Beach Vacation

I have friends who are leaving this weekend for a beach vacation. I love beach vacations. We were going to have one this summer, but since things have changed, we canceled it. So, today, we talked about how to have a beach vacation without the beach. We can still eat seafood everyday. We can still have drinks with little umbrellas in them. We can sit on lounge chairs by the pool. We can leave our bathing suits on all day. We can go to Kings Island's Soak City and play in the waves. We can watch sand volleyball. We can play Jimmy Buffett and reggae music. We can sit on our porch and watch the sunset and imagine the ocean just on the other side of the tree line. We can lie in bed at night and listen to wave CDs and fall asleep to the sounds of the water. What is a beach vacation?  Long lazy mornings, picnic lunches, bike rides, swims, naps, starlit dinners...we can do that here. We can do that with friends, and family, whenever the mood strikes us. We don't have to spend hours in the car, salty, sunburned, stuck in traffic. Of course, the ocean is not here, that beautiful blue body of power and wonder. But everything else is, and we are here, so we will do our best to bring the beach vacation home. Come along with us!

Memorial Day

Our relationship with Memorial Day is complicated. At once we despise war, but acknowledge our human inability to avoid it and the bravery required to fight it. My husband and I served for 4 years in the Air Force, during a period of peace. I often feel we did not really 'serve our country' during that time, because we did not endure any suffering and the benefits of the service far outweighed any negatives. We were young newlyweds, underemployed and looking for an adventure together. We gained independence, a VA loan for our first house, the GI Bill to finish our education, job skills and, eventually, due to our station in the Bible Belt, our enduring faith. That was what we received for our service, more than we could have ever hoped for. Of course, Memorial Day is to honor indeed that very liberty and privilege that comes from the freedoms we hold so dear in this country. Freedom to be independent, to get a good education, to worship openly. Along with us, my father, uncle, cousin, mother and father-in-law, sister, brother, and now son-in-law have all served in the Armed Forces. We despise war. We love our freedoms. It is complicated yes, but also simple. It is putting our love into action, feet to our convictions, and honor to what we hold most dear.

The Pond

There is a pond at my dad's farm. He had it dug out about 15 years ago, and there is a funny story about how he drove to someplace in West Virgina to get the floats for the dock and they fell off the truck onto the highway, etc. The pond was a dream, that he finally fulfilled, even though he already had dug a cement pool that was clean and clorinated most of the time. The pond was au natural, stocked with game fish and crowded with the kind of plant life that stagnant ponds like. I preferred the pond, really, because the water was always cold and the dock reminded me of other bodies of water I swam in when I was a child. The dock at the pond is greying and warped now. The storage box near the bank is full of aging life vests, sized for children, but unsuitable now for any child to wear. The box is also full of dried vegetation and probably scary things like wasps and snakes. It made me a little sad to remember when the pond was new, and the place filled with splashing cousins and laughter, the paddle boat was not filled with decaying leaves and my father was strong and in charge of everything. Fifteen years have changed the place, but not the memories. I can hear the laughter still, above the humming of the bees, not sad but full of life.

Each time we fall we rise higher

How does it happen that when you think you are in free fall, and all the odds are against rising again, the wind of God lifts you up and sets you back on the mountaintop? Oh yes, the ways to fall are many, and the way down is fearsome indeed. There are many ways to feel pain. Between the closing of the eyes, and sleep, there can be violence inside. When the bearing of it seems to be more that can be borne, again the wind of God moves the darkness aside, easing the pain. What mystery is this, beyond the pills and other human concoctions, that opens the windows of heaven with a moment of deliverance. Wings. Wind. We are renewed like the eagles. We are lifted and soar, rising higher each time we fall, until finally we might catch a glimpse of the One who loves us. The One who is drawing us to himself, who will wipe the tears from our eyes, and make everything wonderful. We stand back in our place, keeping our eyes firmly fixed on where we saw Him last, our gaze sure that we will see Him again, confident that our struggle to rise will find it's zenith in His land. In His time. There is a place for us here, and there. When we find ourselves face down here, we can know we will be face down, before Him, up there. O happy day!

In the garden

It is a lovely day to work in the little garden that borders our house. My daughter Mary is here. We got out the trowels and scissors and cut back the brown daffodil leaves, transplanted errant columbine and volunteer lilacs. Amid the heavy growth of utilitarian hosta and ferns are the flowers planted over past Mother's Days, popping up tall and strong. Orange wallflowers, violet monarda,  chocolate heuchera. We remember the years they were planted, times of transition when we were living together, repairing breaches, healing wounds. Each green thing, having survived another wintry season, starts again further ahead than where it ended the year before. A healthy garden takes on it's own life, making room for the new plants, shielding them from the heat of the day. The older plants fade away, barely leaving a trace until the new plants, finally mature, can hold their own. In the garden, there is life and death, memories, joys, successes and failures. There is always the close smell of the earth, the worms, the seeds, the hidden bulbs. We dig and remember and laugh and plan and hope the days reach all the way to where we are always happy.

Somewhat less than amazing

We can get used to striving to be amazing. We can have the best shoes, hair, job. We can walk into a room with the best dessert, the best wrapped present, drive the nicest car. We can get hit with bad news and continue to smile and wear lipstick and our prettiest earrings. We can keep striving to be amazing, but at some point the striving starts to cost too much. We start to make our amazing cake icing and realize we don't have the right sugar. We don't have enough birthday candles to decorate it. We can't find the matches to light the few candles we do scrape together from the bottom of the kitchen junk drawer. Each setback leaves us breathless and frazzled. We don't get the looks we are used to, we mumble "Sorry" and tear up when we think of what we could have done, but were not able to do. We stumble in this foreign land, the land of less than amazing. When the applause dies down and people drift back to their own lives and we are left with the lingering joys of having accomplished something we will probably never do again. This life has it's own pleasures, each amazing in it's own way. The effort to rise, and shine, to smile, to taste a little ice cream, all still amazing, even if somewhat less than it was before.

