Instantly Sick To My Stomach

I’m sure we humans all have something that befuddles us almost beyond words.  It will differ for each of us, of course.  At this point in time, for me, it is the gun debate that has begun as a result of the Connecticut mass shootings. What bothers me is that I thought the fact that little children were slaughtered would outrage everyone.  I foolishly, unconsciously maybe, expected every parent in this country would want to discuss changes to better protect children and THEIR right to go to school in complete safety. 

But we continue with the all or nothing thinking.  At least on one side; the gun advocates seem to be making the assumption that their guns will be taken away.  I wish they would wait and see what is proposed.  Maybe it is something, that for the sake of our children, with which they can agree.  I suspect not, however.  I am not hopeful. 

This morning while having coffee I wanted to research some statistics regarding guns in the U.S.  I know nothing, really.  I found an article that surprised me:  http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/lookout/gun-sales-spike-virginia-colorado-record-highest-background-174415554.html.  The fact that the same type of gun that Adam Lanza used to murder 6 and 7 year olds are the guns that are being purchased astounded me!  And the high capacity magazines and ammunition are in demand!   Are people assuming they will have to go to war against their fellow citizens and will need such weapons?  If they think they will be at war in their own communities wouldn’t they be satisfied to kill their neighbors with one shot?  Are they going to kill the neighbor’s children as well?  What does any of this mean?  I have absolutely no idea.  What I do know is that I became instantly sick to my stomach. 

A family friend from England was visiting this past summer.  She repeated several times that they do not understand our fascination with guns.  My response was that I did not understand it any more than she.  Upon remembering those conversations and reading about increased gun sales, I wanted to know more.  The figures are my best effort.  Let me give full and fair disclosure.  I do not consider myself a very good researcher.  Usually I ask Allan for help, or a good friend who was a librarian.  Not this time, but here is my best effort:

§  The U.S. has more retail gun stores than McDonald restaurants and grocery stores

• ü  14,098 McDonald restaurants
• ü  36,569 grocery stores
• ü  51,438 retail gun stores

§  272, 590 Americans were killed by firearms from 2000 through 2008.  I won’t present the statistics regarding children.  It is just too much to think about right now.

§  58,138 U.S. soldiers killed, wounded or missing  killed in the Vietnam War

§  6,622 U. S. military killed in both the Iraqi and Afghanistan wars

Please note that I mention only the American casualties here because of the current internal battle that is brewing.  The non-U.S. civilians, especially the children, innocently killed in these wars, are no less important than those of our own citizens.  A child killed anywhere in the world is grieved by parents, grandparents, siblings, extended family members, friends, just as here in America.  Each little one killed represents an obscenity to me. 

Statistics always raise more questions for me, which this time I am not going to think about or research.  I don’t see that as wise for my psychological diet, or even necessary.  To my way of thinking, were I to allow as much as a 10% margin of error, the numbers would still show an alarming story. 

I have learned that I know an awful lot of people who own guns; people I have known for years and I did not know that about them.  These are people I think the world of and respect.  That has not changed.  I do doubt they will be the ones racing to the gun stores, at least not to buy the same gun that was used in the Connecticut shootings and an abundance of ammunition.  At least I hope not.  What I do hope is that some of these gun owners will stand up and say, “Enough!  We can make some changes without infringing on our rights.”  I hope they lead the way.  We’ll see.

In the meantime, I have one other thing I wrote about this tragedy.  I don’t know what I will do about it for now.  I am not concerned about offending friends (although my friends are good about agreeing to disagree) because I have told no one I do this blog.  The real issue is that I have to make a real effort not to think about those little bodies.  I assume the parents did not get to view them.  With all my heart, I hope not. 

Having stumbled upon a picture of the type of gun used to commit the murders, I cannot imagine that the parents should see such a thing.  I hope they identified bodies by the required pink and purple, preferably sparkling article of clothing or shoes worn by the little girls and the shirt or shoes most likely worn by the little boys.  You know, the macho shirt or shoes that declares “I’m a boy; I’m strong; I’m a sports fan”, just whatever. 

See if you do not hope the same for the parents.

Empty Desks and No Words

“Dear Lord God!”  I’m pretty sure that was my response when Allan interrupted me Friday to tell me that at least 18 early elementary school aged children had been shot and killed.  I imagine that was the reaction of many people, whether they believe in God or not.  I say that because it does seem to me that we call on or to God when a tragedy strikes.  If I am correct about that, it is understandable, I think.  There are just some things that our human adult minds cannot grasp so we call out in the same way our children call out to us for explanation and comfort.  Except here there is no explanation and certainly no comfort. 

It made me just sick to my stomach, of course, as it did many others, I’m certain.  It was difficult to get a deep breath at times.  And I was angry.  I had no direction for that anger, but I wished for one.  I could only imagine the anger and frustration the parents of the children who did not survive were feeling or will feel at some point in time.  Losing a child is a terrible pain.  I don’t even understand why they have to get seriously ill, much less die, especially in any abusive or tragic way.  But to have that little life destroyed by another; how does a parent not want to lash out? 

His/her child was in school, maybe having reading class.  Maybe s/he was in some type of art class and was happily coloring.  Maybe s/he was in gym class, running and giggling.  Or maybe the teacher was talking about seasons of the year and that winter was “officially” coming in a few days, no matter what the weather was that day.  It is very likely that most of the children’s families celebrate Christmas and they were getting excited, painfully waiting for the day to come.   Probably enough of them still believed in Santa Claus.  Little friends had been telling each other what was wanted for Christmas.  It is my personal hope that if there were any in the class whose family did not celebrate Christmas that the children had been encouraged, both at home and at school, to be sensitive and considerate of those whose lives were different in any way.   I hope they were already learning to be inclusive.  No doubt, or course, at least one or two were having trouble staying focused and on task, for whatever reason.  Their teacher had their school day planned.  It did not include trying to save their lives. 

