The diamond-frosted clasp
Outside the window of Jeff’s hallway at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center
Bethesda. Maryland, December 9, 2013
“December, the diamond-frosted clasp linking twelve jeweled months to yet another year.” — Phyllis Nicholson
While most of us associate December with the holiday festivities, there is also the winding down of the calendar year, and a sense of wonder about how fast the months flew by, whether we were having fun or not.
I can say without reservation that I am looking forward to the next twelve months with far more hope and anticipation than I felt at this time last year. Still, I’m never unaware that we cannot know what will lie ahead of us in 2014. For all who visit here, those I have known for years, those I have come to know through your comments and visits, and those I don’t yet know about, I wish for you a year of jeweled months and sparkling moments. Thanks for sharing our lives since November 2012. You have made these months much brighter for me.
One year ago today
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Deep in December
Five years ago today, our traditional Christmas dinner party with friends.
We did not know it was the last time we would all be together at Christmas.
December 21, 2008
“Deep in December it’s nice to remember
Although you know the snow will follow
Deep in December it’s nice to remember
Without a hurt the heart is hollow…”
— (Lyricist) Tom Jones, from The Fantasticks
I grew up listening to this lovely song, and Jeff and I saw the staged musical on one of our first dates. Although the message of its words rang true to me in my youth, I did not fully understand them until recent years.
Holidays are fraught with bittersweet memories of times forever gone. Whether the years we remember are recent or decades ago, no small part of their poignancy is the sense of how unaware we must have been; how little we sensed that these hours and days would soon vanish, never to fully return. The irony is that we can lose ourselves in these ruminations while even now, the days that are passing may well be times we will someday look back on with an equally strong feeling of nostalgia.
I have told Jeff I hope and believe we will look back on this Christmas season as the time when everything changed; when we felt he was given his life back, with a fair chance of living far beyond the “two years with treatment” predicted over a year ago. Of course, any number of things could happen to change that. Knowing this, we cherish each day and savor each moment to the fullest extent possible.
Look around you today, at the people, places and events of your life you value most. Today they are yours! Even as we think with wistful gratitude of times that have passed, I hope we will embrace the beautiful, ephemeral present, with all its joys and sorrows.
One year ago today
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Sensations more painful
A tree entwined with headstones at Arlington National Cemetery, April 2012
“There are few sensations more painful, than, in the midst of deep grief, to know that the season which we have always associated with mirth and rejoicing is at hand.”
— Sarah Josepha Hale
This week, a dear friend of ours lost her close and steadfast friend of over 37 years, after a courageous battle with illness. In the midst of our deep gratitude and joy at Jeff’s improved prognosis, we grieve with our friend in her time of bereavement. Probably almost all of us know someone who is struggling with grief and sorrow at this time of year, when it may seem to them that everyone else is celebrating life.
In researching the quote above, I found it interesting that the woman most associated with creating a national holiday of Thanksgiving has also reminded us that there are many who face lonely and painful times at Christmas. Something about the holiday sharpens the sense of loss we feel. I doubt that I will ever forget the difficult and painful times I have known on Christmas Eves in years past, including the evening in 2010 when we learned that our beloved friend had a brain tumor.
As we observe our holiday celebrations, let’s be especially mindful of those who are enduring sorrow, grief and suffering. Perhaps one gift you can give this season is a brief but heartfelt note to someone who is struggling. Perhaps you can make a phone call, visit or similar gesture to show them they are not forgotten and alone.
The comfort we have felt from the caring words of friends here and elsewhere offered us solace that we hope will be there for others who need it. If you know someone who is struggling and would appreciate a handwritten card, even from someone they do not know, you are welcome to send me their name and address (I will edit it out of the comments) and I will be happy to write to them.
Thanks for sharing our sorrows as well as our joys over the past year. For those who are in the midst of sadness in this season, our hearts are with you, and we pray that you will find peace and consolation.
