Happy Birthday, Danielle!

A sensitive mind sees outside the box;

An artistic spirit guides creative hands.

Attuned to giving, seeking peace;

A kind heart thoughtfully understands.

Touching

 

I watched a glassblower on OPB this afternoon. It is such a beautiful, dynamic art to behold in its creation. I have a fear of explosions so, when I once sat in the same room as a glassblower, the roar and heat of the ovens unnerved me a bit, but the dance and movements of the artists and molten lumps of glass were mesmerizing. One small puff of air into a rod, or one tiny clip of needle-nosed pliers made indelible changes to each creation. Although the final products were all glass, the momentary influential touch of many things (heat, movement, chemistry, tools, and layers and twists of color) made each unique.

I almost didn’t notice him. There was certainly nothing noteworthy in the little gentleman, stooped with age, who shuffled past us in tiny half-steps like the comical character created by the hilarious Tim Conway. Or, rather, we passed him, since we were moving with much greater speed and efficiency. It was, after all, a vacation we had dubbed “Lorenzo’s Fitness Tour” because of all the walking and climbing that we did to squeeze in as much art, architecture, and breathtaking views as possible. On this day, we were entering one renaissance church in a succession of several that spanned the city so that we might continue our quest to flood our senses with frescos and marble statues, columns and mosaics.

He was dressed in what looked to be his Sunday best, albeit a little worn and humble, but what caught my attention was his bent stature and struggling pace. I was smug enough to pity him and think how impossible the cobbled streets would be for many people like him and my mom. I imagined him a local who had been to morning Mass and wondered that he did not have relatives to help him. Could he not afford a taxi or bus? But then my thoughts were intercepted by the carved font and tall ceilings as we stepped through the church door into another century.

I don’t remember where we went or in what order that day, but I’ll never forget coming out of the next church we visited in another part of town. As the bright light of the clear October day assaulted us, my eyes came to rest on a familiar figure coming toward us. Here was the same gentleman; there was no mistaking his painfully slow shuffle across the geometric cobbles. With his return came a new perspective. Was this another pilgrim on a journey like our own?

Suddenly, my need to “fix” things for him, was challenged. He was teaching me something. I was the hare, he was the tortoise, but speed and ease of gait didn’t matter on a pilgrimage. As he had just proven, he would see everything we would see or at least everything that was important to him; maybe at different times and in different slants of light, but with the same level of determination.

Helping people is a good thing, a great and selfless thing, but sometimes it is the effort, the doing, that is as important as the goal and we must be careful not to take that away from each other in our haste to help. He was on his journey and I was on mine, but, in that one shared moment, like a bit of molten glass on a blower’s spinning rod, I was forever changed.

Happy Birthday, Jennifer!

An eye for the future and hands that bring care,

A mind that solves puzzles with creative flare;

A sensitive spirit, a determined soul,

A willing heart keeping family whole.

Room at the Inn

We’ve extended the idea of K’s Inn to our non-human friends. Although we’ve always been somewhat of a secret safe haven for a few homeless cats and dogs, this winter we have openly begun providing free meals to other members of the neighborhood as well. A couple summers ago we began with a hummingbird program, but the long bouts of freezing temperatures this winter prompted Don to add an igloo shelter, two birdhouses, and a homemade swinging squirrel feeder. Everyone seems quite appreciative and we love watching their antics.

This visitor and a striped one are a bit camera shy, but Molly is quite sociable.

The bird feeder in the backyard was so popular we added one in the front where Mom could see it from her chair. The smaller birds who were often ousted by bigger birds in the backyard claimed it right away.

We have a pair of squirrels in the neighborhood who pay a visit to the bird feeder once in awhile, too. We love their acrobatic antics.

The squirrel family took a whole day to investigate every inch of the swing set and check the coffee can from every angle before they decided it was safe and set out figuring how to get the food out of the can. It swings free, but they soon learned to sit on the slide ladder, reach out and grab the can, swing it around and climb halfway in to help themselves. Then they sit on a crossbar to munch. This character let me get about five feet away to take my pictures. I swear he was posing. (Did you get that? No, THIS is my good side.)

Birds of all sizes flock to this feeder.

A Woodpecker loves to hang on the cage and eat the suet feed inside.

