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Posts Tagged ‘appreciation’

Thanks, Thad

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on February 23, 2015| 3 Comments »

When you get into a tight place and everything goes against you, till it seems as though you could not hang on a minute longer, never give up then, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn. (Harriet Beecher Stowe)

As a writer my laptop and printer are something like hands and eyes—absolute essentials. I have been having some difficulty with my Internet service and so I called support. The woman at the end of the line stopped thanking me for my patience within minutes. Possibly because she needed to hold onto her own endurance. After all she was talking to a woman from the days of carbon paper and the manual typewriter. No, I do not have fond memories of tearing up a full page of print because of a typo on the last line. But, I have not grown up with the full terminology that younger folk have either.

“Now type these numbers into the long center line,” she directs.

This statement is ambiguous. There are two lines. Naturally I choose the wrong one. She asks what I see.

“Yahoo.”

“Uh, no,” she says. “We are not on the same page.” 

I would love to turn the page. I just don’t have a clue how to do it. I’m Curious George flying the plane and the Control Tower is giving directions to a monkey at a panel full of switches. Eventually, the task is completed. My computer has a new name and password. However, I do not discover that my printer and laptop aren’t speaking to one another anymore until after my tech assistance call has ended.

I call a friend, a teacher who doesn’t have school today because of the weather. He suggests getting a cord between our Wi-Fi box and printer, at least temporarily until he can come to our house and negotiate peace with our desktop equipment.

As Jay and I are facing the cold we see our new neighbor, Thad. Jay tells him about our woes.

“Really?” he says, and then hesitates. “Have you got a minute? I can look at it.”

“Sure.”

Are you kidding? A techni-smart angel appears at exactly the right moment? How can I not have a minute?

We traipse ice and snow inside and Thad finds no place to put a connector into our printer. It is 100% Wi-Fi. I hadn’t found a place either, but our friend had insisted there had to be one. Soooo, I figured he would find it if we didn’t. In some secret flap maybe. Like a hidden passageway behind a bookcase. I wouldn’t know.

Thad sits down and plugs in a series of numbers. I recognize some of them. My tech-help person had led me into a similar hidden chamber not that long ago. Thad’s fingers fly from site to site with the precision of a concert pianist. Soon, he tells printer what it needs to know to make up with laptop again. My electronic world is one big happy family again.

I am so ecstatic I hug Thad. Jay gives him a bottle of champagne.

Thad’s appearance could have been coincidence, some lucky serendipity. Then again, it could have been a divine gift of some kind, an ordinary blessing easily overlooked. But hopefully, not easily forgotten.

Thanks, Thad! Welcome to the neighborhood.

press the any key

 

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Goodbye, See You Later

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 18, 2015| 8 Comments »

You’re going to come across people in your life who will say all the right words at all the right times. But in the end, it’s always their actions, not words, that matter. (Nicholas Sparks)

Snow was predicted for today, but I expected a token inch or so. Our street, finally plowed yesterday afternoon, is now hidden. In the semi-darkness of early morning the white bitterness seems to explode its message; winter has won this battle. When the phone rings before eight in the morning I know what I will hear before I answer. The call comes from two states away, where it isn’t seven in the morning yet. My sister-in-law has not called to chat.

My mother-in-law has left her physical body in Midwestern winter and joined a higher, temperature-free dimension. As I look outside again I realize that like the February snow, Mary’s death was inevitable. But, I thought my spirit would be better prepared. Winter will end. This goodbye is final. At least from a limited five-senses point of view.

The first bird I see at the bird feeder is a female cardinal. The cardinal is a symbol of a visitor from the next dimension. Next, two more cardinals arrive. They don’t stay long. They feed and then fly into our blue spruce.

