Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘appreciation’

Isn’t it strange how life won’t flow, like a river, but moves in jumps, as if it were held back by locks that are opened now and then to let it jump forward in a kind of flood? (from “Clear Light of Day”  (Anita Desai)

I watch Ella as she lives fully in the moment. Mickey Mouse, Dora the Explorer, and a miniature My Little Pony take turns going down a plastic slide. Grandma joins the adventures. Reality adjusts to fit the scene. However, Grandma sees the dust as the sun streams in from the window, the mess that needs to be cleaned later, and an agenda that won’t fit into twenty-four hours. Ella recognizes play and infinite possibilities.

Breathe in for a count of five; breathe out for a count of ten, I tell myself. Yes, I am capable of imagination. “The Curse Under the Freckles,” coming out in early August, is a middle-grade fantasy novel. However, transferring that experience from a controlled page into everyday life is another matter. I need the example of a child, the vision of a little girl who can have open-heart surgery and then, less than a week later, return to her toys as if no time had lapsed at all.

Right now I am praying—a lot—for friends and family facing huge challenges. One has a cyst on her brain; the other is in the hospital with Crohn’s disease. And, of course I always think about my companion with stage-four breast cancer. Several years ago I thought I had gall bladder problems. I wasn’t even close. There was a blood clot in the lower portion of my lung, a pulmonary embolism. The predisposition is hereditary.

I took far longer to recover than my granddaughter did. I was focused on Desai’s metaphorical current and Ella lives its river, locks, jumps, and all. Oh, she fought harder than I did! She hollered, “No,” every step of the way, but she was thoroughly present.

I pick up an old Ronald-McDonald-in-a-plane toy and fly it upside down. “Hey, turn this thing around, will you, Mawmaw?” I say. “I’m going to fall out!”

Ella laughs. Maybe I’m learning.

slide

Read Full Post »

Technology… is a queer thing. It brings you great gifts with one hand, and it stabs you in the back with the other. (Carrie Snow )

My husband Jay, our good friend Tom, and I are leaving our house to check out a second computer. Since writing is my work I spend a great deal of time at the keyboard.  This does not mean I want to behave like a little kid yelling mine, mine, mine! Besides, at the moment, our laptop is as cooperative as an overburdened mule—we are debating buying two new computers.

Several friends who work in the electronics field have checked-out our baby. They have never found the source of her inconsistency. Sometimes she operates reasonably well. At other times maneuvering through the Internet is like driving through a construction zone when traffic is stopped on both sides of the road: Bridge out. Workers at lunch. Ordinary operation to resume sometime in the future. Maybe.

As I lean down to get into the car a strange sensation hits me, a dizziness that isn’t exactly vertigo, but doesn’t feel in-upright-control either. I mention it, but use a tone of voice that suggests mild irritation—not the level of discomfort I’m actually feeling.

“Maybe it’s the change in temperatures,” Tom suggests. After all it is cool in the house, hot outside, and then cool again in the car. He could be right. And I don’t want to stay home. Jay scheduled this time with Tom last week. We need the help of someone who can navigate us through complicated possibilities.

Tom’s temperature-change suggestion sounds reasonable and I breathe slowly as if all were completely well. However, as we arrive before the huge array of laptop models, the real reason for my bizarre sensation arises. A migraine warning. Strange that I didn’t consider the possibility at the time. Great! I am going to be as useful as a wet handkerchief during a sneeze-attack.

“So what do you think?” Jay and Tom ask as they get close to a decision.

“Not much.” I have to admit the migraine is winning. “We’ll get something for Jay now. For me, later.” At this point my mate could have said, “I’ll take everything in aisle three and I would have responded, “Okay.” I wouldn’t have caught a word.

I’m sure we make the trek home, but all I recall is falling into bed and hoping for a short-term coma. Several hours later my head isn’t any better, and the new computer has taken a turn for the worse as well. Apparently our virus protection has been fighting our Internet server and putting up some serious interference. No wonder our laptop took so long to open anything. Our server had 311 foreign viruses on it, Trojan variety. Tom suggests a service he uses for fix-it-over-the-phone through Microsoft. The task took hours, but the cleaning process helped my computer as well. It now works reasonably well.

I now wonder about Internet servers. The news is filled with stories about compromised information. I am grateful that we had sufficient virus protection to keep baby laptop at least alive. However, the opportunity to sell services also becomes murky territory. Knowledge, in understandable language, is always welcome.