These guys are next in line. Only a couple birds eat at the feeder at a time. They will scrape seeds out onto the ground so that some can eat down there at the same time. The rest patiently wait their turn on a nearby bush. We've spotted the cats sitting below the feeder, looking up at it in deep thought, but they have yet to indulge. Either they are heeding my admonishment to "do no harm" or they are content with their full stomachs. In any case, the birds are cautious and patient about waiting until the coast is clear.

Laugh a Little, Laugh a Lot

When did life get so complicated? Somewhere along the line, spontaneous laughter became a scarce commodity in life. Was it the bills, the decisions, the stress, the boredom? Didn't we do that much more when we were kids? Is it because, as we get older, we become so cerebral that it takes more to make us laugh? Is it the sophistication of the new millenium? After all, what's healthier than a good, rolling-on-the-floor, tears-streaming-down-your-face belly laugh? Especially over nothing. I don't think we should be able to count on the fingers of only one hand how many of those we've had in the last year. Let's back life up a bit and see if we can't find our gleeful abandon...(I'll bet you've already cracked a smile just looking at the still picture below)...press play and really enjoy yourself.

Creative Juices

Recently, I spent a couple afternoons helping a friend plan and create decorations for a cake table. She found online a great set of plastic cake tiers that can be dismantled and rearranged in various heights. The best part of this set is that the upright tubes are hollow, and absolutely screaming for decoration. Needless to say, this called for a shopping trip and we came home laden with tasteful silk flowers, ribbons, florist wire, miniature lights, battery-operated votives, and yards of tulle. Although the final set up will be determined later, we filled the tubes with simple bits of design and played around with different arrangements (in between the hot tub and lunch, of course).

I also surprised this same friend with a photo album called “Grandma’s Brag Book.” All she has to do is just add pictures of little Emma.

Life Is a Dance...of One Sort or Another

I get up each morning, stumble to the bathroom, don my exercise clothes, and head downstairs to begin the day; the first interlude of a day-long dance. Mom and I negotiate her pills, coffee and toast, and support socks and then sidestep my to-do list around her needs and preferences for the day. A call from the school changes the steps to include another dancer and when Don comes home the dance changes again. Sometimes it is a slow, serious sway of memorized steps that is sleepy or listless, comforting or sad, and at other times it's an impromptu jig that energizes, conspires, or exudes laughter. Lately it has gone from random, unfamiliar movements to a frail ballet that the dancers dread. Yet, it is our dance and we struggle to keep time, do our best, and laugh along the way. Like many dances, it is a reflection of the varied tunes of life. Settle in for Lordi Jinak's version of the origin of Irish dancing. It's good to laugh at ourselves now and again.

Middle School Mania

Remember what it was like to be a sixth grader? I have been spending a couple Friday afternoons per month subbing for a sixth grade teacher who is also a basketball coach. As the other sixth grade teacher commented to me the first day during PE, “Sixth grade boys are a different animal completely.” They certainly are, but so are the girls. Does any of this sound familiar?


Boys showing camaraderie through tackling,

Girls looking like little girls playing dress up,

Boys treating girls they’re interested in like other boys,

Girls wearing plastic jewelry,

Boys who can’t sit still,

Girls who can’t quit talking,

Arguing without really having a point,

Dressing as twins,

Moving as a pack,

Note passing, and

Tolerating unflattering nicknames that mean you are “accepted.”

Remember when the need to “clump” was so instinctive that boys went to the water fountain in pairs and a girl who was tagged during dodgeball refused to be “out” unless her friend went with her? Remember how “popular” kids coined slang and influenced group perceptions? Remember being an individual meant sometimes being given positive attention by the “in” group, but unpredictably being made fun of or left out at other times? Remember that unique state of fluctuating wildly between being silly and responsible, grown up and child-like?

Ah, yes. Sixth graders; a different animal, indeed.

Obsession or Creativity?

Here’s my latest project:  a calendar. Not a big deal, but it gives me something fun to do on the computer, which keeps me from going insane, and the final product is actually helpful. I’m quite pleased with the layout and design; plenty of room to write, breaks up the month visually, and includes lots of my favorite pictures. Yes, there are many other things that I should be doing instead, but, oh well.

I have lots of little things to keep my hands and mind occupied during the slower hours of caregiving. I blog, I read, I play with graphics, I photograph, I scrapbook, I pull weeds, I knit and I bake. Even though taking care of someone and making yourself continually available is definitely a great accomplishment and fulfilling in and of itself, having little projects around that are fun (do NOT insert "housekeeping" here) keeps me from feeling trapped and adds a sense of creativity and visible accomplishment to the day.