Shortly after 5 AM Saturday morning I wanted to know if there were any updates on this unfathomable and immeasurable loss of life.  I read about the brother and the original report, which incorrectly said it was he who had done the killing.  I read about Mayor Bloomberg saying that now is the time to talk about gun control.  I read about the vigils. 

I learned about the principal who they believe lunged at the gunman and began to yell a warning.  She lost her life.  I learned about other staff who attempted to stop him, resulting in other lives lost.  I learned about the teacher who hid her students to prevent them from being found.  They survived; she did not.  I learned about the little boy who was pulled to safety from the hallway by another teacher.  I learned about the teacher who tried to distract and occupy the students by having them color while keeping them in a confined space. 

“Dear Lord God!”  Even if this were my reaction at first learning this horrible news, I repeat it now.  I simply don’t know what else to say.  It is too much for my heart to hold; it renders me unable to think of appropriate words.  It stuns me.  It saddens me.  It sickens me.  It angers me. 

Allan created the following and offered it to me for whatever I was writing.  It is, to my way of thinking, a perfect and beautiful memorial to 20 six and seven year olds who went off to school on a Friday morning, hopefully as completely carefree as we want them to be at that age.  There are simply no words that better capture what has transpired and what families must now try to endure. 

Listing To The Right

The two lists that follow were created in response to the post of another blogger in which he shares his observations about the state of religion.  As a Christian I wish I could disagree with his assessment, but my observations are, in fact, the same as his.  I thought his example of just how insensitive and self-absorbed we Christians can be was very apt.  He said, “Mind you, many beliefs are innocuous. I mean to say, if someone wants to believe that God provides them a parking spot in their town while he lets children starve somewhere else, I guess it doesn't exactly hurt anyone. It may be inane to the nth degree, but it's most likely harmless.”   I personally fail to see how anyone who has been around Christians could disagree.  I, for one, have certainly been around other Christians who respond to the most ridiculous things with “Thank-you Jesus!”  It is almost as if they see God as their personal servant, just waiting to bless them with whatever small thing they might want.  I agree with this other blogger; I think we should be far more concerned with those who need the basics to survive. 

My Understanding Of What We						What We And Our Christian
Christians Should Be						"Leaders" Have Been On Far
(Or At Least Try To Be)						Too Regular A Basis
C	Compassionate, caring, constructive,					C	Close-minded, condescending,
	considerate, cooperative, consistent						critical, callous, contemptible,
H	Helpful, honest						cold, cruel
R	Reliable, reasonable, rational,					H	Hateful, harmful, harsh, hardened,
	reliable, reasonable, rational						hawkish, haughty
I	Insightful, intuitive, interested in					R	Rude, rejecting, ruthless, repulsive
	others and their welfare, impartial,					I	Inflexible, insufferable,
	independent						inconsiderate, impatient, idolatrous
S	Selfless, self-sacrificing, straightforward						of: the U.S. Constitution,
T	Teachable, tender, trustworthy						America's founding fathers,
I	Inviting of conversation, interested						country and wealth
	in facts and reality, inclined toward					S	Stingy, stubborn, severe,
	forgiving						spiteful, slanted toward bias and
A	Attentive, approachable, anti-war,						prejudice
	altruistic, affirming, appealing, aware					T	Theocracy-minded, two-faced,
	of our own  shortcomings, aware						tactless, thoughtless, territorial
	of the universality of humanity					I	Insistent on having things our way,
N	Noble, negotiators of peace						inattentive, inhospitable, incon-
S	Sincere, sensitive, sympathetic						sistent, ineffectual, irrational
						A	Angry, arrogant, accusatory,
							abrasive, averse to conversation,
							adversarial, all or nothing
							thinking
						N	Nasty, negative, narrow-minded
						S	Stand-offish, self-centered, self-
							indulgent, self-gratifying, self-
							righteous, smugly moralistic

When creating these lists, I found the one on the right came to mind so much more readily.  I had only to think about what I’ve increasingly observed over the last number of years here in America.  Since Christians are supposed to be “fishers of men”, let’s assume for a minute that these two lists represent the two sides of a boat.  If we have too many more Christians flocking to the right side of this boat, not only will there be no “catch”, but the boat will capsize.  A lot more of us Christians need to get on the opposite side.  And from my perspective, we have to do it by thinking for ourselves.  I don’t seem to hear about too many of our Christian “leaders” encouraging us to do so.  

October and November Savings For The Children

In October we saved only $22.38 and in November $126.85.  My pantry needed some restocking; Thanksgiving meant a few special food purchases, so last month's total was better than in the last few months.  Also, I had a couple of things I gave up that I might have enjoyed but felt the money should be added to our savings instead.   

  

We rounded the October amount to $25 and the November amount to $130.  The October monies were to be multiplied 12 times by government grants and corporate matching funds. We requested the $300 be used to provide medicines for children here and in other countries.  

The November dollars multiplied 9 times. So $1,170 will be contributed towards any needs for children, whether it be food, medicine, winter clothing; just whatever.  It doesn't matter to us.  

Destination of Choice 2

In May of last year I posted “Destination of Choice”.  It dealt with the choices we have about how we live after a tragedy; we can become mired in self-pity and bitterness or we can make a conscious decision and effort to go anywhere but there.  I think the same is so very true of us corporately.  Today is Election Day.  We have been hearing from both sides of the political spectrum, and from varying political positions in between, that this election is of historical importance because it determines where we go as a nation; it determines the role of government; it most likely determines the future makeup of our Supreme Court.  But you know, I think there are decisions to be made with respect to the election’s outcome.  And there are decisions to be made that are independent (or most certainly should be) of the election; decisions that I personally believe to be of equal import.  No, maybe these decisions are of much greater consequence. 

The decision to be made regarding the election’s outcome is fairly straightforward, at least from my perspective.  We must decide how to respond if the side for which we have voted wins.  We can gloat with an equivalent of the childhood taunt “Na-nana-naa-nah!”, letting the “losing” side know there is no intention of being gracious and conciliatory; things will be our way and only our way.  Or we can be winners of integrity; making it clear that although we have won, we do NOT intend our winning to mean there can be no compromise or failure to respect the really good ideas of anyone with opposing ideas.  And, more to the point, we can mean that and actually proceed to work that way. 

