Love Thoughts

Just thought I’d tell you,

In case you didn’t know.

How much I love you

More and more each and every day.

How I love being with you,

Doing simple things like

Walking around the block,

Hand-in-hand while we talk

About whatever comes to mind.

I love going on trips with you,

From the large ones that cost way too much

To the small ones that involve driving hundreds of miles

To see our children and grandchildren.

I love doing errands with you.

Well, sometimes, when there’s something

That holds my interest like picking out fabric

For our couch or new carpet or paint.

I love analyzing the news with you,

Even though we often don’t see things

In the same light.

But you never judge me or try to correct

My thinking, which I appreciate.

I love that you fix dinner every night,

Choosing things that you know I’ll like,

Most of the time.

And you do it with love, night after night.

I love spending time together in the evenings,

Watching the same TV shows,

Talking about the plots or characters,

Even when I might not like the show because

It scares me or you don’t like the show

Because it bores you, but we do it

Together anyway because of love.

We’ve been married now for 43 years.

A lifetime of being together.

Of fitting together and melding our minds,

Our loves, our likes

Until sometimes it’s hard to tell where one of us

Ends and the other begins.

But that’s what I love about our love.

And I tell you this

Just in case you didn’t know.

The Road

Ahead the road lay like a long, straight line.

But it was only an illusion.

There were subtle rises and falls,

Bigger hills and valleys.

Turns to the left and right,

But always, without fail,

The road returned to its path,

Pulling us forward, onward,

Closer and closer to our goal.

It made me think of my life.

How uneven it was, its fits and starts,

Twists and turns,

Many unplanned and unwanted,

Yet always pushing me forward.

I do regret the things I’ve done that pulled me off course.

I wish I could go back and erase

The mistakes I made.

Things I said that should have been left unsaid.

Things I did that should never have happened.

The rises and falls of emotions that caused me

To think and feel in extremes.

The wrong turns that pulled me asunder,

Forcing me to fight against the tide

In order to get back on course.

I’d like to say I’ve learned from my mistakes

And that now I follow the straight road

That lies ahead.

But I know that the job is never finished

And that forces unbeknownst to me

Will pull me away from my target.

I just hope that I’ll always be able to

Jump back in the right lane.

 

 

The Qualities of Love

 

Love is strongest in its mornings

When first glance, first hug, first kiss

Define its parameters.

Love enriches, embraces, endures

Carrying us through pain, suffering, joy, exuberance.

Love drives the human heart forward,

Giving us sustenance and relief,

When most needed.

Love allows us to stand tall, knowing that

There is support underneath,

even when our beliefs run counter

or when we err on the side of caution.

Love inspires us to reach beyond

Our strongest dreams,

To strive to become something which

Only speaks to us in our hearts.

Love is kind and gentle.

It does not cause pain or injury.

Love guides us, strokes our fires,

All while managing to ground us

To the people who love us most.

 

Last Will and Testament

It was in the designing of a home that was destroyed in a devastating fire that Robert first met Susan. One sunny afternoon she strolled into his architectural office in downtown Oakland looking for someone who would draw up plans to her exact specifications.  She wanted a modern house on the inside, yet traditional enough that it blended into what she hoped would soon return to forested hills.

As soon as Robert saw her chin-length gray hair, he fell in love. Susan claimed to do the same when she looked into his deep blue eyes. Week after week they bent over plans, discussing the merits of this and that, until the house finally came together. And during it all, Robert learned to respect Susan’s intelligence and charm, while she loved his ability to think steps ahead, almost like seeing into the future.

Within a year of the completion of the home, they drove to Reno, married in a quaint chapel, honeymooned in Paris and then settled into the home, expecting to spend many happy days together. And then she was diagnosed with a rather aggressive form of breast cancer.

It was painful watching her willow away. Each day she grew smaller and grayer, slowly disappearing into the silk sheets of their bed. Then one morning when he awoke, Susan did not.

Robert made the appropriate calls to known friends. It was not easy telling people that Susan was dead. While Robert was able to choke back the tears while he was on the phone, at nights he sobbed like a baby. Unable to sleep in the bed they had shared, he moved into one of the many empty bedrooms.

Because Susan had never mentioned close friends or family, Robert expected a smooth transition, especially since he thought he was the sole heir. If he hadn’t been, he would never had sold his condo or consolidated their accounts. But there was never any doubt that Susan was giving everything to him, just as he was giving everything to her.

While his life, although forever altered, would continue on. He would walk the halls where Susan had walked, eat his meals at the same table and watch the same programs that they both had loved. The only thing that worried him somewhat was the young woman who lived in the apartment above the garage.

Robert had never met her, yet Susan had told him much about her. Nanette had been Susan’s chauffeur and confidant for many years after her first husband had died. Since Nanette had been living in a sketchy neighborhood before the fire, when Susan rebuilt her home, she had demanded that Nanette move into a guest room she had built over the garage expressly for that purpose.

Robert also knew that Susan had paid Nanette’s college tuition all through her undergrad and graduate school years at Berkeley. Because of Susan’s generosity, Nanette had her MBA, and once Nanette was no longer needed as a chauffeur, she had gotten a job in a high-class accounting firm in San Francisco.

