I belong to the France Family.
I belong to a big, beautiful, loving family.
To tell you much about them I would really need a full book not just a blog page.
The family, above all else, is about unconditional love.
It is about wanting to genuinely know what each of us have been doing in our lives, what has made us feel happy, what are the challenges we face, and can we help by sharing a burden.
It is about hugs...lots and lots of hugs.
A family reunion took place this last weekend. There were 8 uncles and aunts, 19 first cousins and their spouses, kids, and grand kids.There was food, lots and lots of food. There was laughter, there were tears.
There were little kittens to pet, tractors to drive, motorbikes to ride, swings to play in, badminton birds to hit , tether balls to swat, bird feeders full of birds to watch, goats to milk, bikes to ride, fires to sit around, beers to drink, cigars to smoke, mountains and prairie to marvel over, dogs to scratch, and dirt to play in. There was even more food. There were lots of conversations.
I occasionally took a break from the hugs, eating, and conversation to enjoy standing back and just taking in what was before me. My family.The voices and the faces of my family.
We talked about living, dying, and everything in between.
Over the next few days I will probably blog about a few of these conversations. Some of them were big and important and some were small but just as important. All of them highlighted how connected we all are to each other.
The conversation that comes first to mind is about my Aunt Helen. She was on everyone's mind much of the reunion due partly to the fact that she was the only living family member of that generation to not be in attendance at the reunion. She may not have been there physically, but she was fully there in spirit.
Linda, my cousin, is Aunt Helen's daughter. Linda, her husband, her children, and grand children, carried Aunt Helen with them to the reunion in their hearts. Aunt Helen has stage four Parkinson's disease and is now living in a care home. Her body is failing her. Her spirit is not. Linda told me that even with the suffering her mom is content. Linda related that her mom had taught her how to live in grace and dignity and is now teaching her how to die with grace and dignity.
Aunt Helen was an educator. She was once a teacher and a school principal. She had taught advanced mathematics and chemistry.
Her mind no longer lets her access that knowledge. Much of what she has learned and known is no longer accessible to her. That is...the things she knew with her mind.
The things she learned and knows in her heart, those she still recalls with remarkable clarity. She is left with the ability to recall scripture. When Linda reads part of a passage to her Aunt Helen is able to finish it. Linda will sit and play a part of a hymn and Aunt Helen will "play name that tune". She not only recalls the title of the hymn but all of the words.
Linda carried reminders to us of Aunt Helen's memories of each of us. She brought reminders of how we are still loved by our Aunt. She shared stories of our connections to Aunt Helen with her grandchildren. I recalled the marriage advice Aunt Helen had given me. That advice was that, 'There is no greater gift than a loving wife, no greater curse than a nagging one". There has not been a month to pass of my 30 years of marriage when I have not thought about that advice. Has that 1/2 joking bit of advice changed my marriage? I know it has. My husband probably has no idea how much influence my aunt has had on our marriage. As I get older I like to think I am becoming more of a gift and less of a curse.
Aunt Helen was very much present at the reunion.
So much of who I am comes from this place...this family. The strings may have gotten long but the ties are still incredibly strong. Each of us so very different, and yet so very much alike. It is that "root" thing. As we get older we seem to have more "surface roots". The fundamental truths of our family have become more apparent.
This is where my peace of heart lives, in these truths and in this family.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
People and poop...Another Post About Working at the Library
People. Working at the library is not really all about the books. It is about people. The people we work for and the people we work with. Because of this, how the workday will unfold is always unpredictable. Some days are so great I feel guilty for getting paid. Other days more than make up for those days. I think over all it comes out pretty fair.
On a normal work day at our branch we have 9 or 10 full or part-time staff in various positions working. We may also have several volunteers helping out. On a normal day our backroom work goes fairly smoothly, the books get on the shelves in a timely manner, circulation issues that arise at the desk get handled in a professional manner, and the computer questions get answered. Our lunches are taken. A few quirky things happen and we learn something new while helping patrons. We end the day feeling like we have accomplished what our jobs call for and go home feeling satisfied with our day.
There are many days that are not normal. In the last few weeks we have adjusted to a new accounting system, a new system for how books are shared by our various library branches, and a new automated bookdrop. It was a lot to handle all at once. There were a few very messy days while we worked around the installation of the new drop while also trying to adjust to the different work flow caused by the change in how our books move between branches.
An additional challenge to our days is that due to the current economic situation the library system is financially challenged. In the past if an employee needed a day off we were able to fill their shift with an on-call employee. Now, when a co-worker is off, it is not unusual to just have to get the work done short handed. It presents more of a challenge. An example of that challenge is what happened last Friday. Fridays are normally minimally staffed. We are only open for four hours in the afternoon. We have various meetings in the morning and try to get other things done that we cannot do when patrons are in the building. There is just as much work in the backroom as on any other day with fewer staff working. Last Friday our staff consisted of two librarians, one circulation supervisor, one library services assistant, and a half day book shelver. The circulation supervisor was in a meeting all morning. Obviously not the same type of day as when we have 10 staff people working.
Each day we have to work together, deal with personalities and shared duties. It can be a challenge. I have worked in libraries for 13 years. About 8 of those years I worked as a shelver. The other 5 years have been as a library services assistant. As a shelver I worked at 3 different branches, following supervisors I enjoyed working with as they moved from branch to branch. As a library services assistant I have worked at only one library. It has become my home away from home. The staff there my family away from my family. As in any family there are those who get along well, those who tolerate each other, and those that find some difficult to tolerate. We share bad days and we share good days.
