On May 12, I posted a blog about four friends with whom I have a deep rapport based on many, many years of honest communication. I said times with them were my “Meet Me In St. Louis” moments. The reference was to the Judy Garland movie full of nostalgic Norman Rockwell family times – with inevitable happy endings.
Our group has been our group for more than 30 years. And we weren’t that young when we first got together. None of us has had a life replete with happy endings and all of us face the physical, mental and emotional challenges of growing older … and the even more difficult challenges of dealing with diminishing partners.
As I planned my trip to Indiana/Chicago, I of course factored in time with our group. I live in Colorado. They live (most of the time) in widely scattered regions in the Chicago area. This time, none of them had home situations that could accommodate a guest, even if that guest was me. I stayed in a Chicago hotel and we worked around that.
Over the course of four days, I had a chance to be with these women – sometimes all four, sometimes one or two. And it was, as it always is, fun and deep and full of mutual affection. We trooped around to many of Chicago’s wonders, delighting in what we were seeing and in the delight we saw each other taking in the day.
The facts of our respective lives – however difficult – were shared without apology or complaint. We gathered strength from each other.
One sort of bonus day, a lunch meeting in one of our homes, I asked a question that was imbedded in my psyche. A question I could not ask of any other acquaintances. A question that I needed answered before proceeding with my trip.
I asked, “Why do we let our children judge us?” Frankly, I thought I was the only mother who put herself through this ringer. I learned that I was not. To some degree, each of us sought to be ‘acceptable’ in the opinions of our grown children. That was amazingly reassuring. I was not the only one. And knowing that, smiling at that unnecessary vulnerability, made me less vulnerable – less likely to imagine condemning thoughts roiling in the minds of my sons.
It was a “Meet Me in St. Louis” moment – reassuring, reinforcing, re-energizing. Essential. And this little essay is my thank you note to the universe – a thank you for the presence of these women in my life.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
I'm Back
Re-entry into routine after being away has its own traditions. Catching up on laundry. Going through the mail—both snail and electronic. Remedial attention to cats. Checking out the garden – weeding, looking for raspberries and tomatoes, deadheading pansies and roses. Re-stocking the refrigerator. Getting photos developed. Writing thank you notes. All of this takes time.
During this time, I have begun to sort out where I was and what happened. As usual, so much was packed in to each day away that there was little time to ponder significances.
My photos are back. They are surface reflections of all the worlds I visited. There were so many. This particular journey, more than prior trips, seemed to delineate all the separate worlds within which we move and have our being.
Appropriately, the first was an archeological dig in northwestern Indiana. Conducted by volunteers from the Kankakee Valley Historical Society supervised by Notre Dame anthropology professor Mark Schurr, the dig has been conducted for three weeks a summer for the past eight years. Sifting through debris on a small parcel of land that was never farmed, volunteers and grad students have unearthed artifacts ranging from 8,000-year-old arrowheads to 19th-century coins. This summer, I held pottery shards that were at least 1,000 years old. We never know how many worlds are under our feet.
While in Indiana, I stayed with friends, one of whom has been my friend since September 1959—almost 51 years. She and her husband have created their own world: a house facing a meadow and hugged by a curve of woods. A forest of bird feeders draws a rainbow of feathered creatures performing for whoever is lucky enough to be on their screened-in back porch. Deer, possums, raccoons, and wild turkey wander through the bird feeder clearing where corn is provided next to salt licks. And within the house, the accumulated love and struggles of two people dealing with their respective pasts and futures threatened by the challenges of getting older.
Twenty minutes away, a daughter and her family have created their own world full of gardens and music and all the complications of two adolescents. I am always welcome there; glad to share their vibrant lives and wonderful stories.
From Indiana, I took the South Shore train into Chicago – nearly 3 million in the city and at least 9 million including the surrounding suburbs. And every single one of those millions of people lives in her or his own world, with its own perspectives. I experienced about a half dozen of these – each rich with history and hope. More about those in my next posting.
