Bared to the Soul

I visited my mother.

On the first day, my mother didn’t know me when she saw me.

That was okay.  She’s collected a whole lot of birthdays.  She’s had a stroke. I’d prepared myself for such a possibility.

But then, sometime during the second day…she knew me.

I knew the moment it happened.

It wasn’t the “aha” moment I have with friends when I spot them in the grocery store. It was the quiet, solid locking of eyes when two people have shared the same experience. In that deep gaze, images came at me–rapid fire and plush with emotions: teenage arguments; late night talks, sewing lessons; snotty things I’d said…

In no particular order, wordless visions of our lives twined around each other as we stared.

She looked into my eyes and read the depths of my soul, asking me to understand all the words she  wasn’t  able to speak anymore.

“I know you,” was all the vocabulary she was able to say. All my courage and bravado crumbled.

I had prepared for my mother not knowing me.  I was unprepared for the depth at which she knew me.

I’m not for sure who my tears are for….her or me.

When You’re Not in Kansas Anymore, Dorothy

A Great Photo by PixieSticks23

It’s the garden’s fault.

First it was the raspberries. Millions of them, dangling like red jewels in the bushes.

Then a heat wave rolled into the valley, and like a Smucker employee, I was picking, jellying, and making cordial for days until…. well…often until morning broke the nightsky.

Then came blueberries, blackberries, peas, and the blessings kept sprouting out of the ground along with a few epiphanies.

Last night I was under the shade tree in the back yard snapping green beans. The thought came to me that this wasn’t as much fun as it used to be and I wondered why.

I have little-girl memories of sitting under the big ol’ elm, and everyone snapping  beans, slapping an occasional mosquito, and sharing their day.  Of course, we didn’t have air-conditioning, so sitting outside, hoping for a breeze to stir the baked air, was a nightly ritual.  We also put fireflies in jars, flipped june-bugs on their backs and watched them spin, and waited for the shift-change in insect hunting go from starlings to bats.

Now, I was under the tree with only the yard cat for company. Everyone else was inside, in airconditioning, watching TV, or in front of a computer.

I realized that the only reason I was sitting under the tree in the twilight was because that was how I had always snapped green beans as I grew up.  I hadn’t thought it through. I guess I thought everyone would drift outside to see what I was doing…in the heat…in the semi-darkness.

I felt kind of stupid.

Life changes. At least the bats still come out.

When Cyberspace Goes Silent

Family visits are never Silent

A good friend of mine told me he hadn’t ever read this blog. He didn’t have time.

He probably doesn’t have time.  He takes care of his elderly mother 16 hours a day and works the other 8 hours.  His life is full of all the little things that make living possible.

Have you ever taken care of some one who is elderly, ill, or broken? What astounds me is how much time it takes.  Even just to visit. Or if you do a bit more, it takes even more time to  make meals, to provide transportation,  take someone on one of their many trips to the doctor.

Then I realize it’s not just the ill who might appreciate a good story or a listening ear. There are the folks who are grieving.  Others who are lonely. And doesn’t everyone have a nutty relative who needs a visit, but you have to force yourself because their house has pathways through their collective years of newspapers and magazines.and the place smells because they never open the windows?

What would happen if instead of surfing, answering e-maills, or reading blogs, folks were spending time with real people.

Wouldn’t it be great if one day cyberspace was quiet, empty, deserted….. like an abandoned world you see in sci-fi movies because everyone was busy spending “face-time” with others.

How much could we accomplish? How many wounds could we comfort? It’s something to hope for.

Who will you visit this week?

Why Does the Sun Spit on the Ground?

I just came in from the garden. I graveled potatoes.

That’s what my grandmother always called it when we prodded the dirt around the plants, looking for baby potatoes, but left the plants intact so they could make big spuds, too.

“C’ mon” she’d say, “Let’s pick a mess of greens to boil these with.”

She never stepped outside without a bonnet. Never. Her arms were leathery and spotted, but her face was white and smooth like baby’s skin.

Since it was a hardscrabble farm, the only lawn she had was a patch fronting the dirt road that went by the house. The rest was trails through weeds, feedlots, and pasture. We’d wander around gathering a few leaves of dock, and as much Lamb’s Quarter as we could find. We never could find a lot.

