love

Discernment

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Dear Cheryl,

I have not written to you for awhile. You know that I miss you on and off. I never know when that will be. Now is one of those times.

Let me explain. Yesterday Debbie and I had a July 4th grill out spontaneously on the 6th because she was off that day and we wanted to do that. She invited Nancy (You remember Nancy from church? You used to put Kleenex in her basket when you forgot the where you put the money I gave you?) and Debbie’s daughter Sarah was there as well as Adam. Sarah’s new gentleman friend, Gavin and his son Conner came too. It was fun and we had hamburgers and corn and Tommy’s potatoes. (I wish you were here. You would have loved it.)

When Nancy left in the early evening, she asked me if I was ever coming back to church. My answer was and is, I don’t know.

When you were alive I knew it was important to you. I think for me it has never been as important to me as it was to you. Now that you are gone it has little importance for me. I realize now that the attraction to mass and church and being involved was driven by you and the kids and their early involvement. I am not sure that I have that same drive that you did. You were better at church than I am.

And now, church is changing again. As I write this I realize that the whole church thing was a stability in our life. It was an anchor. We both went. When you became sicker it was a need for me. I needed to take you there so that the constant of church was still there in your life and ours. All of the rest of our existence was shattering as we came to our end.

Nancy mentioned to Debbie as she left that she hoped she had not upset me by asking about church. She did not. But she did make me think about it. Today I am thinking about attending daily mass. That would put church back into my life on my own basis.

After searching another Nativity’s webpage, I found the information pictured here. My first impression is that Church of the Nativity is being slowly disassembled. And eventually this year, I guess, the five parishes will be something else – Transfiguration?

Another piece of our life will be gone.

I am still processing the fact that you are gone. It will be that way for the rest of my time here without you.

Debbie is great and I love her and I love being around her.

Today I am thinking about you and church and stability. It appears that Nativity has a daily mass on Tuesday and Friday at 8:15am. Daily is two days a week.

The universe is distracting today. I will review how many days make a weeks worth of days.

Thanks for listening to me today. I can hear you encouraging me to return to church without you. I will consider it. (I am in discernment.)

I will love you always,

Paul

Let your mind wander

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One of Debbie’s favorite activities is to look at houses for sale. She sends me a link from the real estate broker site and refers to it as the house of the day. I tend to find it on Google maps and sometimes look on the county auditor’s site to examine its history both pricewise and ownership.

One little house we examined became a writing prompt and the following story came out.

Porter and Fannie

Porter and Fannie met in the summer of 1980. There was a neighborhood party that welcomed Porter to the neighborhood and celebrated July 4th.

Porter was a common sight shortly after he moved in to the apartment building down the block from Fannie. He had a well mannered corgi that he walked twice a day once in the early morning before going to work and once, sometimes twice, after dinner, both his own and Marshall’s. Marshall was the name of the corgi. Its full name was Howdy Marshall which was what Porter said when he found him wandering in his old neighborhood.

Marshall was so well mannered and friendly Porter was certain that his owner was nearby. That started a thorough but unfruitful search for its owner. No one near where Porter lived at the time recognized Marshall.

Porter was a walker and a sometimes jogger. That day he was walking and enjoying the January sun. Marshall appeared from behind some bushes in a nearby front yard wearing a collar with a star shaped badge that had no identifying information so Porter assumed the dog belonged to the house. Marshall reinforced that by following him up the steps and sitting beside him as he pressed the doorbell.

“Good morning! Just walking by and I think your corgi has gotten out.”, he said to the young woman who answered the door. Marshall sat happily nearby with a big dog smile and his tongue hanging sideways.

“Nope. Not mine. He’s cute though. I don’t think he belongs to anyone around here. I’ve never seen him before.”, she replied. “I’m Tammy, by the way.”

“Porter”, he replied. “No one that you know of has a corgi?”

“No. Sorry.”

“Well, I guess I’ll keep looking. Thanks for your help.” Porter turned to go and Marshall followed him.