While I may not always enjoy working with each of my co-workers the way I would like to, I do always appreciate working with them. As a whole "we complete each other". Personalities aside, there is a weird sort of balance present in our staff. What one person does not know, another does. What one person does well another does not. In the end, there is a sort of balance. An obvious example of this is with our book shelvers. We have one that has worked at the branch for more than 10 years. He does not clear as many carts of books by far as the new teenage shelver we have. Instead he can see what else needs to be done to keep our shelves organized. He shifts books and reorganizes sections. He knows when a section is too full and can help (weed) thin it. He changes the batteries in the clocks and resets them for daylight savings time. We do not have to ask him to do it, he just does it. The teen shelver is fast at getting the books on the shelf. He is observant and will find books out of place, but he rarely shifts books or tidies sections. He does not have the experience needed to be able to assist with (weeding) thinning a section that is too full. Our other two shelvers are kind of "happy mediums" they cannot do all the things the most experienced shelver can do, and are not quite as fast as the teen shelver but do more clean up than he does. There is a valuable balance.
It is the same way with the rest of the staff. I think each spends an occasional day feeling like they are sliding from one end of the teeter-totter to the other trying to maintain the balance. Those are days when you go home especially tired. It is easy to think you have worked harder than "the other guy", but the truth is we are all doing what we need to do to keep the balance. As one of the two full time Library Services Assistants I do less of the general checking in of books than some of the part-time folks do because I have quite a few other duties both assigned and implied that I must do as well. Some of them may feel I have "done less". There are days when I am kept jumping from one challenge to another and can feel that I "have done more". At the end of the day I do know that we have all done exactly what was needed to keep the balance.
Wow, now that was a ramble...
Now let me give you the "poop" on some of the issues we deal with at the library. It is not all about books. As I said at the beginning of this ramble, it is about people. It is also about people who have issues. I bet you would never expect that we have to deal with some of the things we have to deal with. For example, we have to deal with poop. Yup, librarians have to sometimes deal with poop. There is a company we call if the issue is bigger than the palm of our hand. They do biohazard clean up. Smaller than the palm of your hand, and we can deal with it. There are the poop smeared all over the walls of the bathroom stall issues. There are the poop left sitting on the purse shelf in the bathroom stall issues. There are the poopy handprints on the handicap rails in the toilet stall issue. There is the elderly lady who missed and pooped on the floor and then could not get up off of the toilet because the poop was in the way of her feet issue. Today's issue was the poop in the "S" section of the Picture Book shelves. Yup, one moderate sized, smelly poop partially hidden at the back of the shelf. Bet you didn't think that was part of working at a library, did you? We could also talk about dead squirrels in the bookdrop, or a Cheeto bag full of urine dropped in the bookdrop, or wet pants found in the kids section. In a bizarre way it is kind of interesting what some people will do. People. Yup....People.
On a normal work day at our branch we have 9 or 10 full or part-time staff in various positions working. We may also have several volunteers helping out. On a normal day our backroom work goes fairly smoothly, the books get on the shelves in a timely manner, circulation issues that arise at the desk get handled in a professional manner, and the computer questions get answered. Our lunches are taken. A few quirky things happen and we learn something new while helping patrons. We end the day feeling like we have accomplished what our jobs call for and go home feeling satisfied with our day.
There are many days that are not normal. In the last few weeks we have adjusted to a new accounting system, a new system for how books are shared by our various library branches, and a new automated bookdrop. It was a lot to handle all at once. There were a few very messy days while we worked around the installation of the new drop while also trying to adjust to the different work flow caused by the change in how our books move between branches.
An additional challenge to our days is that due to the current economic situation the library system is financially challenged. In the past if an employee needed a day off we were able to fill their shift with an on-call employee. Now, when a co-worker is off, it is not unusual to just have to get the work done short handed. It presents more of a challenge. An example of that challenge is what happened last Friday. Fridays are normally minimally staffed. We are only open for four hours in the afternoon. We have various meetings in the morning and try to get other things done that we cannot do when patrons are in the building. There is just as much work in the backroom as on any other day with fewer staff working. Last Friday our staff consisted of two librarians, one circulation supervisor, one library services assistant, and a half day book shelver. The circulation supervisor was in a meeting all morning. Obviously not the same type of day as when we have 10 staff people working.
Each day we have to work together, deal with personalities and shared duties. It can be a challenge. I have worked in libraries for 13 years. About 8 of those years I worked as a shelver. The other 5 years have been as a library services assistant. As a shelver I worked at 3 different branches, following supervisors I enjoyed working with as they moved from branch to branch. As a library services assistant I have worked at only one library. It has become my home away from home. The staff there my family away from my family. As in any family there are those who get along well, those who tolerate each other, and those that find some difficult to tolerate. We share bad days and we share good days.
While I may not always enjoy working with each of my co-workers the way I would like to, I do always appreciate working with them. As a whole "we complete each other". Personalities aside, there is a weird sort of balance present in our staff. What one person does not know, another does. What one person does well another does not. In the end, there is a sort of balance. An obvious example of this is with our book shelvers. We have one that has worked at the branch for more than 10 years. He does not clear as many carts of books by far as the new teenage shelver we have. Instead he can see what else needs to be done to keep our shelves organized. He shifts books and reorganizes sections. He knows when a section is too full and can help (weed) thin it. He changes the batteries in the clocks and resets them for daylight savings time. We do not have to ask him to do it, he just does it. The teen shelver is fast at getting the books on the shelf. He is observant and will find books out of place, but he rarely shifts books or tidies sections. He does not have the experience needed to be able to assist with (weeding) thinning a section that is too full. Our other two shelvers are kind of "happy mediums" they cannot do all the things the most experienced shelver can do, and are not quite as fast as the teen shelver but do more clean up than he does. There is a valuable balance.
