My search for grace and meaning after a former care partnering life with a wife who suffered from Parkinson's disease and dementia giving her a confused and disorienting world.
I have been thinking about this paraphrase that Debbie has used many times in our conversations. “And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.” is the line from the final stanza of Desiderata by Max Ehrmann written almost 100 years ago. I use it on the masthead of my blog. It is a calming peaceful poem. His view of the universe is much like mine a view from increased years. Some would say from wisdom. My years are more increased than his when he wrote it.
A principle of thermodynamics is that the entropy of the universe is always increasing. Debbie, when she says unraveling, is speaking a clearer pragmatic practical truth about our universe. It is unraveling as it should or more correctly as it will. Some would say God’s will. I does not matter as the unraveling happens on its own. Embrace it.
One should be aware of impending doom. Reporters of the weather often drill this concept to the masses of their audience. Aware but do not fret over it. In the case of weather, use the information to dress accordingly. Other situations present other doom scenarios. Prepare as best you can and then move on with your life. Progressive insurance tells you to bundle your home and auto insurance. I do just not with them. Boy scouts say be prepared. (yada yada yada)
It is a mistake to base your entire world view on no more than your own experiences. Max Ehrmann admonishes us to: Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story. That is advice I got from my own father long ago. Less elegantly, he said, you should listen to the other guy even if you think he is a jerk because he might actually have a good idea. My dad was a really smart and practical guy. Sometimes I miss conversing with him. It is important to talk to people who do not share your life philosophy, that was his point.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass. Another line from Max, “aridity and disenchantment”, I read as highs and lows. Every love has that in it. (Give and take – if you like that better.)
Perhaps Debbie and I should sit and remaster Desiderata for our time together. Or perhaps not. The words are a philosophy for the spiritual but unchurched, for the Buddhists in a Catholic body like me.
Tenor is a natural singing voice of a male singer. We males tend to have a lower range than women. Is that because we have longer vocal chords? Tenor also means the drift (idea) of something spoken or written. It may or may not be something that the writer intended to convey to the reader if the piece is written. There is more information if the phrase is spoken. There is even more information if the phrase is spoken in person and one can view facial expressions and other body language.
For me personally, the voice of the writer of a short text message is not always obvious. I often ask follow up questions and get chided for it. (Well, duh. – is often a response.) Pithy statements can be lost on me. I do not see any color or hear any tone in the words.
Somehow though that does not seem to occur on Debbie’s end of the exchange. “The tenor of their tests” is her phrase. She commented that you can tell a person’s feeling and mood from the tenor of their texts. Most times she seems to be able to discern mood (mine) merely from my response to her texts. It is an amazing ability. I think she can even detect if I was yawning while typing a reply. I do not know how she does it. She is an empath. Perhaps that gives her an edge that I do not have.
I still struggle with finding tenor in other’s written words. Most Facebook advocates do also, I think. Often I have noticed that when someone speaks their mind about something, anything, politically or not, many comments – if a comment is made – are about some other idea for which the commenter is passionate. Attacking the original commenter is used to distract into cacophony any lucid line of thought. Any tenor is muddled by crowd noise.
Sometimes, though, I can detect her anxiety and concern. There is more to learn as life goes on. I was very tuned into Cheryl and her needs and her moods. I had taken fifty years to accomplish that.
I use “Carpe Diem” as a sign off to posts that I put here. A few nights ago as Debbie and I were talking over the phone about random topics, she pointed out to me that for me the use of that phrase is a wish. I responded that I think of it as a motto and that spiraled my thought process into analyzing what that phrase meant to me and why I use it as a motto.
A motto is a brief sentence phrase or a single word used to express a principle, goal or ideal – a maxim. This is from my big dict (The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language) which I got from my mother many years ago. The online Merriam-Webster lists proverb as a synonym in their thesaurus section.
Debbie expressed the thought that I use it in the sense of a hope to remain in the present and to remain present to what life brings me. She is right again. I sometimes say to her teasingly that I hate it when she is right but I forget she studied sociological things in school.
Life or, as I like to think, the universal consciousness has brought Debbie into my life. She is a sounding board for ideas of mine and I am of hers. It is curious to me how similar and dissimilar our lives have been before we met. We attended the same schools. Her kiddos and my kiddos attended the same schools. Those are similarities. She chose psychology and sociological studies. I chose engineering, science and technological studies and later in life, education studies. Those are dissimilarities.