“I know you want to be here but I can’t keep you. No dogs where I live. I’m not sure I can have a pet. And why aren’t you wearing any ID?”, he said to the dog. Some of this was vocally and some of this conversation was mental but as he knelt down to examine the corgi more closely he realized that Marshall was injured on his hind quarters. “Did some one snatch you and you got away? Does that hurt?” He reached out to pet the dog and examine his injury. The little animal stood patiently while Porter did his examination. Porter picked the dog up and crossed the street towards the block that his building was on.

When he got home he tracked down a nearby vet and found that he could take Marshall there that afternoon.

Marshall’s injuries where minor. The vet remarked that the injury to it rear leg could have easily happened when the dog was shoved out of a car door. And after listening to Porter’s story about how he came to be in possession of the dog he remarked, “No charge.” Porter left with Marshall happily wagging his tail. The vet had given him no shots.

Porter spent the next few weeks posting printed notices and placing the same information on Facebook and other social media platforms to no avail. Perhaps the vet was right. Some one had tossed Marshall from a car when they were done taking care of him. Who could have done such a thing? Marshall, Porter was by this time calling the dog Marshall and the dog would alert to that name when Porter said it out loud, for his part acted as though he had found his master back. Lots of tail wagging and excited play demonstrated this behavior daily to Porter.

Porter had not owned a dog before and had not even considered it but something in him now extended an attachment and connection to this creature smaller than him. His landlord, when Porter inquired, told him that dogs where not allowed but that he could temporarily house the dog while he sought out the true owner. As it became more and more apparent that Marshall was a castaway, Porter started looking for a new place to be with the corgi.

He found an apartment in a building in a neighborhood with which he was unfamiliar. This area was closer to his office and fortuitously he could, if he chose, ride his bike to work. As he settled into his new situation he walked Marshall everywhere he could nearby. This neighborhood he usually drove his SUV through on the way to and from work. As he roamed with Marshall, he looked at the buildings and houses. He said hello and talked to the people.

There were several other neighbors with dogs. Marshall also made contact with much butt sniffing and sometimes friendly, sometimes unfriendly noises. These encounters consumed enough time that eventually Porter became known to the neighborhood and conversations beyond a hand wave were commonplace. Dog owners have a special bond and that camaraderie extends to other owners.

A few months after Porter had moved in, he passed by Fannie’s house. She was weeding her garden and Marshall gently crept up next to her to examine her activity. Porter was distracted by a phone call as he was walking the dog after work. Marshal had taken his extendable leash all the way to the end before Porter noticed. Porter almost tripped over it. Fannie petted Marshall.

“Aren’t you cute!” she said to Marshall. Marshall wagged his tail in response.

“His name is Marshall”, said Porter. “I am Porter. I hope he didn’t surprise you.”

“Howdy, Marshall!” said Fannie to the corgi. “I’m Fannie. It’s a great evening for a walk.” she said to Porter taking off her glove to shake hands.

“Howdy Marshall is his full name. It’s what I said to him when I found him walking in my old neighborhood.”

They chatted for awhile about dogs and flowers. Marshall politely stretched out the leash to get mostly out of site near a tree to defecate.

“I’m sorry about that.” Porter told Fannie as he stooped to recover Marshall’s business into a plastic bag he brought with him specifically for the purpose.

“It’s okay. The neighborhood dogs like that spot. Not everyone cleans up after their dog. Thank you for doing that.”

It was an early summer evening in late June. Fannie and Porter talked for almost an hour during that first encounter. When the neighborhood 4th of July celebration was announced by her neighbors she volunteered her backyard which was on the corner and the next time she saw Porter and Marshall, she invited him and Marshall to the party.

In the evening dusk of the 4th when the neighborhood children were agitating and nagging their Dads to start the fireworks show. Porter and Fannie drifted off the corner porch to watch the show. Marshall sat for a minute and looked at Porter. Eventually the corgi positioned himself under their side-by-side chairs and waited anxiously while watching several kids with sparklers. If corgis could speak he might say, “Keep those sparklers in the street!”

The universe put them together at just the right time.

Love bloomed at that party. Marshall had a home with humans. He was unafraid of the fireworks show. He felt safe and fell asleep.

Where does fiction come from? This little story just came out of my fingers thinking about Porter and Fannie. Their names are on the county auditor’s site as previous owners of the house that Debbie sent one morning.

Carpe Diem.