Because of how close the two women were, Robert expected some kind of inheritance to go to Nanette. A financial stipend, for sure, but also the ability to continue on in the apartment, if she chose to do so. Robert spoke to Nanette when Susan died and found her to be charming, polite and extremely intelligent.

 

A week after Susan’s death the attorney demanded that Robert come in for the reading of the will. Robert dressed in his best black suit, slipped into his polished loafers, straightened his blue tie, and drove downtown to a starkly furnished office, done in blacks and grays, fitting for a somber meeting.

As soon as Robert was seated, the attorney read a bunch of legal mumbo-jumbo with a lot of albeits and heretofores. When he got to the distribution of assets, Robert perked up. Susan had led him to believe that was the sole heir, but once the words had been read, Robert understood that in fact, he had inherited absolutely nothing. No property, no money, no stocks, bonds or life insurance.

Robert was shocked. It was inconceivable that Susan could have deceived him so.

The attorney sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. He watched as Robert’s face turned a deep crimson. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“What am I to do?” Robert asked as he wrung his hands. “I have nothing left in my name. I gave Susan everything, just as she supposedly gave me everything.” He wiped his eyes with his hands. “So, since I have nothing, when do I have to move out?”

The attorney picked up the papers. “Susan stipulated that you be allowed to live on the property until either you died, remarried or moved out of your own accord. The only exception is that if you move due illness, then you would be entitled to a monthly pension not to exceed the cost of your care, until you die.”

Robert stood and paced about the office. “So what does Nanette get? After all, she was just a chauffeur!”

“You obviously weren’t listening. Nanette gets the property, the life insurance, the bank accounts, stocks, bonds, in fact, everything. And since this is a community property state, and you had added Susan’s name to all your accounts, Nanette also inherits a good portion of that.” The attorney smiled in a way that grated Robert’s nerves. “Susan told me that she felt closer to Nanette than anyone that she had ever known. Apparently even you, Robert.”

“My god, we loved each other!”

The attorney neatly stacked the papers and put them in a yellow file folder and leaned back in his chair. “Any questions?”

“Can I contest it? Go to court and demand a reevaluation?”

“The will was duly witnessed and filed. It is considered to be Susan’s final wishes.”

“I don’t like it, but I understand. Can I have a copy? Do I at least have the right to that?”

“Yes,” the attorney said. He pushed a button on his phone and when his secretary entered, he asked her to make one copy. “Would you like to wait here while the copy’s being made?”

Robert nodded. “Can I stay in the house?” he asked.

“That will be up to Nanette,” the attorney said. “If Nanette wants to live in the house, then you can have the apartment.” He stood and walked to the door. “You should also know that Susan stipulated that Nanette be the first one to hear the terms of the will. She was here this morning, so Nanette already knows. If there’s nothing else, I have another meeting to attend,” and he walked out, leaving Robert all alone.

Once he had his copy, Robert left, feeling quite bereft. Not only had his wife misled him, but the only things he could call his own were his clothes and any future income he might receive. He was sure that he would never qualify for a mortgage and that no one would hire him at his age. His only option was to be Nanette’s minion for the rest of his life.

When he returned home, he put in his key to unlock the door. It did not work. When he knocked, Nanette opened the door with a smirk on her face. “I was expecting you. Come inside.”

Robert stepped into the wood paneled front room that he had designed. Instead of the warmth he had associated it with when Susan was alive, now it felt cold and imposing.

Nanette pointed to a stack of boxes in the hall. “I had your stuff packed up. I think you’ll find everything here. And just to ensure my privacy, I changed the locks, both front and back.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a key. “This is to the apartment. I’ll leave the front door open for an hour. I’m assuming that you’ll be finished by then.”

“Why are you being so mean? I don’t understand.”

“Susan love me like the daughter she never had. She once told me that when she died, I was to protect myself. That men would want to move in here just because of my new wealth. I’m not being mean, Robert, I’m just following Susan’s orders.”

Robert sighed. There was nothing for him to do but to haul his possessions away. “Can I use the dolly?”

“It’s on the back porch. When you’re finished, put it in the garage.” She turned and sauntered away.

Robert got the dolly off the porch and two-by-two, moved his boxes. Just as he was putting his last ones in place, Nanette returned.

“If the steps are too tough for you, old man, I can have a lift installed.”

Nanette’s words rankled Robert so much that he simply walked away. There was no way he would stay in a place where he was treated like dirt. First thing in the morning he would visit an attorney for a second opinion and then find a real estate agent who would help him find a rental unit he could afford.

Robert was deeply hurt by what he saw as Susan’s deception, but there was nothing he could do about it except sigh.

 

 

An Irish Blessing

May your dog lay peacefully

at your feet and lick your hand

to show his eternal gratitude.

May your cat snuggle in your lap,

keep mice and vermin away,

and not shred your furniture

to show her love.

May your children grow strong,

healthy, wealthy, and wise

in the ways of the world

and not fall into disarray.

May your friends stay ever faithful,

call to keep you from being lonely,

and keep your secrets secret.