“I guess we’ll have to use dandelion greens for the rest,” she’d say. No matter how dry it was—even when there were cracks in the earth—there were dandelions.  We’d only pick the small ones.  The big ones were too bitter.

I suppose they were medicinal. I have no idea what they were supposed to do, except remind me that in hard times, you make do with what you’ve got.

So now my taters are boiling along with a few sprigs of chives. (I figured Grandma wouldn’t mind if I spruced it up a bit.) I’m sitting back, staring at my lawn, dotted with golden flowers, and wondering how many dandelions I’d need to make wine?  As Grandma always said….

“Make do with what you’ve got.”

God Loves to Paint

by WVS

Nuff said.

Cutting the Cord on Cleanliness

I went to the beach with a friend.  I tried to only listen to her stories and not throw in a bunch of my own, but it was hard. It makes me realize how much I talk about myself, so I’m still working on cutting that cord.

The picture above was taken at a tomato festival in Chile, and made me think of an intereresting event at the beach.  With the morning low tides, folks would wade out in the shallows in green muck up to their knees to go clamming.  Some dug on exposed sandbars, but even that was pretty squishy. I just couldn’t do it.

“It’s fun,” my friend proclaimed.  “You’ll forget about the goo and the get busy raking clams out of the rocks and seaweed.”

“Now I know why I don’t care for clams,” I said. “I wondered why they had that chewy texture.”

I confess. I like a good bath or shower. Even on a backbacking trip, I plunge myself into a cool pool of water each evening.

There have been a few  times along the trail that the water has dried up. The only puddles left were foamed with bloated algae. Even after filtering and boiling the water (for drinking and cooking), it had a green tint to it.

Sometimes you have to make do with what you have.  Now that I think about it…I bet I can wade in tidal goop and rake out some clams.

Perhaps HOPE is discovering that with necessity— we can change priorities.

Cut the Cord

Scout told me that he can’t shake the feeling that he has homework to do.  One of his friends agreed. Even though school is out, there is a black cloud following them that picks at them as they relax into summer. It’ s the feeling that they have homework waiting for them.

I smiled. Welcome to the adult world where there’s always grass that needs to be cut, laundry that needs to be washed, and people that need to be called.

But they don’t have any homework, just the nagging sensation that they should, so when I heard the phrase, “Cut the cord” today, it made me think of all the situations that we need to sever and let fly away.

• Will there be enough money to pay for insurance, food, clothing, etc tomorrow?
• What about the next day? And then the next?
• What if someone in the family gets sick? Really sick?
• How can I make sure Scout has all he needs to become an outstanding young man?
• Will I be a mean old woman when I grow old, or a dottering old nutcase?

Okay…as you can see…I’m making great progress toward the nutcase end of the spectrum.

I like the image of cutting the cord and letting those worries float away. As the Bible points out…I don’t accomplish a thing by gnawing on those thoughts and roping them around me.

So I think, this week, I’ll find something to let go of each day.  Today it will be anger.

I’ll let go of the anger at the neighbor who keeps coming over and peering through my window to see if I’m home. I know she’s just lonely and wants to visit.

I’ll let go of the anger about people who stand in the middle of grocery aisles or doorways to visit. They’re probably so involved in their conversation, they don’t realize where they are.

I’ll let go of my ire about the neighbor’s dog who uses my yard as his latrine. (It’s not the dog’s fault, is it?)

Ahhhh. I like this cutting the cord stuff. I feel lighter already.

The Million Dollar Question of Hope

By Ko nstantin Sutyagin

Over the past few weeks, I’ve heard the same question from diffeent people.

They all asked that universal question that we wrestle with at different stages of our lives:

“What is my purpose?”

This past week, I went on a hike. It was a sunny day with a cold wind blowing across the top of the ridgeline. I climbed down off the crest to a thickly timbered alcove behind a cliff wall. It was a pleasant spot for lunch, bathed in sunshine yet protected from the gusts.

As I munched a PBJ, I noticed dead leaves still clinging to some of the branches alongside new buds. God still had some spring cleaning to do behind these rocks. As a matter of fact, this was such a secluded spot, I wondered why He even bothered to decorate these trees with leaves…nobody would see them.