Should our party of preference lose, we have similar choices.  We can be outraged, pout, and decide absolutely, under no circumstance, will we give an inch; the other side might have won, but they can try to get things done for the common good without any help from us.  Or, we can indicate our plan to continue the process by being willing to engage.  And then, we can actually do that. 

Whether we are on the “winning” or “losing” side should be irrelevant.  The resolution to act in a constructive way is one to be made not only as a political “side”, but individually in how we respond to those around us, our friends and family.  Being the voice of a peacemaker is not the responsibility of only those we elect.  In fact, I think the argument could be made that our individual responses have more effect.  Why?  Because our individual responses will set our expectations of how our leaders should react.  And if we insist on a reaction of integrity and cooperation, that should ultimately be beneficial and constructive for all of us.  

Okay, that all has to do with the election process and outcome.  In my first post “Destination of Choice” I maintained that as a family we could decide how to live after the loss of a child.  We could choose self-pity and/or bitterness.  Or we could choose to proceed with caution and avoid these two negative choices.  I said, “Shortly after Natalia’s death I said to my sister that I did not want us to get sensitive and assume/see hurt where it was simply not intended.  And actually, I wanted to overlook it if it did come…I wanted us to be very careful about choices made as a result of one of life’s horrible journeys I wish we had never had to take.  If nothing else, I saw that as in our best interest.  I continue to want us to be very careful and deliberate about our destination from here.  We do have a choice.”   

Now let me explain (or try to, anyway) what I said about decisions to be made that are independent of and of more weight than decisions centered on the election itself.  From my perspective, we have the same decision as a nation to make as individuals whose life experiences include a major, life-altering loss; the same decision I spoke about above and in that first post. 

Let’s go back to 9/11, but only as a starting point.  Because that’s exactly what I think it was.  Obviously, that was a frightening and devastating loss.  We saw people holding hands and jumping out of windows many stories above ground.  We saw what we had previously only seen in model-sized or computer-generated movie scenes, the complete collapse of huge buildings.  We saw real-life scenes of people running for their very lives, not knowing what was happening. We heard of airline passengers calling loved ones to say they were loved, to say goodbye.  We heard the stories of airline travelers, regular people, who did battle with other “passengers” in an effort to prevent the takeover of the plane and thereby insuring its destruction and that of those aboard.  Until that time, that kind of in-air suspense and drama had been our entertainment, in movies like “Air Force One”, for example.  I do not want to leave out or minimize the tragedy experienced by workers in the Pentagon and their families, but I've made my point, I think.  

Unlike many of our individual life tragedies, we had someone to blame for 9/11.  Responsibility was proudly announced by those who did not mind killing innocent people; people who were just going about their everyday lives; people who had no power to make the political decisions against which the anger of those guilty was directed.  I know from personal experience that it is easy to think a tragedy could be made easier (I find it difficult to say it would be completely accepted.) if there were an understanding of why it had to happen.  Having an explanation and someone to blame can perhaps be helpful both mentally and emotionally, I imagine.  But very much like chemotherapy, it can also be very toxic.  Chemotherapy can, in due course, be life-saving.  Yet, it killed my friend Ruth; her body could not take the poison that is chemotherapy.  The “comfort” (if it should be called as such) provided by an explanation and someone to blame can quickly and so easily morph into something that can either severely damage our corporate sense of fairness and compassion, if not completely and utterly kill both.  When (I personally feel that given where we are, it is more accurate to say “when” and NOT “if”.) that happens, I do not see how it can matter which political party is in power, or what our determination about what government should be.  We will have become no different than the enemy against which we rail.  We will hate indiscriminately, just as they do.  We will throw blame to those who had little or no power regarding political decisions that were hurtful to some.  It will not bother our collective national conscience if some pay the price for what they personally and individually did not do; for what they perhaps did not approve.  We will cease to see people as separate from their group (or what we determine to be the group to which they belong); all will be judged on the few.  And we will justify that in the same way those guilty of 9/11 did; focusing on the wrong done to us.  We will be judge and jury in exactly the same way al-Qaeda was when they decided to set the attacks in motion.  And once hate has taken over, the political power and the policies which feed our hate will be those we choose.

However, the explanation and resulting blame for 9/11 as a poison could be controlled.  It did not, and does not have to continue becoming an ever more wide-spread and more lethal toxin.  We had, and have, two choices:  to blame and direct our anger towards ONLY those truly responsible, those who were involved in the decision to plot and carry out the attacks; or to blame, be angry towards, and begin to hate any and all who have anything in common with the guilty, be it through religion, nationality, world geographical region, just whatever. 

It does seem to me that we, thus far, have chosen the second of these two possibilities.  We have political leaders and religious leaders who aggressively malign all Muslims and people with the coloring which seems to indicate they might come from the Middle East.  I know individuals who think “they’re coming here to kill us”.  I know people who get on a plane and look around to see if any such “types” are also on the plane.  Allow me to share a recent example.

I attended the annual Halloween party of a friend a few weeks ago.  It was a smaller party than usual, which I liked; more intimate and conducive to shared conversation.  Since my friend had just returned from a mission’s trip to Mexico, the topic of air travel came up.  My friend admitted that she and another friend always look around to check out their fellow passengers.  She and the friend apparently have some name they use to refer to anyone who “looks like” he could be the terrorist.  (That is actually one of many things I love about this friend; she is open and honest.  You know where she stands on things, even if you do not agree.  Another is that she can agree to disagree.)  “Really?”, I asked.  “That was 2001.  It’s been 11 years.”  Not too much to my surprise, but a little, others spoke up, totally agreeing that they did the same and had the same concerns about who was on a plane with them. Only a retired airline pilot, whom I did not know, was able to relate an incident that illustrated how ridiculous some regulations have become.  I understood that.  It was a specific case, something someone truly HAD experienced; something that had no connection to a particular group of people.       

