TIMING

Kathmandu before the Quake
March 2015 by Brian

Timing.  How many times in our life has it happened to us?  The right time in the right place.  Wrong time in the wrong place.  Timing is what I thought about as I followed the events in Nepal over the weekend.  Brian, a friend of our family, just returned from Nepal.  He posted some incredible pictures of his visit and as he tells me, “so many of the buildings and temples are now destroyed.”

Is it luck?  Our guardian angel?  Intuition?  What makes timing often play such an important part of our life.

Like many, I have experienced many timing events in my life.  One evening returning home from a company holiday party, Pat and I were driving home on Route 378, a 4 lane highway just north of Bethlehem.  Driving in a pack, I suddenly said to Pat, “hit your breaks”.  He responded by tapping the breaks causing us to remove ourselves out of the pack of cars enough that when suddenly, a car came flying across our two lanes from the other side, taking out the four cars ahead of us while we had enough space to get out of harms way by pulling up the side of hill.

“Why did you tell me to back off?” Pat asked as we sat there in shock at what we were seeing.

“I don’t know,” I remember saying, “I just became overwhelmed with fear and all I could do was ask you to pull back from the pack of cars.”

The greatest impact of timing for me came when, while volunteering at the American Legion in Fox Lake, Illinois, it was time to end the day, but I decided to wait and help make sure all the wounded military men were on the bus heading home.  It was that moment that I met the man who would become my best friend and husband of 45 years.  

Back to our young friend Brian and his trip to Nepal.  He has a request.  With his permission, I am including it here.

“I hope everyone I know will take a moment and consider donating to relief efforts for Nepal's earthquake.

We always think of these things as being so far away. However, less than four weeks ago I was trekking in Nepal and had a medical situation requiring a Medivac from the mountains. The person who was most instrumental to my immediate care, my guide Madan, and the person who coordinated my Medivac and hospital care, Prem, the company director, both lost homes in the disaster.

We live with so much more than many people in the worlds, including the infrastructure to be able to respond to natural disasters. Please give something to those with less and who today need the most. Just give to a legitimate charity…

Thanks,

Brian”

http://www.redcross.org/news/article/Red-Cross-Responding-to-78-Magnitude-Earthquake-in-Nepal

So I ask again, is it luck, a guardian angel, or intuition?  

I WILL DANCE WHEREVER I AM

Dancing along the waters edge with the sandpipers, searching for treasures that the surf leaves behind, feeling the sun warm my bare feet each time I get caught by the tidal push of water, I smile knowing how lucky I am to be here—or there…

I realize how blessed I am to be able to find happiness no matter where I am, no matter where I stand, a gift I am glad to possess.  I began to think about all those things that I can find joy in today.  Let me count the ways.

First and foremost are my family.  They have provided me the extreme of all emotions at times, but being happy with them, by them far outweighs anything else I know.

My friends are next.  Since losing Pat, I often don’t feel I have that “best or intimate” friend, but I am surrounded by a diverse group of people who manage to bring me joy when we spend time together.  I am always grateful to those who allow me to be with them—it helps keep the blues away!

My writing comforts me.  As a child, keeping things to myself was so ingrained in my soul, that being open about who I am and what I am about was hard.  Writing became my voice.  It does not matter if anyone reads it or likes it, or gets what I am trying to say.  Throwing my thoughts out to the universe frees me in ways I cannot explain.  The gift for me has been the discovery that I am alright.  I like me.

Being outdoors—in the woods—by a lake—near the ocean—standing by a waterfall—walking a trail--watching the birds—planting a garden—accepting the gifts provided by mother nature is easy and pure joy!  At times, there is not enough time in the day to do all I want to do or see all that I want to see!

Painting is play!  To paint is to be childlike—an area where I was short changed by a childhood that was taken away from me early in life.  Not anymore.  I keep the wonder of learning and exploring forefront in my activities.  Nothing stops me from playing today! 

