January 11, 2014 by terrypetersen
Sisters function as safety nets in a chaotic world simply by being there for each other. (Carol Saline)
When I was sixteen-years-old my mother gave our family the gift I always had wanted—a sister. Sure, I had great brothers. But I was an all-girl girl, and I didn’t understand the male species.
My brothers would engage in rough play with Dad until they cried. I declared outrage, but seconds later my brothers would be at it again with a grin on their faces I interpreted as lunacy. I soon learned that it made no sense to try to protect them.
I remember telling Mom I wanted an older sister. She never seemed to understand that even at the age of six I’d figured out that was impossible, although I suppose secretly I wanted someone else to guide me through the make-believe and the real world with wisdom. Life didn’t always make sense, and grownups definitely belonged to another galaxy. They knew all the rules and expected kids to know them, too. Most of the time I learned rules by breaking them first.
Of course by the time my sister was born my dolls and childhood belonged to a long-ago past. As a teenager I played the role of built-in-babysitter and big sister.
Claire’s birthday is Monday. She hasn’t been a baby in a long time. She works as a pastor’s wife, which means she has a schedule that requires a wall-sized calendar. She has a married son and a daughter-in-law now. I could call her my little sister, but she isn’t tall. However, I’ve shrunk, and she is quick to point that out.
I don’t mind. Our relationship has nothing to do with height. I don’t recall when the bond between us developed into something that transcended the difference in our ages. Once, when my sons were still at home, Claire and I got into a deep discussion about our lives. We were standing outside my house by the barbecue grill, white with flaming charcoal. Our mother could see us from the back window. She came outside to see if we were all right. We had shared how we really felt in a way only sisters can understand. Of course we told Mom everything was just great. We told the truth even though we had spoken of sadness and fear as well as hope: we had each other and I knew we always would.
Happy Birthday, Sis! Thanks for being you.
from Positive Energy
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged appreciation, choice, encouragement, family, gratitude, imagination, inspiration, intangible gifts, memories, perspective, positive attitudes, self-awareness, sisters, wisdom | 1 Comment »
January 3, 2014 by terrypetersen
Family is not an important thing, it’s everything. (Michael J. Fox)
Snow keeps Jay and me indoors today with two of our grandchildren—three of their friends also arrive. Our house is economy-sized. The children’s sound belongs in a gymnasium, or perhaps the great outdoors. Some of it is channeled into the cold as they make a snow man. However, they dry off inside, and then finish two large bowls of popcorn, a pot of homemade hot chocolate and a full can of whipped cream.
The girls may not understand why I insisted on holding their minor feast at the dining room table, but I am grateful later when a broom and a dust pan repair the floor damage in minutes. The rest of the house may be another matter, but more snow will come soon. Time for cleanup will happen then. Perfection is not my mantra. Somehow the noise and confusion don’t matter either; the young people do. The clock tells me it isn’t 11:00 AM yet. Nevertheless, exhaustion leaks everywhere from my forehead through my toes.
Then my oldest granddaughter, Kate, tells me I need to play the part of the principal in their pretend school because they have been fighting for the role. She gives me the name Mrs. Orange. When Mrs. Orange comes into the bedroom and makes a ridiculous mock speech Hannah, one of our guests, smiles. My toes wiggle with a tad more enthusiasm, and so does the rest of me. Amazing how such a simple gesture creates energy. I am going to survive. Perhaps the children tire, too, because they switch to television, a PBS program. Rebe snuggles with me and I borrow some of her youth through her warmth. By dark the house will become quiet again. The temperature outside will plummet, and I will have a choice: I can either remember the times I felt torn in as many directions as there were people in the house, or I can savor the joy and the laughter.
May the New Year bring new cheer. Peace to all!
(the girls’ creation)
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged appreciation, choice, experience, family, imagination, inspiration, perspective, positive attitudes, self-awareness, snow, wisdom | 3 Comments »
December 29, 2013 by terrypetersen
One eye sees, the other feels. (Paul Klee)
This year will probably be the last one for our artificial Christmas tree. The bottom lower branch no longer lights. Our angel has toppled so many times she lies, as if exhausted, at the base. She is supposed to be reigning from above. Maybe she is afraid of heights. I suspect that is better than being a fallen angel.
My husband and I celebrate the full twelve days of the season, even if those days include the ordinary chores of laundry, rug-scrubbing, and bill-paying. Holiday music plays in the background. The greatest celebrations include a full day with our grandchildren.