In fairness, I understood to a very small degree the fear you can have.  Allan and I flew from Buffalo to Atlanta ten days after 9/11.  The plane was practically empty.  I did look around at the other passengers.  I was afraid.  But, to the best of my memory, that is the only time I have done that.  I HAVE, on a couple of occasions, looked around to see if there are any young, strong guys on the plane.  I truly don’t remember caring what they looked like.  To me, the one with the darker skin could be the guy to save us.  The potential threat could be a crazy guy who is white and hates the US government, passionately.  So, I just wanted to see a decent number of young, strong-looking guys, period.  

The people with whom I disagreed (although I said nothing more) are people I like and respect; a lot.  Their opinions did not change in any way my regard and respect for them.  But it did generate some thoughts and questions in my mind about how intelligent, reasonable, kind, generous people can be drawn into assumptions about any and all people who look a certain way.  That’s when I began to consider the decisions we have made and continue to make in response to 9/11.  I have to say that I’d like to see us make a different choice.  I think it would be far healthier if we choose NOT to become bitter towards an entire group of people; far healthier if we choose NOT to be controlled by fear; far healthier if we choose to do what we say we believe in, consider someone innocent until proven guilty.

As I’ve been suggesting here, we do have a choice about where our collective, national attitude towards  and respect for others will go.  Its impact on us will be great.  If we doubt that, we need only study and consider the impact on Germany when just one voice gained an audience; one voice insisting on the hatred for and discrimination against one group of people.  I’ve been hearing an awful lot about the “exceptionalism” we Americans enjoy.  I’ll show self-discipline and for this post only say that we need to remember we would NOT be in any way exceptional when it comes to hatred.  No group would.  But, since we call ourselves a Christian nation, we should be especially aware of how all human hearts have the same capacity for what we call evil.  And we do believe hatred to be evil, do we not?  Something to think about, I hope.  

Something Special For My Thanksgiving List

We’re on the train.  We are on our way.  Where?  Why, to the middle of a field to buy a hotdog and have some pennies flattened, of course!.  The day is sunny and the temperature mild.  And everyone seems to be loving every minute of it, as am I.  

I’m in Western New York for my aunt’s memorial service.  I had planned the trip so as to arrive a day and a half before the day of the service and get to stay three days afterwards.  And looking around at the sweet, happy faces of my sister’s granddaughters I am SO glad I did.  I am sitting on the aisle side of the seat.  Next to me, by the window is Maddy, who is in first grade.  In the seat facing us are Abby, my sister’s oldest grandchild, and Maddy’s big sister, the third grader and Avery, only 3 weeks younger than her cousin Abby.  (Their fathers are twin brothers.)  Next to Avery, having the window seat is Jillian, Abby and Maddy’s 4 year old sister.  On my lap is 5 month old Emma, the baby sister of Abby, Maddy, and Jillian.  My sister’s two grandsons aren't with “us girls”.  Gavin the 2 year old and lonely brother of Abby, Maddy, Jillian and Emma is with daddy, mommy and his grandparents.  Eli, Avery’s baby brother, not yet two, went to the farmer’s market with his mommy.  They will come later to Grandma’s house for pizza.  So, as I said, it’s just us girls. 

We talk school, our favorite foods, our favorite colors, etc.  I, Aunt Jeannie, learn new stuff; favorite books and movie characters, most of which I know nothing about.   The girls are more than glad to help get me in the know.  They are patient and explain things if I have to ask important follow up questions.  I make sure to turn my head to each one so as to acknowledge her contribution to the teaching I am receiving.  Did you know that you can learn an awful lot, even if everyone explains things to you at the exact same time?  And that’s even if you wear hearing aids!  And oh yeah, we are eating popcorn.  Today it doesn't matter if we eat popcorn in the morning, practically right before lunch.  And just let me tell you, that popcorn is good!

We arrive at the field.  There is a little building that is like what a train station used to be like; the kind that has no town or other buildings around it.  That’s where they sell the hotdogs.  And there are railroad tracks with another big steam engine sitting on them.  We can check it out.  “And guess what, Aunt Jeannie?  You can put a penny down on the extra tracks and that steam engine will back over all the pennies and they get totally flat!  It’s kind of awesome!” 

We have eaten our hotdogs, without too much catsup or anything on our shirts!  Gavin’s had to be broken in half because he couldn't hold it whole.  Then he still threw it on the ground!  But, he’s only two.  That’s what two year olds do sometimes. 

The train is about to back up and flatten the pennies.  Wow!!  It makes so much steam that you can’t see for a minute.  And the noise is LOUD! 

There are lots of flattened pennies on the tracks now.  We found all ours.  And Aunt Jeannie is going to take hers to show Uncle Allan.   In a few minutes we have to get back on the train.   None of us but Abby see her at first.   A girl, just a short distance from where we are gathered, is disappointed and crying.  She can’t find her penny.  Abby is already approaching the girl, her hand outstretched.  “It’s okay.  I have extra and you can have one.”  The little girl happily takes the penny offered.  She is NOT going home without that treasure of a flattened penny!

I am touched.  There isn't a split second of hesitation on Abby’s part.  I don’t even know how she saw the disappointed little girl among all these people.  But she did.  Good for her!

We all board the train for the return trip to the main railroad station.  This has been fun! On the train ride returning us from the railway stop the girls’ grandpa comes with his camera to take pictures of all of us sitting together.  Everyone gets to take a turn using the camera.  A man goes up and down the aisle playing an accordion and singing songs.  We all bask in the pleasure of the day.  We still have the pizza and ice cream to look forward to!  Avery’s daddy, her mommy and Eli are coming and we can all be together.  We discuss what we like on our pizza.  AND, by the way, we are having ice cream for dessert!  Favorite ice cream flavors and toppings are shared; each of us explaining why we like what we do.  Honestly, in that moment I can think of nothing more important than hearing personal Ice cream preferences.  I secretly hope that all the world leaders who attend peace conferences and economic summits also get to have this kind of ice cream seminar.  It would be beneficial to them personally, as a way to reduce stress.  But I would hope it would provide and/or reinforce the why for such world meetings; all those little faces.  I imagine it would help if they could picture those little faces smudged with various ice cream flavors, smiling delightedly in appreciation for not only the treat itself, but the fun of sharing it. 