I think about the transience of life’s experience and that thought leads into disconnected memories:

I see my mother-in-law’s move from a more affluent neighborhood to a less wealthy one, not because she needs to do it, but because she sees a mission there, a house closer to her church. My vision follows the many people Mary invites into her home, the folk who stay for a while and then leave, changed somehow because of her welcoming…

Next my memory revisits the day when my younger son has tied a towel around his neck as a cape. He is two days shy of his third birthday and he is playing superman. He tries to fly off a chair, but his fantasy doesn’t transfer into reality. He has sustained a concussion. I don’t have a car. My mother-in-law drops what she is doing and takes me and superman junior to the hospital. Then she waits until after Steve is treated before bringing us home. Mary and Son-number-two are buddies. They have been since he was an infant…

Mary and Son-number-two’s daughter are also buddies. Nana is now declining. Ella pretends to be a bear. Nana pretends to be frightened. The game continues.

And so does today’s snow—along with a deep and penetrating cold. No, I could not ask Mary to stay on this earth with a body that is no longer able to contain her incredible spirit. She needed to leave it. The human Methuselah-model has not yet been designed. I said goodbye to Mary the last time I saw her, and I meant it. However…there is always a however. My generous attitude was aimed toward her, not me.

Another cardinal stops for a bite to eat before taking off.

Okay, how do I rephrase goodbye? See you in the next dimension, Mary. I don’t know when. But in the meantime, you have an enormous number of people asking about you. So long. Peace, beautiful lady!

cardinal, symbol of visiting past loved one

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Almost there, then… Crash!

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 12, 2015| 1 Comment »

Life is a foreign language; all men mispronounce it. (Christopher Morley)

Adult places have not been designed for under-five-feet-tall individuals. I cling to my one-half inch under five-feet-tall status, as if every fraction counted. But my height remains lacking as I reach into my cupboard—it’s like almost making it across a river.

While I notice a lack of patience in other people it could be because I need to be in constant motion to satisfy my own need for accomplishment. I have my med box for the week on the counter because it is within easy reach. This is not a great idea when I am almost crawling on the counter to get to a top shelf to return some glass containers.

The scattering of tablets and capsules on the floor is not really a pretty sight. I suppose I should be glad the glass containers didn’t fall and shatter as well. I am grateful that I just scrubbed the floor because I extend the five-second rule a tad. Medications are not necessarily cheap. I’m surprised expletive-deleted-plus doesn’t fall from my lips like balloons from an R-rated comic strip. Those boxes had just been filled! And yes, this is a comical scene. At my expense.

Jay reaches down to help me, but he has been washing dishes. His hands are wet. Not a good thing for red multivitamins. Wet hands are a good thing for dishes. And a husband who does them is fantastic.

Why did I have to play clumsy short person on a day when a turkey waits on the kitchen table for me to finish carving it? Besides, while preparing stir-fry I dropped little bits of cauliflower all over the floor, and they mimic baby aspirin. I already have enough to do!

At first I try to pick up meds and sort them into trays at the same time. Nope. This will not work. Sloooow down, Terry. Time to re-group. One thing at a time. This is also time to laugh at myself.

Perhaps I learned something at a presentation by Judy Towne Jennings, PT, MA at the Y yesterday. Judy cared for her husband who suffered with Lewy Body Dementia, a terminal illness that begins with Parkinson symptoms. Humor made his last days not only tolerable, but brought out the beauty in both of their lives.

Positive thinking is already a primary focus in my blogs. However, reminders are necessary. Just as it is necessary to eat nutritious meals, exercise, and watch both ways while crossing the street.

I don’t write these entries because I have all the answers. Actually, the folk who claim to be all-knowing make me want to escape via the closest exit. I write because the foreign aspects of existence are intriguing, and the mistakes and side trips lead to fascinating serendipity. When Judy admitted flaws I was more likely to recall what she had to say.

Here’s to this crazy mixed-up moment, and all the goodness that can come from it—no matter how it is pronounced or mispronounced.

humor in difficult situations pic of Kermit

 

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Chatting With Cecelia

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 8, 2015| 3 Comments »

Friends are those rare people who ask how we are, and then wait to hear the answer. (Ed Cunningham) 

My mind is in my usual run-faster-than-the-clock mode even as I browse through Facebook, something I do for relaxation. I see a message from my new friend, Cecelia. How was your day?