Carpe Diem

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In keeping with my overall theme of seize the moment, I bid farewell to my commentary and narration of my heart attack and subsequent plumbing repairs and the recovery from all of that. God has given me an extended life. What will I do with it?

These past few days and weeks have been remarkably suited for riding. This single fact has caused me to be down a bit. I cannot ride. At first I felt little like riding but as I heal I become more anxious to do it every day. It is a goal. It is a quest. In February and in March I was beginning to ride a few miles and then a mile or so more before the universe made me stop and discover where the pain was coming from.

I need to work on stamina first. It is surprising how winded I get just walking around my little condo’s parking area. But I must pay attention to how my body is healing and what substances will help it to heal. In the hospital I was getting a calcium drip for a couple days. Debbie suggested that I should drink milk and eat cheese to accomplish a similar effect.

The simple joy of chocolate milk, I used to drink this as a child. In the hospital I was given Ensure. I found that the chocolate variety pleased my pallet. There is a chocolate variety of Bailey’s Irish Cream. Those two together can only improve the value and overall flavor profile of chocolate Ensure. This might be adult Ensure. I will try this later.

Mom said to me long ago after one of her hospital stays that Ensure or Boost is not too bad if you mix it with a little milk. It tasted like a low end milk shake.

I will drink more Ensure and maybe add some Bailey’s. And I will walk more. Stay tuned.

Carpe Diem.

Miraculous

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Miraculous Pain in the Ass (a Diary)

Debbie made this comment the other day about my recent myocardial infarction/ angioplasty/ cardio arterial bypass graft activity. I have to agree. I have complained to the medical folks steering my care that I am personally amazed that I do not feel worse than I do. The whole process has been a miraculous pain in the ass (or chest – but I felt little pain in my chest after all the chest tubes came out.)

