John--
For awhile I have been giving thought to this blog. It is important to me to write it, but try as I will, the words are elusive. They seem far, far away. This happens sometimes. Feelings and thoughts swirl around in my head but don't make their way to this page. This is the time to simply do it.
A few weeks ago a group of guys celebrated winning the state baseball tournament twenty-five years ago. Our son was a member of that team. It was a lovely time of celebration and remembrance. I visited with all the team members. Learned where they live, how many children they have, what careers they chose. Twenty-five years melted away in a moment. I saw them all as the high school guys who walked the halls of our school. Some played several sports. Others performed in my chorus. A group of cool guys then and now.
Seeing all the parents again was wonderful. We shared stories of that year. We laughed. We listened as team members gave speeches of remembrance. They told us what they learned from being on the team. What life lessons their coach instilled within them. We parents were delighted to share that evening with our special team.
Everyone was happy. Everyone in that room was full of joy. People hugged. Shook hands. Smiled.
And then the unthinkable happened. One of the fathers died. Suddenly. Without warning. He was there that night laughing and visiting with all the guys and other parents. I remember talking briefly to him. His eyes were dancing with such happiness. His son was there to celebrate, and he got to spend that precious time with him. Who would have thought that that night would be the last celebration his family shared. Who would have believed that soon he would know what we will all know one day.
He was a good man. A funny guy. A guy who loved to tease with young people. Who loved his wife and children beyond measure. Who treasured his grandchildren. Who had tons of friends. Who never met a stranger. Who would do anything for others.
We need more like him in this world. More who do what he did when his son was playing little league. My husband coached the team his son played on. Our son played on that team, also. My husband shared this story with me after we learned of his death. He said it was time for a game to begin. In the distance he saw one of his players walking with his father. The player was carrying his uniform all nicely folded. It seems the player had not finished a book report. His father had told him if it wasn't finished, he would not play ball. The father stood firm. His word meant something. He knew how important it was for his son to play ball, but he also knew it was a moment to teach a valuable lesson. Even though it probably meant a challenging evening at home, he did what he said he would do. My husband had great respect for him from that day forth.
An illness gives us time to prepare. We have time to gather those things that we will need when the time together ends. We have time to visit and remember. To share. When someone leaves quickly, it knocks us off our feet. Our balance is shattered. We don't know how to feel or behave. Questions flood our minds. Did we do this or that? Were we loving enough? Could we have prevented this from happening? The questions haunt us. People try to be a comfort, but comfort is elusive. We need one more moment. One more word. One more hug. But, it will not be.
At times like this we grasp the real meaning of life. It isn't about stuff. It is about people. It is about times shared. Lives lived together creating a home. Special moments. It is about loving one another well. Getting over hurts. Getting on with celebration. Learning from mistakes. Growing through disappointments. Accepting what we cannot understand. Reaching out to others in kindness and grace.
I am grateful for the years he walked this earth. For the lives he touched. For the memories he gave to others. For the family he and his wife created. For the children and grandchildren who adored him.
And I am thankful for that one small moment when our eyes met, and we smiled at one another amid the chatter and laughter of a twenty-five year celebration.
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Friday, May 8, 2015
Facing the Unknown
Facing the Unknown--
I would have made a terrible pioneer woman. Being part of a wagon train that made its way from the Midwest to the Northwest sounds horrible to me. No air conditioning, no power steering, no cruise control. No service stations where treats line shelves. No diet soda waiting in coolers. No lovely motels with swimming pools and free breakfast. No clean linens on beds. No Gps. And this is the short list of no's.