I envision my invisible to-do list, the one that doesn’t place chores and goals in tangible order. It lumps them together, landfill style. I frequently need to stop and re-think my next step. Sure, I have occasionally created lists. However, I tend to lose them or leave them on my dresser while I am on some phase of the day’s plans, miles outside the reach of that paper.

Yet, as I read CeCe’s message I smile. My day has been good, touched by both minor accomplishments and everyday blessings.

Our chat begins with ordinary-life talk, slips into the sublime, and picks up laughs along the way. We travel through the past, present, and future. I notice how the lag between each bubble-of-talk creates comical miscommunications, misplaced antecedents, confusing new topics. They can be easily explained, but are nevertheless humorous. I wish that these misunderstandings could be settled as simply in the real world.

Chat is new to me. Sure, I’ve used Messenger on Facebook—for one-time statements. It is simple on the computer because I am familiar with the full-sized keyboard on my laptop. Besides, my cell is a  basic flip-top. No Internet service. As Cecelia and I tap sentence after sentence I ease into a new age. We will meet in person again. Soon. I hope. However, for now the wrinkles around my neck fade and her fresh twenty-seven years move closer to my sixty-eight. She is wise beyond her age. Our spirits understand one another. She is beautiful both inside and out. And I am blessed by her openness.

Seconds advance into minutes… a half hour… I will save some of my impossibly vague list for tomorrow. Other tasks need to be crossed off my invisible agenda today. For example, a shirt left in the dryer for an hour may be wrinkled; overnight the cloth could resemble a salt-dough-map of the Himalayas. Boiling eggs explode to the ceiling when the water in the pot evaporates.  I only needed to do that once to learn not to do it again.

Eventually I write, Good night. Talk to you later.

Then, we chat just a little bit longer, a few extra words, one more shared smile.

Some gifts need to be savored.

how awesome you are

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A Road Delay, Gratitude, and a Dr. Seuss Book

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 4, 2015| 2 Comments »

Cultivate the habit of being grateful for every good thing that comes to you, and to give thanks continuously. And because all things have contributed to your advancement, you should include all things in your gratitude. (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

Most of our six-hour drive home has been calm. I imagine being one with a flock of geese traveling in a V-pattern above the flat Midwestern farmland. Some sun, some gray clouds, but little traffic. Even an expected construction delay turns into a minor build-up no worse than what we experience in low-trafficked business districts.

Then we arrive at the bridge that borders our home state from the south. Night is approaching. Brake lights are lined up in a queue long enough to mimic an infinite miniature Milky Way set in rows. Cars move under school-zone-limit speed. Jay seems less irritated than I expect him to be. However, he has spent the last week watching his mother deteriorate, her body and spirit preparing to separate. I place one hand on his knee.

We are so near, and yet so far from home. And then we see a tow truck easing along the side of the road. An accident has caused this backup. We are sure of it. However, we don’t learn the severity of the situation until the morning newspaper arrives.

Hours before we arrived at this part of the Interstate, a multiple-vehicle crash had occurred. At least four people were injured. Even a 2,000-gallon tank truck had been flipped over. The bridge had been closed for two hours.

I had wanted to leave my brother-in-law’s house earlier. But he had been kind enough to fix breakfast for us. The preparation and clean-up had taken longer than expected. Jay had been at the house a week longer than I had. We needed to bring home more stuff—and inventory a fuller car.

Now, as I sort laundry and put our toothbrushes back where they belong I find a small surprise among the packed items: a children’s book, Dr. Seuss’s “Butter Battle Book.” It looks familiar. As I open to the first page I see my younger son Steve’s name illustrated in outlined block letters, definitely his work more than two decades ago. His younger out-of-town cousins, now grown, read the book when they were small. Now Steve’s daughter will enjoy it. Good words passed on.