The train ride, the hotdogs, the flattened penny, the pizza, and of course, the ice cream dessert, make for a great day.  BUT, getting to share those things with these beautiful, (And believe me when I say BEAUTIFUL!), friendly, kind nieces of mine is what really makes for a great day!!  In fact, it isn’t even Thanksgiving yet, but this day is going to be something I put on my list of extra special things to be thankful for!

  

June Through September Savings for the Children

Shame on me for being this far behind in giving an update on our savings regimen!  With much to do, both that which is necessary and that which I want to do, let me summarize the totals rather than present each of the last four months. 

We really did not need much and did very little shopping that resulted in the size savings we had seen for the first five months of the year.  Over the four months the savings totaled only a little over $175 which, once we rounded amounts up, actually totaled $180.  That $180 has resulted in $2,160 worth of benefits because we looked for gifts that multiplied as much as 12 times.  The dollars we gifted for the purchase of medicines and clothing.  With Fall and Winter perhaps coming quickly in some parts of the world, we thought warm clothing and medicines would be particularly needed. 

Less savings, but with minimal effort we feel pretty good about how we maximized that savings!

Memorial Service

The aunt I mentioned in the previous post died since I wrote that.  In fact, I have traveled from my home in southeastern coastal North Carolina to Rochester, New York for the memorial service and already returned home.  On hearing of her death, I began to write, just because that is often what I do now.  Immediately after I boarded the plane in Charlotte I received a text from my cousin asking if I would like to / be willing to say something at the service.  I responded, telling her that at that moment I was working on something, not intended for anyone else but myself.  I asked if I could think about it.  The thought of standing in front of what I assumed would be a good-sized audience was not to my liking.  And what would I say?  Later, I decided that my aunt had been so kind to my family and always so good to me, how could I not be willing to do one last thing for her? I asked permission to simply edit and shorten what I was writing for myself and read it at the service.  That was fine with my aunt's family.  

When my turn came to speak (read), I did tell those in attendance, an overflow of people in the sanctuary, that I had not prepared what I was about to read for the service.  I wanted them to know that my aunt was special enough that I had written something, just to think through who she was.  I felt that making them aware of that fact honored who my aunt was to an even greater degree.  The following is what I had written and read.  

“I’ve graduated.”  That’s what she said.  That’s what my Aunt Margie told me the first time I spoke with her on the phone after she moved from her patio home into an independent living facility. I had to ask, of course, what that meant.  The response?  “I’ve graduated from cooking.”  That very small part of our conversation is a capsule illustration of two of my Aunt Margie’s wonderful qualities; one being a positive, optimistic, “make the best of it”, “look for the good” outlook and approach to life’s changes.  The other is her quiet strength. 

I could stop right there.  Having shared that one glimpse of a conversation honors who Margie Lambert was as a person.  But were I to stop there would be like seeing the initial sketch for the painting of a gifted artist without ever having the opportunity to see the finished work.  So I’ll continue.   

I wear hearing aids.  When a battery needs replacing I hear several beeps 30 minutes prior to the battery being completely depleted.  I have time to do something so I can continue to hear others the best I can.  And often enough as I’m putting my hearing aids in each morning I wish they were multi-functional.  I wish, in addition to assisting me with the physical hearing process, they had a relational function.  I wish that each and every time I am hearing someone’s words, but not what they are really saying, my hearing aids would sound a warning beep.  I would know that I am failing to focus adequately on the person to whom I’m listening.  I would know that my desire to really hear that person isn’t strong enough.  Naturally, I wish I had no need for such hypothetical hearing aids.  But Margie, had she ever needed hearing aids for physical reasons, she would never have had any need whatsoever for ones having a relational functionality.  Her compassion and concern for others, her sincere interest in them and her deep desire to really connect allowed her to hear differently.  She did hear what others were really saying; and did so easily.  She did so, I think, by first asking questions, showing her interest in that person.  She had the ability to get people talking about themselves.  Then, she listened intently, wanting to learn more about the person.  If only more of us, myself most definitely included, could develop Margie’s relational gifts, I can imagine what the world would be like.

I love art.  Sometime within the last year a Van Gogh painting was found to be underneath another.   I was really intrigued.  I wondered, if when some of the masters used one canvas for two paintings, did there need to be thought given to the colors used in both?  Could, for example, the second painting be of lighter color than the underlying?  Lack of time for research and reading leaves that question unanswered for now.  However, as I began to think about that, it occurred to me what a fitting analogy that canvas with two paintings was for our lives.   

There can be a strong correlation between our outward, visible lives and our inward, underlying lives.  They can both be beautiful; made beautiful by the masterful use of the bright colors of sincerity, friendliness, openness, lack of judgmental nature, ability to draw others in.  You get the point. And by so doing, you now have an apt description of my aunt’s life.

That’s what made her special.  She totally rejected the dark and ugly colors of distrust, prejudice, and unexpressed hate; they were not part of the composition of her life’s paintings; not the visible nor the unseen.  Self-centeredness was another color she chose to leave unused.  Instead, she used those bright, uplifting colors I mentioned because she wanted to encourage others.  She wanted to share art with others.  She did not use those vibrant colors so sparingly as to give the impression she wanted to hoard them for herself.  In fact, she was one to come along side another who was struggling with his/her life paintings.  She was willing to share her colors, to share her brushes.  And not surprisingly, as she did so, her life paintings became more and more beautiful.  Her brush strokes or layers of watercolor were made more perfect.

Margie’s family and all of us who loved her are left to complete our own life’s paintings.  We need to be inspired by her.  I know I am inspired by not only what she was, but how she chose to live her life.  I am be inspired to work at having a positive attitude.  I am be inspired to be a far better listener.  I am inspired to take the time to be more interested in the lives of others.  I am inspired to be an encouragement to others.  I am inspired to look for the good in them; to expect that it’s there somewhere.  I am inspired to be gracious when I don’t find it.  If I do so, the end of my life will be like Margie’s.  It will leave the world poorer for my passing, just as her passing has most definitely done.    

