Category Archives: Meeting life’s challenges

Sail On

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One of my friends is ill. I could extol her many outstanding virtues and characteristics yet there are other thoughts that sickness brings to mind. Those thoughts are like clichés, sailing through. Without being boorish, I would like to share a few revelations that have recently come to me.

Collectively, there is truth in the statement that none of us are getting any younger. When I look back at my youth, I can recall the dreams and aspirations that I held. Although my friends aspired to be teachers, nurses, nuns and mothers that was nothing I desired. I did go on to marry and have a son and I hold him as my greatest achievement. That is a role that is not fulfilled by everyone as we have our own path to follow. Although I envisioned my calling within the field of communications, my professional life lead me to work within nonprofits and local governments. I feel my accomplishments are many and I don’t regret the time spent supporting our communities. Now that I am retired, I have no desire to return to any of it. There are no do-overs. That ship has sailed and I am not getting any younger.

When I was in the market for a house, after my divorce, my criteria was rather simple. I envisioned this purchase to be the home in which I would retire. I was looking for one floor, with an area for laundry and a large dining room to hold my family for holiday meals. At the time my realtor explained that being so particular about a dining area might not be very practical. It most likely would not be a room I would use on a regular basis. I would accept none of his guidance. I saw myself as a very social being, with holidays being the ultimate gatherings. It is fair to say that I am satisfied with my dining space but all the entertaining I envisioned is more history than future planning. The plates and serving pieces I acquired aren’t currently being used. My holiday gatherings are smaller now that death has robbed us of several of our loved ones. Due to my chronic illness, fatigue is often a constant companion and I am no longer inspired to entertain. I do hope I find the energy and resolve to clean out all those unnecessary serving pieces and pass them along. Elaborate and laborious proposals have given way to simple gatherings for holiday meals. That ship has sailed and I am not getting any younger.

In retirement it has become blissfully clear that trading time for wages is no longer the norm. In many ways, time is my friend as I am not bound by schedules and alarms. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t aware that my senior status reminds me that a larger portion of my life is behind me rather than ahead. Yet I am allowed to give myself permission to enjoy my time. If a book’s subject matter intrigues me, I am permitted to take the time to read. If God paints a beautiful sunset, I am allowed the time to sit and let the colors envelop me.  When I find a skein of yarn calling to me I can find the time to employ a crochet hook and start creating something. If I am consumed by a group of videos on YouTube there is no issue in watching them but I must remember that portrays someone else’s life and I still need to continue to live mine. Living mine translates into not putting everything off until tomorrow, a day not promised. Realistically, how many of us are ever ready for that ship to sail?

I have often thought of the wisdom of Erma Bombeck in dealing with this topic. Excuse my poor example of paraphrasing, but she was correct in her nudging to live life and not wait for a special occasion.  Now is the time to use the good china or burn the candle. Again, in thinking of illness I find it to be a humbling adversary. Now is the time to pick up the phone, send a note and share a meal. I know that I, in honor of my friend, now choose to live intentionally. I don’t want to be standing on the dock, looking out over the horizon with the sinking feeling that the ship has sailed, this time without me.

Pinching Pennies

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I never knew my maternal grandmother. She died so young that my mother didn’t know her either. The fortunate part is that her fraternal twin sister was very much a part of our lives. She filled the role of grandmother and I always heard that I was very much like her. My great aunt Caroline never saw a sale she didn’t like. I am very much the same way. My mantra could be: Never pay full price when there is a discount to be had.

I have always fallen on the frugal side of the fence. Those who have been following my blog might be aware that my adult life has presented me with various financial challenges. I have had to start over a few times in the past. My divorce came later in life. There have been those who have said if they were in a similar situation maybe they would have stayed in the marriage. It would be considered a tradeoff that they were willing to make. The financial security that many years of marriage brought was not enough to hold me. There have been sacrifices along the way but I can live with a downgrade of vacations and a lesser amount of eating out. Within a year, I was able to buy a house and I have never missed a payment. My home is not large but it is cozy and I enjoy my life within its walls.

The experience garnered by my divorce served me well when I experienced the loss of employment, not once but twice. I considered my finances a challenge, not one that discouraged me but rather one that had me rise to meet the occasion. I refinanced the house and lowered my payments. I gave up trash pick-up and make weekend trips to the dump. I no longer have cable but I now consider myself the queen of YouTube as I find a wealth of entertainment there. I am a proponent of thrifting. I have never purchased a new car, only preowned. Give me a coupon and a discount and I can do wonders with the clearance rack at Kohl’s. I shop at a discount grocery store and additionally make use of a program at a local food chain. As food gets close to its expiration date, it is listed online for half price. If I don’t have plans for the meat it goes into the freezer so the benefit of that deep discount is not lost.