I wonder if this also explains Mom's determination to do certain things, as well. Maybe she works her crosswords, reads, and continually reorganizes different little areas of her room because she is bored and feeling trapped, too. Until now, I had thought of our roles as being opposite, but maybe caregiving and being cared for are, in  some ways, parallel paths.

What Matters

In our neck of the woods the new year dawned at a clear, crisp eight degrees and was up to a whopping twelve above zero by lunchtime. The sun shone on the ice-covered branches that sparkled against the blue sky and, in between popping in and out of Mom’s room to help her now and then, I leisurely snapped some pictures on this lovely, lazy day. Little did I know that the day would soon change.

Earlier in the week we had learned of the sudden death of my cousin, Shari, on Christmas Eve morning. We spent the ensuing days trying to grasp this unexpected news as memories flooded us. I tried to focus on the thought of her spending Christmas with the very One whose birth we were celebrating. We spent New Years Eve, the day of her funeral service, in prayer so that we might join the family in spirit.

Because of our loss, the first day of 2011 seemed even more like a beginning. We had had a reminder of the sanctity of life and the choice to live it whole heartedly and with humor and love, the way Shari had, and the radiant day seemed to invite us to do just that. Then we heard a double thump on the monitor that links us to Mom when she is in her room followed by her voice calling me. Sure enough, she had fallen. Hanging on to her walker while she reached sideways to pick up a Kleenex off her bed, she lost her delicate balance and tipped over. Somehow, in that narrow, carpeted space between the closet and her bed she scraped her head against something that left an inch-long gouge. A quick trip to the emergency room resulted in a CAT scan to make sure hidden blood vessels were not disturbed and then four staples closed the gap in her scalp. Of course, that took most of the afternoon and we trudged home with much less verve than we had started the day. Although Mom was muttering that she had gone without any makeup on and was appalled at the look of her matted hair when she got home, we were thankful that things were not worse and reassured her that she was not bound for a nursing home. I went to bed hoping for a New Years Day do-over; that this little mishap was not a premonition of things to come. Sure enough, today was better.

Every summer, when we go back to take care of Mom’s house and yard, we visit two of her best friends that are still alive and living in a retirement complex. I have spoken before of their humorous visits in which I am called upon to repeat everyone’s sentences so they can hear better. Last year, we did not get everyone together because Mom was not up to it in June, and her pacemaker surgery kept us from going back. Over Christmas Jen devised a plan for them to have a long distance visit over Skype and recruited a family friend who works at the retirement complex to help us. Today that visit took place and was every bit as hysterical and heart warming as ever. They laughed over age and mixed up memories, they talked over one another and relied on me for repetition and interpretation, they told our friend he was cute, and they waved and told each other good bye and that they loved and missed each other until I finally closed the connection. Their sounds of earnest sincerity will always be with me; a lesson in treasured friendship that I will never forget.

The end of 2010 and the beginning of 2011 has certainly been a time of transition for us. We are different. Things around us are different. We will sorely miss the good things of before, the people and lives that were so familiar and safe, but we have been reminded not to be afraid of what’s ahead. There will be moments of stumbling, but we still have each other to reach for and the light of friendship and love to guide us. Happy New Year to us all. May we live it with as much joy as possible.

The Digital Nativity Story

The Season of Choice

Jesus is the reason for the season. There is no denying that, but there is something more, something deeper that has crystallized for me this year. God gave us Himself in Jesus, bonded forever with humanity through Mary, but it doesn’t mean a thing unless we choose to accept Him. There it is: acceptance and free choice. What a Christmas gift; a double-edged sword.

Giving gifts is a natural extension of love, gratitude, and friendship and isn't limited to Christmas and birthdays. In its purest form it has nothing to do with commercialism or monetary value or tradition, but has everything to do with effort, time, and thoughtfulness. It could be an ugly tie meant to make the receiver laugh, a favorite dessert, or a thoughtful, handwritten note of appreciation. It could even be resentfully climbing a ladder to help decorate when you absolutely hate the job you are always given. Yet, giving isn’t complete without acceptance and both require free will, free choice.

