Geese…
I counted forty Canadian
Geese on the lawn behind the
The northern geese quietly
congregate to graze the grassy area.
When Zoë insistently pulls me closer, they do not flee nor do they hiss and
honk. They remain calm, though they are
watchful and alert.
As the weather cools a bit
and Fall creeps up on us, we will hear flocks of wild geese flying
overhead. It is a particularly beautiful
sight when there is a full moon and a few clouds peppering the sky. The sound of geese in the night evokes, for
me, many of the same feelings as the lonesome sound of a freight train
traveling through the darkness to places far away.
The effects of light…
For happiness is not what makes us grateful. It is
gratefulness that makes us happy.
-
David Steindl-Rast
A Listening Heart
The moment did not come
until I sat down at the keyboard. I
poured fresh coffee into my bright yellow coffee cup, hoping to find some pleasure
in the look and feel of the cup and from the black gold within. It was not, however, the coffee or the cup
that captured my attention and spurred my sense of beauty and gratitude into
wakefulness. An unexpected view caught
my eye. A view that was not evident in
the past. The unexpected quality of
light pouring through the kitchen window took my breath away.
Until recently we ate our
kitchen meals perched on bright red bar stools at an oak island. Since grandchildren
This morning, as I took my
place in front of the laptop, I glanced through the pantry door (into the area
we call “the Meson”.) and was rewarded with a scenario befitting any calendar
or postcard. This lovely vignette could
grace the cover of a home decorating magazine.
I would not have caught his view from my island seat, but now seated on
my ladder back chair, the perspective is just right.
It is a humble, homey view,
but enough to nurture my sense of abundance and remind me how much there is to
be grateful for.
The light has gone now and
the moment has passed. The white framed
window with the arrangement of “Noxema-jar-blue”
bottles, plates and vases is still pleasing, but there was a moment when these
items served as an inspiration. I will
keep my eyes open to catch such a moment again.
The table in the kitchen
seems to please the cat too. The usually
reclusive creature is sprawled on a nearby chair (Randi’s
spot at the table) where he is taking care of his daily ablutions with a
proprietary air that cats often assume.
As I pause to watch him, he pauses and looks at me quizzically and then
resumes his activity.
Kitchens, in my experience,
have always been place to gather and linger.
Zoë agrees. She has claimed a
spot under the table these days. Children
in the house mean more opportunities for dropped food and now with the table in
the kitchen the odds are even higher that she will score an in-between meals
snack.
Having the children here
gives us the opportunity to rethink many things. How we use space is one of the things that I
mull over. I like the idea of using
space wisely. Multipurpose rooms
fascinate me. It takes discipline to
maintain a small space; cleaning, clutter and cultivating restraint when it
comes to shopping are issues that must be taken seriously.
The dining room is now Miss
Miranda’s sleeping and play room. The TV and craft room is now
My allotted time is gone and
my coffee has grown cold. It is time to
shower and head out the door to work on the EHS web page. It is Friday and I can smell the weekend
ahead…
Waling with
grandkids…
Don't cry because it's over; smile because it
happened.
-
Anonymous
We walked Miss Zoë
between thunder showers last night. Mark
was in
“Last one to the
stop sign is a rotten egg!” yelled one of the grandchildren and then they were off and
running. Gramma
joined in too. It must have been a
comical sight since I was wearing a long denim skirt and sandals –hardly
running wear! Despite the handicap of
unsuitable attire and age, I managed to catch up to the redheads and I am sure
I could have beat them if I hadn’t remembered my “dignity” and resumed my
grandmotherly poise almost as quickly as I set it aside moments earlier!
We were,
technically, playing hooky as we were out for our evening walk. The PTO meeting at middle school was on the
schedule, but the walk seemed like a much better time. Don’t turn us in.
The earlier
thunder shower ruled out football practice, something I was happy to skip quite
frankly. Of course
We do have a good
time walking and talking.