My migraine has now ended. I can see the short-term blessings clearer. While I was focusing on getting from the store to the bed and then back into my own consciousness I didn’t have the energy to enter the battles our buddy Tom was fighting for Jay and me. Now I can simply be grateful that he is savvy and generous. He arrived at our house at noon for lunch and left long after dark.

Yes, there is a lot of evil in the world. But there is a lot of good as well. Tom doesn’t want pay. He is grateful for homemade soup at noon and takeout Chinese for dinner. Thanks, Tom! You are worth your weight in megabytes.

two computers

Read Full Post »

When you are grateful—when you can see what you have—you unlock blessings to flow in your life. (Suze Orman)

As I wait for the green light at an intersection in my neighborhood, I suspect the driver of the old black truck coming from the other direction is in a hurry although I can’t cite any evidence to prove this is true. My heart and mind are not focused on racing. The transience of existence slows my thoughts. I’m on my way to a funeral.

Let the driver make the first move, I tell myself. And see if I am simply being hyper-vigilant. The truck turns with jet-action speed a split section after the light changes.

We would have collided.

I thank God, then recall my best friend Linda’s intuition last night. We were at an outdoor concert. The air got thick and hot. I felt tightness in my chest and started coughing. “I think we’d better go,” she said. “The air is getting just too heavy.”

Lightning flashed in the distance. No thunder. However, we had scarcely hit the highway when the rain came down with such fury I could have sworn we were traveling underwater. Our friend Tom kept his cool as he drove. And I was grateful to arrive home safely.

Now I say goodbye to a friend’s granddaughter. She lived a good life. She was loved. She had autism; it did not own her. I never met the girl and yet her picture in the obituary notice draws me to her. I know her grandmother. And I understand grief. People who have special-needs folk in their lives appreciate the beauty of the bond possible with them.

I think about the wound on my Ella’s chest and wonder how long it is going to take to heal. And yet it will heal. Eventually. It only seems like an eternity.

We can’t celebrate everyone we love forever. I wish I had understood the power of each moment years ago. Actually, I wish I could carry that knowledge into the times that seem boring, difficult, or annoying. Now. As they are occurring and not later.

Intuitions are gifts. The scene at the light saved me from a serious accident. My friend’s insight saved four long-time friends from a mob in a thunderstorm. Neither incident spared me from the real world or a finite existence. Chances are tomorrow will offer opportunities to laugh, cry, get angry, enthused, embarrassed, frightened, anxious, or inspired.

I pray to cling to the gifts.

a smile from God

Read Full Post »

To find someone who will love you for no reason, and to shower that person with reasons, that is the ultimate happiness. (Robert Brault)

Several years ago Jay and I were at the Y kiddie pool with Ella when the children from the special-needs class had their outdoor time.

“Ella looks like she could be Payton’s little sister,” one of the teachers commented.

The resemblance was amazing: blonde, blue-eyed girls, both with loveable auras. I found myself watching Ella’s look-alike and telling her she was incredible, but not to drink the pool water. A grandmother’s kind of response.

Recently I met the beautiful lady who calls herself Payton’s sister. She isn’t. Sisters aren’t always this close. Bethany has babysat for Payton since she was considered legally old enough to be a responsible child. Their meeting was a coincidence, or as one of my friends calls it, a God-incidence.

Bethany’s mother delivered frozen food to people who had difficulty picking it up. She knew Payton’s family because she had worked as an assistant at her school, but had been laid off during a financial cutback. Bethany had just happened to be tagging along when her mother made the delivery.  Bethany’s mother treated each child in the school as a valuable individual. Therefore, Bethany learned respect for all persons naturally.  Three-year-old Payton could easily reach her with the beauty of her spirit. A relationship developed.

Bethany could love Payton for no reason and shower her with reasons.

Payton does not speak. When she was six years old she was tested for autism. She has both autism and Down syndrome. These limitations do not stop her from being a good friend and an A-plus example of unconditional love.

Bethany has chosen to act as Payton’s legal guardian. Will this be difficult at times? Maybe, maybe not. No worthwhile choice is without risk.

Recently I spoke to someone who doesn’t know Ella. I told her about our granddaughter’s open heart surgery. The woman nodded, with me until I mentioned Down syndrome. Then came the stepped-back oh-I’m-sorry look. Neither Ella nor Payton are their tripled chromosome any more than my essence is summed up in my height, weight, or allergic status.