One year ago today
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
All is bright
Pasha always loved to relax under the Christmas tree. December 2010
“All is calm, all is bright.” — Fr. Joseph Mohr, as translated by John F. Young
Today I’m having to keep telling myself to take a few deep breaths and stay calm. Being so far behind on household tasks such as cleaning and bill paying, as well as trying to enjoy at least some of the things I love to do at Christmas, I’m less patient than I need to be with the inevitable glitches that pop up here and there.
On Wednesday afternoon as I write this, the latest minor crisis is an error in Jeff’s home care supplies that were supposed to be given to him or delivered by now, but somehow got left out of the package. Since it’s something urgently needed, it meant 4 hours of trying to cut through bureaucratic red tape and find a way to get the supplies immediately (“immediate” is a word not normally applicable to anything related to the federal government). Now we have to drive back up to Bethesda to pick up a few items that should have come home with us in the bagfuls of other, more easily obtained things such as gauze and tape, having determined that some medical supplies cannot be procured any other way. So, though this carol has never been my particular favorite, I find myself in need of its serene images today.
When I checked to see what was posted one year ago, it was interesting to see that it was about simplicity. Perfect timing! If you find yourself rushing around and getting a bit impatient, join me in taking a few quick minutes (I’m taking mine here, as I write this) to remember that the big picture cannot be spoiled by irritating details. I wish you heavenly peace!
One year ago today
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
A state of mind
These lovely Poinsettias were a gift from our friend Tammy in December, 2012.
“Christmas is not a time nor a season, but a state of mind. To cherish peace and goodwill, to be plenteous in mercy, is to have the real spirit of Christmas.”
― Calvin Coolidge
Now that Jeff is home, my days and hours are engulfed in happy busyness. I can’t seem to let a day go by, though, without sending out a greeting to all who visit here. I hope that everyone is having the kind of holiday season that President Coolidge described. Thanks for being here!
One year ago today
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Home for the holidays
Jeff and Pasha enjoy being home for the holidays, Christmas Eve 2006.
“Oh, there’s no place like home for the holidays…” — Al Stillman
As of last night, we are HOME. Though we are exhausted, I can’t remember a time when we’ve been happier to be here! Thanks for being here with us!
One year ago today
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
The summer of the soul
I think this photo of me was made on Christmas Eve, 1959.
“A part of childhood we’ll always remember
It is the summer of the soul in December…”
—Paul Williams, from the song “It Feels Like Christmas“
There’s a persistent misunderstanding that adults with autism or intellectual disabilities remain children all of their lives. This is a convenient but often demeaning illusion for those who have a hard time seeing them as fellow adults; as peers who happen to have disabilities.
In some ways, it’s an easy mistake to make. Many adults with developmental disabilities lack the normal inhibitions about showing emotion. This can be a blessing as well as a curse, and nowhere is it more of a blessing than at Christmas. The childlike joy Matt has in all the festivities of Christmas, and especially in the music, is a welcome adornment to the season in our home. Now more than ever, I feel such joy at having a companion who is not only filled with the same enthusiasm for the holiday as I am, but who is also unafraid to show it. Delight is much more fun when shared.
Yesterday Matt and I enjoyed listening to the music from one of our favorite versions of Dickens’ classic story, The Muppet Christmas Carol. As with so much of what is crafted by talented artists who work with children in mind, it would be a mistake to underestimate the sophistication of such offerings. The offbeat humor and exceptional performance of Michael Caine would make the movie worth seeing even without the music, but the Paul Williams songs are unforgettably wonderful. Almost every line of every song could be a theme for a blog post.
I hope you are able to enjoy the holiday season with the heart of a child, along with the deeper appreciation, and responsibility, that goes with being an adult. Let’s all bask in the glow of this summer of the soul, and give the children in our lives something warm to remember for years to come.
One year ago today
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Renewed day by day
I took this photo of our backyard on Christmas afternoon in 2004.
