Grief

Experimenting with poetry and art tonight😊🌸

Grief is a sodden bird,

her ladened feathers heavy.

She waits beneath dripping leaves

for the gray days to pass.

And when they do, 

she takes a breath

lifts her head 

and forces herself to fly.

Maybe one day...

maybe...

she will soar again.

Truly the light is sweet.

Truly the light is sweet,

and a pleasant thing it is for

the eyes to behold the sun:

Ecclesiastes 11:7

We aren't lost!

Dad:  Are we lost again?

Me:   We're not lost.  

Both of us together, laughing:  We just don't know where we are!

All my life, my dad and I (and Mom, when she was living) had one thing very much in common.  We love summer, hot weather and sunshine.

When he was able, he and Mom spent a good part of each year in Florida.  People that do that are called snowbirds and I was very happy to join them on some of my vacations as a young adult.  

This was taken at Ft Myers beach, our absolutely favorite place to be in the winter, probably circa 1974. 

Dad has slowed down considerably since then, but as you can see, I haven't changed at all.

Neither of us had been thrilled at the unseasonably rainy spring we had just experienced.  So on a recent Saturday, while I was visiting Dad at his assisted living, the sun beckoned us outside for a drive.  We have done this a few times recently and today as we drove along, I wondered where to go that would be a change for him.  

We drove past my old high school and the cemetery where many of our friends and relatives are buried.  We passed the old Dairy Queen building and the long-gone steakhouse where we used to eat on Saturday nights. We continued past the church I grew up in and where Dad is still a member.  When we reached a stoplight, we decided to drive to Greensburg, a town a few miles away.  Neither of us had been there in many years.

We didn't make it that day either.  

"You know," he said as we drove along, "the old homestead was over there."   He pointed off to the left. where a pretty vista of green grass and trees rested. 

Was it still there?  One way to fine out.  We took the next road to the left.  A few more turns brought us to the church where Dad worshiped as a child.

This is Hogard's Chapel. It is a Methodist congregation.

And, incidentally, if you google it, you will get 10 zillion hits for Hogwart's Chapel.  So don't be confused.  This is not it.

I tried the door to see if it might be open.  Dad told me that his father built some of the furniture that was in the church and I wanted to see it, if it was still there.  But it was locked.  My family has a legacy of woodworking and through the years has created marvelous pieces of furniture. 

I did get to wander through the cemetery while Dad waited in the car.  My dad's parents and other relatives are buried there.

We also saw the one room school house that Dad attended and I regret not taking a picture.  It was called Black Gnat school and has it's own story.  I found this article online.  

The story goes that over a hundred years ago, the people in this community got together on a hot summer day to paint the local one room school house. After getting a fresh coat of white paint on the building, the legend goes that a huge swarm of black gnats engulfed the building, sticking in the wet paint.Ever since that fateful day, this community has been known as "Black Gnat".

We left the church and continued toward his childhood home.  We didn't find it, and came to the conclusion that it was long gone.  

But we had an adventure just seeing what was down the road and around the next curve.  

  It was just plain beautiful everywhere we looked.

Sometimes things looked back.

The road grew more and more narrow and more and more isolated.  After a while, I gave up on trying to be a free bird, and  resorted to MapQuest to get us straightened out.  Eventually we made it to the main road and decided it was time for lunch.  I knew we were truly back in civilization when we reached Chick-fil-a.  Yum.  Waffle fries.

It has taken Dad and me many years to make that journey back through time.  It's something you talk about and talk about, but...  There is always something more urgent.  Or someplace more convenient to go.  

And about journeys.  I think God used that Saturday to remind me that we not lost.  Never.  The beauty of MapQuest is that it can show the road practically to infinity.  But the beauty of the Gospel is that we have a lamp unto our feet and a light unto our paths.  One step at a time.  But with a Savior to love us and a community to walk the path with us, that's enough.

I'm very thankful my dad is still enjoying his path at 98 years of age.  

  

Savannah - watch your step

If you go to Atlanta, the first question people ask you is, "What is your business?"

In Macon they ask, "Where do you go to church?"

In Augusta they ask your grandmother's maiden name. 

But in Savannah the first question people ask you is "What would you like to drink?"  

John Berendt,  Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

Yes.  And whatever it is you like to drink, you can drink it on the street.  Or on many streets, anyway.

I was reminded of this open container policy on a recent trip to Savannah.  In downtown, you are allowed possession and consumption on the street of an alcoholic beverage in an open plastic container.  A container not to exceed 16 oz, because, you know, you don't want to be excessive.