I am not the least bit embarrassed by these admissions. Those who know me well have bolstered my confidence by their comments over the years. One reflected on the fact that I am able to show creativity in finding ways to adjust my budget. She has observed times that it looked like I was going to bottom out but I am always able to bounce back and find a way to stretch the money a little bit further. Another friend once commented that I made being poor look easy. Many times throughout my professional life I might not have had a high income but I have never considered myself poor. I have never known hunger and my figure shows it! I have always had a safe and comfortable place to live and never worried about not having a roof over my head. I am proud to share that I hold an excellent credit rating. I have a special needs cat who has her necessary treatment at the vets each month. Necessity has always been met. This lifetime of frugality has prepared me well for this new lifestyle, that of retirement.

I have never been a bells and whistles kind of person and it is deeply ingrained. I recall my mother saying there were times I was difficult to buy for, not because I was picky but I never seemed to ask for anything in particular. My lifestyle is not for everyone but I am grateful for the things it has wrought. I know as a parent that I must have lead by example as I am extremely proud of the way my son handles his finances with such responsibility. I have learned to be gracious as my friends and family have extended generosity in many ways. I wake up each and every day with sincere thankfulness. I have been blessed with such abundance. It might not always manifest in a material way but what I have received over my lifetime leaves me with a feeling of gratitude and contentment beyond description.

A Father’s Day Post

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As I mentioned Mom in a Mother’s Day post, I would be remiss if I didn’t share some recollections of Dad on Father’s Day. It has been well over thirty years since he walked this earth. I miss that soft southern accent that never left him or his routine of pipe smoking and the scent of tobacco that would linger in the air. There are stories that he told which I hold onto with bittersweet emotion. They are just a small portion of the man he was. I would like to be a fly on the wall and observe, one more time, what a typical day would be like. What non important matters were covered by conversations no longer committed to memory? Why is it human nature to take so much of our daily lives for granted?

I was destined to be a Daddy’s Girl. My father, career Navy, made the trek from Norfolk, VA to Pennsylvania in a snow storm to greet me at the time of my birth. My three brothers and I were the recipients of many of his life stories. Being from southern GA, our father’s upbringing was so different to the one we knew. Hardship very much comprised his youth. It might have never been spoken out loud but I know in his heart, his desire was to provide a better life for us.

My father would recount the stories of his youth. He and his one brother, tried jumping off the barn roof with springs on their feet and once they pushed a winged crate out of a chinaberry tree to see if they could fly. One of them would hatch the plan to tie tin cans to the tail of their cow. The clattering sounds spooked the cow and she jumped over the fence, leaving her tail behind. I imagined that the cow wasn’t the only one with a sore bottom that evening. He would relish telling these stories. He didn’t dwell on the fact that he and his brother, as youngsters, would be the ones to find their father on the porch after suffering a heart attack. They struggled to get my grandfather into the house but his death was imminent.

Growing up in rural south GA, without a father, couldn’t have been easy. Dad was an avid fisherman. He never cared for hunting. He said he had to hunt to help provide meat for the table and it held no charm for him as an adult. He enlisted in the Navy with the theory that there was more to life than picking cotton. Dad would tell us about the good times he experienced in the Navy. I’m sure as a young boy he never thought he would have the opportunity to travel the world. His enthusiasm for the Navy rubbed off on me. My one high school term paper focused on Admiral Chester Nimitz, Commander in Chief, Pacific Fleet during WWII. I got carried away with my research and read several accounts of battles at sea. I remember one graphic description shared by a sailor.  He stated that during battle you could see your shipmate die a horrible death, next to you, which would cause you to vomit. There was barely time for that human reaction as you would have to quickly return to your gun. I disclosed what I had read to Dad. He listened and quietly replied that yes he was aware as he was there. That was the only somber admission that I ever heard about his Navy career.