“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.” — 2 Corinthians 4:16, NIV
The barren winter landscape, even when accented with snow, is a stark and sometimes sad contrast to the lush flowering of just six months prior. Yet underground, much is going on as the plants that look still and dormant are being invisibly fed the nutrients that will enable them to flourish with new life when spring comes again. May we remember not to lose heart in the cold months when growth is not obvious. Despite our inability to see it, we are inwardly renewed on a daily basis as we feed our minds and souls on words of life, truth and faith.
One year ago today
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
So much happiness
Charles Dickens reads A Christmas Carol to listeners at the Green Man Inn.
The Dickens Fair, San Francisco, December 2003
“He went to the church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and fro, and patted the children on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of homes, and up to the windows, and found that everything could yield him pleasure. He had never dreamed that any walk, that anything, could give him so much happiness.” — Charles Dickens
And speaking (day before yesterday) of the Ghost of Christmas Past, I give you Mr. Dickens, the founder of one of the most sumptuous literary feasts of all time. In a school essay, Drew once aptly described the love of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol as “a family heirloom.” I cannot remember a time when my siblings and I weren’t familiar with the tale and its characters, read aloud to us at Christmas and referred to often through the year. We watch every movie version and critique the casting, the adherence to the “canon” of Dickens’ text, and the overall success (or lack thereof) in capturing the spirit of the story. It’s almost a hobby with us.
If you are a Dickens enthusiast, and/or you’ve ever wanted to travel back in time, you probably would love the Dickens Christmas Fair held yearly in San Francisco. The enormous Cow Palace is transformed into a Victorian village, complete with your favorite literary and historical characters from that era. They’re a garrulous lot, scarcely seeming to notice your 21st century attire as they chat with you in their often archaic language. In fact, aside from Fezziwig’s festive warehouse party, talking with various players in the fair’s resident company is my favorite pastime there. Let others peruse the antique books and stylish millinery and sweet-smelling confections for sale. I’d rather listen to Mr. Dickens read at the Green Man Inn.
Since he’s tied with Jane Austen as my second-favorite author, I was quite eager to talk with him personally. I asked him a typically lame fan question: which of his books was his favorite?
“Well, that’s rather like asking which of my children is my favorite, isn’t it?” he answered cheerily. “I suppose my favorite is whatever I happen to be working on at the time. Which is your favorite?”
I consider A Christmas Carol to be so far out in front as to be out of the running, so I answered with the title of my second-favorite, “A Tale of Two Cities.”
“Ah, an interesting choice – a bit of an exception for me, as an historical novel. Most of my stories are written in our own time, you know.”
Oh, yeah, “our own time.” I had already slipped back into the 21st century; it took me a minute to follow him on that one. Even when I re-adjusted my mental clock to the early 1800’s, I had to admit I had never thought of it that way. That old Charles Dickens always has something interesting to say.
No small part of the magic of Christmas is what readers and writers refer to as the “willing suspension of disbelief.” I think adults who are adept at this particular skill — when appropriate, of course — are most able to enjoy the holidays, or for that matter, literature, art, drama and music in general. If you don’t know the immense pleasure of make-believe, it is never too late to learn. As Mr. Rogers knew, it’s not only a fun way to pass the time; it teaches us valuable lessons that our logical minds might dismiss as unnecessary or foolish.
I hope sometime during this season, you will be able to lose yourself in a wonderful story, a beautiful piece of music, or in appreciation of the dazzling and original artistry seen in decorations at this time of year. You’ll return from your quick escape with a refreshed spirit, happy to be back in your real life.
One year ago today
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
On his darkest day
One of our Robins in the favored nesting spot by our deck, April 2008
You have to believe in happiness,
Or happiness never comes …
Ah, that’s the reason a bird can sing –
On his darkest day he believes in Spring. — Douglas Malloch
I’ve done a lot of walking through snow and ice the past few days, and already there’s a part of me that is eager for spring — even though Christmas has not even come yet!
Soon it will be the winter solstice, the year’s darkest day. I’ve always thought the calendar was neatly arranged to sneak that psychological low point in there at the most festive time of the year; by the time the holidays have passed, we can console ourselves with the knowledge that there will be a bit more sun shining each day.