It is the same way with the rest of the staff. I think each spends an occasional day feeling like they are sliding from one end of the teeter-totter to the other trying to maintain the balance. Those are days when you go home especially tired. It is easy to think you have worked harder than "the other guy", but the truth is we are all doing what we need to do to keep the balance. As one of the two full time Library Services Assistants I do less of the general checking in of books than some of the part-time folks do because I have quite a few other duties both assigned and implied that I must do as well. Some of them may feel I have "done less". There are days when I am kept jumping from one challenge to another and can feel that I "have done more". At the end of the day I do know that we have all done exactly what was needed to keep the balance.
Wow, now that was a ramble...
Now let me give you the "poop" on some of the issues we deal with at the library. It is not all about books. As I said at the beginning of this ramble, it is about people. It is also about people who have issues. I bet you would never expect that we have to deal with some of the things we have to deal with. For example, we have to deal with poop. Yup, librarians have to sometimes deal with poop. There is a company we call if the issue is bigger than the palm of our hand. They do biohazard clean up. Smaller than the palm of your hand, and we can deal with it. There are the poop smeared all over the walls of the bathroom stall issues. There are the poop left sitting on the purse shelf in the bathroom stall issues. There are the poopy handprints on the handicap rails in the toilet stall issue. There is the elderly lady who missed and pooped on the floor and then could not get up off of the toilet because the poop was in the way of her feet issue. Today's issue was the poop in the "S" section of the Picture Book shelves. Yup, one moderate sized, smelly poop partially hidden at the back of the shelf. Bet you didn't think that was part of working at a library, did you? We could also talk about dead squirrels in the bookdrop, or a Cheeto bag full of urine dropped in the bookdrop, or wet pants found in the kids section. In a bizarre way it is kind of interesting what some people will do. People. Yup....People.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
The Hummingbird
This is about to be a real rambling ramble. You have been warned.
Today I was licked by a hummingbird.
I held it in my hand and that felt like a miracle... and then it licked me.
I had never given any thought to a hummingbird having a tongue. The tongue is very thin, long, and dark. The hummingbird has such a long beak and then the tongue extends out beyond its beak by what seemed like about 3/4 of an inch.
And it tickles a bit.
At work today a hummingbird flew around inside the library for about two hours. It did not stop and rest during this time. It flew in a panic from one end of the library to the other. It first flew by close to the ceiling then the next pass would be right over our heads as the little bird searched for a way out of the building. It flew back and forth ceaselessly, letting out a small intermittent cry that tore at ones heart. Leaving the doors open did not help. Our lobby is somewhat dark and I don't think the bird could see that past the lobby was freedom.
My supervisor is a kind person and had put in a request for someone to come out and try to catch the bird. We then worried that they would not arrive in time to save the fragile bird. We had decided to try to make a net out of a bag to try to catch the little guy. We gathered the supplies in the back room and went back into the library looking for the tiny bird. We could hear its cry but could not see it at first. When I did not see it flying around, I looked around the top of the bookshelves knowing that it might have reached the point where it could no longer fly. I found it on top of a shelf perched on some books. I climbed upon a step-stool and then just picked the hummingbird up by cupping my hands around it. As I did I noticed its long beak and wondered how it was going to feel to be pecked as I felt sure I would be. And then ...nothing. My hands were not completely closed together and I could see the tiny bird sitting still in my hands as I walked quickly across the library to the front doors. The wings were open and it just sat in my hands, unmoving.
We reached the front door and I opened my hands. He sat in my cupped right palm with his wings spread. I expected him to fly off. Then...he licked me. Just one quick taste. He licked my finger.
It didn't weigh more than a breath. It didn't fly off, it just sat there. The poor creature was so tired and scared. I looked around for some sort of flowering plant. Near the door some Society Garlic was blooming. I knelt next to the plant with my hand extended and waited for the bird to step or fly out of my hand. When it continued to sit I held it near one of the blooms and it immediately stuck its beak into one of the flowers. I could tell it was using that same tongue I had felt to try to find the nectar in the bloom. I moved my hand around the cluster of flowers and it stuck its beak into first this bloom and then the next. Then it stopped and finally folded its wings. I just knelt there and looked at that delicate bit of life in awe. It moved forward in my hand to taste the next flower. I gently prodded it with my left hand to nudge it off to freedom. It took flight for just a moment still sampling the lavender blooms, then to my surprise it settled back onto my still outreached hand.
I sat a moment thinking of how I had hoped I had not frightened it too much. I had wished I could convey that I wanted to help it not hurt it. In that moment I felt I had my answer.
It felt like I was witnessing a miracle. With that beautiful, soft, incredibly tiny, iridescent, downy little creature in my hand, I felt so very grateful.
I moved away from the front door of the library to find a similar plant further away from the foot traffic that the front door encouraged. As I walked I kept my palm open and extended with the bird sitting unrestrained upon it. It let out another small cry as I walked. I settled in the quieter area and did the same thing again, letting it sample the blooms in front of it, and then nudged it off onto the plant.
That is where I left it. I sat there a bit and watched it. It seemed okay, it ducked its beak into a couple of blossoms and then just rested there. I went out about an hour later and it was gone. I hope it is okay. I trust that it is okay.
Tonight as I write about this simple little thing I feel as I did when I was a child and held a butterfly or a ladybug for the first time. Life is such a miracle. Life is so very fragile. Not just for hummingbirds but, for all living beings.
What a gift, to be licked by a hummingbird.
Today I was licked by a hummingbird.
I held it in my hand and that felt like a miracle... and then it licked me.
I had never given any thought to a hummingbird having a tongue. The tongue is very thin, long, and dark. The hummingbird has such a long beak and then the tongue extends out beyond its beak by what seemed like about 3/4 of an inch.
