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Posts Tagged ‘gratitude’

Learning Heart, The Rest Is Incidental

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on November 23, 2012| 1 Comment »

The trees that are slow to grow bear the best fruit. (Jean-Baptiste Poquelin Molière, actor and playwright, 1622-1673)

Eight-year-old Kate calls the day before Thanksgiving to talk to Grandma. She wants to know what her cousin Ella has done today, especially anything funny. I’m getting ready for the big feast, so I don’t have all three of my grandchildren at the house on my usual Wednesday. Sure, it would be difficult to prepare with three active kids in the house, but I miss the precious presence of the other two children.

I tell Kate about how I found Ella’s shoes on Barney, the Dinosaur. It’s the kind of story she wants to hear. Later I learn this game was initiated by Grandpa, but it doesn’t matter. It makes Kate laugh.

Ella reaches for the phone. She’s been out of the loop too long. I put the conversation on speaker, and then let our youngest granddaughter communicate, in her own way. She kisses the receiver. Blessings fill the air.

After Ella reluctantly gives up the phone, Kate tells me about someone she knows who is pregnant. The baby may have Down syndrome. The parents are waiting for test results; they are frightened. I am amazed at my granddaughter’s adult understanding. She knows what a joy her cousin is—and yet, she recognizes the difficulties of caring for a child with special needs.

Ella tries to climb onto the television stand. “No!” I call to her. She stops before I get to her, and I am grateful, but I am also glad she is extending her horizons.

It’s been a long haul since our little one was born seven weeks early, facing two surgeries before she was three months old: one for duodenal atresia and the other for an A/V canal defect. The second meant open heart surgery.

When her heart was cut open, our hearts were, too. The entire family learned what was important and what wasn’t. We continue to grow with her, to share enthusiasm when Ella points to the first letter of her name and pronounces “E” clearly. No, we probably won’t have a Harvard graduate. But a positive attitude teacher? Definitely.

“See you tomorrow, Kate. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Grandma.”

I’m not sure much of anything else matters.

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Learning in the Key of B Positive

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on November 18, 2012| 2 Comments »

He who is afraid to ask is ashamed of learning. (Danish proverb)

I grew up in the age of carbon paper and typewriters, when term papers meant staying up until one in the morning, bleary eyed. An error always occurred at the bottom of the page. It couldn’t be erased, and the entire page needed to be retyped. The backspace key had not been invented yet. But tears had been. They flowed freely. If only. . . If only my fingers wouldn’t falter I could get an A-plus in Ancient History. Maybe. Who knows? At least that was my fantasy.

The single light bulb above Dad’s old manual burned as dimly as my enthusiasm by page five. Intelligent thought faded into the carbon paper by the end of the assignment. Black. My future looked black.

Now writing five pages, at least from an efficiency point of view, isn’t such a chore. However, my understanding of my precious computer comes from a brain born in the technological dinosaur era. My three-year-old granddaughter with Down syndrome discovered how to get Facebook for five cents a minute on my cell phone while I was in the bathroom at a hotel in St. Louis. We are talking less than two minutes! I had no idea my I-don’t-even-text phone could do that.

Life is a mystery. So are the 0’s and 1’s that draw me to the computer, even when I should be doing something else. Actually, the keyboard draws me especially when I should be doing something else.

I ask questions. And don’t want you-do-it-for-me. Well, not unless the problem is so knotted even a genius needs to confide in the next genius up.

Now, my word processor is giving me new challenges. One of my best friends gave me one answer, then another problem took its place. I have thought about chucking my precious laptop and printer out the window. However, that could be counterproductive, to say nothing of a mess to clean up in the yard.

Does anyone else fight with technology?

(I suspect this photo, found in an e-mail sent by a friend, is strictly a set-up. At least I hope it is.)

Image

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Trial and Error, Error, Error. . .

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , on November 10, 2012| 1 Comment »

Experience is a good teacher, but she sends in terrific bills.  (Minna Antrim)

Okay, I could tab to indent on my computer a few minutes ago. What happened? The cursor thinks a new paragraph begins toward the end of the line. Sure, the story I’m writing is fantasy, but the wild and unusual is supposed to remain within the context of the tale, not jump out into the keyboard.