If you are already harboring thoughts of springtime, today’s post is for you. Believe in happiness! Very often, it may mean re-defining your understanding of the word, but you may come closer to the truth that way anyway.
One year ago today
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
This is where
Come on in – the party will be starting soon! Yorktown, December 2006
This is the bright home
in which I live,
this is where
I ask
my friends
to come,
this is where I want
to love all the things
it has taken me so long
to learn to love.
This is the temple
of my adult aloneness
and I belong
to that aloneness
as I belong to my life.
There is no house
like the house of belonging. — David Whyte
If you’ve been reading this blog for awhile, you know it has been a very personal journey for me. It has required a degree of disclosure that was quite difficult, and not without risk. While I’ve written voluminous amounts over the years, at least 80 percent of it has been in the form of personal, one-to-one correspondence, by letter, and later, increasingly, by email. Putting my words out into the open for all to see terrified me for many years, even after I was first published over 20 years ago, and it’s still intimidating for me when I stop to think about it.
When one lives a private, almost isolated life as I have lived for many years now, anonymity becomes a shield of protection and a cloak for vulnerability. But such safety, if it exists at all, is mostly illusory. A year later, I believe that the rewards of venturing into the scary but exciting terrain of cyberspace largely unarmed (to use Glennon Doyle Melton’s apt description) has been worth the risk for me.
So today I thank you for visiting me in my online home; now let’s take a journey with the Ghost of Christmas Past. I ask you to step, in spirit, into our York family room at Christmas time. Neither you nor we are able to be there today, but if we were, we could introduce you to the friends who, over many years, have filled that space with endless conversation, both lighthearted and serious, along with boisterous laughter, and even ukelele music and singing. Many of these loved ones have moved away; one has left this earth, and others we hope to see in our York home again in the future. Today, you are welcome to be there in spirit with us, a place where everyone belongs. I hope you will know the joy of creating such spaces and places wherever you may live in the physical world. There is no place quite like the house of belonging.
One year ago today
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Share to the full
Just one of the amazing ice sculptures on display at Gaylord ICE!
National Harbor, Maryland, November 2011
“Let the children have their night of fun and laughter. Let the gifts of Father Christmas delight their play. Let us grown-ups share to the full in their unstinted pleasures before we turn again to the stern task and the formidable years that lie before us…”
— Winston Churchill, in his Christmas Eve message of 1941
Have you ever wondered how many things we do “for the children” are actually an excuse for us to have some fun? Never is this happy proclivity more obvious than during the holidays. I hope you are able to indulge in some childlike fun, whether or not you have actual children around to share it. A good shot of youthful delight is a great emotional immunization for the coming winter.
One year ago today:
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Our blessings
A home near ours in Yorktown, Virginia, lights up the night, 2012
“…remember that our blessings outnumber the lights. Happy Christmas to all.”
— Betsy Cañas Garmon
Every time I think I go overboard with decorating my Christmas trees or gift wrapping, I see someone whose efforts to make Christmas beautiful leave mine in the dust. But the house pictured above may surpass anything I’ve ever seen. For a video that shows a bit more of this display (complete with my own amazed narration), look here.
I am so grateful for all the efforts, large and small, that go into bringing seasonal cheer to every corner of our world. From the bright, sticker-decorated die-cut wreath someone hung on Jeff’s door (and all the doors of active duty service members) here at the hospital, to the trees and decorations at the Fisher Houses, to the festive cooking, music and atmosphere that abounds seemingly everywhere I go, all combine to lift our spirits and brighten our days.
I hope you will be surrounded with the good will that shines especially brightly at this time of year. Feel free to post links to your favorite Christmas carols, or send photos of holiday decorations you’d like to share. Let’s keep the blessings growing and glowing!
One year ago today:
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Unintentionally
Our beautiful Granny in 1971, just before Eric’s wedding in Atlanta, Georgia
“Small kindnesses often, unintentionally, produce the biggest payoffs.”
