Tag Archives: Meeting life’s challenges

Apologies

Posted on by
1

When this blog originated it was done with the promise, to you the reader, and myself that it will be posted every other week. In between, a quotation is offered that is in sync with the previous post. I have kept the promise but I am breaking it tonight.

I have felt fortunate that inspiration has always come easily. That is still the case but due to family circumstances I am unable to pull my thoughts together and offer something that would be cohesive in thought and message. I am asking you for a reprieve this week. I will be back shortly with blogs that most likely will reflect the knowledge and experience I am currently acquiring.

For those who reside in the states, Happy Thanksgiving. Never forget to give thanks for the good that comes your way, no matter the size of the blessing.

Exploring

Posted on by
2

I don’t know why I was there. The house, although still furnished, was no longer inhabited. It was clear that no one continued to call it home. It stood silent, an interior that once must have boasted a vibrant past, one full of life, now stood quiet as dust collected on every surface. Exploring buildings of this nature was not a normal activity for me. Long gone are the days that I provided disaster relief and had to enter impacted homes in order to assess and validate the damage. This house didn’t tell a tale of disaster but rather sadness. I didn’t fear my safety from a compromised structure but I did feel uneasy. The sun didn’t provide much illumination throughout the rooms and apparently there was no electricity.

Entering the hallway, I saw a large opening into a room. I took notice of the wooden pocket doors at the entrance. They were tall, thick and still in working order. I didn’t attempt to close them but someone I was with took steps to pull them together. Just as the doors were closing, I noticed a figure move inside the room. It had the shape of a human but with the swift movement I couldn’t tell if it was a shadow or an actual person. Either way I believe we were given proof that we weren’t alone in the house. The movement startled me. As the pocket doors were coming together, I was conscious that I held something in my hand. I chose to ward off any harm that might beset me by throwing it into the room. There was no time to aim with precision but my gut instinct was to show that I was aware of their presence and I would take steps needed to protect myself. As the doors were within a foot of closing all the way, I threw the object toward the doors and heard a crash.

It was then that I woke up, safely tucked in bed. There was a soft illumination in the room as the television was on. It gave me enough light to notice that the noise in the room not only startled me but also woke my cat. Her head was up, staring in the direction where we heard the crash. Instantly I knew that I had been dreaming. It was obvious that I had quickly fallen asleep while checking out whether there might be a program that I wanted to watch. I still had my glasses on and they were propped up on the tip of my nose to allow my focus from that angle. What was missing was the remote. My right hand was empty and I swiftly recalled it was the same arm I used to throw the item in my dream, the one I used to keep myself safe. I would check for damage in the morning and locate the remote. The cat and I both settled back into a peaceful sleep. If I explored any other houses in my dreams, I don’t recall.

Dreams have always held an interest for me. I have understood that they exist so your unconscious mind can explore solutions for various issues while you sleep. I have yet to explore what the frightening exploration of that house might mean. No matter how many times I have checked into the meaning of my dreams, I have yet to find a resource that gives me a definitive explanation. Upon retrospect, I imagine that is the way it should be. We are all individuals, exquisite and special in our own right. No interpretation would suit everyone. I will continue to question the meaning of my night time visions but revel in the dreams I enjoy during my waking hours. Those are the ones I plan to fully explore, the dreams that provide my guidance to the future.

Reunion

Posted on by
3

As a blogger, I consider myself fortunate that inspiration comes easily and in a timely manner. I knew this week I would be focusing on my class reunion. What I didn’t know is what emotions would be elicited after seeing my former classmates. Decades have passed since we embarked on our own personal journeys and our paths were different from one another. I have admitted to initially being a cynic where reunions were concerned. For the longest time I felt our connection was random due to being the same age and having parents with a desire to have us attend parochial school. I couldn’t imagine what else would have brought us together. Now that I have a bounty of life experience under my belt, I appreciate that what I thought was random was actually a collective of those with whom I have a shared history.

