something else which we talked about

A friend was missing on that porch last Friday. She was out of state visiting family and witnessing what will happen to most of us. Her mom's body was growing old and having a hard time keeping up with the fight to keep life's flow of energy inside of her.

We talked about aging parents. Some on the porch had gone through the death of their parents, others had parents in fine health.

Fine health. I guess that is what I have said about my parents for the most part of my adult life. They both turned 76 this spring. I went to see them on Sunday. And while they were both strong enough to walk up the hill to the place we had brunch...

Sunday night I prayed with the sadness of seeing my parent's age and for some glitches in my dad's body which has led to finding more glitches and thus going to see more doctors. Eventually I needed a distraction, so I picked up the Bible and read chapter 5 of Genesis (I recently decided to read Genesis). I found a genealogy of Father's giving birth to sons and then dying. It went from Adam to Noah. A long list of Fathers dying. Not sure if that was the distraction I was looking for...

Last night I returned to the sadness when I sat to pray and thoughts went back to when I was 5 and my dad held my hand when I was facing medical woes. The hand has been there for me ever since. Where is my hand in what is happening now?

and then there is my friend who is with her mom...

peace be with you.

...

I'll be seeing you... a sentimental post

The two e-mails that greeted me at work were not unexpected, pancreatic cancer will finally take the last breath of those we care for, and services follow...

My friend lasted three times as long as he was given, but in the end he was placed in a comfortable chair and as his family read psalms and encouraged him to let go... he took that last breath. I am in awe of this journey, this end.

Without Ipod to provide jazz, I grab the one CD that is in the car. Finally the last track arrives and the music reaches into my heart... Regina Carter, thank you.

I'll be seeing you, my friend, as I stand by the red and the yellow day lilies you loved so much. The ones I divided to thin out of your wife's garden soon after I heard the news. I transported them from your garden to the school and then students, who cared, placed them into the ground. I will let everyone know to stop by next summer when they bloom. I will remember you.

Last night I read about flowers at graves. The author wondered why.

I say this... they remind us of the beauty in those who have left us.


...

Iggy slaps me upside the head

a lousy night of sleep, well, till 4:19 AM it was going fine sent the end of the work week to a groggy point in time. I was glad to see Gannet Girl had written a post, but it sent me in a tail spin.

She spoke of how hearing others say it is impossible to imagine the pain you are feeling is not helpful. So some ancient part of my brain responds... "how dare she say that I can't say I can't imagine this pain. How could I imagine it." I take a nap. I read a short story. I start roasting an Asian eggplant, a patty pan squash, a red onion, and a two pound German Pink tomato. I think of a response. I start an e-mail to GG. I ramble on as words and thoughts remain a mess. I break away to eat the roasted veggies (first adding a can of beans, some salt, some pepper, and some balsamic vinegar).

As I nourish my body, Iggy (Saint Ignatius) and his Jesuit thugs slap me silly. "Stratoz, how can you tell GG and yourself that you can't imagine? Have you not imagined yourself into the life of Jesus? Have we taught you nothing about imaginative prayer?" I go to the gym to workout. I go to bed.

This morning Mosaic Woman headed out for breakfast with a friend. I headed to my chair of contemplation. I don't think it had that name at the store.

I imagine I am GG at a Jesuit retreat center... I am eating in silence with my fellow retreaters as I have a memory of a movie I saw years ago. I leave the cafeteria and check the message board. There is a note to call home. Stop, go back. I leave the cafeteria and there is no note on the board. I am sitting in my room reflecting on Jesus but thoughts of that movie scene keeps interrupting. A knock on the door. A spiritual director I adore guides me to her office. I have lost a son to death. I sit in silence, in prayer, in conversation, in lament. A Jesuit enters with a glass of wine. I will forever be grateful to the love I feel in this room. I am back in my room. I am alone. I should be packing. I am sitting on my bed, feet on the ground, head lowered as it is held on by my hands... Stop Go, back. I am not alone. My husband is there. My head rests on his shoulder. Days pass. I am wondering how I am to believe what so many can't imagine. It is real. But how can it be? The movie scene does not leave me. Was the memory sent by God?

I rise from my chair of contemplation and clean the shower.

Monday bird memory for Gannet Girl

11 years ago I did not

garden
work with stained glass
attend church
listen to jazz
do a very good job at feeling emotions
and I was seen as being terse and stoic by most folk.


But I did love birds, and any bird that still blesses me with its presence, gets my attention. I rarely go out birding anymore..... why? I would guess that gardening satisfies my desire to be outside.

It was nearly 11 years ago that I walked into work to find out I had been laid off. Not being one with God at that time, I turned to birds to get through the shock, unemployment, a long-term sub job(ughhhh), and the job search.

We were living in the northeastern corner of Pennsylvania where open space abounds; and that spring I went to several favorite spots over and over again. There is something about becoming familiar with a wild place and I have done this everywhere I have lived. Spots along a trail become good places to see particular birds, and even after ten years away from those places, they would still feel like home. In the midst of being unemployed I wrote 60 pages about bird experiences (I just looked and said, WOW). Here is one memory from our time in the midwest.

In Illinois I often went birdwatching before work with the goal of seeing 100 species by the end of the school year. Happy to have achieved my goal at Busey Woods, I went to work where I found a note to call home. Mosaic woman told me my grandmother had died. On the plane home, I read a quote by Emily Dickinson who described loved ones coming back to visit us in the form of birds.

What was that 100th bird that came to me that morning? Who am I to argue with Emily D?

my life unfolds, I am curious what dry places will come alive in the next 11 years. What birds will show themselves to me?

Yes, Gannet Girl.... I love birds.

peace hope and joy... and may a woodpecker laugh at all of you today.