Chicago

Our latest RATs adventure took us to the Windy City this past weekend. We strolled the Magnificent Mile, had a toast on the 95th floor of the Hancock Tower, ate a Cheeborger at the infamous Billy Goat Tavern, lounged in the hotel's soothing hot tub and, of course, were too loud and too silly at all those places. We were seven, and besides enjoying the sights of the city, we also allowed each other to cry about things that needed to be cried about, tell stories that needed to be told, and gave gentle hugs when necessary. I guess we didn't need to go so far to do those things, and the emotions behind the stories can catch us by surprise, but we sometimes need to get far away from what comforts us to find the sticky place in our souls. How wonderful that we can show that sticky place to the ones who know us well, know what to say, know what not to say. We walked down a wet street and marveled at the artifacts cemented into the Chicago Tribune Tower, brought from around the world, momentos of nameless reporters, capturing a bit of history. Each amazing piece tucked into the wall reminded me of our friendships, our closeness, our joys and our sorrows, our stories all part of our wonderful lives together.

Fuzzy Slippers

I am meeting the hospice team, one by one. The nurse, the social worker, the chaplain. They are dedicated to carrying whatever we cannot carry, as we travel along this road. Like Himalayan sherpas, they will take the burdens of the business of transitioning from one camp to another so that we can climb without losing our breath or hope. They will keep the way clear, so we only have to focus on what feels good, what brings comfort. It is freedom, as they get the prescriptions, the paperwork, the permissions to be the resource for everyone in the family. We can put our feet up, put on our fuzzy slippers, sit on the porch and watch the birds. How wonderful to have such kindness and competence just a phone call away, 24 hours a day. This freedom gives us courage and peace to enjoy the day. God's gifts to us are never ending, as He  provides comfort and strength for the journey, enables His people to extend their hands to those in need, wraps us up in the mercy of His love. We will kneel in our fuzzy slippers and offer up our thanks for His precious gifts, relax in the warmth of His love and pray for God's blessings to be poured out on all of the chosen ones who are carrying our load with us.

The Perfect Day

Yesterday was the perfect day. It started at 4 am, in the cool dark of almost morning. My friends Lynn and Ute picked us up for our adventure in Cincinnati. We stood in Corral H, assembling more friends, until the start of the race. Over the course of 13.1 miles we found family, cheering friends on the sidelines, funny supportive posters, dance music and Elvis. At the finish line we were awarded with smiles and tears and a heavy medal on a wide ribbon. We have planned this day for months, it was my 'line in the sand'. I held it up for our doctors to see that we would give you this much, but no more. We needed to know that wellness was the goal, strength was the purpose, quality of life meant that the day could be perfect. Our friends took up the cause, and rallied with us, allowing us all to enjoy the beauty of the day and the miracle that took place with every step. We were here because we were blessed, we were loved, we made hard choices, we gave up things, we trained, we believed. In one single day, all the days before made sense and found meaning. No matter what lies ahead, there is always hope for perfect days, when our lives find joy, we can dance to the rhythm of the day and fall into the arms of the ones who love us.

Listening to the day

The morning starts slowly, the sun is not yet up. The cat is up and wants his morning snack. He wants out. He has bad tricks he plays if he cannot have those things. As the day dawns, the coffee is poured, daily bible reading is read. The geese are busy chatting each other up, herons swoop over the water in elegant fashion. It is warm already, and still. The frogs make deep music underneath the bright bird calls. This is the first day of this new season, a time of reflection and peace. Each sound is special, each voice from every living thing has a purpose, a connection to the God who made each of us. We all call out to each other, and to Him, wanting to be heard. He responds to us, because He loves us. He sends us messages all day. He sends words on pages of books, in songs, in spoken form. He sends birds and butterflies, rainbows, sweet smelling flowers, chocolate. He sends sun and rain, starlight, moonlight. He sends hope and joy, patience, kindness, love, gentleness. We miss these messages because we don't listen well. Listening to the day, we feel the comfort of God, soothing our ragged souls, reminding us that we are part of His eternal glory. The cat, the frog, the geese, the heron, you, and me.

Doing what is in front of you to do

The time has come for palliative radiation and hospice and finishing things. None of these things are what I would choose to do on a mild spring day if I had my choice. But this is what is in front of me to do. I can still plant flowers and watch the hummingbirds fight over the feeder. I can still spin some wool and play with Collette. I can buzz like a bee to make Anderson smile. I can still do the fun things, but the hard things are there to do, as well. Standing solemn and silent as soldiers, in the shadows now stepping out to take my hands. These hands that know how to knit and cuddle, write words and sew pillows will stretch out and hold the sides of a radiation table and sign my name to a living will. These hands will share those things that I cannot keep with those that I know will keep them well. With steady gaze, I see the work I must do. Once the first step is taken, the path becomes easier, the camaraderie of those walking with you feels safe. Without looking back, you can move into the business of what is in front of you, putting your hands to it with surety, remembering that the One that leads you is able to sustain you, until you have finished doing what is in front of you to do, and can lie down to rest.