I have never seen a commercial warning against drinking and walking.  So, you get a little unsteady on your feet - what could possibly go wrong?

Well, let's see.

There are the picturesque stairs.

The lovely cobblestone streets.

And the  nice brick sidewalks.

In fact, it seems to me the whole town is one big lawsuit waiting to happen!

I decided to keep my walking and drinking to coffee.

Well, mostly. 

This drink is a Georgia Peach.  I had only one and I did stroll around River Walk with it.  Strolled very carefully I might add. 

Of course, a couple of weeks later I fell on my own sidewalk at 9:00 a.m., so there you go! 

Sometimes, life just happens :)

Taking a Break

It was the last day of April and I was itching to tackle my to do list. 

The last two weeks had found me enjoying a solo trip to Savannah,

a short visit to Breaks Interstate Park accompanying Hubby on one of his jobs,

and a trek to the outskirts of Cleveland to celebrate both a 70th birthday 

and a 100th birthday!

It was loads of fun.  Now I was rested and ready to face my sparse refrigerator, dusty furniture, sticky floors and a myriad of other loose ends I had been letting slide.  I was also looking forward to a couple of lunch dates coming up with friends and diving back into my yoga practice.

So, grabbing my backpack, laptop, water bottle and keys, I happily headed out the door.

I didn't even make it to the car before my foot caught on what I can only assume was absolutely nothing and down I went.  It was one of those tumbles where you just have time to see the ground coming up to meet your face and think, "this is going to hurt".  I wasn't wrong.

Hubby had just left town for a few hours on a job so I hobbled into the house and called my son, who lives only a mile away,. He rushed over and thanks to him, I was soon settled on the couch, pain meds ingested, ice pack on knee and a cup of coffee next to me on the table. He knows my priorities.

A visit to the orthopedic office netted me this handy brace and a diagnosis of a non-displaced fracture of the kneecap.

Blessings can come in many forms.  This was all a reminder to me that the best laid plans can go out the door in a flash.  In my case, I'm not in pain and have a great support system, so I am kicked back and taking it easy. We will see how I feel in a few weeks.

I have been spending my newly acquired down time on scripture reading, prayer and journaling.

Kidding.  I have been re-watching Breaking Bad and pestering people on social media.

My Pom, Chippy, has been in constant attendance and that in itself is a joy. 

 

To me, every day is just a little brighter when you have a fur baby that loves you!

Hanging out in the Hospital

As many of my friends know, I have recently spent several nights in the hospital.  Not as a patient, but as a caregiver for my dad.  It's not much fun, but it was interesting.

A few of my thoughts. 

2:00 a.m. in the hospital is different from 2:00 p.m.  None of the hustle and bustle.  At least not where we were.  Like night and day, you might say (sorry).  My son works the graveyard shift in a hospital and he loves the quietness.  I loved the fact that I could roam the waiting areas and borrow the magazines for awhile.

It can also be creepy.  I only made it through two or three episodes of Walking Dead, but didn't it start something like this?

No zombies.  At least none that I saw.  

I was up and out of the room a lot the first night.   A LOT.  Because Dad and I had roomies.  Well, one roommate and his wife.  Which was fine.  We had just spent about nine hours in the Emergency Room ourselves hoping for a room to open up (and the doctor wasn't terribly optimistic that one would).  Taylor County Hospital was a hopping place. The flu, presumably, was keeping everyone busy and every room full.

So, I wasn't surprised when our new under-the-weather friend and his wife moved into the room with us.  Let me just say.  These folks were not good sleepers.  They were up and out in the hall about three times.  And around 4:00 a.m., they had family members drop by with issues of their own.

I felt bad for them, tho.  His prognosis was not good and was going to involve heart surgery.  Not his first and not the simplest.  Also, I knew from their conversations (those curtain thingies are not sound proof), that money was a problem.   We had a few nice conversations as the hours passed.  I wished I could have helped them in some way.

One of the things I quickly learned to be thankful for was this little room.  The ICU waiting room.  We weren't in ICU this time around, but the waiting room was nearby and a perfect place to slip away to when the hospital personnel were doing their things with Dad. 

In here, I visited with another worried daughter of a patient, played games on my phone and watched old TV shows.  Full House, anyone? 

High on my gratitude list was the free coffee available 24 hours a day!   I stayed away until around 6:00 each morning, and then took advantage of it all day.  And, yep, I became one of those people who roamed around in stocking feet.  

And while the ICU waiting room was a nice little escape, I also took some time in the Chapel.  I am sure there have been many, many heartfelt prayers sent to God from this sacred place.