On December 26 Miss Rebe pretended to be mommy-having-a-baby. Her imagination swelled as she followed that experience with a brain, and then a heart transfer with her newborn. None of these moments fit into anything resembling real life. However, Rebe did understand that surgery includes cutting followed by blood. Even in play young people recognize suffering.
“Don’t look, Daughter,” she told me. Of course within seconds the transformation had occurred and been reversed—several times. In a kindergartener’s world magic slips into the ordinary as easily as wind blows through an open window.
Somehow Rebe’s fantasy touched something real. Physical brain and heart transfers don’t exist beyond imagination. Empathy does. Answers may not come in easy packages. Time may not heal. In-a-better-place isn’t always the best response. Yet a quiet soul and listening ear can speak in unexpected, healing ways.
Most holiday seasons are tainted in some ways; that’s the nature of anything that has created form. This December has been filled with sadness, illness, and tragedy. I have seen friends and acquaintances suffer. Some have died, suddenly, at a moment when the lights were expected to be brightest. Instead they extinguished.
After her imagined ordeal Rebe told Daughter it was time to go home. Apparently she had returned into pretend-mommy mode. Baby, yet unnamed, lay tucked in the crook of her arm. We were on our way. She didn’t say where.
But then, life’s journeys aren’t mapped anyway.
pic from the Optimism Revolution
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged appreciation, childhood innocence, choice, Christmas, experience, family, fantasy, grandchildren, humor, imagination, inspiration, intangible gifts, learning at any age, life on lfe's terms, patience, perspective, positive attitudes, quote | 2 Comments »
December 18, 2013 by terrypetersen
Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending. (Maria Robinson)
Our family waits for the arrival of my husband’s mother and sister. They live six-hours west of us where nine inches of snow is possible. Jay’s mother, Mary, is 93-years-old. One of her daughters is driving her into town for a funeral. Mary’s sister has died and she is the last living person in her family.
As soon as the travelers arrive I let my sons know. We are concerned; Mary can barely stand. Yet, her heart remains rooted strong in family.
Part of Mary’s agenda includes plans for her own funeral. I’m familiar with the process, although I have never done it with the honoree present. Mary’s other daughter has material handy for us to view. Whenever my mother-in-law shows emotion I know we are on the right track. When she says, “How do I know? I won’t be there,” I realize the mechanics of planning may be present; however, heart isn’t. She adds that she doesn’t want a eulogy that praises her; it should praise God. She also wants humor.
I suggest asking my older son, Greg, both a stand-up comic and a man active in his church community. The conversation drifts into a discussion of his latest book, “Open Mike,” the tightness of his style. She grins, proud, and laughs with us. A suggestion is made to complete the outline. “So, who do you want to do your eulogy?” But I sense a return to how do I know? I won’t be there.
Let our list of whats, wheres, and whens be sufficient as we return to the moment, to life as it is. Now. More family members arrive, just what Mary needs as an extrovert’s extrovert.
I think about the struggle I’ve had in the past few months with a pesky virus that is only now beginning to subside, even though my soprano has been knocked out by a throat as dry as desert-baked sand. A little alto sneaks out occasionally, but it is weak and inconsistent. I realize that this is nothing in comparison to the suffering many people experience. No one is invincible, although as a young person I certainly lived as if I were.
Somehow I expected to be in my twenties forever, slender without needing exercise and diet control. Possibilities lay ahead of me—but I rarely chose them. Tomorrow would always be there, or so I thought. Those days will never return. Nevertheless, this moment lives, ready to be seized.
In my last blog I mentioned how three words, consider the source, became valuable advice from my father. My mother-in-law showed me how rich grandparent bonding could become. Since I worked in hospital pharmacy my hours didn’t fit a Monday through Friday schedule. I was off Fridays and asked to watch my first granddaughter on that day even though my son and daughter-in-law already had child care. I have never regretted that choice.
In fact my gift has tripled. I now have three grandchildren. I don’t think a day goes by that I don’t think about my granddaughters. Somehow even a Cheerio in the couch cushion isn’t the irritation it could be when I consider the source, a beautiful blonde four-year-old girl with a smile that could light the city.