Meet Bethany and Payton. And find blessings.

collage made by Bethany in honor of National Down Syndrome Day

Bethany and Payton collage

Read Full Post »

Fiction is art and art is the triumph over chaos… to celebrate a world that lies spread out around us like a bewildering and stupendous dream. (John Cheever)

My husband asks me where I would like to go on vacation.

“I have fond memories of Michigan,” I answer. “We went there when I was in grade school.”

He decides on Ontario, but knows I won’t complain. Vacation decisions are in his corner. Not only can’t I read a map that leads to our local grocery store, world exploration isn’t on my radar. Sure I had a fantastic time in Norway and Bavaria. I have a fantastic time walking in the woods, entertaining friends and family, or singing karaoke, even though I’m a soprano and the crowd is made up of half-drunk folk who would rather hear Willie Nelson. Okay, I’m not crazy about being around the inebriated. Change that scene to a senior center filled with the hearing impaired.

I am peculiar and know it. Capturing the world by visiting each place isn’t as important to me as capturing the words that explain the world. I write regularly for Piker Press. Three of my poems will appear in FOR A BETTER WORLD 2015. I have been involved with their mission for the past five years. My first novel, a middle-grade fantasy, should come out before school starts. It is being published through Post Mortem Press, a small but mighty independent publisher. The press specializes in horror, but has branches that include other works such as cozy mysteries by Patricia Gligor. Her fourth book, “Mistaken Identity,” will be coming out in about two weeks. Pat and I are in the same critique group; she is an excellent resource and a superb writer.

I will be talking more about my chapter book later.

For now I simply want to say that everyone floats a different boat. And that is okay. Sometimes, as I drive I wonder how to describe what I see—from diverse points of view. How would this roadway look to someone with a serious illness? To a man on his way to settle an important deal, or lost? I can wake up at two in the morning and be aware of a story notion before I notice that my bladder is overfull. Peculiar is probably not an adequate description. And yes, if you want to feel sorry for my husband, I understand.

“Sweetheart, I recorded a show you will really like,” he says.” Josh Groban should be on any second.”

“Okay,” I answer. “I just need to write one more line.” Always just one more line.

Who knows? Maybe one of these days I will follow every word when he explains a sports play. Stranger things have happened. He and my sons were my mentors in the first portion of my chapter book. Thanks, guys.

What makes you wake up and feel more alive?

weird writers from screenwriting u

 

Read Full Post »

Memory is more indelible than ink. (Anita Loos)

My friend C gets an A+ in the inspiration department. Several weeks ago she shared some of the challenges she faces caring for a disabled husband. Then she added a delicate and beautiful twist to her story. She added the sunshine known as gratitude and then rain fell—from my eyes. I haven’t forgotten that Tuesday morning circle with my friends.

C’s husband was once a brilliant, actually super-brilliant architect, who could play bridge or design one. Then, several years ago he developed a rare, bizarre condition. He has gradually lost the strength in his muscles as well as the strength of his mind. C cares for him night and day. Dialogue, true conversation, belongs to the past.

While C lives with complications, distractions, aggravations, and opportunities to scream-into-the-sky-about-the-injustices-of-life, she is one of the most balanced individuals I know. Perhaps this is because C gives because that is who she is. Sure, she would probably admit that life with someone who is becoming-a-child-but-doesn’t-know-it is something like trying to tame a rabid wolverine. But she maintains a sense of humor.

She watches her husband and sees the past, knows that those years are a real, tangible part of who they are now. Some of those times were serious, some tender, some humorous. It would not be fair for me to share those moments in a public forum, nor would it be necessary. Finding the human in all three categories isn’t difficult.

In my life some events were tragic, but something good happened later that never would have occurred if I had not walked that path. Moreover, the next oasis became sweeter. Then again some situations I thought would stand forever lasted as long as a puddle after a summer storm.

As I write these words and think about C, I mentally make a gratitude list. Okay, maybe that should be a written list so that the next time my own opportunities to scream-into-the-sky-about-the-injustices-of-life appears it won’t take as long for my stress level to decrease.

That need becomes amplified when another friend, J, stops by with a load of stuffed animals and children’s books for my grandchildren. J and I are almost the same age, born two weeks apart. Her husband has always been a kind, intelligent man. I enjoy being around him. A fellow writer. He is eleven years older than she is—no longer old from my point of view. He has been diagnosed with dementia. It is in the early stages. Hopefully medication will slow the inevitable process.

In the meantime he is focusing on his garden, creating something alive and beautiful in his own back yard. He knows, in time, he will recall nothing about it. He doesn’t know when. Perhaps snows this winter will cover more than ground next year. So J takes videos, savoring each dig, each bulb… each flower.