During my life I have made many trips along the route those women traveled. I remember one trip with my parents and two sisters. We were traveling from Arkansas to Oregon to visit our grandparents. No air conditioning in the car. No dvd's to watch or games to play. Miles and miles and miles of riding. I well remember the strong arm of the law swinging from the driver to the backseat. That was a warning of what might happen if we didn't stop whatever we were doing. I suppose we were arguing about someone being too close-invading our space. Pushing and shoving them to the right or left. No one wanted to be in the middle. A horrid place to be. Etched into my memory is the moment the car swerved to the right and stopped on the shoulder of the road. Silence filled the back seat. We knew trouble was knocking at our door. We were told to remove ourselves from the car. We were lined up on the side of the road like convicts being counted before boarding the bus that would take them back to prison. The guard, that is our father, then laid down the law. We were to stop all the nonesense. Or else. We assured him we would do better. Only then were we allowed to climb back into the car. And the journey began again. I wonder now how we ever survived that trip.
Between my junior and senior year of high school my grandparents invited me to spend the summer with them. How to get there was the challenge. They lived in Oregon. We lived in Arkansas. It was decided that I would fly out there. Now, that is the time in history when people dressed in their finest anytime they traveled by plane. And there were no direct flights. No cell phones to check for delays. No jets. Propeller planes.
I remember seeing the plane at the airport. That was when everyone could come and be right there at the bottom of the steps to hug goodbye. I was all brave-until I saw how big the plane was. Then I became a little frightened. There was a lay-over in Kansas City. I was to change planes. I remember I had an overnight case with me. It would be necessary to see the ticket agent when we arrived in Kansas City. Young, inexperienced, a little scared I found my way to the ticket agent. That person checked my ticket and told me I was not confirmed to Portland. I was in a panic. What was I to do? It was a great lesson in the kindness of strangers. That person told me to sit down and give them time to figure out what to do. In no time I had a ticket to Portland. I spent a wonderful summer with my grandparents before heading back for my last year of high school.
I completed college in three and a half years. That meant I was ready to join the work force in January of my senior year. During my student teaching a principal came to visit me. He offered me a job. It would begin in January. I had my first teaching position. At the end of my first semester of teaching, one of my sisters and I made the trip to the Northwest to see our grandparents. This trip was the trip from hell.
We took a Greyhound bus. All the way across country from Arkansas to Oregon. Stopping in every town along the way. Riding day and night. Hurrying into diners for breakfast sometimes holding our food in our hands as the bus driver gave us only a little time to purchase food. Same for lunch and dinner. Riding, riding, riding. No place to shower. No time to walk around. Just riding.
We had to change buses in Denver. No big deal. Just get off one and get on another. No trip to the Northwest is that easy. There was a bus strike in Denver. No buses were traveling further West. What to do! After much talking with agents, I learned that there was one bus that might leave in a few hours. I was told which one. We quickly made our way to that bus, secured our seat and waited hoping it would pull out of the lot and onto the open road. More people came and soon the bus was full. Then the driver arrived, and we were off. No doubt that was the worst of the worst trips ever.
When we arrived in Portland, our grandparents had to hold their noses. They smelled us way before they saw us. Baths were the only thing we wanted. Baths and good food. And a bed. At the end of our visit with them, I found myself with my first car driving all the way to Los Angeles. I had never seen a freeway with four lanes of traffic. The signage was not nearly as advanced. Map reading was a must. After a visit in Los Angeles, we headed east and traveled all the way to Arkansas. Another first. This time the car was a little nicer and there were only the two of us. No backseat full of little girls. Air conditioning even.
Since those memorable trips, I have made that journey many times. In cars and trucks. Mostly on jets. Lovely jets with bathrooms and food. Movies. Air conditioning. Silver bullets that slice through the air moving us from place to place. What took days and days now takes hours. That is if there are no delays. There was one other memorable trip from here to there. It was winter. We were traveling to Oregon once again. We made it to Denver. In Denver we learned there was a storm in the Northwest. No planes were flying. Airports were closed. So we were stranded in the Denver airport for two or three days. Eventually the airports opened, and we were on our way.
Arriving in Seattle we learned that no planes were flying to Portland. We would have to take a train. But, first we had to take a bus to catch the train. We were bused across Seattle to the train station which by this time was over crowded with people trying to reach their destinations. An announcement over the loud speaker informed us that there would be a delay as trees and mud slides covered part of the train tracks. They didn't know when we would be able to board the train. People did what people do. They found places to sit on the floor and prepared for the wait.