  • March 19, 2026 – Sun shining, high of 70 or so. A good day to ride the bike and get used to the trail again. Pain in my chest and left arm that I wrote off as winter stiffness and out-of-shapeness, was not to be ignored. I did ignore it for a bit. I stopped at my “turn around” point and sat on a bench along side of the trail.
  • March 20, 2026 – a little pain here and there but nothing of note but distracting enough that I could not ignore. Debbie insisted I make a doctor appointment. I did.
  • March 21, 2026 – Pain in my chest and left arm with a vengeance while I was beginning to assemble a porch glider that was purchased online a few days before. I sat down. Debbie looked at me while I insisted that I did not need anything other than to sit for a bit. The look on her face told me that I should be taking this more seriously.
  • March 21, 2026 – I drove myself and Debbie to the hospital and walked into the ER at Jewish Hospital part of the Mercy Health system in Cincinnati. I announced that I think I am having a heart attack. They brought me a wheelchair and things happened quickly.
  • People work in the hospital on the weekends. This destroyed my theory that nothing would happen before Monday. Nevertheless a cardiologist ordered several diagnostic tests all aimed at discovering why I was feeling what I was feeling. I was put on a hepron drip and aspirin to keep me from plugging up before the eventual solution could be executed.
  • March 22, 2026 – About 5:15 in the afternoon I sent this email message to the stock club membership. — Hey guys; It is unlikely that I will be at the meeting tomorrow. Sorry about the last minute notice but I’m in the hospital. Denny has my proxy. Paul
  • March 23, 2026 – Monday. Early in the morning I had an angioplasty diagnostic test to determine what was wrong. A stint or two was not going to fix me. As previously reported one artery was 99% blocked and another was 95% blocked.
  • March 23, 2026 I was trucked (literally) over to Mercy Anderson where they specialize in cardiac arterial bypass graft surgery (CABG). I took my hepron drip with me.
  • March 23, 2026 – This was the week for CABG surgery. I had to wait for my turn which was scheduled for Friday. I needed it but I was in too good of shape to go first. No one ever said this out loud but the thought was there. I settled into the cardiac care ICU room C221. Debbie stayed with me overnight the night before the surgery.
  • March 27, 2026 – Three days of the cardiac diet in the hospital got me here. The food is not bad it is just boring. Days go slow in the hospital. A cardiac burger has little maybe no salt involved in its cooking. Otherwise it is perfectly edible. “Worth his salt” is a comment from Roman times. Nothing to eat past midnight. I did not miss it.
  • March 27, 2026 – In the late morning Becky a nurse practitioner with big hands joined us in C221 to chat about what was coming soon. The first surgery of the day was going quicker than expected. They would come get me soon. Debbie and I waited. David showed up to wait with me. Sarah showed up to wait with me. They did not come to get me soon. It was more like two hours later.
  • March 27, 2026 – Early afternoon Becky reappeared with another nurse to push me to the operating theater. I scooted onto the operating table. The anesthetist remarked to Becky that I was too high up the table. She grabbed my feet and said she was going to move me down. She did. Big hands. Moments later it was lights out.
  • March 27, 2026 – about 9PM – Wendy from the breathing department said to me, I’m going to do a little suction and then pull the breathing tube out. I was still a little groggy but she did what she said. I was breathing again on my own. Debbie had left my phone and my glasses with the night nurse after peeking through the C221 glass door. I could talk which surprised me a bit. At 9:30PM I called Debbie to report that I was still alive and kicking. I called her first because I knew she would be worried overnight otherwise. We always – since we met – call each other at night to say good night. I actually slept that first night.
  • March 28, 2026 – about 3:30AM – a lab technician showed up to draw blood and make sure that I was awake.
  • March 28, 2026 – About 5AM – two NPs showed up with their very own portable bedside x-ray machine. They sat me up to take a chest picture to be sure I was still screwed together. The My Chart report says yep, all good. They left to go wake up the next patient. The night nurse helped me to sit up in my chair about 6AM. This became my morning routine for the next four days or so.
  • March 28, 2026 – a little after 7AM – rounds. Several bright cheery young women appeared to take over the day shift and find out from the night shift any important stuff about the patient – me. Another morning routine began.
  • March 29, 2026 – 3, 5 & 7AM – pretty much the same as March 28th. The times may be off slightly but the 3:30AM blood draw was very consistent as was the morning x-ray. On this day I think I got a shower in the morning by Austin, Austin is an incredibly gentle nurse on the night shift. Austin stayed in my room overnight March 27-28 after my surgery. He monitored my numbers and laughed when I told Debbie after I woke up, “I’m still alive, baby!”
  • March 29, 2026 – physical therapy folks appeared to get me going and walking a little bit in the room. Occupational therapy showed up to ask a lot of questions about my home and to offer suggestions about staying in the tube.– which is their way for saying do not use your arms for anything like pushing up out of a chair.
  • March 30, 2026 – 3, 5 & 7AM – pretty much the same as March 28 & 29. Either a nurse or a PT person showed up every couple hours to walk me around the hallway. There are practice steps overlooking the hospital lobby. The more I walked, the closer I came to going home. I was feeling better. I found some underwear to put on in my backpack that David had brought. No longer was my butt hanging out for all to see when I walked around.
  • March 31, 2026 – discharge day. Taylor, the day nurse, came in with her trainee, Emily, to go through this book I have been filling in for several days now at home. Scott and David and Zachary came to give me a ride home. Emily went to find a wheel chair to give me a ride to the front so that I could get into my car. Scott had left his car at my house and drove my car to the hospital. I rode home in the back of the car. The medical folks were concerned about the airbags. Zachary went home with Uncle David.
  • April 1, 2026 – April Fools Day – I am home. I do not feel too much from the surgery. A little sore here and there. Debbie came over to stay with me for the next several days. David also stayed with me for a week. Sarah came and made soup. It was heavenly.
  • April 2, 2026 – People came to feed us. Debbie cooked her award winning and legendary meat loaf. Denise, Debbie’s sister, made her special scalloped cheesy potatoes and ham. It was much better than green eggs and ham (Sam I am.) There was a lot of it so Debbie and I ate it for lunch and dinner for a couple days. I think I ate the last of it a week or so later.
  • April 3, 2026 – Kristin, a work friend of Debbie’s, brought her special soup also called Paula Dean’s chicken noodle soup. It was excellent even though Kristin made it without the alcoholic beverage in it. In case you were wondering – see below
    • For the Stock;
      • 2 1⁄2 to 3 pounds broiler-fryer chicken, cut up
      • 3 1⁄2 quarts water
      • 1 onion, peeled and diced
      • 2 teaspoons Italian seasoning
      • 1 teaspoon lemon-pepper seasoning
      • 3 garlic cloves, minced
      • 4 bay leaves
      • 3 chicken bouillon cubes
      • Kosher salt, to taste
      • Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
    • For the Soup
      • 7 cups sliced carrots
      • 2 cups sliced celery, leaves included
      • 2 1⁄2 cups uncooked egg noodles
      • 1 cup sliced mushrooms
      • 3 tablespoons parsley, chopped
      • 1⁄3 cup cooking sherry
      • 2 teaspoons fresh rosemary leaves, chopped
      • 1 cup grated Parmesan cheese
      • 3⁄4 cup heavy cream, optional
      • Salt and pepper, to taste
      • Crusty French bread, for serving
  • April 4, 2026 – I found the ice cream in the freezer. This is the beginning of 4 long weeks of no driving and depending on my kids and others to drive me around. Debbie kept telling me how good I was doing. I think she meant that I was not complaining about my lot in life.
  • April 5, 2026 – Easter Sunday. I stayed home. Although I was feeling better each day, I did not feel up to church. I thanked God for Debbie and her persistence at chasing me to the hospital to be checked out.
  • April 6 – 10, 2026 – Debbie went back to work. David hung on for a couple more nights and ultimately moved home. I was on my own for a few nights.
  • April 10, 2026 – Debbie returned for the weekend and to be sure I did my exercises. Over time she has arranged her working schedule so that she has a 4 day weekend. During this time in our relationship she has cleared her grandmotherly duties to take care of me. For that I will be forever grateful. On this day we resumed our charcuterie board lunch and planning session for the rest of the weekend.
  • April 11, 2026 – It was a great day for a walk in the park so we did just that. We chilled for most of the weekend.
  • April 13, 2026 – Debbie returned to her grandmotherly duties during the day. We went to dinner in the evening.
  • April 14, 2026 – Debbie returned to work. The physical therapy sessions continued and the visiting nurse came to assess my progress. Rhonda laughed when I told her that Debbie referred to her as the exercise nazi.
  • April 14 – 17, 2026 – I continued a routine of taking care of myself. Showering everyday and gently washing my chest wound. Monitoring my blood pressure and heart rate. Getting up to walk in the parking lot. I did not do this as much as the log book wanted me to do that but it is a boring activity and occasionally I napped instead.
  • April 19, 2026 – Sunday. Debbie and I went to the Kenwood Theater to see “Hail Mary” a peculiar movie about some sort of star eating bacteria and one man’s quest to solve the problem. Entertaining but an odd story line.
  • April 22, 2026 – Wednesday – The anniversary of Cheryl’s death. Scott, Zachary and I went to visit Cheryl’s columbarium niche. Her flowers are in full bloom.