Dad managed to get two full careers under his belt before retiring at the age of 62. He was never at a loss of how to fill a day. He and our mother had raised the four of us and opened our home to our maternal grandfather who suffered a stroke later in life. He remained at home with our mother being his caretaker. Finally, after a life of hard work and providing for all of us, it was Dad’s turn to slow down and enjoy the freedom that retirement would provide. It was not to be. He was diagnosed with cancer, a result of being exposed to asbestos during his years in the Navy. Although he was willing to follow recommendations and treatment he was resigned to his accept his diagnosis. If he was afraid of what the future held, he never showed it. Upon reflection he said that those were the cards that were dealt him. He died one month short of his 66th birthday.

I thank you for indulging me and my reminiscence of our father. We should all have stories to reflect upon for those of us who no longer have a reason to celebrate the day. For those who are fortunate to still have their father, I would suggest you listen to those stories and commit them to memory. You don’t know when that voice will be silenced. Let’s not squander the opportunity to keep them alive for the next generation.

Lost

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I was looking forward to the day. It would be the last time I would be meeting with this group of colleagues. I wasn’t concerned about the drive that would take one hour and a half. Our agency is spread over several locations and I was used to driving. Virtual meetings have increased greatly since COVID made them a necessity and I now gladly accept the opportunity to meet face to face as it has become the exception rather than the norm. My clothes were set out and my lunch was packed the night before. I was set.

The morning came and I was ready to leave as I took one last look at myself in the mirror. How did I not notice that something had bled on my blouse in a previous wash? It was much too noticeable at that time and I scrambled to decide what to wear. It put me a little bit behind but not by much as I had given myself an extra half hour for travel. Translated: I gave myself time to access the drive thru at Dunkin Donuts and treat myself to the companionship of coffee and a donut on the trip. Once my purchase was made I put my coordinates in my phone and was ready to let GPS take control. It had been well over a year since I drove to this location and it was not committed to memory. I soon learned my phone was offline and there was no cajoling it to bring up the appropriate directions. I pulled out the cell phone provided from work and realized I couldn’t come up with the correct password. One attempt warned me that it would take five minutes before I could try again. Subsequent attempts pushed the time limit set for new efforts further out by fifteen minutes each. All of a sudden I felt I was trying to climb a mountain of shifting sand. It was the previous day that a conversation led me to state that I could read a map, but who carries them in their car anymore, even though my car doesn’t come equipped with GPS? If it wasn’t my last time, meeting with this team, I would have decided to change my plans and drive to my office. It didn’t seem like much of a choice as I enjoy the company of these people and knew I had to make the trip.

It was time for an executive decision. I would return home, a ten minute drive, and access maps on my laptop and go old school. I reached out to my manager to share my situation and that most likely I would be late, but eventually would be there to join them. I texted my son, who happens to be an IT guru, and asked for his input. This is a good time to let you know that my printer at home didn’t work and I jotted down the directions. I thought at the time it was enough to jog my memory and ensure me a successful drive to the location. I was wrong.

It is difficult to read directions when you are on a road whose speed limit is over 50 mph. I inadvertently turned down a road that was evidently incorrect. I believe the route number was correct but I couldn’t locate the connecting road. I was deep in God’s country. I never realized how many orchards there are in the area. Again, reaching out to my son by text, he suggested that I find a fast food business that would allow me to use their Wi-Fi and get back on track. I had to let him know that there was nothing like that for miles. I was in a location that remained untouched by progress for decades. He tried texting me directions with the sketchy information I was providing him. I was beginning to feel a bit frantic.

It was at this point that I noticed that the programed oldies station had dissipated and a Christian station had taken its place. I was not familiar with the songs but I didn’t need to be. It was the nudge I needed to fall back on the well-known: Jesus is my copilot. Additionally, I realized that I had a sign from my late sister in law. It made me laugh. I don’t know if I really trusted her directions in life and wasn’t sure if I was safe doing it in death. I pictured her in the passenger seat. It seemed so natural as I happen to be driving her former car. With these observations I made others. I was driving through some beautiful countryside. It was a gorgeous day with a bright blue sky and my gas tank was full. The backdrop was a luscious green from the vast amount of rain we had received and colorful beds of flowers could be found in every direction. I located a road whose name was familiar. Thank goodness I enjoy Civil War history as I recognized the road, knowing it would take me to the battlefield. I could easily find my way to the office once I had made it to this neighboring town.

When I reached the office, it was much later than I anticipated. I had missed a good portion of the business but it didn’t matter. I made a grand entrance with a joyful countenance. I had a story to tell and a lesson learned. Although I was physically alone in the car, I didn’t feel like I was driving solo. It took me a little longer than I would have liked but the realization that prayer is always an important option calmed me. Although I am still not sure I would trust directions from my sister in law, it was a pleasant reminder that the love continues once someone has transitioned to the other side. My son will always be my life line and I will think of him as my greatest blessing for so many reasons. I continue to trust that I am where I am supposed to be, when I am supposed to be there, regardless of my plans. As I enter a new stage in life, I am reminded I am not alone. There might be some unexpected detours along the way but I will reach my destination. I need to acknowledge that I have support, appreciate the scenery and enjoy the ride.

Full

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I count myself a very fortunate individual. I can be inspired easily by mundane surroundings. Observations that are truly unique may seem rather comical. If I tell you that seeing a septic truck brought creative thoughts to mind, you might think I have a need to talk to a professional. I think not and I will share why I feel that is the case, at least this particular time.

First, let’s discuss what a septic tank is and what service it provides. Then I will touch base on the importance of septic trucks. A simple search on Google will tell you that a septic tank is an underground chamber made of concrete, fiberglass, or plastic through which domestic wastewater (sewage) flows for basic sewage treatment. That is a rather delicate way to describe how to keep up with human waste. Those who live in a more populated or metropolitan area will rely on a sewer system which carries the waste off through underground pipes that transport it to a treatment plant. I understand if you think this topic may be bizarre but I promise you, there is a point to this blog.

I grew up in a household where we did make use of a septic tank. We were a family of seven, three adults and 4 children. That would equate to a lot of water usage and disposal. My father would try to combat some of that collection by having our washing machine drain outside through a hose. That way all the used water would not unnecessarily fill the septic tank and there were no concerns about it being a biohazard. You can imagine the amount of laundry that our family generated. It was a world of woe when the tank would reach its limit and a call was made to bring in a septic truck. I don’t recall what would trigger that request and it is probably just as well that I don’t remember. I do know it was a big deal when it happened. The truck would come and the driver would access the underground tank and pump out its contents. I don’t know what leads someone to choose that as a career but it remains an essential service.

Now let’s get back to my original premise, that inspiration can be found everywhere.  Whether it be a sewer or a septic tank, everyone needs something to rid one’s life of collected waste. The human condition insists that it exists. I’m asking you to use your imagination and not refer to bodily waste but rather negative thoughts, unkindness, nastiness or anything that could be considered within the realm of hatred. We don’t need to maintain it as part of our life and it is so much more beneficial if we rid ourselves of it and make room for the good. Life has so much goodness to offer. There are glorious experiences, relationships and positivity that exists. Just because this unpleasantness lay dormant below the ground, or under the skin, it not recommended that it be allowed to stay and fester. It is much healthier to wash it out of your system and purge yourself of it. Life is much too short to expend energy by lugging that heaviness around with you. Burdens find it hard to exist within the lightness. One more observation comes to mind. Be watchful and don’t let your tank ever get close to overflowing. Keep your thoughts and actions in check so the septic truck doesn’t need to make a house call. No one wants to be full of it!

Empty

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I believe everyone has a bucket list. They might not call it that, but there are things in life that we all wish for, strive for, and want to put in our “accomplished” pile. There are other things that fall into another category. They are experiences that no one necessarily wishes to have happen, but often become a part of one’s life. They are the type of items that you find in a social media questionnaire: broken bones, ambulance rides, or being locked out of your car. I feel like I now have membership in a club I didn’t plan to join.

I attended a seminar one weekday evening in a nearby town. By the time the event was over, nighttime had fallen and the skies had opened. I was aware my gas tank was low but I had no desire to stop and fill up on a dark rainy night. I knew there would be no trouble getting home. Making a mental note, I planned to fill up the next day. I also did some mental calculations and thought I could get to work without any trouble but would need to fill up on my way home. The message on the dashboard nudged me into action: Fuel level low. Usually the message allows for the number of miles afforded you prior to the tank going empty. When the mileage number hits fifty, the message changes and you are left to your own devices to determine where you are within that fifty mile limit.

When the workday ends, I find myself driving home, usually with a joyful countenance. Not a care in the world hangs over me. It is because of that carefree exuberance that I overlooked the fact that the car needed gas. I passed several opportunities to fill the tank but none of them jogged my memory. I was almost home when I realized I had overlooked this important task. I am frugal by nature and usually I cross the state line to purchase gas as it is much cheaper. I live close to the border and ordinarily it doesn’t present a hardship. I said a silent prayer and kept driving. There were no other options left by this time and the usual drive through pastures and farm land was neither pleasant nor relaxing. With whiten knuckles, I continued on my course.

Just prior to reaching the location of the little country convenience store, there is a traffic circle. As I approached the circle I could feel the difference in the car. I asked for a miracle, that the large truck ahead of me would have no reason to slow or stop and we could both manage to make our way around the circle. It was necessary to stop for oncoming traffic. Starting again, I made my way around the circle, followed by a quick right turn and found I had exhausted even the fumes in my tank. I was just a few yards from the entrance of the gas station. I had an odd feeling, a calmness came over me. I edged the car to the right shoulder and turned off all the accessories. Putting my emergency blinkers on, I wanted to avoid a careless driver running into the back of the car. I opened the door and with my left leg out I knew it was not possible to push the car any further. Years ago, as a young woman, I had been successful pushing the VW Beetle off the side of the rode when it would intermittently die on me. Those days were long gone and I made a plan that I would hopefully be able to purchase a gas can and resolve my problem. Fortunately, I didn’t have to execute that plan.

As a car pulled up behind me, the driver, a young man, rolled his window down and asked if I needed help. He was out of his car and behind mine in a matter of moments. The driver behind him reacted in the same way. Another driver, advancing from the opposite direction, pulled his car into the parking lot and came running across the street. I sat back down in the driver’s seat and put the car in neutral. As the three men pushed the car I was steering it to the closest pump. It was over just as quickly as it had begun. Feeling foolish, I did make a point to thank all of them for their kindness. The only one that seemed to linger was the gentleman who had pulled into the parking lot. As he walked out of the convenience store, I found it odd that he thanked me. Evidently he was looking for a reason to stop and purchase a lottery ticket. I was his excuse. I would be interested in learning if he received a windfall as payment for his gallantry. Even with the purchase of his ticket, I realized that it took me longer to fill my tank than it did to have strangers see my plight and rectify it.

I suppose it isn’t all that bad that this was the first time that I experienced such a misfortunate event. Actually, it was refreshing to be the recipient of this gracious act coming from strangers. Upon retrospect though, I realize this wasn’t the first time I have run out of gas. As I approached my divorce I found I was deplete of energy, physical and emotional. Professionally, I had experienced the elimination of two positions. Again, I was running on empty. These, and other challenges, have miraculously still let me arrive at my destination. Sometimes I had to rely on myself to find a way to get my vehicle back on track. Other times I was assisted by a solid support system that helped push me and allowed me to find my way. I have come to the realization that we all have run out of gas one time or another. It could be literally, figuratively or both. It has taken me a considerable amount of time to realize that life isn’t a race but we need to remain driven. The course may change but sitting it out, by the roadside, should never be an option.

Cat’s Tale

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Indulge me, please. I want to share with you my most recent experience with rescuing a cat. If you recall, I recently posted a blog entitled Season Changes. After having to put down my 18 year old cat I found myself in the unusual situation of not having a pet in the house. It had been roughly 35 years since I was without a furry companion under the same roof and it was unsettling. When I was a child, it was acceptable to have pets but they were not allowed to live in the house. Years later, when I was living 300 miles away from my parents, that rule appeared to have changed. During a visit back home, I was offered a kitten. I wasn’t looking for a pet but I didn’t have the heart to say no. Ironically, it seemed totally acceptable to now have a pet in my parent’s home. I don’t know if they had mellowed with age or maybe they were comfortable with the situation as it would only be temporary for them. Either way, she was welcome inside and thus began my journey to having cats become members of the family.

The cat who was responsible for my indulgence of feline ownership was well traveled. She had lived in a total of three states when she left me at the age of 22. Others were to follow and it wasn’t unusual to have at least two at a time. When I lost my last one it was difficult to cast off the usual habits of feeding, litter box scooping, being met at the door when returning home and snuggling. Her departure left a void. Although there is grief in the loss of a pet, I have never been one to mourn for a great deal of time. I have always believed that as a cat left it was to allow for the inclusion of another homeless one in need of a family. There were plenty of offers for strays but I found myself checking Petfinder and began keeping tabs on those who caught my eye.