Our gatherings this weekend were evidence that our conversations reflected our current status in life and we have not been stagnant. Years ago we spoke of higher education and opportunities. With the addition of years, we shared news of our profession, marriage and children. It is not an exaggeration to note that the greater portion of our lives is behind us. Now we speak of retirement and those who proudly wear the title of grandparent. There was such a sense of joy to be in one another’s company. No competition, no cliques, nothing but cohesion and acceptance carried us. Time has not tarnished our relationships and it was so easy to share conversation and memories.

There appeared to be an overriding opinion, spoken by many. We were fortunate to live safely in our little communities, untouched by danger and unrest. Even though the world was facing difficult times, we felt privileged to grow up where and when we did. Although somewhat naïve, we might not have recognized that there were some classmates that were challenged by issues at home. At the time we weren’t aware and if we were, I doubt we would have had resources to offer support. Everyone put on a brave face and met life with a belief that faith would safely bring us through it. Constantly reminded of the golden rule it would take years to take it to heart and develop a profound sense of empathy. Being in the company of my classmates proved that they have not only acquired empathy but admirable traits and personalities.

After all these years we made up for lost time in a period of two evenings. Laughter ensued as memories were shared and stories repeated. We recalled the times we pushed the envelope, and reveled in our immortality. We recognized the loss of classmates who were not as fortunate to enjoy a long life. The loss of parents and some siblings have become the norm. How will we choose to honor our connection in the future? I have the sense that those students, who once wore uniforms and walked silently in double file, will choose to continue to figuratively walk with one another. The scenery looks different than it did as angst filled teenagers but the unity we enjoy will help guide us through the next stages. Who better to understand than one with a shared history?

Chocolate Peanut Butter

Posted on by
Reply

My friend and I had stopped at a local coffeehouse for lunch some time ago. The location was named for the trainline that ran through town. The atmosphere there is warm and inviting.  An old house was converted to become one of the town’s newest eateries.  If you are fortunate, while dining, you can experience the train traveling at a high rate of speed almost within arm’s reach.  That particular afternoon we chose reasonably healthy meals.  Before we left, mainly out of curiosity, we checked out the dessert menu and witnessed the most fabulous creation of baked delights: chocolate peanut butter cake.

The description of this cake demands a paragraph all its own.  First, the cake was more of a layered torte.  It was cut to the size of a graham cracker, although much thicker. Upon the first layer of cake a decadent filling of peanut butter was piped in a swirling fashion.  This was capped with another layer of cake and peanut butter, until there were a total of three layers of cake. Upon witnessing this dessert offering it was no longer the train ringing in my ears, but rather the ethereal voice of angels.  Yes, as cliché as it seems, it truly appeared to be a heavenly feast.  At that time the feast was for our eyes alone, but a plan was hatched.

I have always considered chocolate peanut butter the best mood altering substance.  It can be candy, it can be cake, it can be ice cream, it really doesn’t matter.  It simply has to be a combination of chocolate and peanut butter.  Although my thighs think it should be outlawed I feel pleased that my vice is not illegal.  Knowing that the coffeehouse has such a fine example of dessert I knew it would not be long until there would be a rationalized excuse to consume a piece.  We agreed, not only would there be a future order, but we would make it our meal.  Gleefully we left the coffeehouse knowing that one day we would return to find a stacked confections of chocolate and peanut butter alongside steaming cups of coffee at our table.

That day arrived and we were seated just prior to lunch.  Several of the tables were taken and no one took notice as our coffee was brought and our order was placed.  The waitress was a bit concerned that the cake might still retain its chill from refrigeration.   After all, she stated, no one has ever ordered the cake so early in the day.  The chatter among the other diners was brought to a halt as two plates stacked with the sinful indulgence made its way to our table.  The waitress, aware of the diner’s thoughts, announced that we were having dessert for lunch.  Whispers were exchanged and heads turned.  Those who followed the stride of the waitress settled on us with looks of both humor and envy.  Our escape to find comfort among the calories did not go unnoticed.  I suspect that our mission, so successful in our minds, might have a life of its own as others either recounted what they witnessed or chose to one day follow in our footsteps.