― Richard Paul Evans
Sometimes people give us gifts that they don’t even realize they are giving us. Here’s my memory of one such gift, an intangible expression of an all-too-unusual kind of love.
Because my father has always been a good sport about being teased, all four of his children have indulged in making fun of him about various things over the years. I think Daddy is able to take this kidding because he senses the enormous respect that lies beneath the affectionate joking. But once in awhile, he will scold us for being out of line if our teasing touches on another person.
When I was in my twenties, about the time I began to think I knew everything better than anybody else did, my father pulled out his wallet to pick up the tab for everyone at a restaurant. This was his typical practice, but on this occasion I happened to notice that his wallet was literally falling apart at the seams. “Daddy,” I chided him, “for a man of your means, that is one sorry-looking wallet. Why don’t you buy yourself a new one?”
With tears in his eyes, Daddy reprimanded me, “Jewel gave me this wallet.” I was instantly mortified at my words. Seeing my abrupt silence, and perhaps feeling the need to suppress his own emotional reaction, he added, “She always gave me something I could use.”
Jewel was our generous and sweet Granny, his mother-in-law, my mother’s mother, who had died years earlier. I have no idea how long ago she had given him the wallet, but it brought to mind a similarly tearful reprimand I had witnessed as a very young child, this one coming from Jewel herself, in defense of Daddy.
We were all at Granny and PaPa’s home on one of our relatively rare visits, and Granny heard Mom giving Daddy a hard time about something. “You be good to Carlyle!” she snapped. My mother, already feeling impatient, snapped right back. “I’m so sick of you taking Carlyle’s side all the time!”
Granny got tears in her eyes and said “Others only gave me their dirty laundry to wash today. Carlyle gave me twenty dollars.”
Twenty dollars was a lot of money in the early 60’s, but that wasn’t the memorable part of this exchange. Like my father’s response to my laughter at his broken-down wallet, Granny’s words to my mother were a rare rebuttal sparked by a true affection that was always apparent between my father and his mother-in-law.
In my lifetime, I’ve observed with no small amount of chagrin the endless jokes about mothers-in-law, and the pervasive reality that so often lies behind such cruel humor. Any in-law relationship, it would seem, is one that is fraught with peril, a psychological minefield that is best traversed with care. Even when appropriate care is taken, the inherent risks often take their toll, leaving wounded people limping along with real or imagined slights nurtured over the years into longstanding grudges.
The treasured gift my Granny and my Daddy gave me is the memory of at least one giant exception to what seems a very sad rule. As with most such gifts, it was given with no awareness, unintentionally made manifest because of a mutual respect that brooked no insults. While I can identify with my mother’s frustration (like her, my temperament has more of her father’s plain-spoken Scots Irish volatility) I also appreciate having that frustration trumped by reasonable defense when needed. And I will always cherish the knowledge that my Granny and her eldest child’s husband remained each other’s champions insofar as such defense was ever needed.
In this season of giving objects as gifts, let’s take a few minutes to focus on giving each other the intangibles that last far longer; the memory of loving words, compassionate actions, and enduring examples of life well lived. I wish you many such gifts, this year and every year!
One year ago today:
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Bless you abundantly
The Christmas tree at our Alexandria home, 2010
“Remember this: Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows generously will also reap generously. Each of you should give what you have decided in your heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.” — 2 Corinthians 9:6-8
Today, I wish you the abundant joys of the season! I am so grateful for the gift of your presence here.
One year ago today:
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Despite overwhelming odds
Drew and Jeff view the remains of the Arizona’s gun turret #3.
At the U.S.S. Arizona Memorial, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, 1991
“We salute the veterans and survivors of Pearl Harbor who inspire us still. Despite overwhelming odds, they fought back heroically, inspiring our nation and putting us on the path to victory. They are members of that Greatest Generation who overcame the Depression, crossed oceans and stormed the beaches to defeat fascism, and turned adversaries into our closest allies…They remind us that no challenge is too great when Americans stand as one. All of us owe these men and women a profound debt of gratitude for the freedoms and standard of living we enjoy today.”