Whoops! There goes my urban thinking. Unlike the “outdoors” that I’ve designed with my fertilized lawn, and groomed flower beds, this spot wasn’t created to be decorative. And while no one but me might see the leaves that grew here, each one had a purpose. Each one contributed molecules of oxygen to the whole of this area, region, state, planet. Each one became part of something else.

I figure that it’s the same for us. Those of us who knit or crochet may never win any prizes at the county fair. Those who write may not have their name on the spine of a book. Those who cook day after day may never compete on Iron Chef.

What we will do is stitch, blend, and support each other with our seemingly small contributions.  Even if it seems like it’s a worthless job, or a silly hobby, or something that no one will ever notice,our works are part of the whole.

My friend, nearing the end of her life, bedridden and trapped within the walls of the rehab center wondered if she still had a purpose. She didn’t realize that sharing her stories, was a form of leaving signposts for the rest of us. Her struggle with death helped the rest of us put on our “big girl pants” and draw up our courage and say “yes” to things we were afraid to do.  She didn’t realize that she was giving us lessons.

Each one of us becomes part of something else.

A Ripple in the Universe

Thanks to Rodrigo Favera

I’m not a Ouija type of gal. I knew in all of the pre-pubescent parties that it was really my friend, Cindy,  pushing the planchette to “Yes,” when I asked if Jonathan Bell liked me. As it turns out, he did like me for a week and sat next to me in art until Melinda Crutchins made big eyes and asked him to sit with her. So long Jon.

The scientific explanation of the Ouija  is that subconsciously we wish for something, and a covert program running in the background of our thoughts helps us push the planchette to the answer we want. Drat! I always thought it was Cindy…not me!!

And then at 12:47  last night I was writing an e-mail when a friend who is dying of cancer popped into my mind. At that moment, I typed into the e-mail how selfish I was to wish my friend wouldn’t leave us and how joyous her arrival in heaven would be—where everyday is Easter.

I wasn’t with my dad when he passed from this life. I was at work.  I thought I’d know though. I figured a fragrant, pine breeze would touch my face as he stopped to say good bye, or I’d feel the earth pause in its rotation. When someone leaves  such a huge hole in the fiber of the world, how can there not be a ripple in the universe with their passing?

My daddy, an outdoorsman—not the REI type, but the Lil Abner type—asked the hospice worker to turn him on his side so he could see out the screen door. He passed with the fading afternoon, and I didn’t know until I received a phone call.  I concluded that we humans weren’t tuned into the escalator of souls coming and going.  It would be too much for our fragile senses to be jolted with every loss.

However, when I got the phone call that my friend had died around 1 this morning, I wasn’t surprised.  Actually, I felt great relief and joy that she’d made it home.  “It’s interesting,” the caller said. ” I woke up about  one this morning thinking of her.”

Like I said, I’m not a Ouija-type of gal. I think  it’s our subconscious pushing, worrying, praying even as we sleep.  I believe that our passing from this realm makes no wave.  Any ripple in the universe, is caused by the Creator—coming to carry us home.

God’s Addressbook Includes Hope

My favorite line in Thorton Wilder’s Our Town is delivered by a George Gibbs talking about an address he’d seen on an envelope.

“I never told you about that letter Jane Crofut got from her minister when she was sick.

He wrote Jane a letter and on the envelope the address was like this: It said,

Jane Crofut,

the Crofut Farm,

Grover’s Corners;

Sutton County;

New Hampshire;

United States of America;

continent of North America;

Western Hemisphere;

the Earth;

the Solar System;

The Universe;

the mind of God

– that’s what it said on the envelope. And the postman brought it just the same.” Thornton Wilder – ‘Our Town

Sometimes in the dark of the night, I think I’m the only one not sleeping. And then I remember that I have an address in God’s mind. In this vast universe, He knows right where I am. It makes me smile. It gives me hope.

So when  I receive another piece of bad news, or worries are tightening around my throat,  I sometimes forget to look up.

Good thing the Creator of Everything knows just where to find me.

He’s got my address. and he delivers,  just the same.

(Yes, you star-gazing experts will recognize the picture as Andromeda Galaxy. He’s knows everyone’s address there, too!)