This cross graces one wall of the chapel.  It is a San Damiano Cross with a painting containing images of Christ's passion, death, resurrection and ascension into glory.  It's thematic colors are red and black.  Red, the color of Christ's blood which he shed for us, symbolizes God's love.  Black is the color of death.  A beautiful reminder of our Lord's sacrifice.

During the second day, I was frustrated because I hadn't had foresight to bring a plug for my phone charger and I was nearly out of power.  I checked with the hospital staff in case there was one I could borrow, but there wasn't.  While I was musing aloud about needing to make a trip to Walmart for one, our roommate gave me an extra one he had and told me to keep it.

Who ended up helping who?

The second night was much quieter.  Our new friends checked out and for some reason the other bed remained empty.  Nice!  I think Dad and I both got a lot more rest. 

Still, it was a hospital, after all, so there was blood pressure to check and pulses to take.  Medicine to give.  So there was a bit of roaming around the second night as well.  And while I didn't see any zombies, I found one really scary, frazzled looking - sleep deprived woman.  In the mirror.

We were released back into the world on the third day and happy to get home!  In the days and nights that followed, I developed a new appreciation for the staff that takes care of Dad at his assisted living.  Truly, they show the light and love of Christ.

When your parent is 98 years old, you treasure every day with them.  Even in the hospital!

When avocados were new.

. 

Driving home from church last Sunday afternoon, I decided to call Dad.  

I recently got a new car with one of those phones where you can call people from the steering wheel.  It took me awhile to get the hang of it at first.  I kept accidentally calling my minister and hanging up.  Probably imagining me teetering on the edge of a roof somewhere, she called me back.   I assured her that I was fine, just technically challenged.

So, having mastered the car-phone, I reached Dad without incident.  He lives 80 miles away in an assisted living home and I imagined he would be finished with lunch and having a quiet Sunday afternoon. 

Sure enough, he answered with his customary “Hello, hello!” 

We chatted awhile about this and that.  He was enjoying a favorite pastime, watching the golf tournament.  

Dad came to golf rather late in life.  But once he found it, he made up for lost time and spent many a happy hour on the course.  Now it had become a spectator sport.  This particular tournament was being played in San Diego, which stirred some memories for Dad. 

“I was in San Diego,” he reminisced, “after the war.  For about six months.”  He began to describe it; breezy and  warm with lots of palm trees.   It sounded lovely.  I'm a sucker for palm trees.

“I remember a girl I met at a bus stop,” he said.  He was alone, waiting for a bus back to the base, and she asked him to ride the bus with her on her way home.  They talked a few minutes and he decided to accompany her.  They rode about ten minutes to her stop.  She got off and he rode back to town to wait for his bus.   

“Maybe somebody had been bothering her, and she didn’t want to ride by herself,” he mused.  I think he was right.  My dad was a comforting, stable presence, even at his young age, and handsome in his uniform.  She trusted him.   Although with the Bing Crosby smirk displayed in this picture, I'm not sure I would have!

“One day we were hitching a ride into town,” he said.  “Me and a couple of buddies.   A man in a big new Pontiac stopped and asked if we would like to earn a little extra money.” 

Turns out the man and his family owned a lime orchard, and he put Dad and his friends to work harvesting limes.  Dad remembered the orchard was on a hill, and the ground had been leveled wherever there was a tree.  It was nice.  They worked a few days and were treated very well, Dad said. 

Along with lime trees, the man was growing avocados.   

“Avocados were new to the country.  They were experimenting with them.”  The guys were given long poles with clippers and a bag on the end.  They learned to snip the fruit and catch it in the bag so it didn’t hit the ground and bruise. 

Out of curiosity, I googled “Avocado harvesting stick” and they still have them.  You can buy one at Walmart for $250. 

The man was nice, Dad remembers.  “He told us if we ever wanted to come back with our families for a vacation, we were welcome to come and stay.  I'll never forget it."  

We were quiet for a moment.  By now I had pulled into my driveway.  Winter had found Lexington at last and snow was falling.  Dad was sitting in his apartment.  I knew his walker was at hand and his motorized wheelchair was nearby.  Even with these helpful devices, getting around was slow and painful at 97.

But I think each of us were mentally in California over 70 years ago.  

Before wife and family.  

Before becoming a successful merchant and leader of his church and community.

Way before you could accidentally call people from your car or watch movies on a tiny phone you carry with you.

Back when a young solder was strong and ready to tackle the world.

When decades and decades of life stretched ahead of him.  

When avocados were new.