the super market door to escort her home.   I know, too, that my sweet hound walked another neighbor to her fence line every time she went home after a visit at our house.  Obviously, it would have created a safety issue if a person of authority had taken Jethro away from his duties.

No one is perfect, though, and Jethro had a little flaw.  He was a kleptomaniac.  He brought home naked dolls, socks, and a cowboy boot.  With no way of finding out who these things belonged to, we started displaying them in the corner of our yard in hopes that their owners would claim them.  But no one ever did.  The thought of some man with one black cowboy boot or a little girl whose doll magically disappeared haunted me for a long time.

Jethro stayed in shape by barking as he did his best to climb trees, enticed by the squirrels twenty feet above his head.  He was smart enough to teach our new German shepherd puppy that peeing in the house was not cool.  Jethro had a mind of his own, and he wasn’t out to please, but that hound dog could teach classes on how to win over even the toughest heart.

Eventually, we moved into a house with a fenced-in backyard.  Living within the confines of a suburban lot, Jethro was no longer allowed the pleasure of caring for the neighbors.  He made do by scraping the bark off a line of elm trees in our backyard while trying to climb up to the squirrels that teased him from the topmost branches.  The people of that neighborhood only knew Jethro by the barking sound that seemed to help propel him higher up the tree.  The hound that people loved so much they cried when they had to say goodbye was now irritating those around who couldn’t get to know him because of a fence.

You know the ending to this story.  Dogs’ lives are short.  They steal our hearts and in return, they teach us how to love.  Then, their passing breaks us wide open. 

When Jethro began to struggle hard just to get up off the floor and he could no longer try to corral the squirrels, I knew it was time for him to go. 

I still miss him.

This Weather's Crazy

Yesterday when we drove into Rocky Mountain National Park, people were having picnics, roasting marshmallows and playing volleyball.  Not quite what we would expect this time of year at elevations of 8,000 feet and above.  And what is normally our snowiest month will probably go on record as our driest March in history.  Dry and warm like summer.

This one is for G.G.

It's water over the dam.

Bighorn sheep.  The lighting was very harsh and the photos of these creatures didn't come out too interesting, but by playing with Picasa's new features, I made this one more fun - for me, anyway.

On a Warm March Day

Once again, bare feet,
daffodils burst, finches nest.
Earth!  I hear you sing.

 For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils. 

 - William Wordsworth

Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.

 - Mark Twain

The Best Grandpa Ever

What My Daughter Said At My Dad's Funeral  

(I am very proud of her)

Hello and thank you for coming today.  I’m John’s granddaughter, Jamie.  Grandpa once challenged himself to join Toast Masters and told me that when people made errors in their speaking someone would drop a nail into an empty tin can.  If he were listening now I’m sure he’d have a handful of nails ready to go.  I hope you left yours at home, and I hope I can do him some credit.

My grandpa wasn’t a person who would typically be called a hero.  He didn’t have a red cape, wasn’t splashed across the front page of the newspapers for his most recent athletic feat, and never pulled a child out of a burning building. What my grandpa did accomplish, and what was just as important, if not more so, was to live an admirable life.  His example of how to live changed and inspired those who had the honor of knowing him.

I admire my grandpa’s kindness.  He was a genius at fixing things.  If it was broken, through some inconceivable mix of materials and methods of his own invention, he would fix it.  And this was one way his kindness was always clear—he loved fixing things for the people he cared about.   Grandpa was never one who wanted or expected anything in return—helping those he loved was his reward.  Too many times to count I remember Grandpa fixing our car, washing machine, toaster, and even building me a custom table to fix the problem of needing a place to put books at beanbag level.

To the end of his life, Grandpa’s kind spirit won over the hearts of those who knew him.  As he became less and less verbal, he would still wave to people he passed in the halls of the nursing home.  And he always had a special place for kids and anything with fur.  As a grandchild I know I’m a bit biased on this account, but children always caught Grandpa’s eye and made him smile, and he could pet a dog or cat for hours.  The love was mutual, too--kids and animals knew that this was a person who “got” them.

I admire my grandpa’s passion for knowledge.  Rarely have I met someone so dedicated to learning and understanding. He was interested in everything, and you never saw him far from a book.  Gathering information wasn’t enough for Grandpa though, he wanted to enrich the lives of others by sharing what he was reading with anyone who would listen. It was always comical when Grandma would try to serve dinner and the table would be covered with encyclopedias or whatever else Grandpa was discussing that particular day.  I know that Grandpa’s example helped nurture my own love of reading and learning.

I admire the depth of love and caring that Grandpa felt for his family and friends.  I can honestly report that my Grandpa was the best grandpa ever.  I know that Paul, Steven, and I will always treasure our memories of countless hours spent on his lap, doing yard work with him, getting tucked in at night, and hearing the stories that he loved to share.  The legacy he left behind in our parents and in us is a testament to the power of a loving family.

Perhaps most of all, I admire the way both of my grandparents truly lived their wedding vows every day of their lives. The devotion and love they had for each other through everything that sixty-one years of marriage can bring was boundless.  When I picture my grandparents, I see them holding hands, kissing hello, goodbye, and goodnight, and saying I love you.  Even when dementia had stolen all of his other memories, his love for my grandma endured. It had become an inextricable part of who he was to the very end.  And that ending proved to be a real-life happily ever after: before departing this life in his sleep, my grandpa’s last words were to say, “I love you” to my grandma. 

Goodbyes

The skies were Colorado blue and the sun was nourishing yesterday as we said goodbye to my dad.

This man was my undoing.  He played Taps. What is it about that song that says "goodbye" so profoundly?

My mom, receiving the flag and a moment of thanks

Dad served in a submarine in World War II.  He was in the South Pacific.  I can't imagine what it must be like to be in a tube underwater with torpedoes coming after me.

Me and my momma