Birds.  How can I not love birds?  They sing for me, dance for me, and entertain me in ways nothing else can.  In my life, I have always planted things around me that serve two purposes…the birds and me!  First it has to offer food or shelter up to the birds, and second it has to provide me pleasure in its existence.  I provide for them and the birds provide for me.  We make a perfect pair!

And last, but not least, music.  Nothing can carry me higher than the story of a song.  Music lifts me from sadness, will make my heart soar and take me places I didn’t know I wanted to go.  I write and paint with music in the background because it opens my mind and heart like nothing else can.

Life is an adventure and I want to enjoy it all. I know as I walk along the edge of the ocean dancing with the sandpipers, searching for the treasures that the surf leaves behind that I will dance wherever I am.

WATER SOOTHS MY SOUL

Sea Isle City, New Jersey

Thanks to Eileen and her gift of sharing her shore house, I found myself walking barefoot along the winter beach of Sea Isle City, watching the sandpipers darting along the low tide searching for their morning meal and thinking to myself how lucky I am.

It was a spontaneous decision to head down to the shore and I love what being by water does for me.  Growing up in the Midwest, we lived for a time on a lake, in Ingleside, Illinois.  Living on Long Lake, was the happiest time in my childhood.  The mesmerizing effects of living by the water never got tiring for me, but I find the roar of the ocean is a different animal.

From the first moment Pat took me to Ocean City, I was in awe by the power and force of the waves.  My joy, early on, was to be chest high in the ocean riding the gentle waves up and down.  That is until one day while vacationing in Chincoteague, Virginia.  

We decided to spend as much time at the beach as we could before the projected storm rolled in.  Pat, sitting on the shore with the three younger ones playing in the sand, while Damian, my oldest son then age 10, and I rode the waves, were having that perfect family time together when suddenly Damian and I found ourselves in water deeper than we were tall and we could no longer land on our feet on the bottom when the waves went out.  

Not being able to swim stronger than a doggy paddle, we both began to panic when we realized our feet no longer touched bottom.  

“Mom,” Damian cried out, “I’m going to drown!”

Struggling myself to just stay afloat, I could say nothing, but only felt panic.  Pat noticed that we were in trouble but locked on shore with the three younger kids, was not in a position to do anything.  At the same time, the lifeguard noticed our predicament and began to run toward us, when suddenly, a huge wave picked Damian and I up and threw us to shore, face down.  Standing up, my swimsuit at my waist, chest bleeding from the scraping on the rocky bottom of the ocean floor, Damian and I were both glad to have our feet planted on the beach.  

We learned that day about undertow and carry a healthy respect for the power of the ocean.  

I still enjoy walking on the water’s edge, smelling the sea air, watching the sandpipers darting about for food, dipping my toes in and out of the moving shoreline all the while thinking how blessed I am to be experiencing another of Mother Nature’s beautiful gifts!

Thank you, Eileen for providing me another opportunity to experience another of my favorite things.  

LAKE WALLENPAUPACK MEMORIES

Wallenpaupack on a cloudy day in April

As I traveled the winding road along the Delaware River, heading up to Wallenpaupack to help a friend prepare for her husband’s memorial, I was surrounded by memories of a lifetime of visits to the area with Pat and the kids to fish and camp on the Lake.  

I found myself smiling as I remembered the time we camped in Wilsonville 150 campfires downwind, setting our tent on a rock which did not bode well for a good nights sleep and my son Aaron, who, during the night, upon hitting his head on the tent thought he was in the bathroom and proceeded to spray us all with his night time pee.  Pat jumped up, simultaneously, grabbing Aaron around his neck while unzipping the tent throwing him outside.  Aaron, who was still in a sleep state, woke up crying asking why we were throwing him out of the tent.  It may not have been funny at 3 a.m. but for years we got a great laugh at telling the story.  