As we left the coffeehouse the sky opened and the drizzle turned to rain.  With our goal met we understood that the issues in life would remain but our diversion was helpful.  Our lips found it just a bit easier to curve into a smile and laugh at the world with the remnant of that cake upon them.

Unconditional

Posted on by
Reply

I have often heard if you want unconditional love, get a dog. I am going to ask your indulgence to also include a cat in that statement. Throughout my adult years I have had cats as pets. It’s not that I don’t care for dogs, I do and enjoy their company immensely. I have found my lifestyle was more compatible to sharing my home with feline companions. As I age, I look at my most recent rescue and realistically consider her possibly my last. I have had the good fortune for my cats to live close to two decades on average but I can’t predict what the future holds.

When I rescued Molly, my most recent, I didn’t anticipate any issues. Having multiple cats previously I always took my time to introduce the most recent arrival. This time, as there were no other resident cats, it should have gone easily but that wasn’t the case. Molly could be cantankerous and defensive. In a very short period of time, I learned she has severe arthritis and her front legs are swollen and bowed. She gets a monthly shot and a daily supplement but I think she may still have some discomfort. I have excused her behavior but at times I have referred to her as Miss Cranky Pants. As time passes, she has become loving and loyal. She has made it clear that I am her person and will often let others know she has no time for their presence in her life.

Molly refrains from hissing, growling and swatting unless she feels threatened. I don’t see this behavior but the vet and others have told me it still exists. The other week I fell while at home. As I writhed in pain on the floor, Molly began hissing at me. Recently, I had the need to call for an ambulance. As I struggled to stay on my feet without falling, Molly again hissed at me. When taking the time to think about her unusual reaction, I couldn’t help but put a human emotion to her response. After seven years, her former owner had relinquished Molly to the shelter when her health necessitated a move into a nursing home. It may be a stretch to think that during my times of ill health she might have recalled her former life and it frightened her. I’ll never know as Molly’s not talking. Maybe it was that or it could have been the result of her unpredictable moods. I do know that while I was hospitalized and my son and brother spent time at my home with Molly, she acquired two new nicknames. Calling her Pissy Paws and Molly the Mutilator is not the result of her providing pleasant, affectionate company.

I make light of Molly’s moods but I do take seriously that she has been entrusted to me for the best care I can provide for her. It’s not challenging like motherhood. In the beginning, when you are so tired, you still must find the energy to provide all things to this new little life you have brought into the world. The bond and deep love you possess carries you through a lifetime. Through the years, when my son pushed the envelope, he knew it would never diminish the unconditional love I have for him. It is unrealistic to love and be loved by all who cross our path, but to open our hearts to care and accept others should be something we all strive to do. We may be met with a less than a welcoming response, one that may be the result of previous experiences and disappointments. At least we will know that we tried. Caring for a temperamental cat seems easy in comparison.  I bet Miss Cranky Pants would even agree.

Three Little Words

Posted on by
Reply

I bet you think you know where this blog is going. What usually comes to mind when “three little words” are mentioned? Yes, telling someone you love them is important on so many levels. We should never take for granted that our loved ones know how we feel. Whether it be your significant other, your family or close friends, one should never hesitate to share your feelings. It makes one’s heart feel good to speak it and oh so wonderful to be on the receiving end. I am extremely fortunate that those in my close circle say those three little words often and with meaning.

Now, I will tell you about three other simple little words that can carry empathy and healing. Those you share them with don’t have to be in your intimate circle. That is the beauty it carries with it. To tell someone “I hear you” is the most compassionate and caring response. No judgement, no rehearsed comments, nothing but a sincere acknowledgement to let them know they were heard. Often it takes courage to speak up and share something that is laying heavy on your heart. There might not be a solution and often you are not seeking advice but hoping that your words are received and truly heard to help lighten the load.