Debbie remarked that this has been a miraculous pain in the ass a couple days ago and she is right. It still feels strange to me that I am feeling so good after the surgery that was performed on me. I had two bypass grafts added to my heart plumbing by Dr. Lynn Seto who is, apparently, a skilled heart surgeon.

Dr. Seto, thank you and your team for your excellence.

Carpe Diem.

3 AM Sometimes

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Day Six and Beyond

A major surgery makes one think about things one might not think about.

I awoke from a nap this afternoon wondering what God had in mind. I imagine that we all have these thoughts occasionally. What is the big picture? Or is there a picture? I could feel the love from people near me in my life.

Love is a powerful emotion. It is freely given.

The person that I am with, Debbie, is staying with me to help me through this piece of the recovery journey. After Cheryl’s death I did not think that I would feel the same way for anyone again. Debbie makes me happy. It is that simple. Loving someone is a connection between souls. It is deeper. She is here with me through this recovery and I am more concerned for her health and well being than my own. Love is a two-way street.

Last night a spontaneous gathering arose as David, doing his master chef on the grill, invited his brother and family to join us. Love was in the air then too.

My sister and I talk every day. This is something we have not done since we were children. There are three time zones between us which adds certain amount of thought process on my eastern end when I want to initiate a communication. It seems to work out though. Love figures into the process.