During this time, I have begun to sort out where I was and what happened. As usual, so much was packed in to each day away that there was little time to ponder significances.
My photos are back. They are surface reflections of all the worlds I visited. There were so many. This particular journey, more than prior trips, seemed to delineate all the separate worlds within which we move and have our being.
Appropriately, the first was an archeological dig in northwestern Indiana. Conducted by volunteers from the Kankakee Valley Historical Society supervised by Notre Dame anthropology professor Mark Schurr, the dig has been conducted for three weeks a summer for the past eight years. Sifting through debris on a small parcel of land that was never farmed, volunteers and grad students have unearthed artifacts ranging from 8,000-year-old arrowheads to 19th-century coins. This summer, I held pottery shards that were at least 1,000 years old. We never know how many worlds are under our feet.
While in Indiana, I stayed with friends, one of whom has been my friend since September 1959—almost 51 years. She and her husband have created their own world: a house facing a meadow and hugged by a curve of woods. A forest of bird feeders draws a rainbow of feathered creatures performing for whoever is lucky enough to be on their screened-in back porch. Deer, possums, raccoons, and wild turkey wander through the bird feeder clearing where corn is provided next to salt licks. And within the house, the accumulated love and struggles of two people dealing with their respective pasts and futures threatened by the challenges of getting older.
Twenty minutes away, a daughter and her family have created their own world full of gardens and music and all the complications of two adolescents. I am always welcome there; glad to share their vibrant lives and wonderful stories.
From Indiana, I took the South Shore train into Chicago – nearly 3 million in the city and at least 9 million including the surrounding suburbs. And every single one of those millions of people lives in her or his own world, with its own perspectives. I experienced about a half dozen of these – each rich with history and hope. More about those in my next posting.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Spanish Rose
I went to Spain to explore some of the Paleolithic caves in northern Spain -- settings for much of my manuscript: FAMILY TIME, A GENEALOGICAL MEMOIR.
The Alhambra is in southern Spain. I took a detour there just in case I might never get back to that country. One of the best detours I ever took. Perhaps I'll share more photos in the future.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
while I am away . . .
I am going to let my photographs fill in for my paragraphs.
These poppies exploded in my back yard this past June.
I'll return with more words circa Sunday, July 25.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Technically Isolated
Why do we avoid each other?
As an older (pre-cell phone) human, I am often amazed by couples walking down the street, each staring at some handheld device, oblivious to their surroundings or their partners. I am saddened by people at restaurants paying more attention to their cell phones or Ipods or videogames or Blackberries than to the other people at the table.
Is this new? Only technologically speaking.
A few years back, we avoided each other by watching television.
Before that, reading newspapers and listening to radio.
Before that, rigid social mores and restrictions kept servants, women and children seen but not – in any way -- heard.
All this avoidance is rather astounding to me (the older human) who over the last several decades of my life has come to understand that relationships with other humans (of whatever age) is what gives our lives richness and value.
Because I live alone, I have to work at making connections. But this would be true even if I did not live alone. Relationships are hard work. And no one is perpetually pleasing. So relationships are not always fun.
Still, the value of rubbing two (or more) perspectives together yields greater depth to our understanding of our life and times. [If we don’t insist upon being ‘right’ we can actually learn a great deal.]
Not that being alone is terrible. It is in fact a good idea to step out of the ‘race’ and figure out where you are going. But staying out, avoiding dialogue, locks you into your own mind and opinions.
Perpetual isolation is not just boring, it’s unhealthy. We are a gregarious species. Spread the word. [In person.]
As an older (pre-cell phone) human, I am often amazed by couples walking down the street, each staring at some handheld device, oblivious to their surroundings or their partners. I am saddened by people at restaurants paying more attention to their cell phones or Ipods or videogames or Blackberries than to the other people at the table.
Is this new? Only technologically speaking.
A few years back, we avoided each other by watching television.
Before that, reading newspapers and listening to radio.
Before that, rigid social mores and restrictions kept servants, women and children seen but not – in any way -- heard.