Eventually we were told we could board the train. It takes three and a half hours to make the trip from Seattle to Portland. Usually. This time took much longer as the train traveled quite slowly watching for debris on the tracks. Finally we arrived in Portland. We had been told we would continue our journey to Salem on the train. In Portland we were told we had to hurry to catch the bus that would take us the rest of our way. The train tracks were blocked. So we boarded the bus for the last leg of our journey.
As we neared Salem, the bus driver announced that we would need to call for a cab as the station was closed. It was very late by this time. We did that. The cab was waiting for us. Thank goodness. We were only a few miles from our home. As we made the drive to our condo, the cab driver told us he could only take us so far. The roads were iced. We would have to walk the rest of the way. Really? He got us as close as he could. There was a path cleared through the snow and ice leading to our condo. We carefully made our way down the steep driveway. We were finally there.
No, I am no pioneer woman. My trips across country did not require the patience and strength of those who went before. But I like to think they passed some of their pioneering spirit down to me. I like to think their ability to overcome obstacles flows through me. I want to believe that their spirit of adventure lives in my spirit. That we share the belief that we can take what is put in front of us and make it work. And if we find ourselves with real challenges, we can figure out how to survive.
We continue to be pioneers. Space, planets, deep oceans, technology, medicine. We walk new pathways. We open the way for those who will come after us. Just like those who crossed the plains, we are crossing the unknown. Making decisions as we go. Ever increasing our knowledge.
And making spandex available in all sizes.
I would have made a terrible pioneer woman. Being part of a wagon train that made its way from the Midwest to the Northwest sounds horrible to me. No air conditioning, no power steering, no cruise control. No service stations where treats line shelves. No diet soda waiting in coolers. No lovely motels with swimming pools and free breakfast. No clean linens on beds. No Gps. And this is the short list of no's.
During my life I have made many trips along the route those women traveled. I remember one trip with my parents and two sisters. We were traveling from Arkansas to Oregon to visit our grandparents. No air conditioning in the car. No dvd's to watch or games to play. Miles and miles and miles of riding. I well remember the strong arm of the law swinging from the driver to the backseat. That was a warning of what might happen if we didn't stop whatever we were doing. I suppose we were arguing about someone being too close-invading our space. Pushing and shoving them to the right or left. No one wanted to be in the middle. A horrid place to be. Etched into my memory is the moment the car swerved to the right and stopped on the shoulder of the road. Silence filled the back seat. We knew trouble was knocking at our door. We were told to remove ourselves from the car. We were lined up on the side of the road like convicts being counted before boarding the bus that would take them back to prison. The guard, that is our father, then laid down the law. We were to stop all the nonesense. Or else. We assured him we would do better. Only then were we allowed to climb back into the car. And the journey began again. I wonder now how we ever survived that trip.
Between my junior and senior year of high school my grandparents invited me to spend the summer with them. How to get there was the challenge. They lived in Oregon. We lived in Arkansas. It was decided that I would fly out there. Now, that is the time in history when people dressed in their finest anytime they traveled by plane. And there were no direct flights. No cell phones to check for delays. No jets. Propeller planes.
I remember seeing the plane at the airport. That was when everyone could come and be right there at the bottom of the steps to hug goodbye. I was all brave-until I saw how big the plane was. Then I became a little frightened. There was a lay-over in Kansas City. I was to change planes. I remember I had an overnight case with me. It would be necessary to see the ticket agent when we arrived in Kansas City. Young, inexperienced, a little scared I found my way to the ticket agent. That person checked my ticket and told me I was not confirmed to Portland. I was in a panic. What was I to do? It was a great lesson in the kindness of strangers. That person told me to sit down and give them time to figure out what to do. In no time I had a ticket to Portland. I spent a wonderful summer with my grandparents before heading back for my last year of high school.