“Memory is more indelible than ink.” For some, not for all.

Both C and J celebrate life on a deep level. Not the kind of celebration that calls for the clicking of glasses and loud music, the kind that calls for a wonder about the past and an awareness of the sacredness of the present.

ever had a memory Words of Wisdom

Read Full Post »

Health is the greatest gift, contentment the greatest wealth, faithfulness the best relationship. (Buddha) 

Ella’s daddy wants her to have a nap today. The stitches on her chest became infected. They had to be surgically repaired last week. She needs to catch up on her sleep and recover. Ella, however, has a different plan. I lie down next to her because we don’t have a bed for her. Napping at our house is not part of time-with-grandparents routine.

I had told her it was time to sleep and she told me it wasn’t dark out.

“Nap, Ella, not nighttime.”

She grins. I know what tactic she is forming so I open the book we just got from the library and begin to read. She decides she wants to tell the story.

This is a ploy, but I want to hear her version. She flips the pages back and forth and makes faces at me. Yep, I was right. Our granddaughter wants me to laugh, actually outright giggle. This will stop the possibility of sleep in the middle of a perfectly good day for play.

Oh, why was I made out of malleable wet sand when it comes to my grandchildren? I try to keep my lips set into a serious straight line, something like holding back the water from a burst pipe with a paper bag.

“Okay, sleep time,” I say.

“Night, night, Mawmaw,” Ella says, at least a hundred times—in different tones. “I love you,” she finally says.

“I love you, too,” I respond.

Then she makes a tent of the book over my face. I finally laugh. She has won. She giggles and I want to hug her forever.

You are ornery and sneaky, little girl, I think. But I wouldn’t change anything about you—even if I could.

“Uh, the nap was a bust,” I tell my husband and see disappointment in his face. We didn’t follow instructions. Okay, I didn’t follow directions. But they required willingness from another participant who didn’t want to miss one minute of the day.

I am so glad Ella’s heart is now working properly. Her spirit has always shone, even with a blocked valve, and her ability to find contentment in the simple inspires me.

Chances are I won’t seek employment as chief disciplinarian anywhere. This story wouldn’t fit well in the resume. But the position of Grandma, also known as Mawmaw, works just fine for now.

Actually, I feel somewhat honored.

listen to your heart

Read Full Post »

Happiness is holding someone in your arms and knowing you hold the whole world. (Orhan Pamuk)

Recent talk among several groups of friends has centered on gratitude. I don’t take it as a coincidence. Ella grins at me as she watches several versions of “five little monkeys jumping on the bed” on YouTube. “Oh dear,” she says as each one falls. Falling is forbidden for her at the moment. The stitches in her chest are deep; they will heal from the inside-out and that will take time. The best recovery in a lot of areas begins as an inside job. I put my arm around her and know I hold the whole world.

Small details jump out at me: the pink edging around her shoes, the smallness of her body and hands, the sunshine white-blond of her comb-resistant hair, even the yogurt stains on her jeans.

Her seven-year-old cousin arrives and without a word Ella lifts her t-shirt and shows Rebe her scar. No whimpering. This is a statement of fact. Rebe looks at me, her eyebrows raised, but she doesn’t speak either. She gives Ella a kiss on the cheek. The children seem to know this is answer enough.

Play continues. Pretend games, a mock form of hide-and-seek, i Pad entertainment. Lots of giggles. Running, monitored and limited in a small house.

My memory goes back to a time when I was in water aerobics class. The news had been fresh that our youngest granddaughter would have Down syndrome, an A/V canal defect and duodenal atresia. At that moment we saw our granddaughter as someone who had not yet been born. So far all we knew were problems, unseen and vague roadblocks, the kind that lead many women toward abortion. Ella had not yet seen her parents’ faces and no one had seen hers.

I recall following aerobic moves as a song played in the background. It was only a rhythmic drum beat. I was seeing the rest room doors behind the instructor, not the instructor. I knew our granddaughter would be a girl—that was all. And the rest of what I understood was surrounded with fear. I wanted to know more than the skirted figure on the door of the restroom could tell, and I didn’t want to know.

Now I look into Ella’s eyes and see sapphire blue, a hint of humor, a ton of strength, and a spirit the angels could emulate. Yes, our little girl has been through more surgery in her short life than I have in my almost 69 years. Yet, she accepts the next day as another experience, not the morning after.