— President Barack Obama
Jeff has very little to say about my blog, other than protesting when I tell him I’ve posted photo of him, or written about him. However, I did read to him the blog I posted a couple of days ago, in which I talked about the parallels between fighting a war and fighting cancer. A few minutes later, he told me about The Ballad of Ira Hayes, a Johnny Cash song he remembered with some emotion in connection with the mention of Iwo Jima. I told him I could feature the song on my blog for Pearl Harbor Day, but he asked me instead to use the track below, a poem recorded by Johnny Cash.
Jeff isn’t nearly as fond of music as I am, but he does like Johnny Cash quite a bit, so I agreed to include this recitation as he suggested. At the time, I didn’t remember that one year ago today, I had chosen to feature one of my own Cash favorites. On this day of remembrance, the words of the Man in Black seem fitting again. I hope we will all continue to be inspired by the courage of those who stand firm in the face of overwhelming odds.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Rejoice in the way things are
Kathy rejoices at the Missouri Botanical Garden, St. Louis, 2008
“Be content with what you have;
rejoice in the way things are.
When you realize there is nothing lacking,
the whole world belongs to you.”
― Laozi
It sounds good, but it’s sometimes almost impossible to do. Life can be so difficult, and contentment so elusive even in relatively good times. We seem wired to want to improve, grow, acquire and discover. There’s nothing necessarily wrong with any of those aspirations, provided they don’t increase our frustration with reality. When genuine hardship sets in, we may wonder how we ever felt unhappy before. The “normal” state we once took for granted, maybe even disdained, suddenly becomes the most pressing goal for which we strive.
One year ago today my quote was about the creativity of contentment, and how it relates to my love of photography. I chose a photo of my friend Kathy at the Missouri Botanical Garden in St. Louis, partly because it’s such a beautiful setting, and partly because Kathy totally gets it about loving to capture life through photographs. Here’s another one of her I took the same day.
It’s easier to be content when we make the time to enjoy such beautiful settings. In all the ways that matter, the world is ours. Amid sunshine or shadows, I hope we are able to keep a sanctified space inside our hearts where we can rejoice every single day.
One year ago today:
This post was first published seven years ago today. It takes on a whole new significance in the post-COVID world.
The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
A big contribution
A quiet corner in the Jardin du Luxembourg, Paris, August 2005
“In all your relationships, you’re never too small to make a big contribution, and never too big to make a small one.” — Mardy Grothe
Thanks to everyone here who visits here! You have given to us in big and small ways over the past year. I thought all of us could use a mental image of something beautiful today, so I chose a photo from one of my favorite gardens in one of my favorite cities. Happy Thursday!
One year ago today:
No greater challenge
The US Marine Corps War Memorial at sunset, April 2012
“There is no greater challenge to statesmanship than to find a way that such sacrifices as this statue represents are not necessary in the future.”
— Richard M. Nixon, referring to the U. S. Marine Corps War Memorial
Anyone who has been through cancer treatment knows that war is a very good metaphor for the trauma inflicted in the name of achieving a higher goal. As with war, such treatments often leave us wondering whether the end could possibly justify the means. For those who survive, or are born to inherit the positive outcomes of such sacrifice, the answer may seem more obvious than it does for those who suffer and die.
The War Memorial pictured above is an iconic reminder of a battle that encompassed many common threads with the war waged within the body of a stage IV cancer survivor. Not everyone realizes the assault on the island of Iwo Jima actually began nine months before the famed amphibious landing, with bombardments intended to lessen the carnage that would take place in confronting an enemy that had vowed to fight to the death. Even with such extensive preparation, the bloodshed was just beginning. Marines who feared the eerie silence that greeted them might indicate their enemy was only hiding, not defeated, would soon find out their fears were more than justified.
Likewise, the insidious dangers of metastatic cancer infiltrate the body, resisting the aggressive bombardment of chemotherapy, radiation and surgical resection. Doctors and patients fight on, amid predictions of doom and endless second-guessing, using the only tools at hand to destroy an ever-elusive threat. For those who choose to fight on and not give up, no small part of the rationale surely lies in the greater challenge identified by President Nixon: the hope that these relentless and tenacious battles may ultimately render such sacrifices unnecessary for future generations. For 21st century medicine, there is no greater challenge.