I have no idea what legacy I will leave my sons and granddaughters, but I’m not sure the spiritual can be weighed anyway. I prefer to live this moment and build upon the next, with as much gratitude as I can manage. Today. Tomorrow isn’t promised.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged appreciation, choice, death, determination, encouragement, experience, family, grandchildren, gratitude, memories, Open Mike by Gregory Petersen, perspective, positive attitudes, self-awareness, wisdom | 2 Comments »
December 11, 2013 by terrypetersen
Learning is weightless, a treasure you can always carry easily. (Chinese proverb)
The anniversary of my father’s death was this week. One of the gifts he gave me is a phrase he repeated during my teens: “Consider the source.” Like most adolescents I didn’t have a clear notion of who I was. Every critical word ate through me as if it were acid. I reveled in J.D. Salinger’s coming of age novels. Romance bored me. I wanted to read about people who saw the world from a unique perspective. I wondered why I was so different, and didn’t realize that my self-questioning probably wasn’t much different than other kids’ thoughts about themselves.
Being one of the popular kids—such a glorious thought—but for me it would have been easier to understand how to make rain fall back into the clouds, fountain style.
“They’re just jealous,” my mother would say. That notion escaped me completely, even though it felt good at the time. Jealous of what? Sure, I’d written a one-act play that won first prize in the Greater Cincinnati area. My grades were better than average. I sang soprano relatively well. But those things never came up in ordinary conversation, especially when the other kids told me I had cooties. I looked in the mirror and wondered what set me apart; it never told me.
I didn’t know that consider the source, three simple words, needed decades to learn. The source of people’s actions and words come from diverse places. Most of the time they tell more about the giver than they do the recipient. The flatterer may want something and the detractor could be jealous, self-involved, or simply unaware.
I can still hear my father’s tone as he spoke to me. It didn’t carry censure, as if one person were right and the other wrong. He asked me to consider the whole. If the taunt came only to make the speaker appear superior, it had no substance. If I chose to be mean-spirited, that would create a win for my adversary—and a loss for my character.
Now, I don’t remember the specific events of three days ago. So, if I decide to live in a past decade most of it will be false memory. Even if I recall every uncomfortable second exactly as it occurred, I would be losing this precious present moment. My skin doesn’t fit as well as it did then, but my spirit has a better notion about who this 67-year-old woman is. Oh, I still have plenty to learn. I misunderstand often enough to need to apologize more often than I would like to admit.
However, I cherish my father’s teaching and I cherish the life he gave me. This day is an opportunity. I pray that I use it well.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged appreciation, choice, determination, encouragement, experience, family, father's legacy, gratitude, inspiration, intangible gifts, introvert vs extrovert, J D Salinger, learning at any age, living in the present, perspective, positive attitudes, self-awareness, teenage memories, wisdom | 2 Comments »
December 6, 2013 by terrypetersen
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged appreciation, carbon monoxide, experience, family, gratitude, humor, inspiration, intangible gifts, learning at any age, perspective, positive attitudes, quote |
November 29, 2013 by terrypetersen
The great thing about getting older is that you don’t lose all the other ages you’ve been. (Madeleine L’Engle, 1918-2007)
I made a big mistake when I told my two older grandchildren about the time my brothers climbed into the dollhouse my grandfather made for me. Since the house had been created for thumb-sized dolls, not little boys, the walls collapsed onto them.
Kate and Rebecca were horrified. Two giants had invaded precious pretend space and demolished it. Back then I probably saw the torn walls as slaughtered puppies. Now, I understand the viewpoint of my younger brothers, an exploration into uncharted territory. I really don’t think they planned destruction; it happened as a side-product of their exploration. Somehow, I expected my little girls to see with my adult point of view. They didn’t.
When Kate knew my youngest brother was coming to the house, she asked, “Is he one of the brothers who broke your doll house?”
“Uh, no, he was too little.”
I have a few weeks before my other brothers face my girls’ wrath—for a misdemeanor committed before computers, space travel, cell phones, and flat-screen television sets existed. Any pictures from that era would have been in black-and-white. They couldn’t have been instantly posted on Facebook.
Then again, my granddaughters may forget all about the long-ago dollhouse. Actually it’s likely. The holidays are filled with far more interesting opportunities. If the subject comes up I could ask if they ever made a mistake and then felt sorry about it later. The word, oops, appears early in a child’s vocabulary. I could mention again the story about the time my brothers and I wanted to play Indians in the basement when I was about four-or-five-years old. We needed a campfire. So I gathered some sticks from the front yard, placed them on the cement floor, and then lit them from the pilot on the hot-water heater. Fortunately, my mother had a good sense of smell.
“Did you get a spanking?” Kate asked.
“I don’t remember that part. But you can be pretty sure I did.” I certainly earned one.
The consequences of a fire in the basement didn’t occur to me at preschool age. I had planned to put it out. There was a faucet a few feet away, right next to the wringer washer. As an adult the thought of flames in the house strikes me with intense fear. I’ve apologized to my parents many times over the years.