Mom turned 97 last month. Although she expressed pride at reaching this age, she also noted quietly that the aunt who raised her died at 97. I hoped she wouldn’t dwell on it, but last week she commented that, although it was up to God, she figured this would be her last Christmas and maybe she would just give money and forget about trying to send cards or buy gifts. I kept putting out decorations and wrapping gifts and told her that she could do whatever she wanted, but that I would be free to take her to town any day that week. Three days later we made our trek through several stores with the “shopping chair” (wheel chair) and she picked out gifts and began talking about sending Christmas cards when we got home. What a difference attitude makes. We came home tired, but triumphant. When people unwrap her gifts this year, they will be seeing more than just the trinkets in the package. In their hands will be Mom's acceptance of the gift to choose happiness over pain and love of family over personal disappointment.

I am proud of Mom because, when faced with dismal thoughts of her own mortality and physical difficulties, she chose happiness; she chose to continue to live while she is still alive rather than lie down and wait for death. I think that is what Advent, Christmas, and faith are all about: acceptance…choosing to live, choosing to be happy, choosing joy and love and believing…choosing Life, with a capital L. I want to remember that the freedom to choose is the ultimate Christmas gift and that not choosing is still a choice: Mary chose, Joseph chose, Jesus chose, and we choose. Yes or no? Happy or sad? Alone or together? Full or empty? Victim or participant? It’s our call. So choose.

Ho, Ho, Ho

Last weekend I joined my shopping buddies in Portland for round the clock fun. We wear out sooner than we did when we started this tradition thirty years ago, but I'm pleased to announce that I can still do a mean mall walk. Jennifer, Sarah, and Danielle joined us at different times. It was really nice to connect with them, but it meant that they had to track us down by cell phone and try to pin us down to a meeting place. It's probably a little like trying to herd cats. As always, they were patient with us and good sports about wearing Betty's "Christmas Crowns" that she says spread cheer and help her find us in the stores when she's lost. We took a moment to let Sarah and Danielle entertain us with their wall climbing and bouldering. They had it worked out with management to give us turns, but we settled instead for taking pictures of them in action. Maybe next year.

I apologize to the family members that I neglected to call. Time always zooms by and I had more trouble than usual keeping my phone charged. We kept ourselves pretty busy hopping between shopping centers and individual stores scattered around the area, trying to at least find the things we could only get in the city. I still have some online ordering to do and some local shopping, but I can breath a little easier. The place where we stayed set up a wrapping room complete with Christmas paper, bows, labels, ribbon, scissors, and tape so we spent our last evening wrapping about half of our packages.

Here Danielle is tutoring Betty in a shirt folding trick that takes a certain flick of the wrist. After giving everyone individual lessons, they practiced on their own clothes the rest of the evening and the next morning when we packed up to leave. I guess we're pretty easily entertained.

Now it's time for the hot tub! What a group. We have so much fun every year, we have come to realize that it is less about the shopping and more about the personal connections. Each of us has had our share of difficult moments, but no matter where life takes us, we always have this time set aside for each other; a time for wise cracks, silliness, commiserating, and fun with a little shopping, eating, and margaritas on the side. Get ready! Only 364 days until we're back!

Blackboards, Whiteboards, and Smart Boards

Technology is amazing. Mom has lived from Model T days when trains were the most common way to cover long distances through today’s computerized age where she can Skype her grandkids. Even I have watched much progression from people walking on the moon to living in an orbiting space station, from black party-line wall phones with rotary dials to iPhones with touch screens and GPS applications. But the real eye-opener is in the school systems where even my children might be surprised at the changes.

Mom first learned to write on a chalkboard slate, but I had the modern convenience of pencil and paper from the start. Both of us learned touch typing in high school on standard punch-key typewriters. Soon, however, I graduated to an IBM electric typewriter that was smooth and fast. My kids learned touch typing in junior high, however, on Apple’s first computers. Now, fourth graders are learning touch typing on internet applications because they access computers too often to wait until seventh grade.

Besides several computers in each classroom, the 21st century also sports some other interesting equipment. Overhead projectors and transparencies have largely been replaced by document cameras that display onto the wall images laid beneath them, such as book pages, worksheets, and small objects. Movie projectors and dry erase boards have been replaced with computers and Smart Boards where websites and digital videos can be displayed and interactively manipulated. Instead of markers, digital pens control the computerized display and write on the Smart Board in digital colors that disappear with the touch of a button. Even our small rural schools have managed these resources with grants, but some schools go one step further with iPods, Kindles, and laptops for each student. As communication technology becomes more affordable, it equalizes and greatly expands the academic playing field. It’s definitely a different world; an excitingly fast-paced one.