Recently I learned that someone I had known decades ago was faced with a life changing challenge. He lives far from where we were as teenagers and without him reaching out, his current situation would be unknown. He didn’t share this information right away and it took courage to finally decide to reach out. I was devastated to hear his news and I knew there was nothing I could say that would change his circumstances but I did let him know that I heard him. It may be best to say I heard what he didn’t say: the frustration and disappointment that was clearly evident and very much understood. When he, in turn replied, said he appreciated being heard.

I have a chronic health condition that is not physically obvious. Those close to me know but many who don’t think I am the picture of health. I have limitations and although I have learned to live with them, I would rather not have to be faced with any of it. I have mentioned my own health but there are so many other obstacles in life that encumber us. If there were ways to cast the problems off we would do it, but in reality, many of them linger. If we carry them for long periods of time they can begin to fester and it only adds to the burden. Sharing them in the hope that someone hears more than your words is like offering a little prayer. Please help me navigate to the other side of this. You don’t have to solve the problem, but accompany me along the way. Hearing, using both your ears and your heart, is the greatest of gifts.

Apprehension

Posted on by
Reply

Decades ago, our country was told we had nothing to fear but fear itself. Fear can be an overwhelming emotion. It can make your heart feel like it is in your throat.  Fear can make you lightheaded and weak in the knees. Fear can also stop you in your tracks and prevent you from safely moving forward, figuratively and literally. Have I known fear? Obviously, I have or I wouldn’t be able to put words to the emotion. As my mother neared the end of her life, we had many heartfelt conversations. On several occasions she told me that she thought I wasn’t afraid of anything. I don’t know if she found comfort and pride in that observation or concern over me daringly charging ahead.

I can look back over my life and remember times when I felt concern about what tomorrow might bring. Some of those concerns appear so silly now. One that lingers, for unknown reasons, is the change in uniforms at school. I attended parochial school from kindergarten through my senior year. The elementary school went through eighth grade. When making the passage into junior high, or seventh grade, we were allowed to remove the top part of our uniform jumpers and transition to skirts. The nuns must have felt that we, as preteens, had earned the right to show our status by the change. I can still remember the apprehension I felt on the first day of school that year. What if my mother had it wrong and removed the top of my jumper in error? It was with great relief that I saw all my female classmates in their skirts, topped with a white blouse and finished off with a navy-blue tie that would cross at the neck. I don’t know why that experience has remained with me. Did I actually fear the adjustment of my uniform or did the thought of change make me apprehensive? Other than embarrassment, what harm would have come to me?

There have been other life experiences that have given me pause. I remember, during the last week or two of my pregnancy, looking down at my abdomen and feeling apprehensive.  Thought was given to not only the pain of delivery but the overwhelming responsibility I felt for raising this new life. Again, I wasted my energy by letting my mind go there. My delivery was easy and I consider my son my greatest accomplishment. Trials often appeared but there was never any choice other than to move forward. There are legions of others that have joined me in conquered those same hurdles. I have experienced divorce, the elimination of professional positions, purchasing a house on my own and the loss of loved ones. There was no time for fear and the only choice was to find a way to achieve what was necessary.

I am not vain or a braggart. I have done what I needed to do in order to get to the other side of a challenge. I look at my contemporaries and marvel at the courage and back bone they possess to have met things that have come their way. I revisit the naïve school girl I once was and how foolish it seems to have been concerned about wearing an incorrect uniform. Currently I don’t feel as if I am confronted with encounters that induce fear. A life time of experience has provided me with the skills not to concentrate on the inconsequential. There might be cause for apprehension while waiting for results of medical tests that were never anticipated but the loss of sleep doesn’t change the outcome. Our physical bodies are miraculous but time does wear on them. I might be a bit slower in my step but I will continue to put one foot in front of the other. Every day that I meet, breathing and upright, I consider a win. If apprehension creeps into my psyche, I feel a nudge that lets me know I still have work to do and I will confront it with confidence. It is nothing to fear.