So far I haven’t figured out how to fix it. In the meantime I count spaces and try to refrain from cursing—at least out loud. Impatience can be costly. More than once I have experienced the Lewis Carroll quote, “The hurrier I go, the behinder I get.”  Several days ago I broke our Waterpik. Cracked an attachment. With my bare arthritic hands. Amazing what a little hurry can do. Then I noticed our printer is suffering from overuse and old age. Just when I promised to print out a couple hundred-thousand pages of something. (slight hyperbole)

Patience, patience, where art thou? Perspective, you should be around here somewhere, too. They both have a tendency to hide, generally when they are most needed. These are the times when made-from-scratch cakes fall. Cups fall from shelves and break, on their own of course. And that essential map for a trip gets left on the coffee table at home.

I sigh, and then pick up my plan for our small group’s church service on Sunday. Perhaps I should look at it and see if I am missing anything since my brain’s auto pilot seems out of whack. Darn, I sure don’t have to be concerned about running out of flour and oil like the widow in l Kings 17. Oh, we aren’t rich, by any means. Open our refrigerator door and the kitchen is blocked, but we aren’t poverty-stricken either. I have a computer, satisfactory health, and the ability to help others when they need it.

Pause. Breathe. Come back to the problem later. Or get someone else to help. Maybe even learn something new.

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To Be or Not To Be—Motivated

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on October 31, 2012| 2 Comments »

Of course motivation is not permanent. But then, neither is bathing; but it is something you should do on a regular basis. (Zig Ziglar)

I have at least an hour to work but I’m tired. A nap sounds like a better idea. However, this tired is the kind that seems to feed on itself. An hour of exercise or engaged activity will pull me out of it better than time under the covers. Besides, Ella is taking a nap. Okay, she’s in bed, but talking up a storm. She’s fighting rest time, and my chances of catching a few z’s right now are about as likely as falling asleep in a tent during a hailstorm.

I have my annual Christmas story to finish. There’s always another blog to begin. Or, I could weed through my novel and get the next chapter ready for critique group. Cleaning is too noisy when there is a little one “napping.” Fine with me. I did most of that yesterday anyway. I’ll wait for phone calls until later. Maybe, just maybe our little one will jabber herself to sleep and I don’t want to interrupt that possibility.

Stay awake, Ter. Be aware. Live in this hour as much as possible. Perhaps loss is inevitable, but I’ve seen too much of old bodies locked in geri-chairs, confusion, pain controlled—maybe—yet spirit dormant, lost in the past, smiles delayed or absent. I don’t want to stare at the ceiling prematurely.

It seems too important to live without regrets, to listen to my granddaughter’s sweet voice, happy, jabbering away. She isn’t crying, indignant because she was put in bed. She sings in her own style. Today she wins. She stalls long enough to avoid sleep entirely. Oh, I suspect she will pay eventually since she is young, not invincible. For now her chi vibrates with enthusiasm and fills the low energy places in my being.

Other-people oriented folk spread peace and joy. Of course that kind of attentiveness is intangible and can’t be measured. However, just maybe, it can make the difference between being a shell in a nursing home and housing a healthy, grateful spirit. Don’t know. I can’t see inside a paralyzed body. A spirit could be doing cartwheels unnoticed.

I think about the older gentleman who watches out for my father at the nursing home. He is profoundly hard-of-hearing and doesn’t recall events that occurred ten minutes earlier. However, there is a glow in his eyes that speaks of a holy motivation. I look for him when I visit my dad. “You’re looking good today,” he says. And I wonder, hope really, that he is seeing more of my soul than my physical appearance.

I can’t say. Chances are he doesn’t know my name. His memory is far too short. Doesn’t matter. Let me learn from the old, the young, and the woman in line behind me at the grocery who helped me pack my groceries yesterday. We are in this life to learn from one another. I’m awake now. I’ll rest when I am genuinely fatigued, and get myself going when I have a bad case of just-don’t-wanna.

(pic from the Optimism Revolution)

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Two Squirrels At Sunrise

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on October 25, 2012| 1 Comment »

Darkness is an unlit wick; it just needs your touch, Beloved,

to become a sacred flame.

What sadness in this world could endure

if it looked into Your eyes?    

(Francis of Assisi)

 Morning hasn’t fully appeared. It’s autumn, that portion of the season where gold transitions into rust and darkness slowly chips away hours of light. Two squirrels chase one another in a circle in the street. I watch them as I drive in the opposite direction. I can’t guess why the squirrels have decided to argue or play in traffic. They don’t know it isn’t a good idea. I hope they get out of the way before a car comes along. But then I don’t know life’s answers. What happens appears random.

There are so many times I would like to find the wick Francis speaks about, discover light and then share it. I want to know why my youngest granddaughter was having trouble waking from a nap Wednesday afternoon. Is she getting a fever? Does she hurt somewhere? Her speech isn’t adequate yet. My eyes searched hers. We cuddled. Her small body conformed to mine. My effort didn’t feel like it could be enough. Can any human-to-human comfort bring complete healing?

Then I spoke to a friend who has experienced inexpressible loss. I can’t give her what she wants. It has been buried along with the only someone who maintained family for her. All I could give were two ears and two arms. They won’t stop the darkness from coming. In the seasons. Or in her life.

I watched my father sleep through his appointment with the eye doctor. No treatment this visit. His body has become a shell. My touch, a kiss on his forehead, has most likely been forgotten like a lost dream.

Now, as a new day begins, squirrels and people take chances. The sunrise blinds. Sunglasses help, but they make the edges of darkness even more difficult to face. The brightness makes me think of the eyes of God, too much for anyone to take in. They need to be diffused through blue sky, or through the actions of others. Any smile. . . hug. . . human gesture that never embraces the whole need. Nevertheless, it lets sadness know that it is attached to a spirit, capable of transcending any season.

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Age Three Plus Age Ninety-Two Equals Just Right

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on October 3, 2012| 2 Comments »

What is straight? A line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh, no, it’s curved like a road through mountains. (Tennessee Williams)

Two people smile at one another. One is three years old, the other ninety-two. A little girl and an older woman. The little girl, my granddaughter, blows kisses. The older woman, my mother-in-law, accepts them. A large portion of the day my mother-in-law sleeps, lost in day-long snoozes. I’ve often witnessed these in my father’s nursing home. Except this woman is in a house miles from where my family lives. Some of us have been traveling for hours to get here—through a hundred miles of construction zones, over two states.

Our little one is a good traveler. But she needs to expend pent-up energy now. Her excited voice and antics amuse her great grandmother. Ella is excellent medicine, joy in size three-toddler stretch pants.

But Great-Grandmother has been sick the past few days. What is enough company? What is wearing for both the elder and younger?

“How are you?” we adults ask.

“I’m fine,” Great-grandmother answers. “Tired.”

But then her eyes meet the spirit of three-year-old Ella, and together their hearts run across mountains the rest of us don’t see. We are mired in the duties and responsibilities of living, the middle of the journey with its endless road work and detours. They know the beginning and the end, the segments closest to God.

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The Phone Is Where?

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on September 27, 2012| 2 Comments »

Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things. (Robert Brault)

My younger son, Steve, calls Wednesday evening with an unexpected proposal. “If you can collect all your portable phones, right now, I’ll give you two-hundred dollars.”

It doesn’t take me long to figure out the search would be useless. “Ah, you’ve got one of them, right?”

“In Ella’s diaper bag.”

Now I don’t believe in false accusation, but since our little one thinks a phone belongs in the precious treasure category, circumstantial evidence is present. Fortunately, the loss causes no real harm.

“I need to go into your part of town tomorrow anyway and drop off Grandpa’s laundry. I’ll get it then.”

After a re-charge the phone should be just fine. I am grateful for the gift of communication—and for the fact that Steve’s call comes before I searched under the bed, between couch cushions, among scattered toys, finding nothing but frustration.

Instead I find a laugh, as well as the opportunity to celebrate the day again as I look through the kids’ fresh art work, the books they enjoyed, and remember the simple moments that don’t seem like much on the surface, but are part of our common history.

However, in the future I may need to check the diaper bag  for contraband.

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Happiness Is a Scribbled Chalkboard And a Good Family

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on September 23, 2012| Leave a Comment »

What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make. (Jane Goodall)

Our youngest granddaughter politely coughs into her hand. Her hand is full of blue chalk, but it’s the thought that counts. I smile at her blue face and she smiles back before she goes back to filling the chalkboard with her spontaneous creation.

She pauses and hands me a piece of yellow chalk. I get a turn, too, albeit short.