“May I sit next to you, Ella?” I ask.

She smiles. A lot of words aren’t always necessary. Sometimes they get in the way of a simple message. Love loses its beauty when it is over-defined.

learning to be brave and patient

 

Read Full Post »

Spring is the time of plans and projects. (Leo Tolstoy)

My husband bought a mini Sequoia tree when we visited California last year. The seedling made it through the winter inside the house. The giant, ancient trees have lived to be three thousand years old—but not in the Midwestern United States. The bark may be fire resistant. But I’m not so sure the bi-polar temperatures of our region fit the needs of a Sequoia of any age. Two weeks ago layered clothing was a good idea. The air carried enough chill to make a polar bear feel at home. Today shorts and t-shirts are suitable attire.

Jay put baby Sequoia in the sun to soak up some rays. Unfortunately baby has been losing both color and a few limbs. Now it stands as a tiny, slender six-inch stick that could be mistaken for a pine twig blown into the ground after a storm. We both walk by baby. I won’t speak my thoughts. Jay loves this plant. If it survives I will call it Lazarus II. Jay takes care of the botanist life in our world. Plastic flowers may not be safe under my care. I have better luck feeding human creatures. I can intuit people needs more easily.

One morning as I am leaving the house I see a speck of green in the pot, not on the dried brown twig, but a few inches away. It is barely a quarter of an inch long and green as new grass. The new growth wears the same miniscule spikes that jut from its dried clay-pot mate.

Hope has been born. Tiny. One seed the size of an oatmeal flake can fail for the same reasons any seed doesn’t make it. When we were in one of the California national forests I took a picture of a game wheel that could be spun to discover whether or not your fantasy seed would survive to maturity or not. Would it land onto a rock, become bird food, or travel all the way into the ground and thrive?

Within hours the flash of green in the Sequoia pot yields to sudden summer heat and bends over. I lift it with my pinky, a useless move, probably causing more harm than good. Perhaps I touched it with my black thumb—don’t know.

Possibilities abound. I don’t think about them often. Even the circumstances that make each individual unique are amazing. Perhaps if my mother had conceived at another time a different sperm would have grabbed another egg and created a tall, blue-eyed boy who grew up to be as bald as a chunk of granite but learned to pitch a 90mph fast ball… or a gardener who would never allow a tiny sequoia to die. Okay, the sports hero stuff is unlikely in my family, but I like the notion. It’s a moot point from a realistic point of view, but a glorious one from a gratitude perspective. I am who I am and that needs to be sufficient. The fact of existence is in itself miraculous.

Dead sequoia should have gone out with the yard waste pick-up this morning. Then again, there’s always that fresh little sprout that could appear, even for a moment, even for that one miraculous, celebratory moment.

win big Sequoia seed

Read Full Post »

Man has never made any material as resilient as the human spirit. (Bernard Williams)

I have just shared the news that my youngest granddaughter is doing extremely well. Her joy has leaked into me. All is well in my world. However, within minutes I learn that all is not well in another person’s world.

I greet the young woman I introduced in my April 14 post: A Child’s Wish: I Hope You Never Git Hert. She tells me she has stage-four cancer. My hug feels tense, overprotective; I wanted to relay hope, a huge cancer-crushing hope. She ran a marathon last week. That run was her choice. Chemotherapy doesn’t fit anyone’s desire.

I would reach for a second hug-try, but the lack lies within me, not within her. I haven’t processed her news yet. This can’t be real—it is. I sense frailty in her body and I want to change it. Make her well. Now.

Platitudes go nowhere. But I tell her that I thought about her at two in the morning again last night. I did. Perhaps she had taken part in an immediately forgotten dream. It doesn’t matter. Something about her inspires me. An ordinary kind of sacred. I suspect that this girl is planting seeds in people simply by being herself. She demonstrates how courage works, but the kind of growth she initiates in others doesn’t necessarily appear until later—sometimes years.

Philosophical banter is too lofty for someone who is suffering. It isn’t what she needs right now. I tell her once again that she is incredible. She smiles, briefly, as if a little light has gotten through to the part of her that doesn’t see her beauty. Enough for now maybe. Incredible is such a vague word. It doesn’t say as much as I want it to express. At some place every analogy limps. My words can only be a representation of a thought, chosen to celebrate a spirit I want to see thrive as long as possible, the life of a common hero.

She is that hero, with seeds left to plant… and she knows the fight is never easy.

 

Heroes Jodi P PIQ

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »