Tag Archives: Gratitude

Voices

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I am hearing impaired, being totally deaf in one ear. It is manageable but I do struggle with locating the direction of sound. Hearing aids help but everything is funneled into the good “hearing” ear which doesn’t necessarily aid with detecting the origin. Some time ago I was in the parking lot of the behavioral health organization where I worked. I heard my name called but I couldn’t determine the direction it came from in order to acknowledge it. I stood there, looking around, unsuccessful at verifying who was speaking to me. Finally, when locating the individual who happened to be a client, I told her I had heard a voice. Without missing a beat, she said ironically they were the ones who were called crazy when they made comments like that. I have never forgotten that exchange as I have never been challenged with that troubling experience. I have always been able to appreciate individuals and the uniqueness of their voices.

My father never lost his soft southern drawl. Although I have committed his voice to memory, I would give anything to hear him speak again. It has been over 30 years since his death but he has not been relegated to history. I had a dream, several years ago, where my father appeared. It felt less like a dream and more like a visitation. He remained silent throughout the dream and when I woke I missed him more than ever. I found myself sitting up in bed with my arms outstretched, tears running down my face. I could feel his arms around me. It broke my heart that he appeared so life like, yet one of his endearing attributes was missing. It left me longing, more than usual, to hear his voice again.

With the advent of easily obtainable technology, things that would have been only a memory are now preserved by picture and video. It has become more than common place. As we celebrated what would be our mother’s last birthday, my son had the presence of mind to record it. Although her voice was softer and sounded tired, it creates a sentimental memory. My nephew recently posted a video interview of his mother, my late sister in law, on Facebook. Just like my mother, it was a bittersweet moment to hear her voice again. We were close and although we had spent countless hours in conversation over the years I still long for one more.

Technology has made it easier to stay in touch but it feels devoid of true personal connection. I remain current with my lifelong friend through texts and emails. We have lived thousands of miles apart for the majority of our lives. Face to face conversations and phone calls are limited. I laugh when I think about her mother not understanding why we had long nightly phone conversations after spending the day together in school. Maybe it was our way of storing up voice memories for the future. If I were to pick up the phone and hear her voice, there would be no need for introduction. There is a recognition that continues to last. It is much the same for others that I might not have talked to in some time. That individual’s voice is distinct and carries with it history and fond memories.

I will be truthful and acknowledge that not all conversations are pleasant. When my son was testing me, as adolescents and teenagers will do with their parents, there were many times that our voices would be raised. The words spoken were not the kind that you enjoy rehashing when the conversation ended. As we would part, I had a habit of asking my son something that bordered on the dramatic. If these were the last words we spoke to one another, is this the memory we would want to carry with us? Uncomfortable conversations do happen. Is it possible to speak in a calm tone, with truth and honest emotion, when you find it necessary to voice your opinion or anger?  I find it is just as important to voice pleasant and uplifting thoughts as they do no good held bound between someone’s ears. I choose to believe that our voices were given to us to be used as a tool, one for building others up and not tearing them down. Those on the receiving end, would be wise to listen with an open heart as one day that may be the only place that particular voice exists.

Post Script: This blog is posted a little bit later than usual. I had a long phone conversation tonight with a friend of over thirty years that I consider more as family. We are separated only by the miles. Do I need to tell you how good it was to hear her voice?

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.

More or Less

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I recently began a new stage in life. I crossed the great divide and am now retired. As in all life changes, this prompted an introspective look. Am I content with my accomplishments? Are there things I have left undone? Are there important items on my bucket list that I feel I must accomplish? Like life, the answers to these questions present an ebb and tide in my mind. Depending on the day, the answers, contentment and resolve can often change. I do recognize there is a thought that seems rather pronounced. This transition has brought a personal perspective that others, my contemporaries, might have also come to realize.

When I was young, I wanted more. I had my whole life ahead of me. As cliché as it sounds, I truly did feel that the sky was the limit. My aspirations where not far from others in my age group. My plans for a higher education didn’t pan out exactly the way I would have liked but a bright future appeared to be within reach. My contemporaries and I might have shared the same checklist which had marriage, home and children. Looking back I can say: check, check and check. I wanted my professional life to be a reflection of who I was. I wanted responsibilities and programs that I could build with foundations that would remain strong and exist well into the future. I wanted to leave my mark. I would say I also desired more money but my career in nonprofit work would not ordinarily allow for it.

I have never considered myself materialistic, yet I still wanted more. A closet full of clothes was an acceptable quest. Vacations were something that were planned and enjoyed yearly. My home was filled with décor I enjoyed, trinkets and souvenirs. It was the normal and acceptable way of life. Again, it didn’t mean I wallowed in shallowness as this drive was even a part of my faith life. It was not enough to attend services on Sunday, I felt it necessary to be part of the church leadership. This also extended to other volunteer activities. I didn’t dare be a hypocrite. How could I ask someone to give their time if I didn’t do it myself?

I am not clear if this is an observation or a confession. Either way, it invokes exhaustion. I thought I was going with the flow but in retrospect it looks like there were times that rivaled what felt more like white water rapids. There were moves and new starts in different communities. A divorce and two professional positions that were eliminated had me muster both perseverance and flexibility. Those might have been the times that my original drive and passion for more began to chip away. I might have even accepted the realization that the status quo was something I could live with and still be content.

Now my retirement looms brightly before me. I laugh and say the losses in life gave me the gift of frugality, which will be helpful as I navigate the years ahead. I am content in the little home that I share with my quirky cat. I now find the need to clear out the items that I thought were once so important to acquire. I still enjoy a change of scenery but souvenirs are not nearly as important as the memories. I recognize time spent with family and close friends is priceless. Once consumed with “more”, a lifestyle of “less’ is what I now most desire. Would I change anything in the years that are now history? I don’t lose sleep even questioning it. What has taken me a lifetime to realize is that I am grateful for currently being enriched by less.

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.

Memories of Mom

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I would be remiss not to express my thoughts on motherhood as we approach Mother’s Day. It’s not that I am lured into the commercial side of the day but rather appreciate the recognition that it garners. Giving birth to my son will always be the most important thing that I accomplished while on this earth. The fact that he has grown into a thoughtful and caring man only adds to my joy. My focus is not on myself though, but rather my own mother. She has been gone for a long time but her presence is still felt today. Memories, from early in my childhood, linger and have my mother prominently at the center.

Mom had the misfortune to lose her own mother at the age of four. Several years later, her step mother was to also die at an early age. My mother and her sister were raised without the benefit of a lasting maternal role model in their home. Their aunts were there and offered what they could, but basically, they were motherless. I feel that this experience taught my mother a life lesson that remained with her. She understood what a void she had experienced in her life and ensured that my brothers and I would never suffer the same consequences. No, she didn’t make a pledge to longevity but rather loved and guided us with every bit of her being.

When I was very young, we made the move from Philadelphia to the location where my father had been stationed for recruiter duty. Totally in agreement, my parents felt like it would be a good place to raise children and that is where we stayed. Looking back, I believe that this made us a tighter family unit. We were removed from our extended family and were making our way in a new community. Initially we had depended upon each other. Our world would expand to include our neighbors and friends but I was much too young to exist beyond the circle of my family. It might have been different for my older brothers but I was very much attached to our mother.

As we acclimated ourselves to our new community the time came for me to attend kindergarten. It was only for half a day but it was my first venture into the world beyond our home. The day came when an open house was held for registration. I recall going into the large room with my mother. There were other children there with their mothers. The room was large, colorful and filled with a variety of toys and activities. As we made our way around the space I was intrigued by a toy that was perched on a shelf. It was a wheel with wooden letters placed upon a wire that encircled it. I was enthralled by the object. I’m sure I didn’t grasp the educational concept behind the toy but I remember the simple enjoyment that sliding the small blocks around the wheel brought. When I tired of it I turned to look at my mother. She wasn’t there. Immediately I panicked and began to cry. It didn’t take long to realize that my mother had only moved to the other side of the room. I was never in danger and hadn’t been abandoned but I have not forgotten the terror I felt when I couldn’t immediately find her. I was the same age that my mother was when she permanently lost her mother. I have a hard time grappling with a loss so profound at such a young age.

It is clear that my year in kindergarten was helpful in expanding my world. My time there can be considered a success. I made friends, some of who I am still in contact with today. With an increase in my social skills and all the other necessary requirements met, my classmates and I prepared for graduation. The girls must have been instructed to wear white dresses and come with a bouquet of flowers. It must have been enjoyable for my mother to choose a dress for her only daughter to wear for this rite of passage. Actually she must have reveled in the idea of having her little tomboy wear something so special. A white dress was selected and my bouquet would consist of deep reddish peonies. Since the flowers made such a nice contrast, my mother thought adding a red sash to my dress would really set it apart. Then she must have thought that to complete the ensemble the anklets needed to match. Bright red socks were selected to blend with the sash and flowers. Decades later, when the topic would arise, she would never concede that it was anything other than a perfectly matched outfit. Mercifully, I believe this fashion faux pas is something only my family remembers, albeit with laughter.

Thinking of how we were raised, again I am in awe of our mother. After we had relocated, my father had to complete his last tour of duty in the Navy, a six month deployment. When he retired from the Navy his next career had him work second shift. My mother had the unenviable role of often being the sole disciplinarian. It is no wonder that one night, after dinner, I made a rude comment about her choice of serving rice pudding. At that point she lost patience with me and I was sent to my room without dessert. Thank you, Jesus! She did a remarkable job of raising us but I am sure Dr. Spock never contacted her for parenting advice after that episode.

Mom was blessed with a long life. Although being her only daughter and the closeness it brought, we never considered ourselves best friends. I held respect for her role as my mother. She did rely on me and we had some very honest and heartfelt conversations before her death. I told her that I planned on eulogizing her, just as I had done for Dad many years earlier. I confessed that I was going to share comical parts of her life. She would smile and had no reservations. As we held vigil around her bed during her last hours I wasn’t thinking about red socks or rice pudding. I told her that she did well by us and we would be okay. She let go and I can rest easy knowing that there was nothing left unsaid. She is missed everyday but I have no lingering grief over anything that should have been addressed. I can’t imagine how heavy that burden would be if I had followed a different path. I wouldn’t want anyone to travel that road and if I had any words of wisdom to share they would be simple and few: call your mother if you have the good fortune to still have her.

This is not the first time I have written about my mother. You are welcome to read another post on a previous blog: https://mypunchline.wordpress.com/2015/08/16/my-mother-and-loss/

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.

Timing

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I received my education from the School Sisters of Notre Dame. When I was young, and the most vulnerable, they impressed upon me ideas beyond the typical school subjects. One, stressed in many different ways, was to always remain prayerful. There was a prayer for everything and special times to recite them. If you were to hear the siren of an emergency vehicle, it was cause for prayer. In particular, if it was that of an ambulance, one was to pray for the victim to overcome an illness or survive an accident. I would think that it doesn’t come as a surprise that I still carry that with me to this day. I’m not the least embarrassed to admit that I am prompted to pray for a total stranger during their time of need.

If the nuns assisted in giving me a foundation of prayer, as an adult I have not only claimed that as beneficial but have continued to build upon it. I feel a sense of gratitude that I am not the victim in need of transport by ambulance when I hear one on its way. I don’t have a sense of better you than me.  I have experienced it for myself and know how helpless one feels when your body reminds you that you are not immortal and you are the one on the stretcher taking a bumpy ride to the hospital. It is a sincere feeling of gratitude that I am not experiencing it this time and I pray for the well-being of the individual whose turn it is.

I also have a feeling of gratitude when I realize I avoided some misfortune, possibly due to timing. Again, it is not my wish that anyone suffer but often I have thought that there for the grace of God go I. One recent morning, when ready to head to work, I noticed sleet as I got into the car. I was running late, as usual, but I wasn’t concerned about the state of the roads. A little bit of sleet shouldn’t disrupt travel. As I approached a nearby town the sleet turned to snow and it was quickly laying. I didn’t see any snow plows, nor did the roads look like they were treated. As I approached the mountain I cross daily, I was stopped by a line of vehicles ahead of me. They were blocked at the base of the mountain and I could see flashing lights ahead. The ambulance prompted a prayer and then I offered an additional one of gratitude. If I had been on time, maybe it would have been my car that would have been caught in the collision. There have been several times that an unusual circumstance changed my timing and it left me wondering if I was being protected from harm.

I will share with you the time that I could have been the unfortunate victim. I have a level of comfort when driving in the snow. I don’t wish for it but when it comes I don’t shy away from getting behind the wheel. Upon returning from work one evening, I was close to home on a well-travelled, straight stretch of road. Although I didn’t see it or feel it, I must have hit a patch of ice. The car crossed the line and I found myself staring at oncoming traffic.  I might have tried to correct the direction when the car went into a spin. There was nothing I could do to stop the momentum. It was literally time for Jesus to take the wheel. Soon I found myself in my original lane but was facing the vehicles that were initially behind me. At that point I slid off the road, down into a slight ditch and finally came to a stop. I was inches away from hitting a telephone pole. There was barely any time to catch my breath when someone knocked on my window and asked if he could help. Although he was wearing a trapper hat with the ear flaps down, I still can remember what he looked like. His curly ginger hair was visible under the brim of his hat and his eyes were a bluish gray, his face sprinkled with freckles. I was in no position to refuse help and he quickly went to the rear of the car and pushed me out of the hollow and back onto the road. Although he appeared to be slight in build it took him no time at all to push the car out of the ditch and back onto the road. I was shaking but continued on and, when at a safe spot, turned around to go my original direction. I instantly thought that I should have thanked him for his kindness but it all happened so quickly. I passed the spot where I had gone off the road and there was no sign of him. Initially I thought I was so fortunate that during a snow storm there happened to be someone out in a cow pasture, right where I was to go off the road. What were the odds? Was it timing or something else? In hindsight I realize that my car returning to the road without tires spinning in the snow or additional assistance to push the car up and out appears to be rather unusual. Then I question what others around me might have witnessed.

Years later, I have deemed the experience as miraculous. I wasn’t granted the timing to stay removed from peril yet I was kept from harm during a potentially dangerous event. It was an answer to prayer that I barely had the time to utter. The experience was more than a decade ago yet I can relive it in my mind as if was yesterday. I have come to understand that there are things that life sends us which are beyond our control. There can be events where timing is on our side and others when that may not be the case. Although it might appear that there is no rhyme or reason, it is all part of the human experience. Let’s hold on tight and see what timing might bring us next.

Season Changes

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I have been home, recovering from surgery, for two months. While recuperating, I realized that life has continued and my lack of participation has not stopped the march of time. I missed the end of the summer season. The farm stands that offered corn, watermelon and cantaloupes now are full of pumpkins and squash.  The lush green canopy of trees have become swirling red, yellow and orange leaves, providing a colorful carpet upon the ground. There have even been changes in my personal life. Prior to returning to work I decided it was time for a new hair style. I am now revisiting my short and curly look. There is one more obvious change in my life; for the first time in over thirty five years, I have no cat underfoot.

I don’t plan on making this a memorial to Scout, but I do want to share a bit about her. When I purchased my home eighteen years ago, she turned up in my yard. Whenever I was outside she would be there, bouncing and jumping around. For being such a tiny kitten she was spending her time with the big cats as part of a feral colony. I was not looking for another cat as I already had two residing with me. I reconsidered when thinking about the age of one, who was nineteen at the time. I thought for sure I would lose her sometime in the near future and rescuing Scout would allow me to return to life with two cats again. My elderly cat lived to see twenty two. For several years I was the crazy cat lady with three cats.  

Scout spent years unapologetically continuing to show her feral roots. She was often referred to as the invisible cat as she would make herself scarce if I had visitors. During her life with me she shared space with a total of three other different cats and she was left when it was time for each of them to cross the Rainbow Bridge. For the last two years of her life, she was my “one and only” and she easily adapted to life without competition for food and affection. She finally came out of her shell and acknowledged that she was comfortable with receiving attention from my guests. In the past two months, as I recuperated, she had been my constant companion. I noticed her weight loss but attributed it to the fact that she had reached the age of eighteen and time was taking its toll.

I think that there is something to human psychology and spending time together that has you overlook gradual changes. Those who have not seen someone for a period of time can readily pick up on them. Scout continued to lose weight and yet her appetite increased. I didn’t initially notice as she maintained her normal routine. She would wake me each morning and would talk to me as she led me into the kitchen. She was affectionate as ever and I would pet her, listen to her purr but I could feel her bones under her skin. Her coat remained shiny and silky. A vet visit confirmed that her organs were well but she had developed a mass. I knew that a tough decision lay ahead of me. I resented the fact that I had to return to work. If I remained home I could monitor her and not feel like I was cutting her life short.

I finally came to the conclusion that I was denying the true state of her health and wasn’t doing her any favors by not taking the responsible steps. I continued to vacillate until the final moments. Once she was gone I realized that I had a sense of relief. She loved me unconditionally and trusted me. For years she knew she would be fed and the litter box would be clean. She knew she would be safe, warm and loved. This was the final step in our relationship. The change I dreaded has happened and I go on. There is positive side, I realize that the loss of Scout allows me to offer a safe haven to another homeless cat in the future. I also recognize there is a greater lesson. Sometimes the changes we dread the most, propel us to a new environment filled with opportunity and unexpected rewards and goodness. The loss of a loved one creates a figurative void in our hearts. I have come to understand that grief can expand your heart to a point that it feels like it will burst. It feels as if it has been stretched, creating an even larger void.  When the time is right, there is a possibility that we can be blessed by something else that will fill that void. It won’t be the same, nor should it. As we continue to live and breathe, our hearts are still beating and capable of love. It’s up to us to be open to it.

Season Changes

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I have been home, recovering from surgery, for two months. While recuperating, I realized that life has continued and my lack of participation has not stopped the march of time. I missed the end of the summer season. The farm stands that offered corn, watermelon and cantaloupes now are full of pumpkins and squash.  The lush green canopy of trees have become swirling red, yellow and orange leaves, providing a colorful carpet upon the ground. There have even been changes in my personal life. Prior to returning to work I decided it was time for a new hair style. I am now revisiting my short and curly look. There is one more obvious change in my life; for the first time in over thirty five years, I have no cat underfoot.

I don’t plan on making this a memorial to Scout, but I do want to share a bit about her. When I purchased my home eighteen years ago, she turned up in my yard. Whenever I was outside she would be there, bouncing and jumping around. For being such a tiny kitten she was spending her time with the big cats as part of a feral colony. I was not looking for another cat as I already had two residing with me. I reconsidered when thinking about the age of one, who was nineteen at the time. I thought for sure I would lose her sometime in the near future and rescuing Scout would allow me to return to life with two cats again. My elderly cat lived to see twenty two. For several years I was the crazy cat lady with three cats.  

Scout spent years unapologetically continuing to show her feral roots. She was often referred to as the invisible cat as she would make herself scarce if I had visitors. During her life with me she shared space with a total of three other different cats and she was left when it was time for each of them to cross the Rainbow Bridge. For the last two years of her life, she was my “one and only” and she easily adapted to life without competition for food and affection. She finally came out of her shell and acknowledged that she was comfortable with receiving attention from my guests. In the past two months, as I recuperated, she had been my constant companion. I noticed her weight loss but attributed it to the fact that she had reached the age of eighteen and time was taking its toll.

I think that there is something to human psychology and spending time together that has you overlook gradual changes. Those who have not seen someone for a period of time can readily pick up on them. Scout continued to lose weight and her appetite increased. I didn’t initially notice as she maintained her normal routine. She would wake me each morning and would talk to me as she led me into the kitchen. She was affectionate as ever and I would pet her, listen to her purr but I could feel her bones under her skin. Her coat remained shiny and silky. A vet visit confirmed that her organs were well but she had developed a mass. I knew that a tough decision lay ahead of me. I resented the fact that I had to return to work. If I remained home I could monitor her and not feel like I was cutting her life short.

I finally came to the conclusion that I was denying the true state of her health and wasn’t doing her any favors by not taking the responsible steps. I continued to vacillate until the final moments. Once she was gone I realized that I had a sense of relief. She loved me unconditionally and trusted me. For years she knew she would be fed and the litter box would be clean. She knew she would be safe, warm and loved. This was the final step in our relationship. The change I dreaded has happened and I go on. There is positive side, I realize that the loss of Scout allows me to offer a safe haven to another homeless cat in the future. I also recognize there is a greater lesson. Sometimes the changes we dread the most, propel us to a new environment filled with opportunity and unexpected rewards and goodness. The loss of a loved one creates a figurative void in our hearts. I have come to understand that grief can expand your heart to a point that it feels like it will burst. It feels as if it has been stretched, creating an even larger void.  When the time is right, there is a possibility that we can be blessed by something else that will fill that void. It won’t be the same, nor should it. As we continue to live and breathe, our hearts are still beating and capable of love. It’s up to us to be open to it.