Yet, somewhere deep inside me is that little adventurer who wondered what-would-happen-if? She learned to respect the parameters of reality, but appreciates the spunk of the kid with just a touch of mischief inside.
Yes, I loved that dollhouse my grandfather crafted for me. He was an incredible, gentle man. I loved my brothers even more. And, I still do.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged childhood innocence, choice, dollhouse, experience, family, forgiveness, grandchildren, gratitude, imagination, inspiration, intangible gifts, learning at any age, memories, perspective, positive attitudes, self-awareness, wisdom | 2 Comments »
November 22, 2013 by terrypetersen
What a pity every child couldn’t learn to read under a willow tree… (Elizabeth George Speare)
“Book,” Ella says with enthusiasm.
She hasn’t been talking for longer than a few months. However, our four-year-old granddaughter reads.
When she first began vocalizing she chose the alphabet and tried to sound-out such letters as e-x-i-t in stores and libraries. But, most of her communication remained through sign language. Now she reads with me as I turn back to page one of “The Wheels on the Bus” for the five-thousand-four-hundred and sixty-third time. Well, I feel like the doors on the bus have opened and closed at least that many times “all day long.” Ella knows these last three words especially well and repeats them with a joy that is contagious. How can I mind the repetition when she is so excited?
When we get to the last page she turns to the vocabulary words, takes my finger and points to them. She wants to absorb each one, learn, grow—and I want to celebrate that expansion with her.
I decide to see how much more our little girl understands. Down syndrome has limited, but not stopped her. Among the books is a Dora the Explorer coloring book. I ask if she wants the crayons. She answers, “yes,” but then hands them to me. I decide to turn this situation around.
“What color should I use?” I ask.
She gives me green for the grass, and then points out places that I have missed, including hidden background. The walk, as she calls it, close enough for sidewalk, needs to be gray. She chooses red for the barn. Usually when I color with my grandchildren I shade the edges, layer color, blend yellows and oranges, play the artist. Not now. The focus is not on perfection, but on Ella as director. Not many four-year-old kids gets to legitimately play that role. In less than an hour we will need to tell her it is time to get her coat, get in the car, and go to physical therapy. For now she can be the guide for the next move, however simple it may be.
Early in the evening I see a video made by Ella’s maternal grandmother on her phone: Ella and her daddy are in a restaurant. He is printing words on a placemat: up, down, do, cat, and dog. Ella reads them all with a voice so sweet I could listen to her as many times as I have read “The Wheels on the Bus.”
She isn’t performing. She reads for the innate satisfaction of language. Competition from others hasn’t appeared yet. I consider my creative projects and question my motives. Do I approach them seeking success or to live this moment through them?
I love you, Ella, and I hope to become a better me because of you.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged appreciation, determination, Dora the Explorer, Down syndrome, early reading, encouragement, experience, family, grandchildren quips, inspiration, intangible gifts, learning at any age, patience, perspective, positive attitudes, reading in children with Down syndrome, The Wheels on the Bus, wisdom | 3 Comments »
November 15, 2013 by terrypetersen
There is no such thing in anyone’s life as an unimportant day. (Alexander Woollcott)
Ordinarily quiet and I get along like cake served with ice cream. However, I’d rather be at my aerobics class. Unfortunately, my breathing sounds as if my lungs were tossing pebbles at one another. After a while those pebble turn into stones and they sting. This isn’t the best time for lively exercise. Left kick, right kick, mamba, turn, and wheeze. Besides, my cough could scare off a class of battle-trained marines.
Since the monster wheeze responds only to steroid treatment I am now faced with the steroid monster’s side effects. I have the attention span of a two-year-old who has devoured half a bag of candy, and I probably won’t sleep much for the next twelve days. However, breathing is not generally considered an extra.
Okay, Ter, focus. How can I do that when one-thing-at-a-time feels as possible as collecting a foot of snow in a thimble?
First, drain that coffee and switch to herbal tea for heaven’s sake! Then try one task that requires physical effort—but not too much since my mind may think I’m marathon-ready. My body will balk.
Ah yes, one small section of an untidy cabinet. Face it, girl. Only one portion of cabinet. Slowly. Yeah, I know buzzed-on-prednisone brain, you also want to write an entire synopsis, make your Christmas presents, scrub the floors, finish this blog, annihilate every cob web in the house, and do laundry…all before your husband comes home from that beloved exercise class and the grocery store. Oh, and you will check your e-mail 47 times in between.
Right. Maybe that’s not the most efficient plan.