Rip Tide

My arms are just so heavy and so tired.  My back is really starting to hurt; kicking is becoming more and more difficult.  I’m doing what you are supposed to do if finding yourself caught in a rip tide.  I am keeping my eye on the shore and swimming parallel to it.  I have not once forgotten and tried to swim directly to shore.  How long before I am out of this ripe tide??  It seems like I have been swimming for such a long time.  I want to give up and just let the rip tide carry me to sea.  But then I think of my daughter.  I HAVE to keep fighting.  She needs me.  I gather a little more strength and try to focus on my stroke and my breathing as opposed to how strong and how wide this rip tide is. 

A few days ago I bought essential oil of lavender and almond oil as a carrier.  I am hoping it will help for the intense anxiety I have been experiencing lately.  Without any warning or cause I have been able to identify, my heart begins to race.  My breathing becomes short and fast.  My hands tremble and I am instantaneously anxious.  It is somewhat frightening, not because I am afraid I am dying or any such thing.  I find the suddenness of it disturbing.  I find it distressing because I don’t know the cause.  If I did, I could and would be able to learn how to help myself. 

Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised.  Natalia’s birthday just passed.  My daughter has completed the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder treatments/sessions.  But she is experiencing what is called “complicated grief”.   I have been working with the grief counselor to find ways I can help.  Like any parent, I would do anything, anything to relieve her suffering. 

My best friend, who is 87, is beginning to decline.  She lives in New York.  I live in North Carolina.  I call her and she gets frustrated that she can’t get her words out.  I tell her it doesn’t matter; I can do the talking.  It only matters that I let her know I am thinking of her.  Not only do I not want to lose her, which I might.  She doesn’t have to die, but I sense the day is coming when she is essentially gone. 

My favorite aunt is now in the care of Hospice. 

There are SO many people, children and elderly, whom I feel like I want to encourage and with whom I want to spend a little time.  Our friends have a daughter who is autistic.  Beth is pleased that I would like to get together with her and her daughter.  The number of elderly friends who are having health problems is increasing almost each week.  I think of my mom and how much it meant to her if people bothered with her.  And it just takes so little to boost the elderly up.  I need to find the time to do that. 

I am extremely concerned about the indiscriminate hate for Muslims.  It feels like a series of tornadoes AND several hurricanes are bearing down on my country.  It seems to me that the tornadoes are at least an EF 3 already.  And very sadly, it also seems to me that these tornadoes of fear and distrust could easily become EF 4’s or EF 5’s.  One of the hurricanes, Hurricane Hate, to me appears to have recently gone from a category 3 to a category 4.  It gained strength because lots of “new air”, or new voices of hostility and hatred joined together, fed off each other.  Once enough strength was attained, the system of hatred began to spin ever faster, picking up wind speed from being fed by the atmosphere of insecurity and little or no push back (pressure).  I wonder if the resistance that does exist is wide-spread enough to weaken the growing storm.  I don’t think so because the energy of the other hurricane, Hurricane Ignorance, is accelerating at an alarming rate.  Each of these types of hurricanes, in and of themselves, is often catastrophic.  But their combined power is unyielding and entirely devastating.

 I don’t say any of this lightly.  But we are the country whose history includes the period in which Joe McCarthy went too long without being challenged for his baseless accusations against other Americans.  We are the country that interned Japanese Americans in “War Relocation Camps” in 1942.  We’ve proven that we can be motivated by fear and hatred to either actively participate in or passively accept the denigration of a group of our citizens.  We are the country that killed Native Americans, took their land and subjected them to forced relocation.  We have an historic trail rightly called the “Trail of Tears”.  We are the country that accepted the enslavement of Blacks and when that enslavement was no longer allowable by law, passed other laws which denied what our Declaration of Independence called a “self-evident” truth that “all men are created equal”.  These laws specifically denied such truth.  They made it evident that some men considered themselves as created superior to others.  So, we do have incidents and periods of our history that should serve to keep us always on “storm watch” status, if not “storm warning” status.   How is it that these present times have not made us realize we are beyond the “watch” stage and that we have been issued a “warning”? 

At the same time I attempt to focus on the physical tasks of moving through the water, I try to mentally fight as well.  I remember that there have been increasing periods of easier swimming, times when the waves have not been so high and forceful.  Yes, it is true that every time I begin to hope that the rough waters will become calm long enough for us to catch our breath, there is a significant set back, a reversal.  Without warning the waves kick up and knock us backward.  BUT, just last week when my daughter called, so obviously in pain and crying, she admitted she might need medication.  She was more than willing to let me call the doctor.  We were able to go that day.  I have to hang on to see if it helps.  And that takes time, at least a few weeks.  I can’t give up now.  I keep my eyes on the shore.  I imagine I see her there waiting for me and needing to talk.  I imagine my stroke is becoming stronger.   

It was my turn to host book group last Thursday.  Naazneen joined us a number of months ago.  She is from India and she is Muslim.  She does not often wear her sari, but she has the last two months.  Last month it was for Ramadan.  We ate the snacks Lynette provided while Naazneen ate the omelet sandwich she had brought to eat after sundown.  She could eat at 8:03 PM.  Her sari was green and cream colored.  It was beautiful.   We liked being able to learn from her and share with her. 

Last Thursday she wore another sari, an utterly beautiful light fuchsia print.  Her colorful bracelets on both wrists were perfect and particularly stunning against her skin.  Her parents are visiting from India and she said she was enjoying getting back to another part of who she is by wearing her saris.  We had read the book “The Life of Pi” by Yann Martel.  Towards the end of the book a number of Indian foods were mentioned.  Naazneen wanted to introduce us to some Indian foods by bringing some of the foods mentioned in the book:  sambar, a vegetable soup; idli, a lentil and rice cookie-sized cake; completely flattened “sheets” of mango that were sweet; and three chutneys,  tomato, watermelon (spicy), and coconut-garlic made with yogurt.  What a treat!!  We were hoping Naazneen’s mother could come to book group so we could meet her.  But she goes to prayers on Thursday nights.  I say that I want to host either a brunch or a luncheon before she and Naazneen’s father return to India.   We will be able to thank her personally for the food that she prepared for Naazneen to bring to us.  The idea is well received.  