Good actions can be passed on as well. Not every day will save me from closed passageways. But inside each moment the seed of a possible blessing hides. And waits for the opportunity to be discovered, and sent in unknown directions…

happy thankful Optimism Revolution

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Inside the Wait

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 27, 2015| 5 Comments »

The key to everything is patience. You get the chicken by hatching the egg, not by smashing it. (Arnold Glasow)

My husband and I are sitting in a customer service office in our bank. Jay says that we are trying to get some financial business started early because he will be out of town for a few days. His mother is ill, in hospice. He is going to visit her. The bank’s representative listens and understands what he is trying to do.

Jay adds that our youngest granddaughter was supposed to have open heart surgery at the end of this month. That was postponed. Our little one contracted bronchitis. She will be at too high a risk for complications to proceed with the operation now.

The bank representative pauses and then asks, “Is it okay if I pray for your mother and granddaughter?”

I’m surprised, taken aback in a pleasant way.

“Of course,” I answer, tears in check. “We’ll take all the positive energy we can get.”

Our entire family and Ella’s many friends wait with reluctance for Ella’s surgery because we want the ordeal to be completed. Done. Part of a long-ago past. We want results now. Preferably yesterday. Ella’s power is awesome to watch. At the age of five she has admirers of all ages. Down syndrome may prevent her from developing an over-sized ego. It does not prevent her from spreading joy. She needs a membrane removed that is interfering with the function of her physical heart. Her social heart is intact.

My mother-in-law’s family and friends wait for her passing and hold onto the memories of all she has given as well as celebrate all she is and was: Mary, the strong outspoken woman who was director of social services at a now-closed psychiatric hospital; the social activist; the woman who took people into her home and gave free counseling; the grandmother who bonded with my boys while I worked at a hospital pharmacy.

She will be 95 on February 28 ½ if she rallies. Yes, she was a leap-year baby who learned to turn elongated celebration into an art form.

I talk to her on the phone and she thanks me for the soup I sent.

“You made this?” she asks. “What’s in it?”

“It comes from boiled turkey bones with some extra chicken broth. Plenty of garlic. Rice. Glad you like it.” I don’t go into detail about all of the ingredients. They don’t matter. This isn’t a how-to discussion.

I give soup to heal. In this case it would take more than broth-simmered-all-day to repair a body too worn to journey any longer. I sent the soup for taste and warmth, a hug in a mug. True, chicken soup does provide electrolytes as well as the protein, carnosine. Homemade soup is a potent liquid. But it won’t add a significant number of days to my mother-in-law’s life.

Waiting—for a passing and for a surgery. Very few people win patience awards. And no one can see inside the fertilized egg for tomorrow’s possibilities. Even the chicken doesn’t know what the outside world looks like.

I don’t drink alcohol, so I lift my coffee cup for a toast to today, to whatever blessings it brings. To hope, serendipity, rain, rainbows, and the unseen. Since waiting is inevitable, may it be blessed.

dove and rainbow PIQ

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Resilient Like Ella, Humble Like Barb

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 21, 2015| 1 Comment »

I am a tiny seashell
that has secretly drifted ashore
and carries the sound of the ocean
surging through its body. (Edward Hirsch)

I may not live anywhere close to the ocean, but the ocean-sounds of my experiences remain in the short seashell-body of who I am. They hide in anyone old enough to have a past.

Yes, free will exists, but often knee-jerk reaction comes from expected hurt or rejection that has nothing to do with the moment; it involves long-ago scars formed in the evaporated sea of the past.

The love and acceptance of others creates fresh memories and the ability to see beauty—inside and outside of our shells. There are people who walk the earth who don’t know they are angels. They bring enough light for others to see beyond the expected.

Ella’s soft pink animal-print blanket lies over a chair for show—so that it can be photographed. The blanket was made to comfort her, to keep her warm during a time that promises to be difficult. Her open-heart surgery is scheduled for January 30. The large flannel square is a gift, offered by a woman who doesn’t know our little girl. Barb may or may not have seen a picture of our granddaughter. She gives because that is what she does. I told her I included photos of her creativity in my blogs. I don’t think she has ever looked at them. Praise is not her goal. A simple thank-you suffices.