Pat was serious about his fishing, yet carried the burden well of our different approaches.  My idea of fishing was putting a bobber at the end of the pole, reading a good book while glancing occasionally at the bobber looking for any sign of fish activity.  He on the other hand, worked very hard at the leisure art of fishing.  Before he put a foot in the boat, he knew the weather conditions, what color lure would/could be used to draw in the the fish, what temperature the water was, what the feeding pattern of the fish should be, how deep they should be and where they would be hiding by the contour of the waterways.  I was exhausted just waiting for him to finally get into the boat and make our way out in the water.  We did, just as the light of dawn filled the morning sky.

One time while he and I took our different approaches out to the lake, we motored along searching for the perfect cove to anchor the boat.  My job was to lower the anchor, bait my hook, drop it into the water, settle back, pick up my book and wait for the action.  While I did my part, Pat was at the other end of the boat tossing out his line, reeling it back in, tossing it out, reeling it back in….when at the moment I would finally settle in he would announce that he wanted to try a different spot.  So huffing, I would put down my book, reel in my line, pull up the anchor and settle back until we landed in the next “perfect” spot.

Once again, I would lower the anchor, bait my line with a worm (yes I used the real thing while he used artificial), settle into my chair, pick up my book while at the front of the boat, Pat would be casting out, reeling in, casting out, reeling in and again, just as I was settling down to enjoy my surroundings he would announce he wanted to move.  HUFFING…I would once again, reverse my actions until I settled back and waited until we arrived at the next “perfect” spot he would choose and once again the same routine.

This went on for about five times before we landed in a spot where my patience was running out with all the doing and undoing going on, and Pat was losing his patience with my impatience.  I threw out my line, got a hit on my lure, pulled up the line and lost a very big fish.  “Damn”, I shouted while slamming my foot on the floor of the boat causing a vibration that rang through the water.  

“Are you kidding me?” Pat shouted with frustration.  “You just scared all the fish away!”  With that we pulled up everything and headed home for the day recognizing that for Pat, I was better off on the shoreline with my bobber, chair, and good book while he went about his work searching for the perfect fishing spot in the boat.

As I drove by Fairview Lake (which is right next to Lake Wallenpaupack), I remembered the time Pat and I went fishing and this time all I took was a book and a lounge chair, allowing him to do all the work.  Soon, the slapping sounds of the water along the boat, and the gentle rocking of the boat lured me to sleep.  Pat, busy with his fishing, didn’t notice that I had fallen asleep in the sun and just when the fishing started to get good, he turned and saw that I had developed what turned out to be the worse sunburn I ever had.  Torn between just one more throw and getting me to shore out of the the sun, we went in and headed home.  Always loving yet filled with disappointment because he knew it was just about to get good, our trips together always provided fodder for the storytelling that would follow for years!

Wandering the roads around the lakes reminded me of a life lived fully, lovingly, if not perfect…but always forgiving.  I am lucky for these memories.  They are what carry me when I feel lost or lonely in my day, as I am reminded that I once had it all, which is a lot more than I can say for many I know.  Because through it all, there was not one moment…not even in the anger and frustration of living and lost expectations, that I did not feel loved and for that I am forever grateful.

IT’S DOPPELGÄNGER SEASON!

It started a few weeks ago, when a neighbor who bowls in the same league I do, came up to me and asked me to sniff her neck.

Looking at me with that special glint in her eye, she says to me, “Go ahead, smell my neck.”

“Okay”, I said with surprise in my voice, “if you insist.”

“I smell like you,” she said with glee in her voice.

“No,” I slowly replied, “I don’t think so.”

Suddenly, with a look of shock, she steps back, starts laughing and says, “Oh my, you are not who I thought you were.”

“Okay”, I said and with that we both stepped away laughing and continued on with our bowling game.

A couple of weeks later another gal from our league came up to me and with a sweet look of satisfaction, placed a bag of yarn, with a sample of her handiwork included, in front of me with a look about her that told me I should know what this was all about.  I didn’t.  My puzzled face told her that I had no clue what she was doing this for.  

“You wanted to learn how to do this, didn’t you?” she asked.

“No,” I said.  “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Then, she stepped back, looked me hard in the face and giggling with embarrassment, said, “Oh no, I thought you were someone else.”

We laughed together and went on about our business.