The main character of the book, a native of India, was Hindu, Muslim, and Christian.  Naazneen so related to the book because she is Muslim, which represents a minority religion in the predominantly Hindu country of India.  But she attended Catholic schools because they were the best.  She and her husband, whose marriage was arranged, have lived in the United States for 12 years.  I asked her if, based on those 12 years, she felt the hatred towards, and discriminations against Muslims were getting any worse in our country.  She did not think she could answer that.  Why?  Because there had been riots in India, during which the homes of Muslims were burned.  After their marriage, her husband’s family home in India was burned, which meant that her father-in-law and unmarried sister-in-law came to the states to live with Naazneen and her husband.  Ultimately they returned to India because her father-in-law is a human rights activist, quite well-known in his country.  He felt the need to return.  I ask myself as we are sharing thoughts about the book; asking for the opinion of the others, “What is it?  What is it that makes many in our country say “They’re coming here trying to kill us”?  They are busy raising their children, getting dinner ready, doing all the same things that we do in our daily lives.

 I am thankful that Naazneen was willing to join our group.  She sometimes has a unique perspective that adds substance and interest to our discussions.  This is true not only because she is Muslim, not only because her marriage, as an arrangement would terrify us, but because she is a psychologist.  She has knowledge of and explanations for human behavior that we do not.  I am thankful that she does not judge us based on people like Terry Jones who burned the Koran, the book that for Naazneen is holy.  I am thankful she does not judge us based on the radical, incendiary actions of many in the public eye.  She doesn’t condemn us because of the radical, and thankfully, what I hope are still minority voices that rail against her religion.

That is particularly impressive given what she has been through with some.  Lynette encourages her to tell the story of her initial hesitancy to join our group.  She and Lynette met in Curves, a gym for women.  They eventually discovered several things; one, they both very much enjoyed reading, and two, Naazneen used to belong to a book group when she lived in New York but had not found one here.  Lynette invites her to join us.  Knowing that Naazneen is Muslim, Lynette does want her to know that most of the women in our group are the wives of ministers; in fact I am the only one who is not.  She explains to Naazneen that shared religious beliefs are not a “requirement” for our group; it just so happened that when I started the group I knew all three of those women enjoyed books as much as I.  Lynette did think it might make Naazneen more comfortable, knowing that up front.  Naazneen, having gotten to know Lynette, decides to check us out. 

She in essence held her breath, hoping we were different from the Christian woman with whom she had contact upon moving here.  That woman and Naazneen saw each other when they picked up their 3 year old daughters from preschool.  At some point they see each other at a soccer game that their older children are involved in.  The woman approaches Naazneen.  One of her first “get to know you” questions was to ask Naazneen about her status with respect to being in our country; was she here legally or illegally?  Being surprised and somewhat offended, Naazneen explains that she is, in fact, here legally; her husband works for GE.  It is supposed that Naazneen‘s legal status renders her acceptable because the woman continues to chat.  Naazneen is cautious, but reminds herself that her younger daughter and the daughter of this woman really seem to take to one another.  A military jet flies overhead.  “That is the sound of freedom”, the woman declares to Naazneen.  (At this point in Naazneen’s narrative I inwardly gag but outwardly roll by eyes and not so quietly sigh.)  Naazneen is careful NOT to respond to this “freedom” statement.  However, she really wants to tell this woman that in many parts of the world that sound represents anything but freedom. 

She survives the soccer game, only to have to see this woman several times more on different occasions.  Eventually the woman inquires of Naazneen when she is planning on joining the church (the Baptist church where Naazneen’s daughter attends preschool).  Naazneen explains that she has no plans whatsoever to join the church.  Naazneen is well aware that this is not the expected and anticipated response.  She therefore decides to cut to the chase; she asks the woman if that will in any way affect the friendship of their two small girls.  She is told that they can be friends, but will not be allowed to be close.  On hearing this, I gasp loudly, without at first realizing it.  Naazneen is appreciative; she says how different we are.  If only, if only, the story ended there.

Naazneen’s development has a swimming pool belonging to the homeowner’s association.   One of their neighbors is a 10year old African-American boy.  He is kind to Naazneen’s girls, now ages 4 and 6.  They like it if he takes a few minutes and splashes them in the pool.  He evidently splashes long and hard; that is the best and most fun type of splash.  While having lunch one day this summer at Chick-fil-A (Yes, the one that a few months ago became an important arena for political commentary.),  Naazneen’s older daughter mentions just how fun it is when the boy splashes them and that he is nice to them.  The younger daughter responds that she does not like him at all.  Naazneen, taken completely by surprise, asks her daughter why she would say such a thing.  What about the boy had she decided she no longer liked?  The response?  Her little friend (Carly, I believe) said that white people are nicer than black people.  WHAT??  Naazneen takes her daughter’s arm and asks her what color her own skin is.  But the little girl explains what she sees as very obvious to her mommy; her skin is light brown, not even dark brown!  Knowing Carly’s mother, Naazneen knows the source of such a statement.  She will discuss with her husband the need to find another pre-school for this year.      

During the pre-school year, this same little daughter had begged her mother to take her to get her hair cut.  Naazneen, at this lunch outing, now finds out the real reason for the hair cut; there had been comments about her hair being “different”.  For sure, absolutely for sure, there must be a discussion about another pre-school.  But Naazneen rushes on to tell us that she really felt the teachers at the pre-school had done a very good job trying to make all the children know they were special.  If they had been aware of such comments, they would never have allowed them to stand unchallenged. 