And it tickles a bit.
At work today a hummingbird flew around inside the library for about two hours. It did not stop and rest during this time. It flew in a panic from one end of the library to the other. It first flew by close to the ceiling then the next pass would be right over our heads as the little bird searched for a way out of the building. It flew back and forth ceaselessly, letting out a small intermittent cry that tore at ones heart. Leaving the doors open did not help. Our lobby is somewhat dark and I don't think the bird could see that past the lobby was freedom.
My supervisor is a kind person and had put in a request for someone to come out and try to catch the bird. We then worried that they would not arrive in time to save the fragile bird. We had decided to try to make a net out of a bag to try to catch the little guy. We gathered the supplies in the back room and went back into the library looking for the tiny bird. We could hear its cry but could not see it at first. When I did not see it flying around, I looked around the top of the bookshelves knowing that it might have reached the point where it could no longer fly. I found it on top of a shelf perched on some books. I climbed upon a step-stool and then just picked the hummingbird up by cupping my hands around it. As I did I noticed its long beak and wondered how it was going to feel to be pecked as I felt sure I would be. And then ...nothing. My hands were not completely closed together and I could see the tiny bird sitting still in my hands as I walked quickly across the library to the front doors. The wings were open and it just sat in my hands, unmoving.
We reached the front door and I opened my hands. He sat in my cupped right palm with his wings spread. I expected him to fly off. Then...he licked me. Just one quick taste. He licked my finger.
It didn't weigh more than a breath. It didn't fly off, it just sat there. The poor creature was so tired and scared. I looked around for some sort of flowering plant. Near the door some Society Garlic was blooming. I knelt next to the plant with my hand extended and waited for the bird to step or fly out of my hand. When it continued to sit I held it near one of the blooms and it immediately stuck its beak into one of the flowers. I could tell it was using that same tongue I had felt to try to find the nectar in the bloom. I moved my hand around the cluster of flowers and it stuck its beak into first this bloom and then the next. Then it stopped and finally folded its wings. I just knelt there and looked at that delicate bit of life in awe. It moved forward in my hand to taste the next flower. I gently prodded it with my left hand to nudge it off to freedom. It took flight for just a moment still sampling the lavender blooms, then to my surprise it settled back onto my still outreached hand.
I sat a moment thinking of how I had hoped I had not frightened it too much. I had wished I could convey that I wanted to help it not hurt it. In that moment I felt I had my answer.
It felt like I was witnessing a miracle. With that beautiful, soft, incredibly tiny, iridescent, downy little creature in my hand, I felt so very grateful.
I moved away from the front door of the library to find a similar plant further away from the foot traffic that the front door encouraged. As I walked I kept my palm open and extended with the bird sitting unrestrained upon it. It let out another small cry as I walked. I settled in the quieter area and did the same thing again, letting it sample the blooms in front of it, and then nudged it off onto the plant.
That is where I left it. I sat there a bit and watched it. It seemed okay, it ducked its beak into a couple of blossoms and then just rested there. I went out about an hour later and it was gone. I hope it is okay. I trust that it is okay.
Tonight as I write about this simple little thing I feel as I did when I was a child and held a butterfly or a ladybug for the first time. Life is such a miracle. Life is so very fragile. Not just for hummingbirds but, for all living beings.
What a gift, to be licked by a hummingbird.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Squirrel Chow
Ahh. Good morning! The birds are singing, the cat is purring, and I have just woken from a wonderful, peaceful nights sleep! I have scrambled some eggs with veggies and relaxed with the result and a glass of OJ. In a bit I will spend an hour dressing followed by a few hours out shopping alone, and then a few hours out shopping with a friend. I intend to clean out my messy car and do few other chores later today.
It is finally my weekend!
What a week that was.
Why do some weeks feel so much longer than others? Why is it the stressful weeks rather than the fun or peaceful weeks that feel so long?
Until last night my week had included only one good nights sleep out of five. I wasn't too busy, or uncomfortable, or particularly worried, I just couldn't get the bats to roost in the belfry.
I would fall asleep only to wake about an hour and a half later. I would just lay there for hours hoping for sleep, then about an hour before I needed to get up for work, I would finally fall asleep. I claimed as much of the rest as I could by skipping part of the getting dressed part of my morning. I took a quick shower, threw on whatever clothes were the fastest to get into and headed out for a full day of work.
At work I felt unfocused, slow thinking, and somewhat depressed. I worried that I was so tired that I would not be able to function. So, I "pushed". "THE PUSH" is a survival tool, it isn't pretty. I chatter and laugh, I scramble, my thoughts bounce, I am overly sensitive to any perceived criticism, and there is no peace of mind. Top this off with hair that is not styled and I am wearing no makeup.
Feed me to the squirrels, I look like a nut.
There is no peace period...for me or my coworkers. Imagine four days like this in one week.
It was one of the long weeks.
A friend recommended drinking a beer or having a glass of wine before bed. As it happened the only decent nights sleep I had last week was when I took my allergy pills and then had a beer. That put me out. The next day I felt like I had gotten totally snockered the night before, pretty hungover. One of the nights I fell asleep at a reasonable hour then woke up an hour and a half later with the thought that a credit card I had been talked into getting at a retail shop had not yet come in the mail. After trying to go back to sleep for another hour I got up and called the credit card company at 1AM.
Just sayin'...feed me to the squirrels.
I will say the credit card company did answer and I was right the card was missing. I may have been nuts, but I was not wrong.
I am thinking that it is odd that I sleep well when I know that I do not have to get up at any particular time the next morning. So, when it is not really that important that I get sleep, I get it. When I know it is important I that I sleep well...I don't. What a crappy thing for my mind and body to do to me.