I settled on one who was noted to have been a sole indoor cat and a couch potato. She sounded like a possibility. I am well past the stage in my life that I feel up to entertaining the antics of a kitten. An adult cat who could settle into a quiet environment would appear to be a good fit. The shelter was a half hour drive and I headed there the week before Thanksgiving. Initially I was told that she had been adopted just hours prior to my arrival. I was disappointed but asked to see the other cats after making the trip there. It was then when I spotted her. The identification tag had been erroneously switched. When staff went back to the reception area to check things out, I opened the cage and met a cat who was receptive to my attention. It was late in the day and the shelter was about to close. Hastily I decided she was destined to be my cat and I made arrangements to adopt her. I was not prepared to take her home then but advised I would be back the following Friday afternoon to pick her up.

There was joy in my heart as I made my way back to retrieve her. I had to remind myself that it had been years since I brought a new cat into my home and we would be strangers to one another. Still, with my many years of cat ownership, I felt that there was nothing that I couldn’t handle. The shelter had labeled her as special needs and there was a discussion about her diet. Again, from my prior experience, I knew I could handle that situation as I had been through it before. They did share that she was surrendered when her previous owner had to go into a nursing home. I brought my carrier in and staff escorted me to her kennel. The door was open and she automatically walked from the kennel into the carrier. I was amazed at how easy she made the transition. Maybe she knew I was breaking her out and good things lay ahead.

When we arrived home, I opened the carrier door and she walked out. I watched as she made her way cautiously around the living room and into the hallway. At that point I noticed she had a severe limp. It hurt me to watch her walk. Without hesitating I called the shelter and asked if they were aware of her limp. I was told they were and they had it checked. At the time they couldn’t determine the cause. I was heartsick and felt betrayed. At no time was this shared with me as a potential adopter. Choosing a cat is different than selecting a shelter dog. You don’t walk them and checking their mobility is not usually a factor. Why were her dietary needs shared rather than her limp? I immediately had rescuer’s remorse. What was wrong with her? My pockets are not deep and I was concerned that I would not be able to afford the medical care she might need. I was torn. She is a living creature and the thought of possibly returning her was upsetting. It’s not like making a return to customer service with merchandise. I was angry with myself for making such a hasty decision. I was angry with the shelter for not having full disclosure. The only one who elicited a compassionate response in me was the cat.

A trip to check her out medically was a necessity. I poured my heart out to the vet and explained the dilemma I was facing. She was sincere in her support of me keeping the cat and acknowledged that a cat like her would most likely remain languishing in the shelter. I don’t know if that trip caused more anxiety for me or the cat. She was stressed to the point that x-rays would not be possible that day. I was sent home with prescriptions and the plan to return the following week for the needed x-rays. Trying to bond with a cranky cat who was not interested in taking medication proved to be difficult. Soon time gave way to her appointment and I learned sedation was needed to get her to cooperate for the x-rays. I won’t leave you in suspense. The limp is caused by severe arthritis. There are no options other than a daily supplement and monthly shots. Even before I learned of her diagnosis I knew I couldn’t return her to the shelter. I took the responsibility of bringing her home and that is where she will stay. The vet, again supporting my determination, wrote off a large portion of the bill.

I can tell you that just after one month she is doing well. The limp has not totally subsided but it is obvious she is feeling better. She is affectionate and playful. The hissing and growling has subsided. I recognize that she was trying to make an adjustment while in pain. I am comfortable in my decision to keep her. I felt all along there was a reason that we were connected. She never asked to be in this situation, surrendered and in need of medical care. My adoption of Molly may not change anything outside of our lives but it brings a sense of satisfaction. I would not ordinarily think that rescuing a cat could be considered taking a risk but in a way it was. Her unexpected medical needs made me realize that I am not only her source of care but also her voice. You may wonder if I learned anything more from this experience. Taking the chance on one of God’s creatures opened my eyes to other possible expectations of myself. How much greater would it be to take a risk and act as a supporter and advocate to another human being? Again, it might not change the world but the individual that I reach out to may find their load a bit lighter. As this new year begins and resolutions are made, I will look upon the needs of others as opportunities rather than burdens.

Time Has Passed

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On a recent Saturday, during this holiday season, I couldn’t help but reflect on how life constantly changes. So often we are called to resurrect old traditions as we gather and celebrate and yet sometimes we choose to keep them tucked away. Time can show us that what was once the norm can be replaced with something more currently appropriate. Memories can become a tangle of events, possibly never sorted through or offered the light of day again. There are times, like this particular Saturday, when a memory strikes a nerve and one must acknowledge that it is just that, a memory and time has passed.