A couple of days later I went to the hospital for a blood test, and while sitting in the waiting room, an older women came up to me, grabbed me by my shoulders and with panic in her voice asked me what I was doing there.

“Getting blood work,” I replied.

“But why?  What is wrong?” she continued.

“Nothing I said,” I said, “Just routine.”

Then once again, this women stepped back and with a look of shock on her face said, “Oh my God, I thought you were my daughter. I swear  you look just like my daughter!”

With that, she asked if she could take a picture with me to show her family.  We had a good laugh about the whole thing and went on about our business.

My week ended with one more example of mistaken identity.  I was in New Hope getting ready to usher for the Bucks County Playhouse, when I decided to have dinner before the show.  Karla’s is one of my favorite eating establishment’s where the service is friendly and the customer’s can be fun in a chat.  My kind of place!   Sitting, enjoying a glass of wine while waiting for my salad to appear, a sweet gentlemen shows up at my table with a welcoming smile and said, “Hello, I didn’t know you come here to eat!  I hope you enjoy the meal?”

“Why yes, I come here often,” I said.  “I love it!”

“I am comping your wine,” he went on.  “Enjoy your dinner.”

“Thank you!”

And off he went.  When the waiter came by, I asked if he was the owner.  “No, he is the bartender”, he said.  

A few minutes later, a handwritten note came delivered by the waiter, letting me know he was “Ricky, the son of……”

I looked up and saw his huge smile, and I waved and he waved back.

Turning to the waiter I said, “I think he thinks I am someone else.”

After the meal, I went up to the bar and thanked him for making my day special, but that I believed he thinks I am someone else.

“Oh no, he said.  I just left you at my house.”

“No, I replied, it was not me.”

“You are not the nurse that was there caring for my ill mother?” he asked with surprise.

“No, I am not.”

With that, I offered to pay for my wine since it was a case of mistaken identity, but he declined, and we parted sharing a good laugh and a story to tell!

All of us have experienced this from both ends from time to time.  Either seeing someone who we thought we knew or being mistaken for someone else.  A phenomenon that we are fascinated by.  It is the number of incidences that are surprising me.  I believe I have entered the season of doppelgänger!  How else can all these incidences be explained in such a short span of time!  I just hope that my doppelgänger is out there having as much fun as I am!

WELCOME TO MY NEIGHBORHOOD

As a child, I was surrounded by language that was demeaning and often ugly toward those who were different than “us”, especially if you were black, Catholic, Jewish, or gay.  By the time I was seven years old, I experienced enough to know to challenge this language, both in thought, word and deed.  

We lived in Waukegan, Illinois, and our home was located in the city where school was diverse.  I was a minority in my class.  Top this off with the fact that our home life was not the ideal and often surrounded with alcoholic chaos.  

For me, kindness and generosity, was often felt first outside my home…not from within.  So as a kid, when I would hear my parents and the adults with them, discuss people of color using derogatory terms, in my head I would be thinking, “but so-and-so is not like that, she/he is nice.”  The truth is, my experiences most always were the polar opposite of the language I was surrounded in.

So at an early age, I learned to not trust the adults in my life.  The seed was planted to not only challenge but to base my opinions on my own experiences.

This has brought great joy in my life.  By being open and accepting of differences, (even political ones), I have been blessed to make friends with very interesting and kind people.  

At my age, I have watched society grow more open and tolerant of one another.  I can remember the day when marrying outside one’s religious believes would bring condemnation from family, and often the member who dared to love outside the circle would face living outside the circle forever.  This behavior would bring about great sadness and turmoil to those involved.  

Although it is better today, than how we lived in my early life, it is obvious that we still have a long way to go by the headlines and activities I see today in states where laws are being passed that say, my religious beliefs give me a right to not treat you the same as I expect to be treated.  I don’t get it.  We live in a country that cherishes the right to practice our own faith without harassment or interference.  That government is separate from our faith and is to be allowed to govern the whole, not just the parts.  