I do know what makes my insomnia worse and that is worrying about it. I know what makes it better and that is peace of mind. And I know where peace of mind comes from.
Today I will live in gratitude. I will go through this joyful day focused on being open and ready to receive peace. If I surrender today, I will sleep tonight. "THE PUSH" ...well, it is not surrender it is self will, so it never works.
Squirrel chow...just sayin'...
It is finally my weekend!
What a week that was.
Why do some weeks feel so much longer than others? Why is it the stressful weeks rather than the fun or peaceful weeks that feel so long?
Until last night my week had included only one good nights sleep out of five. I wasn't too busy, or uncomfortable, or particularly worried, I just couldn't get the bats to roost in the belfry.
I would fall asleep only to wake about an hour and a half later. I would just lay there for hours hoping for sleep, then about an hour before I needed to get up for work, I would finally fall asleep. I claimed as much of the rest as I could by skipping part of the getting dressed part of my morning. I took a quick shower, threw on whatever clothes were the fastest to get into and headed out for a full day of work.
At work I felt unfocused, slow thinking, and somewhat depressed. I worried that I was so tired that I would not be able to function. So, I "pushed". "THE PUSH" is a survival tool, it isn't pretty. I chatter and laugh, I scramble, my thoughts bounce, I am overly sensitive to any perceived criticism, and there is no peace of mind. Top this off with hair that is not styled and I am wearing no makeup.
Feed me to the squirrels, I look like a nut.
There is no peace period...for me or my coworkers. Imagine four days like this in one week.
It was one of the long weeks.
A friend recommended drinking a beer or having a glass of wine before bed. As it happened the only decent nights sleep I had last week was when I took my allergy pills and then had a beer. That put me out. The next day I felt like I had gotten totally snockered the night before, pretty hungover. One of the nights I fell asleep at a reasonable hour then woke up an hour and a half later with the thought that a credit card I had been talked into getting at a retail shop had not yet come in the mail. After trying to go back to sleep for another hour I got up and called the credit card company at 1AM.
Just sayin'...feed me to the squirrels.
I will say the credit card company did answer and I was right the card was missing. I may have been nuts, but I was not wrong.
I am thinking that it is odd that I sleep well when I know that I do not have to get up at any particular time the next morning. So, when it is not really that important that I get sleep, I get it. When I know it is important I that I sleep well...I don't. What a crappy thing for my mind and body to do to me.
I do know what makes my insomnia worse and that is worrying about it. I know what makes it better and that is peace of mind. And I know where peace of mind comes from.
Today I will live in gratitude. I will go through this joyful day focused on being open and ready to receive peace. If I surrender today, I will sleep tonight. "THE PUSH" ...well, it is not surrender it is self will, so it never works.
Squirrel chow...just sayin'...
Saturday, April 2, 2011
The Guy Who Knows So Much
Okay, so my life is only interesting because of the people in it. I rarely go anywhere or do anything that is out of the ordinary. But, that's is really okay because, I get to do so many things vicariously through the fabulous people around me.
Each day when I get home from work and on most weekends my back yard is occupied by several retired or semi-retired middle-aged men. Today my husband is wiring our back patio for lighting and putting in outlets so that we can plug in various appliances.
His company for the day is a neighbor that is an emergency room nurse. This guy is one of the nicest, most interesting guys I have ever met. He could be easily dismissed by those who judge others by appearance. He is a middle aged guy with a pony tail who wears either overalls or scrubs with jeans. My husband and he drink beer, talk a bit too loud, laugh, and talk about everything.
If you dismiss him you are really missing out. You would never guess he suffers from MS. He doesn't ever let it get him down. He is a nice guy who will do anything for you. In addition he generously shares his life experiences with you...and he has had incredibly interesting experiences. He has hung out and played harmonica with some of the real rock legends. He is an avid gardener, brews really good beer, and roasts coffee. He has friends everywhere, from the local chicken wing joint to the oyster joint in Bodega Bay. The kind, generous acts that grow these friendships are just second nature to him.
He enjoys watching the nesting doves in our back yard...however does not share my affinity for squirrels. To me squirrels are tempted close with almonds and it has reached the point where I have found them sitting on our back porch waiting for my husband to give them their treats. To the neighbor they are rodents, fruit thieves, and pests.
He answers my medical questions generously. He is a brilliant man who is constantly learning something new. He is willing to learn about anything. When he learns it is not just the surface stuff that anyone might read, it is learned throughly, in depth, with mutliple views taken into consideration. Some people may think that because of all he talks about that it is "just bullshit". It is not, he is for real.
Today he is excited. He is often excited by something new he has learned. Today is still exceptional, he is starting a bee colony in his back yard. He has made a new friend who has the know how and is sharing with him. Not surprising is the fact that he already has books and knows quite a bit. He is up on the most current events involving the subject. Part of his excitement is that it is something he can do that may help our world produce food. He likes the idea of producing something useful. He is thinking about honeycomb, honey, wax for candles, and pollination for his garden. I'm thinking, "oh boy! More lemons, blueberries, and other goodies!" He is generous with what he does and produces.
Having such a person in your life just gives you a feeling of enthusiasm for life. It makes me want to dig deeper into things I am interested in and to take action on things I have been putting off.
When I was younger I was full of this same sort of enthusiasm for things. When I learned something I usually took it to extremes. I liked old things, I studied everything about antiques I could get my hands on and started a small business. Before that I had sewn some costumes and clothing for children. I created my own patterns, came up with fresh ideas, and successfully sold costumes for a couple of years. I gardened. I grew plants from seed and had a yard that, with my husband's skill with pouring concrete, ended up looking like something out of Sunset Magazine.