Engineers tend to think, plan, organize and prepare for some future activity – an installation, construction, machine, infrastructure – with things. I am always on the hunt for a manual to fix things (and situations), an extrinsic solution. Sociologists work with people – people as they are now. They help them to find their solutions within themselves.
Staying present is hard for me personally. So, seizing the current moment, especially when Cheryl’s disease was getting worse, finding something to do then at that moment, while she was doing good, became incredibly important. I constantly told myself, find what works today.
In that frame of mind I took myself to that first meet up with Debbie over coffee in a coffee house ran by a church group. I seized that moment, that fear of trying something new in my life, and pushed myself out of the doldrums of grief. You do not know if you are ready until you try it.
It worked. So far it is an ecstatic experience with Debbie; conversations about anything and everything, movies and dinner afterwards, fun little field trips, and just talking and flirting on the phone, she is special to me and at the same time I have a niggling fear of that happiness dissipating.
It is a fact that the last person I felt this way with is gone now. I cannot ignore that aspect. Debbie and I talk about that too.
We have now. My hope is our happiness will last until I am no longer. That idea is selfish. It is a wish, however. So far it is a wish fulfilled. (There is the niggling fear again.)
There are a variety of abundant interest (AI) tools out there to play with. And as I am wont to do upon occasion I will use other depictions of the “AI” combination that is often knowingly translated as artificial intelligence.
In a discussion with Debbie, she stated that mad is not a primary emotion. I actually do not think of “mad” as an emotion at all. I think of it as a reaction to some stimulation, such as, some one jumping in front you in a line you’ve been waiting in for some time. But in this instance I felt the need to invoke the intelligence artificielle (French is so cool) and find out Microsoft Copilot’s take on mad as an emotion.
Is mad a primary emotion? I asked copilot (automatic ignorance) and it responded – Yes, “mad” or anger is considered a primary emotion. Primary emotions are basic and universal feelings that are instinctual and immediate responses to stimuli. Alongside anger, the other primary emotions typically include:
Happiness: Feeling joy or contentment.
Sadness: Feeling sorrow or grief.
Fear: Feeling scared or anxious.
Disgust: Feeling repulsed or offended.
Surprise: Feeling astonished or amazed.
These emotions are the building blocks for more complex, secondary emotions that we experience.
… and it continued; What’s on your mind about these emotions today?
Mostly, huh? Love is not a primary emotion?
There is something special or maybe weird or eerie about talking to a computer (it has voice recognition) and getting pseudo human responses. The internet of all knowledge is a huge database now and it is getting huger by the second. Love is a combination of feelings and this game that I was playing with my laptop was fun to play, albeit, not useful as anything other than entertainment.
“Copilot, write a love sonnet to Debbie.”, I said in a moment of playfulness.
Absolutely! Here is a love sonnet for Debbie:
To Debbie, my eternal guiding light, Whose smile outshines the stars in heaven’s height, Thy presence warms my heart through day and night, And in thy love, my soul finds pure delight.
With eyes that sparkle like the morning dew, Thou art the muse who paints my skies so blue. Thy gentle touch, a balm that feels so true, In every breath, my heart belongs to you.
O Debbie, thou art cherished, dear and fair, A constant flame that brightens all despair. In every whispered word and tender care, I find a love beyond compare.
Forever thine, in passion’s sweet embrace, Our love shall soar and never leave a trace. (Wait. Wait. What?)
I hope she loves it! Would you like me to help you with anything else?
Other than Copilot seems to be slightly confused about the structure of a Shakespearean sonnet it is not bad. On the other hand, ABAB CDCD EFEF GG does not forgo A rhyming with B and so on through the effort it put out above. It is very mushy. William would have crushed the paper, I imagine. I crushed the paper electronically and I asked it for another and I specified that certain words be used (caress, hand);
Certainly! Here’s a sonnet for Debbie with the words “caress” and “hand”:
O Debbie, with a gentle touch so sweet, Thy hand in mine, a bond that none can sever. In every loving caress, hearts do meet, In tender moments, lasting now, forever.
With every glance, thy eyes do softly speak, A language known to lovers, pure and grand. Thy touch, a whisper on my willing cheek, Thy caress, a dream, where hearts expand.