It is as though the love that I radiated out during my previous life before my heart attack is returned as I need it. A simple beautiful concept, love the people around you and they will love you back.

These past few days as I recover post-surgery, I am overwhelmed by love.

I am grateful.

Carpe Diem.

In a Dream

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I do not think I have told this story here before.

I have told it to others, just not here.

I am not a big believer in dream experiences but several months after Cheryl left this existence she visited me in an early morning dream. The dream was so vivid it stays with me as a memory something that I lived through. I did not but my brain did live through it and it is still with me many months later. I remember it upon occasion to reinforce the connections between the neurons.

Here is what happened.

There was a gathering at our church. My memory of why we were gathering is unclear even now but that is not the important part of this story. For this particular gathering, however, we had been instructed (requested?) to bring our own chairs. I remember thinking in the dream that this was an odd request because our church had just replaced all the pews. They were relatively new. Still shiny with new varnish there were few sticky spots where the small children had been. But that was the need expressed so we took our newish recliners with us to the church that night.

My memory of how they got there is foggy at best. It involves something about the car which I think morphed into a moving van just for this excursion.

The scene that is vivid in my experience is this one. The service and gathering was over and we sat up to go. We had been reclining which was why we brought the recliners with us. Many others had brought their recliners also. As we were organizing ourselves to leave, Cheryl announced, “I have to go!” which I took to mean – go to the ladies room. For the previous couple years every time we left a restaurant or any event she felt the need of a toilet. I had visited many public “Women” in many restaurants as she bumped her way into the restroom and stall and occasionally got stuck in one. It did not occur to me that “go” meant any other meaning to her. My response to my wife of five decades was, “okay I’ll wait here until you return.”

I stood and watched her mingle with the rest of the crowd who had by this time started to exit with their chairs. The crowd generally swirled around our spot as they made their way to the exit. The lady’s room was near the exit but out of my view. Cheryl was moving really good. She was moving without the aid of a walker or a cane. She was moving like her old self. She was moving with determination toward what I thought was the toilet. She was shuffling between people and chairs towards the exit. She was not touching anything and she did not hesitate.

Still in the back of my thoughts I was not certain she could find her way back. Sometimes she was unaware of her surroundings and lacked direction. In restaurants and stores I would hover near the restroom door and occasionally open it a crack and ask her if she was doing okay. She had been gone long enough that I thought she might be in that predicament.

I started to maneuver the chairs toward the exit and hang around near the restroom door. As I was beginning this process a young man that I had not met before approached me and asked if He could help me with the chairs. At first I thought to say no. I was sure Cheryl could help when she came back. She was moving really well that day. But He was persistent and I explained that I was waiting for Cheryl to return from the lady’s room and she might have difficulty finding me if I took the chairs all the way to the car. He looked at me with a face full of compassion and sympathy and responded with, “She is not coming back. She has left. She is doing okay. I will help you.”

This dreamy experience comes to me at odd times of the day, not every day but often. Today as I sit here in my office writing this post I can see this scene. She has just disappeared around the corner into the crowd and a small anxiety shows up to make me worry that she cannot find her way back to where I am. A young man with curly frizzy hair approaches to help me. Who is this guy?

Cheryl had been struggling with cognition and awareness for sometime before she eventually succumbed to dementia and disorientation. I helped her into and out of the car, into and out of church, into and out of the restroom, into and out of bed, into and out of the doctor’s office. Who was this young man? Over many recalls of this image at the end of whatever happened in church, I have come to believe that he was Cheryl’s guardian angel. She sent him back to me to tell me she was okay now. She was without any pain or disorientation or other encumberment. She was where she belonged. I did not need to worry or be anxious about her. I am not.

I awakened that morning in my lounger in the living area of my house. Sometime during the night I had trouble sleeping and had moved to the living room to read for a bit and await slumber to return. Most likely the shape of the lounger cradling my body triggered the dream but that image is very vivid. I could then and still can hear her voice. “I have to go!” she said. I have let her go. I do not see the young man except in this context but imagine angels differently. I see her angel in other people.

I have come to believe with conviction that she visited me to convince me that she is okay and happy where she is now. Why else would she visit me in a dream?

Carpe Diem.