On another walk
earlier this week we spent some time feeding stale bread to demanding geese at
the mill pond near Randi’s school and then broke into
another impromptu race across the vacant field behind the
Without a pause
for explanation, I put my finger to my lips in the universal signal for silence
and began a quiet, contemplative walk along the paths of the labyrinth. The red-heads fell in line behind me and
respectfully, did not speak.
I could not have
anticipated heir cooperation. It is so
unlikely that two energetic children would simply fall in line and walk quietly
around and around and around, but they did.
The experience was uplifting for many reasons.
As we finished the
labyrinth, the sun was setting over the pond.
The sounds of cicadas soothed us and fireflies were beginning to dart
about captivating us with their tiny twinkling lights.
No story last
night. Mark is the story reader. We returned from our walk a bit later than
usual. I think the football player got
in more running than he ever does at practice and I know Randi
and I did! The kids put on jimmies and
by the time Mark arrived home, they were ready to head off to bed to recharge
for another day.
Today, I have jury
duty…more on that tomorrow no doubt!
Refrigerator “art” & some peace and
quiet…
Eyes see
only light, ears hear only sound, but a listening heart perceives meaning.
- David Steindl-Rast
A Listening Heart
The weekend is over
and for a few hours I have the luxury of having the house to myself again.
The blue and white
tile of the kitchen floor shines, the stainless steel sink is polished and
glistens, the golden oak kitchen table shimmers under a coat of Old English Oil,
and, after a weekend of overcast skies, the sun is shining through the windows
promising a pleasant day.
I am seated at the
table, sipping black coffee from my favorite mug, a sturdy, cheery yellow, Bosco mug. I like this time of day. The grandchildren and husband have been
launched into the big world, the dog has walked me, and the kitchen is in order
and is an inviting place to linger.
It pleases me to
spend a few moments examining the content of my refrigerator door. It is cluttered with memorabilia, most in the
form of photographs. There is an old
black and white picture capturing my husband and me in our wedding attire,
sitting casually on the steps at the front of the church. There are snapshots of several Spanish
castles we picnicked in over the years and there is a series of photos of our
grandson at a pumpkin farm on a wonderful autumn day when we still lived in
Now that the
grandchildren are in residence for a few months, the clutter has expanded to
the side of the refrigerator. There,
hangs a school calendar with appointments penned in and days “exed” off. Two
school menus are featured and consulted (“Ewwww,
southern fried chicken…gross!”) each day.
There is a barrage of “important” paperwork sent home by harried
teachers to make sure parents and guardians know the rules and ramifications of
various behaviors.
I cannot imagine
my refrigerator without a mass of photos and memos. It would certainly look bare.
Dog’s eyes, Caleb, Mom & Miranda too…
To be able to spread an aura
of goodness and peace should be the motive of life.
- Paramahansa
Yogananda
Zoë sits waiting
patiently for me to hook her leash to collar so we can begin the morning
adventure together. I pause a moment to
look in her blue eyes and wonder, as I often do, what she is really thinking. Her gaze locks mine and we have a moment of
silence.
Many days I find
myself remembering Caleb’s blue, blue eyes and when my thoughts linger there at
the doorframe of long ago memory, I can feel pressure in my throat and my eyes
begin to tear. As if she knows where my
thoughts have wandered, Miss Zoë often brings me back to the present with a
tender lick on my hand or a snap of her jaw and a toss of her head.
Zoë’s blue eyes
can be a trap for me. I can get ensnared
there and make a downward slide into grief and mourning for my blue-eyed
son. It has been 2 1/2 years since sweet
Caleb died, but the knife to my heart is still sharp. Usually I catch myself before I indulge
myself in sadness. The memories of his
26 years are vivid and filled with joy.
Though he is gone, he continues to influence our lives in positive
ways. Yes, there are ways to turn the
moment around and make it a celebration of life, a moment of gratitude for all
the blue-eyed ones who have made my life better.
When the dog’s
blue eyes rest on my brown ones these days, I wrestle with memories of Mother,
another blue-eyed blessing that is gone from this mortal life now.
I learned about
grief and mourning from my blue-eyed mother.