One year ago today:
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
The most glorious messes
Al, Carla and me on Christmas morning, sometime in the mid-1960s.
“One of the most glorious messes in the world is the mess created in the living room on Christmas day. Don’t clean it up too quickly.” ― Andy Rooney
I don’t know whether they should get credit or blame, but Mama and Daddy made all their kids into adults who love Christmas. I guess there’s a part of me that never really grew up when it comes to that holiday. And for us, the delightful disarray starts long before Christmas morning. Now, as then, our homes become glorious messes of wrapping paper, ribbons, colorful decorations that haven’t yet been put where they belong, and gifts hidden so well they might not be discovered again until June. It all adds up to the year’s happiest chaos.
I started this year’s Christmas mess several weeks ago, knowing Jeff would be in the hospital over Thanksgiving weekend, by which time I normally have at least the York Christmas tree done. As I write this, just the tree itself is up, not even adorned with the 3000-4000 lights I usually string on it before adding ridiculous numbers of ornaments. Given everything that’s gone on this year, the Christmas mess is likely to be around awhile. No worries that it will get cleaned up too soon this year!
During this December, I wish you the happy sort of disorganization that suggests more festivity than frustration. Cue up the holiday music, sip some spiced tea or coffee or eggnog, and enjoy the excitement!
One year ago today:
Hmm, do I sense conflicting themes here? 🙂
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Joy is what happens
“Joy is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to recognize how good things really are.” ― Marianne Williamson
We don’t tend to think of airports as comfortable or happy places, but this video might change your mind. During my years with USAir, I often thought how the airport gates were a setting that displayed the entire gamut of human emotions, especially during those days when people were allowed to go to the gate to meet or say farewell with those who were traveling. Every day, I would see tearful reunions and farewells, people en route to weddings and funerals, anxious friends and families awaiting a stranded or delayed loved one, travelers dealing with cancelled plans or smooth sailing, customers venting frustration and anger, or bubbling over with excitement, happiness and humor.
I feel obliged to issue a disclaimer: the folks at the Northern Ireland Tourist Board are not even aware I’m sharing this video, let alone paying me to do it. But when watched this video for the first time sitting beside Jeff’s bed in the early evening at the hospital, despite it being a rather sedate and sobering milieu, this clip had me literally clapping in time to the music with a big grin on my face. I hope it does the same for you.
One year ago today:
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Consolation brought me joy
Grady meets Father Christmas at the Atlanta Botanical Garden, November 29, 2013
“When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy.” — Psalm 94:19
Here in the northern hemisphere, December is the month of consolation, when the cold and decay of nature’s landscape are offset by the joys of celebration and gratitude. Today we thank you for the cheer and solace of your kind thoughts, prayers and visits here. We wish you a month of happiness, filled with “tidings of comfort and joy,” in festive gatherings, or quiet contemplation, or both.
One year ago today:
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Home is not where
It started at Ft. Belvoir hospital, with a ruptured and cancerous appendix.
Here, Jeff gets some fresh air with our sons while recuperating from his first-ever surgery.
We didn’t know then that there would be many, many more. September, 2012
“Home is not where, it is whom.” -Christianne Dettmann
As most readers have figured out by now, I’m no longer posting two weeks in advance, but taking it day by day as I am able. Since my days are mostly spent in hospitals lately, I have a bit of a one-track mind. In any case, this quote seemed appropriate for this week. For the first time in many years, in fact, so many I can’t remember exactly how many, Jeff and I have been able to spend some part of Thanksgiving and our shared birthday with both of our sons. Not in our home, but as Dettman says, home can be anywhere. I hope this finds you feeling at home wherever you may be today!