My career has centered mainly on nonprofits. Many times I witnessed how volunteers would be the lifeline of these organizations. During my tenure I have worked side by side with those called to generously share their time and talents. During a shopping excursion, on this particular Saturday, I thought I spotted a former volunteer. It has been at least 20 years since we held our positions and worked together. I momentarily held back but as I was sure it was him I did decide to call his name.  I was met with a smile and a warm embrace. There was the usual exchange of pleasantries and a quick catch up on what we were currently involved in, career wise. I shared with him how I have never forgotten an event where he provided service above and beyond what was expected. Although he was humble in his response, it felt good to share that particular memory. After our parting, I recalled the energy and passion I possessed while in my role. Time has passed. I may currently support programs which benefit the community but it is now from a different vantage point. Then I was ready to lead the charge, currently I remain conscientious in my role but the drive to lead has subsided.

Later in the evening I went to the cemetery where my parents are buried to see the annual luminaria display. The landscape was aglow as each grave had a candle lit in memory of those who have passed. I parked the car and walked to my parents’ grave. There was a young couple with their son visiting the grave located above my parents. They lingered and in the darkness I didn’t know if they were aware I was behind them. Concerned that I might startle them I advised them I was there. Conversation was not lengthy but I learned her father had made his transition in 2009. Judging from her current age, it appeared that she must have been young when she lost him. Not being able to ease the grief she must still carry, I invited her to use my family’s marble bench whenever she visited her father. The loss of my parents is not fresh and the grief is not as intense as it was originally. Time has passed. I realized I am at the point in my life where it is my generation that has stepped up to fill the void. A lifetime of experience and memories can fill one’s soul. Forward movement, no matter what the pace, is always important.

On my way home that evening, I passed the house where I lived in my early adult years. It was the home where I resided as a newlywed and as a new mother it was the home where I brought our son.  It was also the home I inhabited when I realized my marriage was over. Although it looks much the same as it did years ago, time has passed. If I were to stop and cross the porch and threshold as I did thousands of times previously, I would be met with resistance. The current owners are oblivious to the lifetime I spent there. The conversations held and the breaths taken are long gone. There is no reason to resurrect the dreams that were once held close to my heart as I am a different person now. I am content to leave them where they lie.

It felt ironic that a particular Saturday, during this holiday season, could impose the reality of the passage of time and the losses it has wrought. I am proud of the accomplishments I achieved while I climbed the proverbial ladder of success. The view was invigorating while I was there but I am satisfied with my current vision. My parents might no longer be here physically but the memories of them remain strong and the lessons they taught continue to resonate. I am cognizant that I must carry the torch for them. It has been several years since I lived in a household with others. I am very much accustomed to being responsible for all aspects of my life. Time has passed. Every day brings a fresh start. It is important to choose what part of the past is no longer serving us and pack it away. It is never truly gone but by putting it aside one allows a newness to enter and keep stagnation at bay.   

My wish for you, during this holiday season, would be to create lasting memories with your loved ones. Hopefully these memories will remain with you and are light to carry.  If that isn’t possible, treat yourself well and hold hope for the New Year. Time will pass. I hope what you choose to carry with you is well worth the energy it takes to pack and it brings you joy as you continue on your way.

Timber!

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Trees provide pencils, paper and oxygen. Growing up I remember the smell of fresh lumber in the house as my father always had something under construction. During my childhood Christmases, the aroma of some type of evergreen would permeate the house. I say “some type” as I am not an expert on trees. As a young girl I enjoyed watching Here Comes the Brides. The show’s concept was built upon the trials and tribulations experienced by the single women that were brought out to Seattle to accompany the lonely lumberjacks. I didn’t learn much about the lumber business by watching because, like everyone else, I had a crush on Bobby Sherman, one of the lumberjack brothers. Later, as an adolescent, I was an avid fan of the Waltons. Their family business had them operate a saw mill. I vaguely remember them harvesting the lumber strategically and being cautious not to strip the mountain. That little gem might have caught my attention as the concept of commemorating Earth Day was taking off. To celebrate its inception, President Nixon planted a tree on the White House lawn. If I haven’t lost you yet, you may have noticed that my knowledge of trees is enough to complete one paragraph.

Fast forward to present day. Surprisingly the lumber business has frequently come to mind. This time it has nothing to do with a television show but rather my place of work. I cross the mountain each day to find myself often staring at the edges of cut trees, piled high on a flatbed truck, as I wait for the light to turn green. There have also been unfortunate delays occasionally, as a truck is unable to complete a turn onto the narrow streets. Traffic is held up until the truck can inch its way to freedom. This current experience has expanded what has been my very shallow interest where lumber is concerned.