I now want to be resilient like Ella and humble like Barb. I know Barb’s last name because I have finally been introduced to this gentle angel, but if anonymity serves her intentions, then publishing her first name is stretching it as far as I dare.

Once upon a time I recall being in a retreat group that was asked a rhetorical question. “What would the world be like if you hadn’t been in it?” The second question develops from the first: “What persons have touched your lives in a special way, yet never knew they blessed it?” That question was given more time.

Those people continue to arrive. And I suspect that if I am busy enough with gratitude there won’t be as much room for resentment and worry.

The sound of the ocean surges inside my metaphorical seashell. And sometimes it remembers storms; other times it recalls gentle waves and warm water. It explores each grain of sand underneath it, and knows it is not alone.

blanket made by Barb

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A Broken Light Switch and Blessed Serendipity

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on January 14, 2015| 4 Comments »

Celebrate the happiness that friends are always giving, make every day a holiday and celebrate just living! (Amanda Bradley)

Jay and I stand in Home Depot at the light switch display. Every possible way light can be electrically connected is available here. We know one—on and off. An IKEA-sized space has been condensed and moved to one wall, at least a story high, and the focus is switches. This is not the for-dummies section.

Our younger son, Steve, is stopping to replace the broken switch—after work and before he picks up his daughter from daycare. “It’s a simple job,” he said. Steve’s time is limited, probably more limited than our ability to wield a screwdriver. Jay and I look at one another like two kids lost in a New York City crowd. Then Jay sees a man in an orange shirt. I notice that the color is not Home-Depot bright, but Jay has already asked him for help. Apparently, a divine directive has been given to my hubby and not to me because this young man happens to be an electrician, off work today because of rain. Actually the morning started with the freezing variety. Patches linger.

I feel no weather warning inside my being from this man. He asks what color our switch is. I never would have expected the question. “Uh, white?” Is there any other color? As Chuck points out the items on the wall he explains the use for off-white switches. I am so overwhelmed the explanation floats from one ear directly through to the other and out, immediately forgotten. Then he fishes the one we need from the cheap bin; it costs sixty nine cents. He tells us what else we will need and helps us find a wire tester. We choose the least expensive, and he agrees that for our purposes that would be sufficient.

“What would it cost for an electrician to repair this?” Jay asks. As we have been walking the aisles he has been telling Chuck about how our loyal son is doing the job for us after work, squeezing in time that doesn’t exist.

Chuck shrugs. “It depends upon experience.” We discover the range is anywhere from twenty to fifty dollars. He pauses and shrugs. “I could do it for twenty, after I leave here.”

We agree to meet at the checkout. While we wait an employee expresses concern for our safety in this uncertain world. Jay and I don’t know any more than this man’s first name. And I asked for that. While the employee has a point, I have been watching Chuck’s body language. He had no idea we would be asking him to do anything. He never avoided eye contact. And with my height, that is a considerable glance downward for anyone who doesn’t shop in the super-short shop. Moreover, our fellow shopper had no obligation to help us in the first place.

Chuck finishes the job in no time. Jay gives him an additional five. Chuck notices that the extra light bulb package we bought contains one cracked bulb, apparently dropped and then put back on the shelf. Divine protection is aware someone else needs assurance.

Jay and I decide to return to the Y to work out, our original second destination, after a trip to exchange the light bulbs. We see the same cashier. Apparently she has been worrying that she could be seeing our faces on the six-o’clock news, although she doesn’t say that directly. Instead she appears grateful, and the story she has told to fellow workers about two trusting senior citizens can have a happy ending.

Yes, yes, the world holds murderers, thieves, and folk who have souls boiling with hate and fear. Then again there are people living ordinary lives, caring, making mistakes now and then, yet moving from moment to moment, making each day a bit better because they are in it. Chuck just happens to belong in the second category. I have no way to thank him again directly, so I need to pass on some kindness in another way. Chances are I won’t need to look far.