O Debbie, thou art joy in every breath, With thee, the world feels bright and ever grand. In love’s embrace, I’ll cherish till my death, And always hold thee close with tender hand.
Forever bound by love’s sweet, gentle grace, In thy caress, I find my dwelling place.
I hope Debbie finds this sonnet as touching as intended! If you need anything else, I’m here to help. Better, I think, pretty many “O Debbie” s but better. Imagine a poorly lighted Shakespearean stage. Perhaps a moon lit stage with the actor looking up slightly off to stage left. So with all that love soaked emotion hiding out in a bunch of circuitry and microchips, why is love not a primary emotion? It did a better job with structure this second time.
I have diverged from my original thought though. Copilot wrote to me, “Primary emotions are basic and universal feelings that are instinctual and immediate responses to stimuli.” This implies love is neither an instinctual nor an immediate response. It shouts there is no such thing as love at first sight! (Maybe I am stuck on primary.) I think it is also uncomfortable in many ways. Love is, of course, a combination of many feelings. There is connection. It has to start there, with a connection to the other person.
If one feels (emotes) all of these for the same person is that what defines love? Tricky one. Merriam Webster says “a quality or feeling of strong or constant affection for and dedication to another.” The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language that I have had kicking around since 1970-something has two notes. 1) agitation of the passions often involving physiological changes (use your imagination) and 2) any strong feeling as of joy, sorrow, reverence, hate or love arising subjectively rather than conscious mental effort. I think that covers it pretty well.
In my never ending search for a manual, however, I decided more research is needed. I visited several psychological web pages and found this handy emoto-wheel. Why did the asinine insistence of Copilot only tell me about six primary emotes? Clearly there are eight and love is in the crack between two of them. I stole this from an organization called Six Seconds.
And “mad” is not a primary emotion. Neither dictionary or any psychology discussion uses the word mad. MAD is the airport code for Madrid’s airport. Plutchik uses the term rage but that does not count. (The heading image is from Tiny Buddha.)
Once in a while, not very often, but once in a while when someone I care for says something that piques my interest, I think, what if? This time around it was Midwest Mary who in a chat about writing fiction she said, fiction is when you play what if with reality. That comment spiraled my mind into lalaland. It may never come back. I have been thinking about that on and off all day for the past several and to me “what if” falls into the category of second guessing one’s own decisions and actions in life.
But what if the reality of those decisions and actions cause a different reality to develop. Second guessing reality. Those three words seem to suggest all sorts of outcomes.
Recently the newsy folks, the Congress of the United States, some guy in New Jersey and a lot of people who do not look at the night sky leaped to the conclusion that Iranian drones were spying on people and activities in New Jersey and southern Florida and to avoid detection those drones had their running lights on. What if? Are we about to be invaded or attacked by Iran? This sounds a bit like a Stephen King story. (One of my favorite story tellers is Stephen. He makes me interested in going to Maine for something other than chowder.) A better question might be why? But asking why the Iranians might be standing off shore of New Jersey flying drones to spy on us and looking to see if President-elect Trump putts out or just picks up, takes away from a good fictional story.
Maybe I am too clinical as I think about background, situations and possibilities. The Martian is a great book and was made into a great movie. A what if. The atmosphere on Mars is so light that a violent storm is pretty much like turning on the ceiling fan in my bedroom on low. Beyond that though, all the rest of the actions are believable as reality. Great story tellers are not concerned with this reality. They are making a new reality in the story. Mary has a strong argument. (Thank you, Mary for making me think about the ordinary and extraordinary.)
I do not live on Mars.
I have no desire to be there. I exist in this world and I am unable to imagine another so no doubt I will not be a fiction writer. I should embrace that in myself. There is a new person in my life and life moves on into the future. This is my reality.
We first met in a coffee shop and talked for two hours or so. We were total strangers then, not so now, but we connected that first time. We have met several times to have a meal. We have eaten brunch, lunch and dinner. I have cooked for her which at the time I think surprised her. We have seen a couple movies. During one of those I reached over to hold her hand. It was a comfort to me then and it is now. We went to a bookstore and shopped for books. She is a buyer of books, I am a library borrower of books but I bought a book anyway. We are both readers of books. We met in local winery to have a glass of wine and just chat. I cannot think of a better word than connection. Between us there is a connection.