All this avoidance is rather astounding to me (the older human) who over the last several decades of my life has come to understand that relationships with other humans (of whatever age) is what gives our lives richness and value.
Because I live alone, I have to work at making connections. But this would be true even if I did not live alone. Relationships are hard work. And no one is perpetually pleasing. So relationships are not always fun.
Still, the value of rubbing two (or more) perspectives together yields greater depth to our understanding of our life and times. [If we don’t insist upon being ‘right’ we can actually learn a great deal.]
Not that being alone is terrible. It is in fact a good idea to step out of the ‘race’ and figure out where you are going. But staying out, avoiding dialogue, locks you into your own mind and opinions.
Perpetual isolation is not just boring, it’s unhealthy. We are a gregarious species. Spread the word. [In person.]
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Herbie
As a rule, Guinness is the funnier of my two cats. Because he is high energy and neurotic, his antics often make better stories. He plays a feline version of fetch and gets into trouble when he is bored. Like a very little boy, he also occasionally needs to be held and cuddled – usually just once a day.
But his adopted brother Herbie is indispensable. I’m about to go on a trip fraught with emotional challenges. Although I’ve traveled much of the world, I am more nervous about this particular journey – to a purely domestic destination -- than any in recent memory.
So when Herbie jumps up on my desk and strolls in front of the keyboard and onto my lap, I welcome his sensuous gratitude for my caresses. And when his purring vibrates against my chest, I am comforted.
And, it must be admitted, I am getting on in years (as they used to say) -- old (as they say now). Every once in a while, I just need to lay down – sort of nap. It doesn’t matter where I rest or where Herbie is when I decide to rest, he’ll find me, jump up on the bed, and find a good place to snuggle—resting his head in my upturned palm.
I am touched by this. Not just because it demonstrates affection but also, and mostly, because it is evidence of his complete and absolute trust. I am not just bigger than he is, and meaner, but I am also a member of an entirely different species. To me his trust is a signal honor.
Of course it’s not just me. Herbie loves all homo sapiens sapiens. Nothing perks him up more than company. He greets all my guests and salespeople, gently demanding full attention and attendant stroking.
On the advice of my vet, both he and Guinness are inside cats. Period.
Once when I was truly ill, I wobbled out to retrieve my mail and Herbie slipped out the door. Far too weak to chase him, I did the only thing I could think of to lure him back inside.
I rang the doorbell.
It worked. He trotted around the corner to see who was visiting and I whisked him inside.
Bless his furry heart.
But his adopted brother Herbie is indispensable. I’m about to go on a trip fraught with emotional challenges. Although I’ve traveled much of the world, I am more nervous about this particular journey – to a purely domestic destination -- than any in recent memory.
So when Herbie jumps up on my desk and strolls in front of the keyboard and onto my lap, I welcome his sensuous gratitude for my caresses. And when his purring vibrates against my chest, I am comforted.
And, it must be admitted, I am getting on in years (as they used to say) -- old (as they say now). Every once in a while, I just need to lay down – sort of nap. It doesn’t matter where I rest or where Herbie is when I decide to rest, he’ll find me, jump up on the bed, and find a good place to snuggle—resting his head in my upturned palm.
I am touched by this. Not just because it demonstrates affection but also, and mostly, because it is evidence of his complete and absolute trust. I am not just bigger than he is, and meaner, but I am also a member of an entirely different species. To me his trust is a signal honor.
Of course it’s not just me. Herbie loves all homo sapiens sapiens. Nothing perks him up more than company. He greets all my guests and salespeople, gently demanding full attention and attendant stroking.
On the advice of my vet, both he and Guinness are inside cats. Period.
Once when I was truly ill, I wobbled out to retrieve my mail and Herbie slipped out the door. Far too weak to chase him, I did the only thing I could think of to lure him back inside.
I rang the doorbell.
It worked. He trotted around the corner to see who was visiting and I whisked him inside.
Bless his furry heart.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Colorado Delicate Delights
Colorado is still magnificent. Pine beetles don't destroy mountains. If you look for it, there is always beauty.
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