She lost a blue-eyed child when my sister Geraldine died of
complications of diabetes when she was just 12 years old. I was a self-centered two year old then, so
my memories are not reliable, but they are what I have woven into my life as
truth.
During those
pre-school years I remember Mother opening the truck that contained Geraldine’s
toys and memorabilia. She would examine
each item and share a story with me.
There were drumsticks and a hula skirt, beautiful collector’s dolls and
school photographs and all kinds of things of interest to a young child. Heedless of the pain I might be causing, I
would beg with Mother to let me wear the hula skirt and the little Dutch Girl
hat. I would ask questions about my sister. Mother would smile a sad smile, but she
always answered me. Soon the mood would
lighten. Mother would laugh over some
memory. Soon we would tenderly put the
items back into the cedar chest where they waited to comfort us again another
day.
Mother died three
weeks ago. Now when I look into Miss
Zoë’s eyes, I see a bit of my mother there.
My mother and my son. I look
deeply into those eyes and reach my hand out to scratch the dog behind her
attentive ears. In a moment I am on my
knees, hugging her neck, finding comfort.
Suddenly, in a
burst of six-year-old energy, granddaughter Miranda appears on the scene,
oblivious to everything, chattering away about some very important detail of
her first grade life. I look up at her
blue eyes and draw a deep breath. It is
like the moment when my mother laughed.
I am rescued by joy.
In another moment
we are out the door and down the sidewalk, the sun shining down on us as we
start our morning walk.
Breakfast misadventures…
The
best way to show our gratitude to God and the people is to accept everything
with joy.
- Mother Teresa
Dogs, like children, are poorly behaved in groups. They seem to forget the rules and regulations that make for an orderly existence. I generally prefer to deal with them individually rather than collectively, but eventually, they all congregate and then trouble begins.
This morning the
two children and one dog gathered around the breakfast table with Grandaddy and me.
The table was set with lovely placemats, cloth napkins in rings and
there were fresh flowers on the table.
The morning paper rested next to my plate and the smell of coffee filled
the room. Soon the cheerful bowls were
full of cereal and orange juice brightened the clear glasses on the kitchen
table. The scene resembled a Norman
Rockwell painting.
That vision did
not last.
In a series of
misadventures, milk spilled onto the table and leaked down on the freshly waxed
floor. Brother and sister squabbled over
some obscure violation, I mopped up the milk, and Grandaddy,
perhaps out of a need for self protection, kept his nose buried in a
novel.
Under the table,
the Siberian Husky held court with our 6 year old granddaughter who should have
been sitting at the table, finishing her breakfast. The normally placid dog suddenly let out a
yelp and headed toward the door. Both
children denied any knowledge of what happened.
I set a plate of
toast on the table and was greeted by a round of polite, no thank yous.
The butter on the
cooling toast congealed as the kids each poured a second bowl of cereal. By now the dog was back under the table. I sat sipping my coffee and thinking about
feeding the scorned toast to the ducks and geese and the local pond. (Would they eat buttered toast or did they
actually prefer dry bread?)
My reverie was
short lived. Brother and sister had a
disagreement and there was a foot battle going on under the table. Once again the dog yelped and lunged out of
the room. This time coffee spilled and
pooled across the table. Placemats,
napkins and newspaper soaked up much of it, but once again, I was on my knees
under the table wiping up a spill.
Finally the
interminable meal ended. I cleared
dishes from the table except for the plate of toast and quickly loaded the
dishwasher, and then I headed for the bedroom to don my dog-walking
clothes.
In minutes I
returned to the kitchen for a last sip of lukewarm coffee and saw the placemats
hanging off the edge of the table and an empty plate precariously balanced on
the table’s edge. Miss Zoë stared up at
me and I knew who the culprit was.
With breakfast
behind me, it is now time to start my day.
Reflections on Miss Zoë Mae’s birthday…
I don't want to get to the
end of my life and find that I lived just the length of it. I want to have
lived the width of it as well.