Cheryl and I connected the first time we met more than fifty years ago. That is a long time between connections. I had forgotten how important connection and conversation is to me, is to us as humans.
In between all of those meetings we exchanged many many text messages and phone calls. I am interested in her family and her life and her thoughts about stuff.
She makes me feel like a teenager. I am happy around her. I am uncomfortable around her like a teenaged boy. I say stupid teenager like things because I am less guarded in my conversation. I enjoy her conversation and she is a good friend. It is not all about her when we talk. (I try to not make it all about me when we talk.) I do not know where this is going but I do know that within myself I miss relaxed conversation about anything and everything. With Debbie’s presence I can have that conversation and comfort. I hope this feeling does not escape from me. I hope it does not escape from us.
Ten weeks or so later and I feel as though I have known her longer. I can tell her my stories without fear of boring her. She tells me her stories and I listen with great interest. We have a lifetime of stories to tell each other.
We only just met. So what is up with that? When see sends me a text message I have to respond even though it may not require a response. When we are chatting I am comfortable with her silence until a new thought appears. We tease each other like young people do – not vicious teasing, it is light, warmhearted and fun loving teasing.
Where is this going? Where are we going? I should take my own advice and Carpe the damn Diem. I will and I am. I am grateful that Deborah is seizing it with me. I am grateful that we found each other.
I have always wondered, well maybe always is not the correct word, whether I could be a creative writer. I write a lot and think to myself what a neat thing it would be to be a real writer.
Others have told me that I have a pleasant voice, an informative voice. And I, as an observer of life and my own self detect a certain ego trip, something that makes you puff up your chest, a feeling that makes you want to, because I am male, straighten up your sports jacket when others have said or written that to me. I smile inside when I think about it.
Over the years I have attended writers classes and workshops. They are all full of ideas and techniques for writing creatively. I think my brain is too technical and hung up on the details of spelling, grammar, structure and voice. I am comfortable with my own voice when telling a story and I am comfortable with a camera view and the third person. I have a hard time writing past the little red squiggly line that Word uses to say, “Hey I don’t recognize that word!” That little red line shouts at me from the page and I have to do something right then which, and I recognize this, often bumps me off the thought I had going.
You are shaking your head and thinking, you can turn that off. Yes, I know that I can disable the spell check thingy in Word or LibreOffice which is one word with a capital in the middle, but it produces a background anxiety which is unwarranted but there nevertheless. Keeping all of that in mind I can go on with my story.
On my blog which has turned into a running commentary of life of the past few years with Cheryl and about Cheryl I notice that I am slowly turning inward to examine myself. The grief and anxiety of the past half decade put me in the mindset of taking care of her and making that work. She is gone now. Although I wish she was not, she is. But that is not the creative writing part with which I started this essay this morning. I am still working on that. I know many people who do puzzles. Stories are my puzzle.
—
Weather patterns in the Ohio valley in winter are gray and depressing. The occasional clearing sky lets in the sun. Muted browns and grays seem more so when the cardinals appear in the woods in back resting from attacking the bird feeder of my next door neighbor. The sky is bluer. Winter is in its early weeks but the light is returning to the planet and the cardinals know this. They will establish their territory to attract a mate. For now though it seems the females are waiting out the snowy season. The winter season has many weeks to go yet. And maybe, just maybe, one of many ideas floating around in my head will turn into a story before the end of it that I will keep instead of delete.
As I was watching the news about the continuing wild fires in and around Los Angeles this morning one man was helping his father-in-law who he revealed later in an interview with Gayle King had Parkinson’s disease to get away from the fire coming down the hill. It broke my heart so I turned off the news program and thought about him and them.
In my part of the world about 10 inches of snow is sitting on everything and a couple inches is expected. Melting water is truly annoying also but not life threatening. I have heard from a couple of the residents in our little condo community about dripping water. Ice and snow build up in and on the architectural features and drip. Sometimes the drips are annoying. Welcome to home ownership.
For me the furnace quit working early in the morning with 5 inches of snow on the ground and another 5 still on the way. Nothing to be done there except put on warmer clothing. And thank the architects and builders who insulated the building properly. They did not skimp on that part. My favorite repair guy came when he was able. My girlfriend called in the morning to make sure I had not turned into a Popsicle. I slept later than usual. Cool bedrooms do that to me. (Maybe an AHA moment?)