After that one reorganized section looks decent, I notice there’s a spill in the microwave. My actions snowball, with only one, okay two stops to check e-mail. As I struggle to keep my thoughts under control and lungs working properly, I think about the difficulties other people face. My husband is reading, “The Reason I Jump,” by Naoki Higashida. When Jay is finished he has promised to let me read it. When he comes home from class and the store he tells me he is ready to share the book.
I turn to David Mitchell’s Introduction and I’m lost in words, in pages, in this world opened by a boy born in Japan in 1992. This story explains the autistic world. It isn’t what an observer sees; it is as different as the interior and exterior of a locked cabinet, a wrapped gift, or a capped unlabeled bottle. Seeing the actions of an autistic person doesn’t tell what happens inside.
Day dissolves into dusk and I continue to read, needing to pause once for a drink of water and once for an inhaler break. Naoki answers questions that appear almost rude, with style and grace. He is thirteen. He cannot speak. He uses an alphabet board. Not all autistic people are alike any more than all people are alike.
One experience Naoki relates concerns listening to others instead of looking at them. Eye contact is too overwhelming. He sees with his ears and that is sufficient stimulation. Thanks to Naoki for helping me to focus, using my heart, paying attention to someone else instead of my own petty miseries.
Here is the Amazon link to his incredible and beautiful story: http://www.amazon.com/Reason-Jump-voice-silence-autism-ebook/dp/B00BVJG3CS/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1384473869&sr=8-1&keywords=the+reason+i+
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged appreciation, asthma, autism, choice, determination, encouragement, experience, gratitude, humor, inspiration, intangible gifts, life on lfe's terms, patience, perspective, positive attitudes, praise for "The Reason I Jump", quote, self-awareness | 2 Comments »
November 10, 2013 by terrypetersen
Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm. (Winston Churchill)
The electricity goes out late Thursday morning seconds after I hear a loud blast—probably a transformer on an adjoining street. My husband has left the house to pick up Ella from preschool. My job is to have lunch ready. Our kitchen is small, with one window and low light. Fortunately I have a gas stove, and can turn-on the burners with a match. An open back door provides enough sun to let me know when my homemade soup is warm enough and the sandwiches are toasted, not transformed into charcoal. A chilly breeze slips through occasionally, but natural sun beats a candle flame.
Our little Ella adapts. After lunch she opens her school bag and pulls out her glasses. “Book,” she says. She doesn’t complain about inconvenience. Down syndrome has delayed her ability to communicate verbally. Nevertheless, she gets her point across, with a gentle, loving style.
She is way ahead when it comes to self-acceptance. She doesn’t battle pride on the level many people do. She doesn’t need to be the most accomplished kid in her class—among the most loving will do. People can live to be in their eighties without reaching her ability to accept, to give, to be without pretense.
As my husband reads to her I remember another child I saw last night at a memorial service for my father at his church.
Across the aisle was a family with a young boy who had some serious handicap or illness. I did not know him or anyone in his family. However, I noticed the way his mother held his hand and stroked his hair, how his father and siblings paid attention to him with simple, yet significant gestures. I watched as the mother nodded to the boy, unstrapped him from his stroller, and then lifted his limp body onto her lap. She carefully attended to his breathing tube. Then, smiling, she caressed him as if he were a newborn.
That family understood love.
The priest spoke of loss, its meaning. He also talked about life. I had no idea what hope the family held for this child, but they were living the present to the fullest.
Our little Ella has had pulmonary hypertension. We were told that she could, possibly, outgrow it. When she was small she was on oxygen 24/7; as she grew older she needed it only at night. Last week her numbers indicated that she no longer required oxygen. Our family celebrated as if a war had ended. My celebration changed, deepened perhaps, as I watched that family.
I still cherished our granddaughter’s healing, but I wondered about the strength of that family’s gifts. All I saw was a single moment in time, like the cover of a book that held thousands of pages filled with stories, some tragic, some beautiful. In my own tiny church community we can speak to one another, no one left out except by choice. In this large congregation that wasn’t possible. The ceremony was formal, and these folk left before we did anyway. Actually, I didn’t know what I could have said. My thoughts didn’t have words, only a vague sense of awe that would have been cheapened if I tried to translate them.
All I know now is that there is a book next to me that I can open at any time, or a pad of paper where I can write. However, on my other side is a little girl named Ella giggling over a computer game. And I don’t want to miss one second of it.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged appreciation, Down syndrome, grandchildren, gratitude, inspiration, life on lfe's terms, perspective, positive attitudes, self-awareness, strength, wisdom | Leave a Comment »
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