That enthusiasm, I don't know where or when it went, but looking at this I realize how much of it did. I did pour much of it into seeing that my kids were educated, healthy, happy people. But, you know, it isn't like you pour it out and it is gone, the bucket usually gets filled again by something else. I think perhaps, I depend too much on the interesting people in my life. Somewhere along the line I quit seeing the "something else". So, my dear neighbor thank you for making my life so much more interesting by sharing your life and in doing so giving me a bit of a wake up call. You are not only one of my husband's best friends, you are my friend as well.
Each day when I get home from work and on most weekends my back yard is occupied by several retired or semi-retired middle-aged men. Today my husband is wiring our back patio for lighting and putting in outlets so that we can plug in various appliances.
His company for the day is a neighbor that is an emergency room nurse. This guy is one of the nicest, most interesting guys I have ever met. He could be easily dismissed by those who judge others by appearance. He is a middle aged guy with a pony tail who wears either overalls or scrubs with jeans. My husband and he drink beer, talk a bit too loud, laugh, and talk about everything.
If you dismiss him you are really missing out. You would never guess he suffers from MS. He doesn't ever let it get him down. He is a nice guy who will do anything for you. In addition he generously shares his life experiences with you...and he has had incredibly interesting experiences. He has hung out and played harmonica with some of the real rock legends. He is an avid gardener, brews really good beer, and roasts coffee. He has friends everywhere, from the local chicken wing joint to the oyster joint in Bodega Bay. The kind, generous acts that grow these friendships are just second nature to him.
He enjoys watching the nesting doves in our back yard...however does not share my affinity for squirrels. To me squirrels are tempted close with almonds and it has reached the point where I have found them sitting on our back porch waiting for my husband to give them their treats. To the neighbor they are rodents, fruit thieves, and pests.
He answers my medical questions generously. He is a brilliant man who is constantly learning something new. He is willing to learn about anything. When he learns it is not just the surface stuff that anyone might read, it is learned throughly, in depth, with mutliple views taken into consideration. Some people may think that because of all he talks about that it is "just bullshit". It is not, he is for real.
Today he is excited. He is often excited by something new he has learned. Today is still exceptional, he is starting a bee colony in his back yard. He has made a new friend who has the know how and is sharing with him. Not surprising is the fact that he already has books and knows quite a bit. He is up on the most current events involving the subject. Part of his excitement is that it is something he can do that may help our world produce food. He likes the idea of producing something useful. He is thinking about honeycomb, honey, wax for candles, and pollination for his garden. I'm thinking, "oh boy! More lemons, blueberries, and other goodies!" He is generous with what he does and produces.
Having such a person in your life just gives you a feeling of enthusiasm for life. It makes me want to dig deeper into things I am interested in and to take action on things I have been putting off.
When I was younger I was full of this same sort of enthusiasm for things. When I learned something I usually took it to extremes. I liked old things, I studied everything about antiques I could get my hands on and started a small business. Before that I had sewn some costumes and clothing for children. I created my own patterns, came up with fresh ideas, and successfully sold costumes for a couple of years. I gardened. I grew plants from seed and had a yard that, with my husband's skill with pouring concrete, ended up looking like something out of Sunset Magazine.
That enthusiasm, I don't know where or when it went, but looking at this I realize how much of it did. I did pour much of it into seeing that my kids were educated, healthy, happy people. But, you know, it isn't like you pour it out and it is gone, the bucket usually gets filled again by something else. I think perhaps, I depend too much on the interesting people in my life. Somewhere along the line I quit seeing the "something else". So, my dear neighbor thank you for making my life so much more interesting by sharing your life and in doing so giving me a bit of a wake up call. You are not only one of my husband's best friends, you are my friend as well.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
My Imperfect Rambles
To start with ...yes, I am still on the wagon. I am not proud about it because I know I don't really have control over it. But I have not eaten anything containing flour or sugar for over 2 months so far... this time. I am grateful for whatever is allowing me to eat this way.
When I think about how I feel I think of the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz. My joints feel like they have been oiled. Whether it is the weight loss or not having sugar in my body something about eating this way takes away most of my aches and pains.I love how it feels just to walk and move with some of the weight gone. 52 yrs old feels like 30 yrs old. Okay, so that part of my ramble is done for the moment.
Now I want to ramble a bit about lunch...okay so, for me, there was no flour or sugar involved. The food was yummy but, the conversation was better. I met with a couple of gal friends for lunch on Tuesday. Such a simple thing, one hour of sharing a meal and conversation with a couple of good friends. We had a great time. The conversation bounced from subject to subject. It was the kind of conversation that you can only have with people you trust. Joyful, comfortable, sincere, accented with laughing moments and some serious ones as well.
During the conversation one of my friends recalled meeting a mutual friend for the first time. She spoke of the person as being so kind, hardworking, sincere, and just plain old good. In fact she said she could not even picture herself as becoming friends with such a good person. Yet, they are that, good, true, friends. They got to know each other, they grew, life changed each of them and they ended up friends. They are important in each others lives.
For some reason, I am not sure why, that led me to thoughts of how I have come to believe that our imperfections are gifts we share with each other. By being imperfect we learn to forgive the imperfections of others and likewise, others imperfections allow us to forgive our own imperfections.
When my kids were small I became a member of the Roman Catholic Church. Through the conversion process I learned so much about the core of my faith, my belief in Our Merciful God. Early in the process I went to see the priest. He was an exceptional person and priest. He had become a priest in his forties. Due to deaths in his family he had raised several of his sibling's children. He had tattoos, and he drove an old Cadillac. There was nothing "other worldly" about him. He was human. I went to him to tell him of the worst of the reasons that I felt unworthy of God's love. At then end of our meeting he told me he understood and that he had lived through some of the same things. He also told me that I had been forgiven even before I had thought to ask. He asked God to bless me, he gave me the way to move forward. I left there knowing that I had been forgiven.