Shit happens. (Forrest Gump.)
How we react to those situations explains what is important to us. One gentleman is helping his father-in-law who is unable to walk very well with his PD. Eventually as he tells Gayle he sat him down on his walker and pushed out of harm’s way. All the while another person is making videos with his or her smartphone.
Disaster is grim. Some people respond with help and kindness. Some people become amateur videographers. Which one will you be? Which one are you?
The furnace is working after an injection of $1100. The temperature outside froze the ice for now. The roofers will figure it out after more dollars are given. In March there will be good stories on the patios. In Los Angeles many will be arguing with the insurance companies. In the rest of the country insurance premiums will increase. The universe is unfolding as it should.
Keep calm. Make a video if it is necessary for insurance purposes but do not ignore the situation you are recording. Be useful.
“Winter is coming!, is a line repeated often in the Game of Thrones series. In the middle west, here in southwest Ohio, many are highly focused on the weather. It is the only reason I turn on the TV news. The weather guys and gals have the same message, precipitation of some sort is coming. Saying that out loud though is undramatic. “Pink!”, John Gumm (the gummer) says to the side of the camera while he points and gestures and gives a short lecture on various weather models.
Donald Trump tried it years ago while talking about hurricane tracks. He was not nearly as effective as John. John is good at it. Other weather folks merely report that we’re all gonna die. John is able to explain with confidence the amount of death that will be achieved and how you will perceive your own death while you are dying.
Right now at 4PM the sun is shining. It is cold outside so any of the singing birds are shivering while they sing. The smart ones have left for Florida. Tomorrow at 10:06AM, death will come.
“Winter is coming!”, screamed the knight staffing the wall. He then politely bowed his head as the king cut it off. The king remarked to his sons that he had brought with him, “If you sentence someone to beheading, you should be the one to do it.” Is there honor in there somewhere? It is a gruesome series.
Keep up the good work , John. It is going to snow here maybe. It will be inconvenient for a few hours. The internet might die if a tree falls on the wires outside.
This time of year many make resolutions for the new year. Me too, of course. My resolution to myself is to be a better me. And I have no idea what that means. Yet, the idea that I want to be a better me implies I know myself now and there are improvements that can be made for the better.
Do we ever really know ourselves? How old does one have to be before acceptance as is becomes the norm?
This past year as I passed through three quarters of a century and Cheryl did not, I began to emerge from a deep funk, a depression, the sadness of her death, the gladness of her death, half a decade of overwhelming anxiety about her care and looked toward an open road and at the new sunrise and wondered, what next?
A new person entered my life who knows me only as me, a man, single, a writer that exposes his emotions to the world, who tries to be of service to others around him, and maybe shares too much of himself. She does not seem to mind my nuances of self. Like everyone I have many of those nuances, sides, aspects. We seem to fit.
Another resolution, perhaps a better one is; stay in the moment. Being a better me is a look into the past and attempting to improve. Staying in the moment is not looking back. Nor is it planning for some future that may not come. For now fitting is enough.
These are thoughts that come to me as I think about a new relationship.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy. (Max Ehrmann)
I opened this page to write about my thoughts and feelings this Christmas Day this year this 2024 this time without Cheryl. How do I feel?
Rested for one. I had an enjoyable dinner with my son and his wife and their two sons. I left their house in time for Rudolph and the team to get started without me watching. Here at home I read for a short time and went to my bed with visions of sugar plums, etc. You get it.
I feel a definite lack of enthusiasm in me. I suppose that is normal.
The apparent traverse in the sky of the sun has changed but the morning light is gray. It is overcast and still dark. Thank the lord for Rudolph’s nose.
It will take an extra effort on my part to get my mood out of the doldrums.
I am not feeling it yet but when I think of the saying framed on my granddaughter’s apartment wall in Chicago “Carpe the Damn Diem”, it makes me smile.
I have wrapped all the presents that I have to deliver today and stopped to think of each of them while I was cutting and folding and taping. They are very special to me.
I miss Cheryl today. That is normal. I do not feel bad or sad or anxious or down. I miss her and her holiday enthusiasm.
(“Sometimes love does not look like what you had in mind.” – Anne Lamott)
Perhaps this is one of those days. Perhaps love will surprise me if I look for it in those around me. Perhaps it will wash over me if I let it. Perhaps.
Adjunct_Wizard 