As July comes to a close and the first eve of August holds all of the promise and uncertainty of a new month, I’m coming to terms, yet again, with changes, new struggles and obstacles, and reconfigured ideas of what hope and promise look like.
July has been a very full and fast month, no stops and starts, just more than the usual dose of an air that hangs with the thickness of reconciliation – learning to temper the extremes, the heat of summer with the blasts of indoor cooling; the wavering lust for either sunrises or sunsets; and the yearning to be social in the face of a gnawing desire for solitude.
What’s new? Learning to be more than okay with uncertainty!
“Let July be July. Let August be August. And let yourself just be even in the uncertainty.” ~ Morgan Harper Nichols
Tag: non-fiction
A Tenacious Bloom
Summer has arrived in full force on the Cape, and nothing announces it more than the glorious blooming of hydrangeas everywhere.
Simple things. A sunny day. A bouquet fresh from the yard. Hydrangeas have become my favorite, perhaps because they were hers. It’s funny though because symbolically, especially in literature, hydrangeas signify opulence and arrogance; they are indeed a showy flower with an unparalleled presence in a garden. She, however, was so modest and humble.
As I watched the fluffy, delicate balls of purple, pink, and periwinkle wilt in the heat, I reflected on the contradiction. I realized that her choice of the flower was quite simple, two-fold I think. First, the blooms are undeniably beautiful; and second, they are incredibly resilient. I’d like to think that as I age, wilt, and weather in this life, I also learn that there is intrinsic beauty in the ability to rebound and rise. Deep down maybe my mother knew her worth all along. Her resilience became much of her legacy. I’m determined to keep that tradition alive.
Off to gather more blooms and share them with the next generation.
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Oh, Sweet Season
Sure does appeal to me, but can I get there easily? Who knows? I don’t, but that’s the point, isn’t it?
This Saturday morning inspired me, as I sipped coffee on the deck and listened to the cacophony performed by all of the woodland creatures and birds calling out their unique tunes – none of them in sync, by the way, but somehow the dissonance created a melody all their own. I was listening to the sweet season of summer (both literally and figuratively), and for those moments, I realized that my life didn’t lack appeal or promise. It was just meant to be lived simply and peacefully, preferably in great pajamas!
Special thanks to a dear friend who reminded me that I can dance my way back into life –no matter where I am – as long as I take the time to hear the music!
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Sam’s Lesson: The Value of a Good “Sole”
He didn’t wear dress shoes often, but when he did, he wore a good pair of Bass Weejuns or cordovans. He preferred quality to quantity when it came to shoes and life. I’m thinking so much about that today, five years since he left this world, five years since he let go of my hand to rejoin Donna, my mom and the love of his life.
This year, though not nearly as piercing, the pain (which some know as grief but I refer to as an abiding love) endures. My thoughts and memories are more abundant for some reason and in many ways clearer. That may or may not be true, and I’m certain that many will take issue with my claim that the passing of time brings stability and comfort to one who suffers tremendous loss, but I’m sticking with it. I’m clearer. After five years, I am finally breathing a bit easier, inhaling and exhaling regularly without holding my breath in-between; am more forgiving of myself and others (at least I’m trying); and the internal video in my mind’s eye of Dad has been edited to project more pictures of him talking, laughing, engaging and living than of him sitting in the wheelchair smiling and merely surviving as a semblance of the man who lived and loved so actively before Alzheimer’s. Oddly, today as the reel played in my mind, it became more colorful; lo and behold, there was Sam –front and center, at my induction into National Honor Society, at my college graduation, at my rehearsal dinner, and so many other events – wearing his Weejuns.
Of course, over the years, Dad’s original Weejuns (otherwise known as penny loafers) have disappeared. (He likely had two or three more pairs, soled and re-soled) over the course of his fifty-one years of marriage to Mom.) The originals are seen here in this photo of him and his beloved canine companion, Shiner. Oh, how he cared fully and deeply for anything and anyone he loved. He held himself responsible for and accountable to their care. He took it very seriously, as evidenced by thirteen-year-old Sam’s expression – the countenance of a Jewish boy who had just been burdened and blessed with the job of being a man. This photo of that young man wearing those well-worn weejuns has left me smiling and crying and so very grateful. My dad, one of the most humble and kind-hearted men, knew the value of a good sole… and a good soul.
His memory– all of the memories he shared with me through his storytelling and through the creation of those we made together over more than five decades as father and daughter– is an eternal blessing. I am still learning so very much about love, life, and the unquantifiable value of a good soul.
All of us should be as aware as he was of the good fortune of living a life so fully that we wear out only our soles and not our souls!
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Remembering My Wings
All day yesterday, I thought about my father and the unexpected nature of life. As he declined cognitively due to Alzheimer’s, my days seemed to pass too quickly, and there was never enough time with him. As I became more conscious of the limitations and deadlines imposed by his illness and by what it means to live this one mortal life, moments grew longer and more meaningful. Just a moment. A split second. A smile. A laugh. A tear. A memory. My recall now of those moments tends to be in slow motion. Thankfully. I’ve learned that when I become acutely aware of how fleeting life is, I have the power to slow down and take in the present moment.
Not all experiences are meant to become deeply embedded in the memory, but those times when I’m happiest – and right now that means the days, hours, and minutes when I want nothing but peace and I find it and feel it simply – become the salve I need to soothe my soul. The anticipation of meeting up with a new “old” friend (and the resulting pep in my step). Heading out for coffee in a newly discovered café. Sitting and swinging in an unknown spot. All in slow motion the past few days. I remember all of it vividly…today. And maybe, just maybe, that’s all there is, but it is enough.