As I’m looking at the shore, I try not to think of the world beyond that shore.  I am unsuccessful.  I think of this little Carly, who at the age of 3 had been taught that white people are nicer than black people.  I think of her mother who basically equates military jets, American military jets, with freedom.  I thought freedom meant lack of constraints, free will, and self-determination?  How does this woman see freedom in the future for African-American kids?  If they are seen, when compared to Caucasian children, to be deficient in any way whatsoever, how does she not see their freedom endangered?   Does she want freedom spread across the world because we have military might while failing at home to live in such a way on a daily basis that shows we believe all are created equally?  I can only draw the conclusion that she must see “equal” in terms of being white, belonging to the Christian faith, and attending the same church as she.  On the one hand that is so abhorrent to me that I almost do not want to return to shore, even if I could get there right now.  Again, I see my daughter.  I see her living without my encouragement in such a culture.  I want to do what I can to change that culture, but I am just a little nobody…

Then I remember that I have seen times when one voice can change a room.  I remember that some, like Martin Luther King, began as one voice.  Returning to shore might  give me the opportunity to be one voice in a room; a voice that encourages seeing others as we see our friends and family; a voice that discourages and, if necessary, challenges broad, negative descriptions of those who simply look different from ourselves and/or live differently than we do.  I won’t change the opinion of people like Carly’s mother.  But there might be others, less rigid, for whom I might at least plant a seed of doubt about those arrogant, hateful, offensive voices. 

I remember how proud I was of my daughter one day at the Y.  As I met her in the hall, she was chatting with a woman who obviously had some position of respect at the Y.  Immediately after that woman leaving, a young Hispanic woman approached.  She was carrying towels to the laundry area.  Trista greeted the woman in Spanish and turned to introduce her to me.  Someone else called to Trista but the woman and I continued to converse.  She was learning English, but it was hard.  A few minutes later, as we were leaving, I realized something.  I had seen no difference whatsoever in how Trista had treated the woman of authority and the woman doing laundry.  I was just so extremely pleased and proud.  (My normal rule is not to talk about my child in a bragging way.  Forgive me the exception here.  The story illustrates my point beautifully, I think.) 

I decide life is heavy right now.  I try to remind myself that I can only keep trying.  I think about when I might be on my death bed and looking back on my life.  I think it will be important to me how I responded to the things of life.  I won’t regret being an encouragement to someone.  I also won’t regret having lived judging people only on what each is as an individual.  I won’t regret standing up for that. 

I will keep swimming until I am finally out of this particular riptide; this same riptide of grief that we have experienced for a few years.  They told us we would never recover; we could only expect to assimilate the loss of a child into our lives.  We were told that repeatedly.  But nothing prepared me for the ferocity of the riptide, one that is, at times, made so much more difficult and painful to me personally, as I look around and see the magnitude of the approaching tornadoes and hurricanes.  That is so frightening.  But I remind myself to keep my eyes on that shore and to keep swimming.  Once I reach shore, I might be able to encourage others as they struggle to get out of whatever their life’s riptide might be.  I lift my arm for that next stroke and keep kicking as best I can right now.      

Tasia

Want to see a beautiful dog?  Take a look.

Trista got Tasia from the Humane Society 10 years ago.  She picked her because Tasia wouldn’t even glance her way when Trista tried to talk to her.  That settled it.  That dog was coming home with her as soon as home was checked out.

The house passed inspection but there was no fence around the back yard.  Friends put up a fence that fit Trista’s budget but was also sufficient to pass the Humane Society’s requirements.  Back they come; the fence, in fact, is given the okay.  So off Trista goes to pick Tasia up.  Trista described her as very nervous for the first few hours.  THEN, THEN, did things change!  Evidently Tasia realized what a good thing she had.  No surprise that it didn’t take her long.  She truly is a very smart dog.

And when Ale and Trista married?  Well, that was one more person who adored Tasia and doted on her.  He brought Frosty Paws and played whenever she wanted, etc.  She knew he loved her and she loved him right back.

Tasia is now 15 ½ years old; very rare for a dog of her size.  She has been declining recently.  The last few days have seen seizures and refusing to eat, etc.  Tasia’s vet had been on vacation and just returned today.  Trista had a morning appointment with him to discuss what the situation has been.  He agreed it was time to let her go.  He explained what it would be like if they did not.  He explained that he had seen what wonderful owners Trista and Ale have been.  He knew it was difficult, but if they did decide to let her go, he wanted them to know he thought it was a good decision.

He is coming tonight at 6:00 to the house so Miss Tasia, as we often call her, (She does live in the South!) does not have to leave her home.  She can stay there until the end.  Maybe not so important to some, but for a dog that the Humane Society thought was neglected it seems right to let her stay where she became totally loved and enjoyed.

Life is strange.  My sister’s dog Mollie “died” exactly 11 months ago today!  Mollie was a wonderful black lab.  My sister had wanted a vet to come to Mollie’s house but that wasn’t possible.  She is happy that Tasia can stay home.

Tasia is the only dog I have ever allowed on my furniture.  But as she aged I couldn’t say no.  I not only just left her alone, but I was the one to sit on the couch with her when we were all together.

People have always commented on Tasia when she has been out anywhere; they rave (“Rave” is truly the accurate description.)  I do not exaggerate.) about what a beautiful dog she is.  A number of years ago at the local “Bark in the Park” contest she won third place in the “Most Unique” category.  Trista’s friend Jackie was visiting from Guatemala at the time.  She was incensed and disgusted at Tasia only receiving third place.  She put up quite a fuss about what was wrong with those judges; couldn’t they see?  Trista had to be the one to get Jackie calmed down; she had to assure Jackie that it was okay.  Personally, I agree with Jackie.  What was wrong with those judges?  How could they resist this face?

Another time a senior citizen on a bus tour saw Trista and Tasia sitting outside at Port City Java, visiting with a friend.  Over she came, asking what kind of dog Tasia was and declaring her the “dog of all dogs”.  Nothing to satisfy her but to return to the bus and insist that her husband and several other ladies get off and come see this dog.  They did. They agreed what a beautiful, special dog she was.   Tasia took it as her due.  And she should.

She has been the “dog of all dogs”!