Ella has spent her first overnight with us. I’m amazed at how smoothly it went. I’m even more amazed at her mommy and daddy, Sarah and Steve. They are busy talking to Steve’s daddy right now, in our living room after Sunday breakfast. Steve and Sarah have no idea what words I’m conjuring about them—about what a blessing they are.

It isn’t always easy to care for a child who not only needs physical and occupational therapy, but has medical concerns as well. (Of course Ella helps in her own way. She has the personality of at least three angels and the heart of four.) Nevertheless, it takes time—and money to be the parent of any child with exceptional needs. My son and daughter-in-law both work; then they volunteer for the Down Syndrome Association.

This past summer Steve and Sarah earned over seven-thousand dollars and placed seventh among contributors in Greater Cincinnati for the Down Syndrome Association. Of course they had help from friends and family. My assistance was minimal. I painted a few cups for a raffle. Jay and I babysat while the more organized folk prepared a huge festival.

However, it’s the simple, everyday dedication I love most about my own family, the fact that our little one has learned to cough into her hand instead of into the air, the way she waves good-bye at preschool with three-year-old independence, the fact that she is learning the alphabet with enthusiasm.

Her development is a direct reflection on her parenting, on two of the most wonderful people in the world. Ella is blessed, and so am I.

photos taken at the Buddy Walk

at Sawyer Point in Cincinnati on September 8, 2012

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The Old-Person Corner of Kindergarten in the Jungle Gym

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on September 21, 2012| 1 Comment »

What a bargain grandchildren are! I give them my loose change, and they give me a million dollars’ worth of pleasure. (Gene Perret)

Rebe (Rebecca) and I are the only persons in the playground at two in the afternoon on a Wednesday. It’s Grandma and Rebe time, those precious moments when I take our middle granddaughter out of the house so Grandpa can get her cousin Ella ready for a nap. Then, Rebe and I will pick up Kate from school.

The playground soon turns into an imaginative world.

“Come on up to the top with me, Grandma?” Rebe calls from the other side of an orange tunnel, on a metal portion of one of the play structures.

Ordinarily I wouldn’t consider it. I mean, this stuff was designed for children between the ages of five and twelve. I hesitate mentioning how many times I have been twelve. Besides, there’s no sign mentioning weight limit. However, Rebe doesn’t have anyone else to play with.

“Okay, sweetie. But if there is any hint of a creaking sound, I’m going to have to go back.”

The wide, but low tunnel between slide and steps doesn’t groan. I’m grateful that I am barely five feet tall. Perhaps a parent or two has needed to rescue a sobbing child once in awhile. Maybe the engineer had that in mind. Nevertheless, I regret a hardy lunch.

“This is kindergarten,” she announces in her official I’m-the-teacher voice, then begins mimicking the sign language posted in one corner. Good. Reality. I can follow this, even with an almost five-year-old girl as instructor. Then Rebe says she is going to sit in the old person corner of the classroom—the entrance to the slide. (The way downhill, I guess)

“In the where?” I’m lost again.

“I’m an old person now, so that’s where I go in the kindergarten room.”

“Okay.” Rule number one in let’s-pretend interaction: Accept any scene as long as it is innocuous. “How old are you, old person?”

“Ninety-nine.”

Well, at least that truly is old. I expected her to say nineteen or twelve—or something closer to my age.

I break pretend mode and ask, “When you go to kindergarten next year, can I go with you? I didn’t get to go when I was five.”

She shrugs. “Sure.”

That game ends. Perhaps I broke the spell. We go to a bench with a steering wheel attached at ground level. Rebe is now my mother. The front and back seats merge in the imaginative world—no sense mentioning inconsistencies. That would only confirm my lack of pretending experience.

“Can I drive, Mommy?” I ask.

“No, Mommy has to do it.”

“Because it is dangerous for kids to drive?”

“Yes,” she says with mock certainty.

But I have brought too much adult truth into play. “Why is it dangerous for kids to drive?” she asks later as we leave to get her older sister.

“Because kids don’t know how to do it yet.”

But that doesn’t mean you aren’t someone now, I think. That what you know, decides much of anything. Sometimes simply being is enough. I notice that the tightness in the back of my neck from weeks of stress, has relaxed.

“I love you, Grandma.”

“I love you, too.”

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