At some point, in school, I am sure we covered trees and their internal rings. I was not a big fan of Science but I do recall the concept of each ring signified a year in the life of the tree. It’s ironic that piece of knowledge has come back to me as I am presented with actual examples on a regular basis. During a lengthy wait behind one of these trucks, I took the time to notice that the size, color and thickness of the rings would vary from tree to tree. Nature is the catalyst or culprit behind these variances. If a tree was exposed to harsh outside elements, record of it would show in the rings. Fire and drought would leave its mark. The age and history of these trees would have remained hidden, under their bark, if they hadn’t met an early demise due to the handiwork of a saw.

I think we, the human race, can compare our lives to those of trees. Our exterior can hide the history of our growth and what we have encountered. There might have been times when we experienced drought. Maybe we felt like our lives were devoid of something: love and companionship, a decent wage or living situation, or the focus needed to select a better path. Possibly we were scorched or singed by living a little too carefree or pursuing a passion that was destined to go up in smoke. If we are fortunate, we live our lives without constant challenges. Just as a tree adds its rings, time goes by and we age, adding learned lessons and wisdom with each passing year. No one knows, as it could all remain hidden like the trees. If our experience is one that allows us to continue to rack up the rings, I would suggest we follow the example set by trees. Reach for the sky. Continue to focus on what is above and always look upward, constantly striving to become stronger each year. When the time comes to count your rings I pray they are immeasurable and unique.

Connections

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It was not hard to decide to attend Ruth’s Celebration of Life. Although I was 2 ½ weeks beyond my surgery I felt I would be mobile enough with the help of my friend. I wanted to be there for several reasons. Ruth had been my Girl Scout leader. At a time when young girls were exploring who they were and what they might aspire to, it was important to have someone step up and guide that process. I also had the good fortune to know her after I had become an adult. Although it was a given that she was a loving and selfless mother and grandmother, she was also known for her involvement with her community and faith life. Her daughter was a long time classmate of mine. We were not close growing up yet I feel we have created a bond through today’s social media. As my mother died over a decade ago I felt I wanted to offer my presence as one who understood the loss.

I didn’t know many people in attendance but there were a few familiar faces. Of those, I didn’t know what connection might have been forged between Ruth and them. I could have asked as I feel I possess enough social graces to inquire without being offensive. I decided not to and allowed conversation to go elsewhere. I found that after the day, I continued to question the connections life offers us. How are these relationships formed? Do they come to us randomly? Granted, Ruth was fortunate to be blessed with a long life, and there were multiple relationships she must have enjoyed over the years. So very often after someone dies, age will often dictate how many people attend their memorial. It might be a matter of practicality, illness, mobility issues or death itself that might strip someone of their vast social connections. It is comforting to see contemporaries as well as others from different generations come and pay their respects.

I continued to dwell on the thought of how a lifetime of connections would translate to the loss family, friends and community may feel in the passing of one of its members. If someone has the good fortune of living many decades the relationships built and enjoyed could be immeasurable. I am not contemplating the six degrees of Kevin Bacon but the reality of all of us and how our life creates interactions with those on an exponential level. As much of my professional life was spent working within the community I know there are those whose lives I touched, whose names and faces would be unfamiliar to me now. Truthfully, I relish the idea of being of service to someone who remains unknown to me on a personal level. That is the purest form of giving of oneself and I count myself fortunate to have the opportunity to have experienced such a blessing. I also am blessed by the myriad of people whose relationships are personal.

Is there a goal that comes as a result of my contemplation? It might not be what you expect. Do I want standing room only at my memorial? No, but I would like to think that those I leave behind would find comfort and solace in having a shared connection with me being the common denominator. We are inundated with news of climate change and how important it is to leave the smallest carbon footprint possible. On the other hand Chief Seattle was known for saying, “Take only memories, leave only footprints.” I know what goal I choose. I am not concerned about any remaining footprint that I might cast but I would rather bestow a smile and full heart with those I share a connection. I will make an effort to be civil, kind and thoughtful to those whose paths I cross. I hope that I would never hesitate to offer a hand or support when I see the need. I will continue to live my mantra: If I think something nice I share it. Further, I pray that gratitude be at the very core of my being, not just for every breath I am given but also for every connection made along the way.