Historically, all faiths have a history of challenge to it’s existence.  But we live in America.  We live in a country where we ALL have rights to be who we are, follow our own faith without harassment, and exist in peace.  

My own conversion to becoming a Catholic came about, not by someone trying to convert me, but by experiencing first hand from the Leuthe family of Milwaukee, the joy and binding love of a family unit, that just happened to be Catholic.  I was drawn to them all by their welcoming and outreach.  I have carried them in my heart since those days of long ago.  I have often thought, if they had been another religion I most likely would of converted to that, it was the joy of their existence that I longed for.  Making the decision to follow the Catholic faith, brought me first hand to the prejudice of such an act.  I didn’t convert because I was marrying a Catholic.  My conversion was personal.  Something my family didn’t understand.

I hold with honor, the distinction of being kicked out of my Grandmother Curnes’s funeral gathering, because I had the audacity to challenge the family support of George Wallace and his run for President under the umbrella of segregation. 

Our own existence cannot come without the acceptance of those around us, no matter who they are or what they believe.  For if I want the freedom to believe as I wish—and I do—then I must grant it to all those around me.  I have friends who are Buddhist, Jewish, Protestant, Catholic, Muslim, Agnostic, black, hispanic, foreign born, American, politically Republican, Democrat, Independent, gay and straight …all people who hold a special place in my heart.  I don’t love them because we all think alike, I love them because we accept each other for who we are.  Out of these relationships come wonderful conversations that broaden my own understanding of what it means to be human.  

I was given a writing assignment once, that asked me to describe how a tossed salad was like life.  It was easy.  One vegetable in the bowl alone would be boring and dull to eat, but mixed together with an assortment of fresh and tasty vegetables, bound together by a dressing makes for a satisfying edible experience.  

I believe in us.  I believe in the U.S.  I believe that goodness will prevail.  I welcome you to my neighborhood where diversity brings a richness in life that can only be measured by how I make you feel.  

STORYCORP.ME

I am the gatherer of stories—the memoirist, the family historian.  My favorite past time is asking people about their life and listening to their story.  We all have one you know.  We may not be rich and famous, but we still have the life we lived, filled with our own personal challenges, successes, and our own observations on how to do it better. 

There is something beautiful about the ordinary.  The simplicity of living.  The ability to find happiness where we stand.  Peel back all the material things in life and what do you find?  Us…all of us…the same in so many ways.  Which is why I find the project by the American Folklife Center interesting.  StoryCorp.me is a beta application released to enable anyone to interview others on their life story, asking questions like “What are your dreams for me?” (assuming here it is a child asking a parent or grandparent).  “What person influenced you the most in your life?”  “What is your earliest memory?”  

StoryCorp through the American Folklife Center is archiving these interviews at the Library of Congress to enable sharing of the human experience for generations to come.

There is a browse section on the application where you can listen to the latest uploaded interviews and I found the conversations fascinating between child and parent or grandparent.  Just the fact that so many young people are taking up this activity, tells me that our youth, who we too often perceive as not caring or are uninterested, are truly interested in the stories we have to tell.  So often through the interview you hear the young person say, “I didn’t know that.  Wow that is cool, or Wow that is interesting.”  And most often it is followed by, “I am so glad you shared that with me.”

One daughter and father were taping their interview at 4 in the morning!  But listening to them banter back and forth told me that this moment would be a precious memory in the life of the young women interviewing her father.  

Another interview was a young man interviewing his 94 year old neighbor.  You could hear through the conversations how the young man and his family had bonded with this 94 year old man and how important they had become to each other’s well being.  Simple lives, led in simple ways but providing profound outcomes for each.

Yes, I love to hear the stories of how others have lived, loved, and faced their challenges.  It lets me know that what I am thinking, feeling, and doing, may be ordinary, but it is my ordinary…and that is good.

So tell me, what is your earliest memory?

Post Script:  StoryCorp.me is a free application that you can load on your phone, IPad, or computer.  Do yourself a favor, download it and hand it off to your kids and see what conversations you can start.  I promise, you will be glad you did!