I completed college in three and a half years. That meant I was ready to join the work force in January of my senior year. During my student teaching a principal came to visit me. He offered me a job. It would begin in January. I had my first teaching position. At the end of my first semester of teaching, one of my sisters and I made the trip to the Northwest to see our grandparents. This trip was the trip from hell.
We took a Greyhound bus. All the way across country from Arkansas to Oregon. Stopping in every town along the way. Riding day and night. Hurrying into diners for breakfast sometimes holding our food in our hands as the bus driver gave us only a little time to purchase food. Same for lunch and dinner. Riding, riding, riding. No place to shower. No time to walk around. Just riding.
We had to change buses in Denver. No big deal. Just get off one and get on another. No trip to the Northwest is that easy. There was a bus strike in Denver. No buses were traveling further West. What to do! After much talking with agents, I learned that there was one bus that might leave in a few hours. I was told which one. We quickly made our way to that bus, secured our seat and waited hoping it would pull out of the lot and onto the open road. More people came and soon the bus was full. Then the driver arrived, and we were off. No doubt that was the worst of the worst trips ever.
When we arrived in Portland, our grandparents had to hold their noses. They smelled us way before they saw us. Baths were the only thing we wanted. Baths and good food. And a bed. At the end of our visit with them, I found myself with my first car driving all the way to Los Angeles. I had never seen a freeway with four lanes of traffic. The signage was not nearly as advanced. Map reading was a must. After a visit in Los Angeles, we headed east and traveled all the way to Arkansas. Another first. This time the car was a little nicer and there were only the two of us. No backseat full of little girls. Air conditioning even.
Since those memorable trips, I have made that journey many times. In cars and trucks. Mostly on jets. Lovely jets with bathrooms and food. Movies. Air conditioning. Silver bullets that slice through the air moving us from place to place. What took days and days now takes hours. That is if there are no delays. There was one other memorable trip from here to there. It was winter. We were traveling to Oregon once again. We made it to Denver. In Denver we learned there was a storm in the Northwest. No planes were flying. Airports were closed. So we were stranded in the Denver airport for two or three days. Eventually the airports opened, and we were on our way.
Arriving in Seattle we learned that no planes were flying to Portland. We would have to take a train. But, first we had to take a bus to catch the train. We were bused across Seattle to the train station which by this time was over crowded with people trying to reach their destinations. An announcement over the loud speaker informed us that there would be a delay as trees and mud slides covered part of the train tracks. They didn't know when we would be able to board the train. People did what people do. They found places to sit on the floor and prepared for the wait.
Eventually we were told we could board the train. It takes three and a half hours to make the trip from Seattle to Portland. Usually. This time took much longer as the train traveled quite slowly watching for debris on the tracks. Finally we arrived in Portland. We had been told we would continue our journey to Salem on the train. In Portland we were told we had to hurry to catch the bus that would take us the rest of our way. The train tracks were blocked. So we boarded the bus for the last leg of our journey.
As we neared Salem, the bus driver announced that we would need to call for a cab as the station was closed. It was very late by this time. We did that. The cab was waiting for us. Thank goodness. We were only a few miles from our home. As we made the drive to our condo, the cab driver told us he could only take us so far. The roads were iced. We would have to walk the rest of the way. Really? He got us as close as he could. There was a path cleared through the snow and ice leading to our condo. We carefully made our way down the steep driveway. We were finally there.
No, I am no pioneer woman. My trips across country did not require the patience and strength of those who went before. But I like to think they passed some of their pioneering spirit down to me. I like to think their ability to overcome obstacles flows through me. I want to believe that their spirit of adventure lives in my spirit. That we share the belief that we can take what is put in front of us and make it work. And if we find ourselves with real challenges, we can figure out how to survive.
We continue to be pioneers. Space, planets, deep oceans, technology, medicine. We walk new pathways. We open the way for those who will come after us. Just like those who crossed the plains, we are crossing the unknown. Making decisions as we go. Ever increasing our knowledge.
And making spandex available in all sizes.
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