Spring Forward, Fall Behind

Posted on by
1

Some might argue that this blog is unnecessary as I am now retired.  I would take the stance that it is being posted as I want my voice to be heard, no matter what time it is.  When the clocks were moved forward one hour so we could “enjoy” day light savings time my life takes a serious turn toward lethargy.  I have yet to be convinced that there is any enjoyment to be found in this action.

First, I must offer a disclaimer that no research took place prior to this blog being written.  Google was not employed because, quite truthfully, I had neither the energy nor inclination.  I have understood that this change initially benefitted the farmers.  I see farm equipment behind my home operating with headlights after dark. I trust I was misinformed on this matter. The day continues to be 24 hours long. During the week someone shared that it was the grill industry that pushed for day light savings time. If this is true they were effective in their lobby efforts convincing others of the economic importance of grilling dinner late into the evening.  Someone should tell Thomas Edison that his invention of the light bulb was all for naught.

I will admit that I have known for some time that I am more of a sunset type of person as opposed to  sunrise.  When pictures of the glorious dawn are posted on Facebook I look and acknowledge mentally that I have not witnessed those colors across the horizon.  I consider myself fortunate to see the time on the face of the clock through my swollen eyes.  I am hard pressed to find anything magnificent or intriguing in the upcoming day when robbed of an hour’s sleep.  I do appreciate the vibrant hues displayed by a setting sun.  It has not been lost on me that I must now wait an additional hour to witness a beautiful sunset.

It has been documented that the week following the move to day light savings time is fraught with heart attacks and car accidents.  Fortunate not to experience this first hand I can empathize with those who have. It would be their collective voice that would make a difference in our plight. The remainder of us will quietly go out into the light and patiently wait for the signal that we are allowed to turn back the hands of the clock.  We will revel in the time we are given the nod to fall back, whether that movement is on a clock or into bed.

One Is Not Like the Others

Posted on by
1

My brothers and I were transplants. When our father left Georgia, as a young man, he was never again to make it his home. He met our mother in Philadelphia. We would live there until Navy recruiting duty would have us move. We left a metropolitan area and moved to a small town whose livelihood was centered more on blue collar employment. It almost felt like we were in our own little bubble. We didn’t live close enough to spend holidays and special occasions with our extended family and our celebrations found us together, as immediate family.

I always thought we were a pretty tight family unit. Although we were not carbon copies of each other, there was still evidence that we were family. Our childhood memories are the same, incorporating the same neighbors and friends. Although we may possess the same facial expressions and laughter, our independent natures eventually did emerge. Two of my brothers are tall and blue eyed. They favor our father’s side and are both talented musicians. My other brother and I favor our mother. He was always the athlete in the family and in later years has developed an eye for photography and other artistic endeavors. It wasn’t until recently that I realized that our lives have led us down different paths and we are far from being the same.

It was a startling wake up call to realize that although we were raised with the same values, as adults, our belief systems have gone in different directions. I have come to learn that it can be wise to stay away from the topics that are considered taboo: politics and religion. Although I consider myself independent and one who thinks for herself, I have always felt comfortable following in the footsteps of our parents. It wasn’t forced upon me; it was a natural choice. I will admit that as adults, my brothers and I have led different lives. Professionally, socially and education wise there was nothing cookie-cutter about the paths we followed. I feel rather naïve to admit that it wasn’t until the past few years that I have come to recognize our differences.

Although our mother was a constant in our lives, she must have perceived differences in us. When her time was growing short, there were issues that she felt were important to discuss. She expressed her concerns, that being her only girl, that I was not in a relationship. It would have eased her mind to think that after my divorce there was someone to take care of me. I believe her concern was the result of a generational norm. Ironically, my brothers have all been in relationships and I still bristle at the thought of losing my independence. Her main request was that I would ensure the family stays together. I promised her that would not be an issue. She never shared what she thought could cause a division. Upon her death there were no squabbles about her estate. It is not lost on me that in today’s politically charged environment that families are being torn apart. I would never allow that to happen. I love my brothers too much. We were brought up together on the same foundation and the same blood courses through our veins. I will celebrate our connection and accept our differences. Most of all, I will keep the promise I made to our mother all those years ago.