That changed me forever. If I am worthy in the eyes of God, then if other people judge me as not being worthy...well they just don't know that they don't have that authority...and that means they probably do not realize how loved they are. Knowing this makes it harder for me to hold a grudge for long, makes it pretty easy to forgive, and makes me realize that it is my failure when I cannot. Do I fail?...oh yes! That is a much longer and grimmer story than I am willing to put onto paper, let alone the internet.
So, what I want to say here is "thank you". Thank you to those friends who share their imperfections with me. ...and thank you for forgiving mine I value the gift. You keep me sane, help me be a better person, and remind me every day to be grateful that I have been forgiven. I hope you have some idea of how very important you are in my life.
When I think about how I feel I think of the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz. My joints feel like they have been oiled. Whether it is the weight loss or not having sugar in my body something about eating this way takes away most of my aches and pains.I love how it feels just to walk and move with some of the weight gone. 52 yrs old feels like 30 yrs old. Okay, so that part of my ramble is done for the moment.
Now I want to ramble a bit about lunch...okay so, for me, there was no flour or sugar involved. The food was yummy but, the conversation was better. I met with a couple of gal friends for lunch on Tuesday. Such a simple thing, one hour of sharing a meal and conversation with a couple of good friends. We had a great time. The conversation bounced from subject to subject. It was the kind of conversation that you can only have with people you trust. Joyful, comfortable, sincere, accented with laughing moments and some serious ones as well.
During the conversation one of my friends recalled meeting a mutual friend for the first time. She spoke of the person as being so kind, hardworking, sincere, and just plain old good. In fact she said she could not even picture herself as becoming friends with such a good person. Yet, they are that, good, true, friends. They got to know each other, they grew, life changed each of them and they ended up friends. They are important in each others lives.
For some reason, I am not sure why, that led me to thoughts of how I have come to believe that our imperfections are gifts we share with each other. By being imperfect we learn to forgive the imperfections of others and likewise, others imperfections allow us to forgive our own imperfections.
When my kids were small I became a member of the Roman Catholic Church. Through the conversion process I learned so much about the core of my faith, my belief in Our Merciful God. Early in the process I went to see the priest. He was an exceptional person and priest. He had become a priest in his forties. Due to deaths in his family he had raised several of his sibling's children. He had tattoos, and he drove an old Cadillac. There was nothing "other worldly" about him. He was human. I went to him to tell him of the worst of the reasons that I felt unworthy of God's love. At then end of our meeting he told me he understood and that he had lived through some of the same things. He also told me that I had been forgiven even before I had thought to ask. He asked God to bless me, he gave me the way to move forward. I left there knowing that I had been forgiven.
That changed me forever. If I am worthy in the eyes of God, then if other people judge me as not being worthy...well they just don't know that they don't have that authority...and that means they probably do not realize how loved they are. Knowing this makes it harder for me to hold a grudge for long, makes it pretty easy to forgive, and makes me realize that it is my failure when I cannot. Do I fail?...oh yes! That is a much longer and grimmer story than I am willing to put onto paper, let alone the internet.
So, what I want to say here is "thank you". Thank you to those friends who share their imperfections with me. ...and thank you for forgiving mine I value the gift. You keep me sane, help me be a better person, and remind me every day to be grateful that I have been forgiven. I hope you have some idea of how very important you are in my life.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Full Honor
Our Uncle Ken is gone. The funeral, yesterday, was beautiful. I had never attended a funeral where "Full Military Honors" were presented.
42 years ago as a girl scout we sang the words to "Taps" at the end of each meeting. One of my favorite ways to start each day is with the thought that "This is the day that God has made. Let us rejoice and be glad". The words to Taps has always seemed to "bookend" with this as a way to recognize that each day is a gift.Taps has always stirred my heart, but never as much as it did at this moment.
After the mass, seven young U.S. Airforce men and women stood at attention, the flag was folded, there was a gun salute, taps was played on a single bugle, the flag was presented to Aunt Libby, then they presented her with the spent shells. It was a lovely, well deserved honor.
I stood across the casket from my husband, and son. As the bugler played Taps I looked across the casket and could see my emotions reflected in their tear streaked faces. My prayer was one of gratitude for Uncle Ken having been, having been a part of our lives, and for his having been a role model for the other men in my life. I pray that he is now with Our Father. I trust that he is now with Our Father.
After any funeral, the gathering that follows is something I kind of dread, but need. Uncle Ken and Aunt Libby have lived full, faith filled, gratious lives. The gathering was exceptionally full of the generous loving hearts they have surrounded themselves with over their lives. People who have never met greeted each other with hugs, and generosity of love and spirit. Family drew even closer, it is a real "circle of family". While filled with grief, this family still rejoiced in the fact they are family. Friends rejoiced in having known Ken and in knowing Libby. Their friends rejoiced in meeting or re-meeting each other. Connections were made and made closer.
Uncle Ken was a funny man. He was smart and witty. The stories told and repeated brought laughter. As we looked around the room we could see his eyes, or his nose, or his jaw, or brow line in every Figeroid face. Uncle Ken's friends came up to my husband to tell him how much he looks like his uncle. His daughter, Lisa, spoke of having one of those moments, of glancing over at David in his car, and thinking for just that instant that it was her father. ...and it is ...just a bit of her father. Uncle Ken is one of the men that helped sculpt who my husband is. ...and who my son is. I can't tell her this right now, but I will, later.