I’ll just keep using these wings each day.
#lovethelifeyoulive #hereandnow #writeyourstory
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Never Comes Later
Saddle Up & Ride
“Lately I have been going to bed feeling much closer to my goal, but today, I see and feel that I’m in the same place I have been. That light at the end of the tunnel even seems a little dimmer,” Sylvia laments.
Erma, not the optimist but the realist today, hears something in her friend’s voice that she hasn’t heard in a while – despair. It is a slippery slope that she has seen her friend travel down more than once, so fortunately she knows that it is temporary. She also is well aware though that Sylvia needs a jolt to snap out of the looming funk fast.
Thinking back on some of their past antics, Erma recounts the story of the penny pony that has only recently become a favorite memory for both of them. She tells the story attempting to conjure up the image and the feelings that Sylvia experienced that summer afternoon. “It was totally impromptu, remember? We were walking the mall, complaining about how grumpy and miserable society had become. And then, there she appeared, Sandy, the penny pony, strategically placed near the restrooms on the way to the exit.”
“That was funny. Silly and immature, but fun. Do you remember the passersby with their eye-rolling and judgmental comments?”
“Oh yes, but what I remember most is the pure joy in your eyes. The completely carefree look of freedom as Sandy rocked back and forth for those all-too-quick twenty seconds. Awesome.”
“Too short. Fleeting. And look, that ride didn’t take me anywhere,” Sylvia said dampening Erma’s mood.
Erma, sadly annoyed by her friend’s complaining, decides it is time for the stir, the jolt, the wake-up. “Syl, stop. Take a roll of pennies and go to the mall. Lose yourself in a trashy novel. Make brownies and eat the entire batch. Pour yourself a cuppa and have a daydream. For God’s sake, those won’t get you anywhere in life either, but they will hold your place in line – and you might even have a little fun and find a little happy. I know you will.”
Sylvia, lifts herself from the chair, and rides into the very next moment with a smile and a little more hope, enough to finish today’s ride.
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There is no straight way to a destination. So enjoy the ride even when you get lost.
~Debasish Mridha
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Simple Abundance
Say these three words aloud: apple, table, penny. Now, remember them. Simple task. Meaningful? Meaningless? Well regardless, we take for granted that we will always be able to perform the seemingly easy; but when all is said and done, those uncomplicated words and ordinary, mundane acts are nowhere near as impactful as watching him react to music of yesteryear or to the retelling of one of the countless stories he shared with me, stories that I am now charged with and honored to share with my loved ones and others on similar journeys. For me and for him, remembering that he was a member of the state championship relay team at Teachers College and being able to play back and recount that race and those feelings of glory were so much more important than the three plain and undecorated words that he could not remember ten seconds after they were uttered. That story of the past brought laughter and smiles to a room full of medical professionals who entered it both seriously and mission-oriented yet who left perkier and even more committed than they ever imagined they could be.
So, when we are feeling sorry for ourselves— admittedly, I do this more than anyone should or has the right to— let’s stop and get a grip. Hold on to the big, bubbly moments and memories from which we draw the strength to start all over again. That is our mission really, isn’t it?
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“…We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.”
(~Benjamin Button, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button)
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Garden on a Winter’s Day
It is a particularly dreary first day of February, and I can’t help but think that it is divinity that shapes this day. The rain is coming down in torrents (it started out as snow, but living on the coast, Mother Nature changed her plan); and as the water from the heavens hits the water on the cove, I’m struck by the natural and pure seamlessness of their meeting. The cove, the canal, and the ocean are being fed; they are being replenished and cleansed by the tears from countless angels above. That is how I choose to think of it anyway.
There is comfort in the thought that those who have left us are briefly sharing with us the gifts of peace and rest for which we all yearn while here on earth. It is by design that complete and utter serenity eludes us here. Were we to find it in our everyday lives, the joy and hope we cull and collect from seemingly small but impactful moments of our daily lives (a mother’s first attempt at nursing her newborn, a baby’s first word or step, or a grandfather’s delight in playing peekaboo or hide-and-seek with his grandchild) all of those meaningful “tidbits” would not be the cherished milestones they become. None of them would be so deeply etched in the memory.
So, as I often do these days, I revisit and attempt to be present and mindful of all that I (and we) take for granted. I think of all the times I was able to hold an old man’s hand; the chances I have had to greet and embrace a young man when he disembarks the train; and I even reflect on the few-and-far between luxurious moments when I’ve had my feet in the sand and my head in the clouds.
No greater gift than a new day, but without the love of those who help us to create the moments each day, giving thanks would be a futile and empty act. So, while I’m ever so grateful that the heavens are nourishing the earth, both land and sea as well as its inhabitants today, I’m even more appreciative of those in my life who sustain me, refuel me, help me find hope, and restore my faith in myself and the world around me.
And where will I find gratitude? In the memories of smiles, the feelings of warmth, and the comfort and excitement of my dreams, of course. On this gray winter’s day, I’ll think of all the seeds that have been planted deep within me that only seem to blossom on days when Mother Nature decides to unleash dramatically. How lucky am I on such days to reap even a few morsels of what has been sown in the garden of my soul? Very lucky, indeed.
“Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.” ~Marcel Proust
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Sylvia Knows Heaven on Earth
I don’t believe in heaven. Not as a destination anyway. Well, let me further amend that to say that I don’t believe that “good” people -those who lived life both honestly and vulnerably, with purpose and love in their hearts for themselves and the world around them, those who atoned for their “sins” (you know, […]
Sylvia Knows Heaven on Earth
"ARE YOU THERE, ERMA? IT'S ME, SYLVIA." 