- Diane Ackerman
Sunday is Miss
Zoë’s third birthday. The whole thing is
rather arbitrary of course since she came to us from the local Humane Society
and there is not too much concrete evidence concerning her earlier years. We have pieced together a history and decided
that Miss Girl is about three years old now and since she joined our lives in
early August last year it is a tribute to that anniversary to also celebrate a
birthday in August too.
During the course
of our year together I have dropped three clothing sizes and worn out my
walking shoes. I also feel more fit. If my daily walks were focused on reaching a
destination, the dog and I could be sipping coffee at my sister Rosemary’s farm
in
Another aspect of the
daily dog-walking business is this: it forces one to stay in the here and
now. There is a Zen quality to it. I am a person who makes lists and happily
checks items off as I accomplish them.
My mind organizes time and schedules activities and makes rules about
what I must accomplish before I can move on to the next project. All this can be good. If production is the standard this kind of
behavior is appropriate. In life
however, we should focus on the immediacy of things or we miss out on so much: babies
are small for only a short time; lovers grow old and die; flower blooms wither
away quickly; and carefree summer days quickly give way to the bitter winds of
winter (at least if you live up north!).
The daily dog walk
forces me to put aside the physical lists (and usually the mental lists
too). I am living in the here and
now. I walk briskly and observe the
world around me and I am better for this time spent in a rather purposeless
activity. I come home sweaty, breathing
hard and inspired.
The walks have
changed over the past year, or is it I who have changed? In the beginning the walk was simply a
commitment to my dog. Funny, I could not
carve out the time to exercise for myself, but when I got a dog, I knew I had
to do the right thing and walk her twice each day, rain or shine. Step by step, Zoë and I have racked up miles
together and we are better for it.
I do not miss the
hours I have spent on my end of the leash, in fact, I treasure them. In the “olden days” I would have said “no time
for this, I need to ________ “(fill in the blank: go over a proposal, grade
papers, do the laundry, weed the garden, read the paper, scrub the floor, etc,
etc, etc). There’s that false sense of
nobility that comes from sacrificing seemingly unimportant things to accomplish
more onerous tasks. If you do this too
rigidly, you miss out on life.
The morning walk
belongs to the two of us, but the evening walk has become a time of special
closeness for my husband and me. We talk
of nothing and everything. We laugh a
lot. On occasion some nonnegotiable
outside demand has forced me to be left behind when dog-walking time rolls
around. When Mark and Miss Zoë hit the
trail together and leave me behind, I feel a bit bereft. It does not happen often because I want to be
there. The walking time allows us time
to talk. The rhythm of our footsteps
seems to prime the pump for words to spill from our lips.
This past month
our grandchildren have joined us on our walks.
The morning walk coincides with the school bell at the nearby elementary
school so first-grader Miss Miranda tags along as we stride along the
pavement. I am the recipient of her
confessions and confidences. Miss Zoë sniffs
around and patiently slows her pace a bit to accommodate the shorter human. We drop Randi off
and continue the walk at a brisker pace and enjoy the quiet again.
The evening walk
includes four of us. Eleven year old
Cameron walks backwards, telling us tales of whitewater rafting on the
Life is good, but
you have to take time to recognize it sometimes. Taking a walk is a simple start.
So, we celebrate
Miss Zoë’s third birthday.
Thinking about Mother’s funeral…
Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting
a great battle.
- Philo of
Of course the
great battles we fight may not seem like much like battles to others. Being pleasant and cheerful under stress may
not seem like much of a battle, but cultivating a calm,
trust and positive attitude can be a battle at times.
Mother used to
sing Christian Science hymns as she went about her housework. I am reminded of lines from “Feed My Sheep”:
“Shepard show me how to go, o’er the hillside steep, how to follow, how to sow,
how to feed thy sheep…I will follow and rejoice, all the rugged way” I loved
that song as a child and I still find it comforting. It is true, we cannot always change our path,
but we can trust and move forward with joy.
Being joyful and trusting are not easy tasks. Maintaining a strong faith and being pleasant
and grateful can demand character and conscious choice. There is no request that the Shepard take an
easier path. The prayer (I think of it
as a prayer) asks for guidance and affirms a commitment to follow with
joy.