I watch Uncle Ken's children, the cousins. I know the grief. I know that feeling of being glad to be with friends and family, but really just getting through the day. I remember that surreal blur of emotion that you can only let out a little at a time, because if you ever let it all out at once you would be lost in it forever. Margaret, the oldest daughter, grief etched in her face, holding it together, seeming to be deep in thoughts of what the day means in her life, in her mom's life. A hug seemed so insufficient. I spoke with the lovely vocalist who sang, and the harpist who played. They are friends of Cousin Ken. Their presence a gift to him and his father. Later in the day Cousin Ken read parts of the play that he has written. His talent shining out, his sense of humor in full view. I thought to myself, he is funny and witty like his dad. I didn't tell him that then, I will, later.
The gathering is hard to end. We didn't want to leave Aunt Libby. We wanted somehow to try to fill that un-fillable hole. She sent food home with us. Taking care of us. They had been married over 50 years. I try not to feel that grief, just the idea of it is more than I can bear. She is one of my favorite people in the entire world. I don't think she knows that. I didn't tell her then, I will, later.
At the end of the day, I came home with my husband. His sister and my nieces live out of town, they came back to the house with us. We talked for a while and I fell asleep on the couch. Today I got up and went to work. My sister-in-law and nieces flew home. My husband worked on the political campaign that occupies his days right now. Life goes on. But, it will never be the same. It cannot be. It should not be. I didn't know when I typed it, but I think that is what the title to this blog means. The important people in our lives, the ones whose lives really mean something to us, to others, deserve that. They deserve our recognition that their presence changed our lives in an irrevocable way and that the loss of that presence changes it as well. Our grief is an honor, the fact they were a part of our lives, a gift, Both of these things a reason for gratitude. We owe it to them to take what lessons they have taught us and to "step it up". Allow it to become closer to the surface of who we are. To take as much of their goodness as we can and carry it with us. Full Honor. ...and always gratitude.
42 years ago as a girl scout we sang the words to "Taps" at the end of each meeting. One of my favorite ways to start each day is with the thought that "This is the day that God has made. Let us rejoice and be glad". The words to Taps has always seemed to "bookend" with this as a way to recognize that each day is a gift.Taps has always stirred my heart, but never as much as it did at this moment.
After the mass, seven young U.S. Airforce men and women stood at attention, the flag was folded, there was a gun salute, taps was played on a single bugle, the flag was presented to Aunt Libby, then they presented her with the spent shells. It was a lovely, well deserved honor.
I stood across the casket from my husband, and son. As the bugler played Taps I looked across the casket and could see my emotions reflected in their tear streaked faces. My prayer was one of gratitude for Uncle Ken having been, having been a part of our lives, and for his having been a role model for the other men in my life. I pray that he is now with Our Father. I trust that he is now with Our Father.
After any funeral, the gathering that follows is something I kind of dread, but need. Uncle Ken and Aunt Libby have lived full, faith filled, gratious lives. The gathering was exceptionally full of the generous loving hearts they have surrounded themselves with over their lives. People who have never met greeted each other with hugs, and generosity of love and spirit. Family drew even closer, it is a real "circle of family". While filled with grief, this family still rejoiced in the fact they are family. Friends rejoiced in having known Ken and in knowing Libby. Their friends rejoiced in meeting or re-meeting each other. Connections were made and made closer.
Uncle Ken was a funny man. He was smart and witty. The stories told and repeated brought laughter. As we looked around the room we could see his eyes, or his nose, or his jaw, or brow line in every Figeroid face. Uncle Ken's friends came up to my husband to tell him how much he looks like his uncle. His daughter, Lisa, spoke of having one of those moments, of glancing over at David in his car, and thinking for just that instant that it was her father. ...and it is ...just a bit of her father. Uncle Ken is one of the men that helped sculpt who my husband is. ...and who my son is. I can't tell her this right now, but I will, later.
I watch Uncle Ken's children, the cousins. I know the grief. I know that feeling of being glad to be with friends and family, but really just getting through the day. I remember that surreal blur of emotion that you can only let out a little at a time, because if you ever let it all out at once you would be lost in it forever. Margaret, the oldest daughter, grief etched in her face, holding it together, seeming to be deep in thoughts of what the day means in her life, in her mom's life. A hug seemed so insufficient. I spoke with the lovely vocalist who sang, and the harpist who played. They are friends of Cousin Ken. Their presence a gift to him and his father. Later in the day Cousin Ken read parts of the play that he has written. His talent shining out, his sense of humor in full view. I thought to myself, he is funny and witty like his dad. I didn't tell him that then, I will, later.
The gathering is hard to end. We didn't want to leave Aunt Libby. We wanted somehow to try to fill that un-fillable hole. She sent food home with us. Taking care of us. They had been married over 50 years. I try not to feel that grief, just the idea of it is more than I can bear. She is one of my favorite people in the entire world. I don't think she knows that. I didn't tell her then, I will, later.
At the end of the day, I came home with my husband. His sister and my nieces live out of town, they came back to the house with us. We talked for a while and I fell asleep on the couch. Today I got up and went to work. My sister-in-law and nieces flew home. My husband worked on the political campaign that occupies his days right now. Life goes on. But, it will never be the same. It cannot be. It should not be. I didn't know when I typed it, but I think that is what the title to this blog means. The important people in our lives, the ones whose lives really mean something to us, to others, deserve that. They deserve our recognition that their presence changed our lives in an irrevocable way and that the loss of that presence changes it as well. Our grief is an honor, the fact they were a part of our lives, a gift, Both of these things a reason for gratitude. We owe it to them to take what lessons they have taught us and to "step it up". Allow it to become closer to the surface of who we are. To take as much of their goodness as we can and carry it with us. Full Honor. ...and always gratitude.
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