A Summer Day in Winter and other Thoughts

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A Summer Day

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean —

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down —

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

These words by Mary Oliver send my thoughts in many directions. The last two lines seem to be very popular with the counted cross stitch and embroidery set. These are words of inspiration to the young.

The previous two lines “Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?” seem a lament for the old. We tell ourselves, we have lived life as best we thought at the time.

Do I have regrets? “Tell me, what else should I have done?” hides in the back of other thoughts. What could I have done different that would put me in a better place today? How would I define “better place”?

Grief, that missing another, that emptiness for love’s object, that restless lonely, that longing, is often with me at seemingly random times. It will always be there. It is smoother on some days. I noticed this past evening as I talked to my son that I could tell stories and talk about Cheryl without choking up. Cheryl and I had many great times.

In the now, my son and his wife are splitting. My girlfriend’s daughter is very ill. She is hospitalized with an undefined infection. My girlfriend’s youngest son has split with his significant other and that is a remarkable similarity to my son’s situation. He has snapped back to his savior and supporter, Mom. (She has pushed him out of the nest several times. It is hard (but time) for him to fly on his own.) I have interest and concern for all of these people in my life. They give me a place to send my love and support.

“Tell me, what else couldI do?” is a question I ask of myself but it is an unfair question. Simply being present to other’s needs and being there as they sort through their difficulties is enough. I do not volunteer a solution if I have one. It would be my solution, not their solution. The same heartfelt commitment would not be there. (My mother would say, ‘Pull up your socks!’, which was her way of saying you have to be the designer of your own way out, otherwise you are not committed to it.)

My son is staying with me in the guest bedroom while he sorts through moving vehicles, furniture and just plain stuff accumulated over time to his new rental digs.

Debbie’s daughter is in the best hospital in town. They are committed to finding out what is wrong in her anatomy and doing their best to fix it or mitigate it.

Debbie’s son has a short term solution for housing and a wonderful employer that seems committed to his success. Maybe her consultation support is of greater value to him than monetary support. Maybe he will come to understand that. Maybe he will be able to move on from this former girlfriend who suddenly turned physically violent toward him. Maybe he will realize what he feels is grief of a sort for a lost relationship.

I do know how to pay attention, and listen and offer advice when asked and pray that God will provide a stable solution to the currently evolving dilemmas.

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? If not die, at least, stop?

Maybe not soon enough? Was that snarky?

I love them all.

Carpe Diem.

Little Women

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I stood on the scale and as luck would have it, no weight loss and no weight gain either.

Huh. Alas. Alack. Oh whoa is me. Or is it?

The new snow is coating the grass.

The early morning sky is azure blue as the sun blazes near the eastern horizon.

The chilly birds are dive bombing Jane’s feeder next door.

It is a new day!

These thoughts come to me in rapid fire as I awaken more fully while drinking my coffee and thinking about the previous evening. The play “Little Women” was excellent. The production itself is a co-production, a special partnership between two theaters working on a single play. The play was staged first in Portland and then here in Cincinnati. Debbie and I went to see it last night during one of our field trips. The play itself tells the stories within Little Women but focuses on Louisa May Alcott as a writer and her life.

At intermission we had a conversation with a younger man seated next to us. He asked how longer we had been together. I responded with “about a year and a half.” I did not think much of it but Debbie picked up on the fact that he thought I was joking. Debbie talked to him for a bit and found out that he was from out of town.

Later as we drove home she told me that he thought we had been together for a long time, an easy assumption to make since we are both older. When she corrected his notion he was interested in our story. Her synopsis of us meeting later in life interested him.

Yesterday was a pleasant day. The play was well done.

There have been many instances now where total strangers have commented on the love and affection vibe that they perceive between us.

I feel that way about Debbie and she feels that way about me.

It shows.

Carpe Diem.

Friday

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This day of the week has over time become special to me and to Debbie and I.

Last year the part time teaching job I had with a local community college involved maintaining an open lab on Wednesday and Thursday evenings as well as Tuesday mornings. Debbie works in her profession on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday also. I remarked once to her that our Friday came on Thursday, so our Saturday came on Friday. It was our day of relaxation, dinner or lunch and other dates.

The movie theaters are very uncrowded on Fridays. Sometimes in our favorite theater us and one other couple are watching the film. I like that.