In my latest literacy class, this subject of technology brought up some interesting questions. Technological literacy is necessary for children to function adequately in modern society, but what are the trade-offs and challenges? For instance, it goes without saying that thirty students wandering aimlessly on internet is not a good thing, yet safe sites and strict protocol rules, consequences, and monitoring can make it a rich source of information and a positive experience. Likewise, we must teach ways to discern the validity and reliability of sites and information as well as direct its use to a specific purpose.

Carefully done, it’s great stuff. Third grade students in EO can email penpals in Australia or Japan, and fifth graders can access the Smithsonian Institute website for their reports on Lewis and Clark and then create a podcast to share with parents and other students. But how far should we go? Does the advent of more economical Kindles and iPads completely replace textbooks and libraries? Should it? Will there still be a place for the word printed on rich, creamy paper sewn between hard bound covers to hold in our hands and leaf through the pages or will these be left on museum shelves to be protected like ancient Dead Sea scrolls? Should we bother to teach handwriting any more? D’Nealian printing perhaps, but not script? We don’t miss the old Underwoods, will we miss the pen? I don’t know. I guess we just have to stay tuned to find out, but in the meantime, let’s think about it.

Mentally Engaged

I’ve just spent the last ten weeks taking a couple online graduate classes in teaching literacy. The credits add to the continuing education that I need to renew my license and the courses can be applied toward a reading endorsement, or, if I have enough stamina and motivation, an MS degree, but I don’t expect to take it that far. I have to admit that the reading has been very interesting. I didn’t realize all the factors that contribute to a child’s learning to read and write. Even “environmental print” plays an important part. That’s the words on packaging, price tags, the McDonald’s logo, road signs, and billboards.

There are lots of things that can put children at-risk for reading. Besides learning difficulties, factors such as cultural diversity, being an English language learner, low socio-economic status, low family literacy, and lack of environmental print experiences can all challenge reading development. I have also learned that scribbling is important and that there are different kinds of scribbling that denote motor development. It just goes to show how much we take for granted in the learning process.

As mentally stimulating as these courses have been, however, I almost bit off more than I could chew along with subbing and spending time with Mom. I got a head start on the reading, but writing two papers and six half page responses to other people’s papers each week plus two ongoing projects caught up with me about halfway through the term. Part of my problem is that obsessive desire to make things perfect coupled with the random refusal of the technological “Blackboard” system to cooperate with posting my work. Now I am racing to finish up the last papers and final application projects that denote the end; reveling in how much “good stuff” I have learned while counting the days until I am free to immerse myself in the luxury of reading for fun again. Yet, even as I breathe this sigh of relief at the light that has reached my eyes from the end of the tunnel, I wonder what will be next to help me fill some of those restless hours of the day.

A Celebration

Time. It's easy to take it for granted. Wasn't it only last week that I sat in her lap in the middle of the night, my pulsating ear up against her chest while she waited with me for morning when we could go to the clinic for some relief? And I'm sure it was just yesterday that she told me she would dry the dishes so that I could go on out and play before the summer evening was over since being a kid didn't last very long. She made my wedding dress, held my babies while they slept, and silently prayed us through every uncertainty of life. Mom, we are not just celebrating your birthday; we celebrate YOU.

97 Years Young

Ninety-seven. It's a number that is hard to wrap one's head around in regards to age. Even with her frailty Mom's age surprises people. I think it is because her spirit is still young.

Family and friends were all good about remembering her with flowers, cards, calls, and emails. I am touched by the people in this community who took the trouble to send her good wishes.

Coletta and Bob came up for a few days. Here Coletta is giving Mom a wild ride on her walker (or go cart, as she prefers to call it) into the dining room for a lasagna supper. Steering seemed to be a problem.

SKYPE calls and phone calls came in all day. Mom loved it, but sometimes got confused when too many people talked at once. Here someone called in time to help us sing "Happy Birthday."

Three amaryllis plants will bloom by Christmas.

Happy 97th Birthday, Mom. We love you. You have touched all of us with your gentle, determined spirit of love.