The hymns my
mother shared stay with me and I find them to be helpful as I attend to my
daily tasks. I am so grateful she shared
them with us so faithfully. Mother was
not one to sing in front of other people, but in her heart she sang out loud
and strong. Usually she merely quoted
the lines rather than singing them. Most
days as I headed out the door to school Mother would say a few lines of some
hymn or scripture or poem. The words
inspired me and they linger in my mind even now and come back like angel
thoughts to help me meet the challenges of each day.
The past three
weeks have been filled with heady moments of joy and lots of activity. The moments of joy are like the calm at the
eye of a storm.
Rosemary phoned me
on Wednesday July 21st with news that Mother awoke that morning and
then died peacefully within a matter of moments. It was not unexpected really because she was
almost 90 and was under hospice care over the weekend. I spent the morning on the phone letting
people know and then organized our things for the long trip north.
The trip took 24
hours of driving and our air conditioning was broken so we arrived at the Radloff farm tired and sweaty on Friday.
The heat index in
the
Friday night we
gathered at the funeral home. Near the
front of the church we set up a display of photographs of Mother taken over the
years. I had never seen her wedding
photo before and I enjoyed seeing some of the other images too. Near the entrance we placed Mother’s Science
and Health and Bible and a plaque with the daily prayer on it. Rosemary arranged a few other special items
and some more photos there. Mark also
set up a computer generated slide show with our collection of photos. In the kitchen, grandchildren set out a meal
for the family.
Many people came
for the visitation. I had heard of many of the people who came, but had not met
them in the past or did not remember them from my youth. I took a lot of pleasure in sharing the
photos with people and sharing stories about Mother.
Following the
visitation there was an Eastern Star ceremony.
It was moving to see these dedicated individuals stand up and pay
tribute to our mother in this special way.
The funeral was
held on Saturday. It was a Christian
Science funeral. Mark played a CD over
the PA system of Larry Goss singing Mrs. Eddy’s hymns. Mother’s grandchildren were the pall
bearers. Following a graveside ceremony
we returned to the funeral home for cake and coffee and shared more stories
about Mother’s life.
Saturday night the
family gathered at Radloff’s farm for a
“campfire”. We continued to share
stories and enjoyed the fire and some watermelon and other good food. The small children raced around chasing
fireflies and toasting marshmallows.
Mother would have enjoyed sipping her coffee and visiting the evening
away.
When I was a child
I always found it peculiar that people would mourn and weep at a funeral and then
would gather afterwards for a “party”. I
could not understand the laughter. Of
course now I know that sharing stories about the one who has died often leads
to other stories and wonderful memories spill out for everyone to share. I now believe that a funeral is a celebration
of joy - almost a going away party for the one who died. Mother is off on a great journey and we are
left here at home…
While we were
going through these activities, the Jeys Reunion was
in full swing. Waneta
Martin and family organized this year’s campout and though I was not there, I
heard lots of good feedback on it. At
On Monday
following the funeral, Mark, Zoë and I drove about six hours to Lawrence, KS to
Moriah and Chip’s house. We stepped out
of the truck, Moriah handed us paint brushes and we were off and running on the
process of painting, cleaning, sorting, and packing for their big move. We worked hard and also managed to have some
fun too (went to the fair and the farmer’s market). We had the truck AC repaired ($900 – yikes!)
while we worked on the house.
On Friday the 30th
we had a yard sale and then loaded our truck up for our trip back to
So, here it is 10
August and we are getting settled into a routine. School started last week so we had to race
around and get the children registered, oriented and outfitted too. Since we left rather suddenly when we went
north for the funeral, we still had much to do to ready the house for the
kids. I have been rearranging furniture
throughout the cozy cottage we call home to make it work better for us
all.
Today is the first
“normal” day we have had really. The children
are at school and I finally have had time to collect some of my thoughts on
“paper”.
The children will
be here till Christmas when we plan to drive out to
Mark reads from
the C.S. Lewis, Narnia books each night. They walk with Miss Zoë and me morning and
evening, Today
we find out about football registration for 11 year old, 6th grader,