Microcosm

Posted on by
1

Very often, in inclement weather, total strangers will gather together and share shelter in order to protect themselves. There might be some small talk about the conditions, but under any other circumstance, odds are they wouldn’t find themselves engaging with one another. I found this same psychology exists when there is a bus trip underway.

My vacations often involve bus trips. I appreciate someone else doing the driving and the door-to-door service makes touring relevantly easy. I recently returned from a trip and found the experience provided other observations beyond the group mentality. The bus company that I utilize has started to assign seats. I usually travel alone and have the good fortune to be able to spread out. This time I brought a crochet project and was happy to be able to have use of both seats. It is the luck of the draw who you find yourself sitting by as well as how far back your seat might be located on the bus. Soon the passengers will find some commonality and groups will form.

This particular trip was one that I had planned for an extended period of time. I saved my money and didn’t complain about having to pay the single occupancy rate. I feel having a hotel room to myself an enjoyable benefit. We were scheduled to set out on the morning of Black Friday. My brother graciously cooked for Thanksgiving so there was no hindrance in my preparation. My packed bags were placed by the front door as I crawled into bed that night. I set the alarm for 6:00 a.m. and felt I would have plenty of time to reach the bus by 7:45.

The next morning there was no startling noise to rouse me out of bed. I glanced at my clock and realized it was 8:00 a.m. The trip host had tried to reach me by phone. Her message said they could only wait another five minutes. I found I was in a state of shock. I returned the call, being as gracious as I could, although heavy with disappointment. I couldn’t reach the host directly. Shortly after, the phone rang again and I was asked if I was familiar with a location, far removed from my original pick-up spot. The bus was stopping for breakfast at a buffet and I was asked if I could meet them there within the hour. I loaded the car and drove through a total of four states to meet them. I managed to do it within forty-five minutes. I missed breakfast but wouldn’t miss the trip.

There was a certain amount of notoriety I gained as a result of my unique way of meeting the bus. Once I was onboard and settled, I realized I left my hearing aids and charger, along with my phone charger, sitting on the kitchen counter. I could live without my hearing aids but the thought of having no access to communication and pictures was troublesome. I soon learned who my people would be. The couple sitting in the seats in front of me lent me their charger. I charged my phone during the day on the bus and retuned the cable to them so they could charge their ear plugs overnight.

Although I looked forward to this trip with great anticipation, I found it was fraught with frustration. I have a chronic illness and I have learned to work with the limitations that it presents. For some reason those issues didn’t appear to me or translate to the challenges that would be present while traveling. I found, due to my limitations, that I would miss half of the planned events. Very often I found I was on my own as the group moved ahead through the scheduled tours. Not to miss any opportunities, I spoke with many of the locals and found the conversations enjoyable in their own right. My condition is not well known and even misunderstood by several in the medical field. Not only did the couple who sat in front of me lend me their charger but they provided understanding. They had their own personal connection with my condition. Although I didn’t keep them from any of the tours, it was clear they were watching out for me. One evening I fell and suddenly those who I was not familiar with came to my aid. Within the week the circle of my people expanded. I didn’t have to look long or hard for someone to sit with at breakfast or share a spot at dinner.

The microcosm of the bus trip and all the passengers showed itself, once more, to be true. Those in attendance shared details of their lives quickly and without hesitancy as the time together would be fleeting. As the tourists took their last steps off the bus it was understood that it would be the last time this group would be together. We would return to our own communities and our long time group of friends who had to learn who we are over time. As travelers, we have no friends in common and if stories were shared later, they wouldn’t appear to be personal. Like those who might gather together to shelter from a storm, we have all moved on. Although there was such cohesion for a week, the shared conversations, tours and meals will be relegated to history. Every so often, there might be a story about a traveler whose passage through four states was needed to meet the bus. In reality, I might be the only one who continues to tell that tale and not one that I would want to repeat.