One year ago today:
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Out of suffering
Jeff at Dachau, Germany, August 2005
“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” — Kahlil Gibran
This photo is rather odd, but it seems fitting as a symbol for where Jeff is now, on his 55th birthday. He’s in a place of past nightmares and trauma, somehow surviving (thus far) life-threatening complications and tremendous pain, holding on in a position where his strength is likely to fade quickly. His stamina and endurance are unbelievable, but insofar as any human has limits, we have to fear that he is surely approaching his. We continue to need and appreciate your kind thoughts and prayers.
About the photo: when we visited Dachau with our friends in August 2005, we drove around searching for the parking and main entrance. It was quite obvious from the walls and barbed wire that we were at the camp, but we weren’t sure where to start touring. Steve and Aaron got out to inquire, going through a gate that looked too small to be an entrance, and when they did not return after a few minutes, Amy and I convinced Jeff to see if he could find them.
We didn’t mean “look over the wall” but that’s what Jeff did. Instead of going through the same gate Aaron and Steve had entered, he walked over to the wall and somehow jumped to a position where he could pull himself up to look over. Amy and I were in the car cracking up. I don’t remember how long Jeff was up there, but naturally I went for my camera and got a shot of him scanning the grounds of Dachau, looking for Steve and Aaron. Our visit to Dachau was sobering and unforgettable, but this photo survives as the only note of levity of a day spent in a heartrendingly tragic setting; a flash of laughter in a day devoted to the remembrance of seemingly endless tears.
I am comforted today by this reminder of strength and humor in a desolate landscape. Like those who survived Dachau, Jeff will bear forever on his body the marks of what he has endured. May he live many years to reflect on blessings and joy that lie on the other side of his pain.
One year ago today:
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
I am grateful
Pasha stands looking out the window as we prepare for Thanksgiving dinner, 2007
“I am grateful for the beauty in the midst of suffering. I am grateful for the treasure hunt through the minefield of life. Dangerous or not, I don’t want out of the minefield. Because truth, and beauty , and God are there.” – Glennon Doyle Melton
As I write this, the day before Thanksgiving, Jeff has not yet awakened from the 14+ hours of surgery he endured yesterday. They had to keep him anesthetized overnight because they knew he would be in the OR again for an emergency procedure this morning (a stent placed to drain a bile leakage from the liver that could result in infection if left untreated). One of the doctors woke me up in the waiting room this morning, after about 6 hours of sleeping for the first time in two days, to sign a consent form for the procedure. I am grateful I was there to sign the form. I am grateful there was a way to solve the immediate problem. I am grateful that this morning’s procedure went “as well as it possibly could have gone,” as the surgeons have just informed me, and grateful for the prayers that will join mine, asking for this complication to heal without further setbacks.
I’m grateful for the many, many doctors from various specialty fields, whose names and cards I can hardly keep track of. I am grateful for the compassionate nurse who gave me kind and reassuring words, along with much-needed blankets and a pillow so that I could sleep last night on chairs that were pulled together in a waiting room. I am grateful both my sons are near, sharing my love and anguish for a man we always knew to be remarkable, but had no idea, until now, how truly amazing his strength and endurance are.
Yesterday’s surgery was far more difficult and long than anyone anticipated, due in part to massive scarring from the first liver resection. Jeff ended up getting seven units of blood (so far) and four units of blood products, and has a long, tough road to recovery ahead. The surgeons were exhausted and disappointed at the setbacks, but were nonetheless pleased to believe that Jeff is now rid of the cancer and very likely to be among the 8% who survive his particular diagnosis, if he is able to survive the post-surgical risks of the coming days and weeks.
Today, on this day we set aside for the gratitude we can rightly feel every minute of every day, I pray your life is filled with the best kinds of abundance. As with those who shared the first Thanksgiving meal on which our celebration is based, we all come to the table with a mixed bag of blessings and sorrows, many disappointments, hurts and griefs, but also countless reasons to rejoice. May we all open our eyes to the providence that surrounds us, making our existence possible. Happy Thanksgiving!
“I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living.” Psalm 27:13
One year ago today:
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Defeat Despair 