When I bought tickets to the play we are going to see tonight I specifically picked the Friday performance.

When we started dating, that term seemed foreign to me. I referred to our outings as field trips. I think, I am certain, I was hunting for a term that would not hurt Cheryl’s feelings. Cheryl had passed on from this earthly existence but then as now she is still in my heart. Field trip is a term Debbie and I still use to describe our date activities. Much like a term of endearment it is a code, a phrase with a personal meaning for being together and enjoyment of an activity.

“We need a field trip.” she will say. My reply is yes we do and off we go to dinner and a movie or something.

Today the field trip is an afternoon luncheon and later this evening the play at Cincinnati’s Playhouse in the Park. The performance is “Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women” an adaptation by playwright Lauren M. Gunderson. I am looking forward to it for several reasons. It is coming to Cincinnati directly from Portland where my sister lives. Some of the actors are from there. I could not get through the book earlier in my life so I am inclined to find it in the library and read it again to see if my reading tastes have changed as I grow older. However, the real reason is that I have an opportunity to spend time with Debbie.

We will talk and muse about the past week. We will discuss Florida again. It is currently snowing in our part of the world so we will complain a bit about that. Afterward we will discuss the play itself over a glass of wine and maybe a snack.

We are going tonight because our trip to Florida bumped this play from our schedule last week. Another field trip is what we both need during this snowy season in Ohio.

We could stay in and whine about the weather or we could ignore it and rejoice in life and its pleasurable attributes. Soon the snow will be over.

Snow-mageddon be damned. We are going to the play.

Carpe Diem.

mushrooms

Church, Mass, Catholicism

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A few weeks ago on Sunday before church began I wrote – What do I want to takeaway from my time in mass today? And further I wrote – What for the rest of the day?

As to the first prompt, I went to Sunday mass (11AM service) which Cheryl and I did not do for some time. Early on in our marriage we went to the 9AM service. There were 5 masses at our parish in those days. Later as the church changed and even later as Cheryl’s disease progressed we attended 4:30 mass which became 5:15 mass which eventually died a slow death with little participation. After her death I returned to 5:15 mass and over time I was comforted by friends. Now this mass is gone from the schedule too. I think my takeaway is that the Roman Catholic church has lost touch with the congregation.

There is only one mass time at my parish now. It was not crowded. It should have been crowded but it was okay that it was not crowded. The holiday is over and much is back to normal. Small attendance masses are peaceful.

Thinking this way is the way I think about busses. They run all the time on specific routes. If I find one convenient I get on and ride. But only certain routes and certain times are crowded. Riding an empty-ish bus in the mid-morning can be peaceful much like a city tour bus without the scratchy public address system.

Limited access highways are like this in the morning and late afternoon. Expressways, however, are never peaceful.

Masses ought to happen on a fixed schedule, so I can get in and get some holy, is probably a selfish attitude. I will think about that for some time. I may never find a conclusion. It is that sort of a question, one with no answer, for me to ponder as I get older and put more of life in the past.

I think many dioceses of the Roman Catholic Church have lost touch with their congregations but that thought is not my only takeaway. I went back to church after Cheryl died to look for the peacefulness missing in my life. For a while I found it there. I moved from where we often sat so that I could see Cheryl in the pew from a different position. It was peaceful and I was surrounded by friends. The Church is the congregation.

In the time that has passed since I started this essay, I have visited and thought and revisited it several times. What is it that I want from church? It is community. It is belonging. It is love. It is morality. It is sharing the journey. It is belief in a universal consciousness we call God and sharing that belief with others.

How does one become spiritual? And why do I (me, myself) attend this specific service. The first and most glaring reason is that it is the spiritual system with which I am most familiar. I was brought up Catholic so at this point in my life it may be nothing stronger than indoctrination. There must be something more than that idea in me.

In a similar vein, what is the meaning of life? What is my purpose in it? Am I achieving my purpose? If I cannot figure out my purpose, how will I know if I achieve it? Is it important to achieve it? As I get older I find myself searching for this, an unknown, a “may never be known”, the church might say, “a cannot be known.” I search for peace in my heart with not knowing my purpose.

To just be is enough for now.

Carpe Diem