Peace to all, today and always.

believing something amazing is about to happen

 

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Havoc and Peace

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 10, 2015| 6 Comments »

A wise man adapts himself to circumstances, as water shapes itself to the vessel that contains it. (Chinese Proverb) 

As I read an e-mail message with bad news that gives me chills, I wish I could be like the broadcaster who tells about a mass shooting and then shifts to a story about an adorable newborn zoo baby without missing a beat. Something incredibly ugly rises from the page as I follow each word; it haunts me.

Later I discover that the story wasn’t true. The truth is even worse because the lie had been designed to hurt and that hurt spread to the friend who sent me the message. However, her e-mail had asked for prayer—and I can’t rescind the positive thought I sent out into the universe. In fact, I wish I could have doubled it.

I don’t have permission to reveal either the lie or the truth, but any horrid example from the universal store of inequities would do. Besides, further reaction exacerbates the problem.

Sometimes when I hear the word outrage used to refer to a situation, personal or political, little warning signals flash inside my being. Anger can lead to action: an increased awareness, energy, gifts of money or time. But outrage triggers war. I’m-right-you-are-wrong yields more I’m-right-you-are-wrong, not a solution.

The multiple awful situations the world offers lose their power as I turn my attention toward the blessed places in my life. My youngest granddaughter’s speech is improving. She lives hope and love—it exudes from her like warmth from a furnace in Midwestern January. She has given her two older cousins sufficient example to affect their lives. They respect everyone. Down syndrome, autism, physical handicaps are superficial in their eyes. Kate and Rebe see deeper, into hearts.

The people who wreak havoc have hearts, too,—somewhere—often so injured even they can’t find them anymore. I wish I had answers for them, and for us who are surrounded by the damage they cause. I don’t know how to soften stone. But I know peace takes time. Peace may flow in my words, but I have to work toward it as hard as everyone else does when injustice affects the people I love.

The next message I read or hear could bring good news. There is always that very real possibility. Yesterday I listened to my two sons laugh and banter, as friends, allies. And I celebrated the moment. Today a little girl giggles as her grandmother leads her through the water at the Y. I feel the goodness of their moment through the waves.

Water, ego-less, shape-free, open to sea, pool, or sewer.

Peace and hope to all, wherever you may be.

hope

 

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Toppled Tree and a Day Back in Time

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 3, 2015| 5 Comments »

Giving opens the way for receiving. (Florence Scovel Shinn)

The cord to the tree lights is a tad out of my reach. Sure, I could ask Jay to help, but he is in the middle of working on our finances. The two older grandchildren will be here any minute. I’d like to greet Kate and Rebe with some sparkle from the tree, up for only a few more days. Str-e-e-tch your short body, Terry, one more inch, one m-o-o-o-o-re…

Maybe not such a good idea. Crash! My son is pulling into the driveway. The girls run to the front door. They are greeted by broken glass and scattered ornaments. Son number one is going to be late for work. And he can blame it on his clumsy mama. Fortunately, he doesn’t waste time with unnecessary words. He sets the tree upright and leaves with a pleasant good-bye, see-you-later as I get the garbage can and Kate cracks the eggs for breakfast.

Electricity becomes the un-theme of the day after Kate becomes enthralled with a battery-operated candle flame and tiny glass lantern. She decides we will pretend to be a pre-modern-appliance-aged family. We weave our own clothes, plant and grow our own fruits and vegetables, as well as maintain an orchard, an old artificial pine with a few wayward branches in the real world. The television and iPad remain off for most of the day.

Some exquisitely embroidered pillows, a precious and unexpected late Christmas gift to the girls, also become an important part of the game. They provide portable bedding—the pillows travel from one-room cabin to tent to wagon train as the day progresses. The photo below was taken under a sheet tent made with the dining room chairs as posts.

“Don’t you want to go out somewhere today?” I ask the girls.

“No, we want to stay here and play, they both answer.

“Besides,” Kate adds. “Cars haven’t been invented yet.” Okay, so the answer is something of an anachronism, but if our house is a suitable playground, I guess I really can’t complain, even if the day did begin with a broken-glass cleanup. The tree comes down by the feast of the Epiphany anyway. The fun, I’m hoping, lives here.

pillows from Nora

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