May your path be smooth, easy, and flat,

with no breakages to slow you down.

May the sun brighten your every day

and rain clouds bring only gentle showers

to wash temptation away.

May your troubles be few,

and may a smile always warm your heart

when you return home from a trip.

May life treat you well

so that when your time comes

to walk into the light,

you will do so with a grin in your heart.

Beliefs

If not by an almighty god

who created the earth?

Speak to me not of inventors,

researchers, scientists.

Their works are both

improvement and ruination.

Humans, thanks to God,

have the ability to think,

yet we frequently do not.

Sunday rolls around and we find

excuses

We run hither and yon,

never stopping for even one moment

to give thanks to the One

who breathed life into our lungs,

blessed us,

filled us with promise of accomplishment,

then set us free to stumble our way

through life,

learning, hopefully, from errors.

All the while He sits in heaven

smiling down at His creations

waiting for the day when His loves wake up

and take time

sing His glorious name.

He welcomes even the unrepentant

saying, “Come here, my child.”

I, for one, will cuddle next to His chest

and cry tears of joy.

God is my reason for being.

I must never forget.

 

Trying to get home

I’ve heard horror stories about travelers who are stranded due to inclement weather. I’ve always felt sorry for them, imagining the long, tedious hours in airports.

Yesterday it happened to my husband and I. We had just completed a wonderful vacation in Washington DC and New Jersey/New York. We spent quality time with my sister-in-law, son and daughter-in-law.

We visited homes of our founding fathers and saw a musical. We walked under cherry trees in full bloom and amidst towering sculptures. Many wonderful sites and vistas witnessed with fantastic people.

But the weather in DC turned awful on Thursday. Low visibility and constant rain. Wind, thunder and lightning.

As we sat in the airport, one after another flight was cancelled. After a six hour wait, we expected our flight to also be canceled, but all of a sudden, they called for us to board.

When we arrived at our transfer point, our connecting flight had left.

We were stuck. If my husband had been traveling alone, he probably would have spent the night at the airport. But not me. I used the phone provided and found us a hotel with a shuttle.

By the time we checked in, it was 8:00 and we were starved. Thankfully there was a fast food joint a short, but freezing walk away.

As I sit today and wait for my time to check in my luggage, I can reflect on the good things in my life.

I am blessed with an amazing husband and family. I am grateful to the pilots who flew through the tumultuous weather and got us safely back on the ground. I am lucky that I am an experienced flyer and so am comfortable being on my own.

And more than anything, I am blessed to have a God who is watching over me.

Traveling Again

For the past few days I’ve been in the Washington DC area. There is something quite satisfying about walking where so many game changers have stood and been honored.

We visited Montpelier, home of James Madison. We stood in the room where he researched laws and crafted the Constitution and the Bill of Rights.

We strolled through his gardens where he went to contemplate. It was an awesome feeling.

The next day we went to DC proper. Walked around the tidal basin where the cherry trees were in full bloom. This has been on our bucket list for some time. It’s as beautiful as I imagined.

Yesterday we visited Lincoln’s cottage, a quiet space where he reflected on all the issues that plagued him. We saw the doors that he walked through, the veranda he stood on overlooking the capital, and a section of the original floor that he walked on.

So much history!

And our vacation is not yet over.

A Religious Awakening

Fifty years ago, my faith was in doubt.  Tired of hearing the hell and damnation homilies of the local parish priest, I tuned out every time he spoke.  I knew that I should have been listening, for I feared that I was one of the sinners that he condemned to everlasting fire, and that there was no hope for my salvation.

I did not “do” drugs, proffer myself to men, nor commit crimes against society.  I was, however, not a dutiful daughter who accepted her subservient status in a household that held women with little respect. My parents believed that my sole purpose in life was to work for them, as a household servant, and when those jobs were done to satisfaction, then and only then could I pursue an education.

I did not object to assisting with the care and operation of the house.  What angered me most was that my siblings were exempted from any and all responsibility, including cleaning up after themselves.

A major part of the problem was that my parents were ultra-conservative and narrow in focus.  To them, the duty of an older daughter was to manage the house and to marry young.  By young, I mean by the age of fourteen.  I didn’t even date at that age, let alone have a serious boyfriend, and I hated housework, so I was a failure in their eyes.

It should be a surprise that I was so affected by what was said for the pulpit, for Sunday worship was not something that my parents faithfully practiced.  They went to church when they felt like it, when the weather was good, when there were no sporting events on television.  And when they did go to church, it was not at the nearest church, but rather one which held the shortest service.

When I left for college in the summer of 1969, I decided to act boldly: I would not go to church at all.  My resolve faded as soon as the first Sunday arrived.  Not wanting to anger God, fearful of blackening my soul any further, I found the Newman center on campus.  The atmosphere was one of welcome.  The music filled me with joy, literally erasing all my negative thoughts and feelings in one fell swoop.

As time passed, my attitude toward the church changed. I believed the good news that I heard over and over during those joy-filled services. I understood that God had not judged me and found me wonting.  Instead, I now knew, He was a loving God who cried when one of His souls lost the way.  He offered peace and salvation to all who believed.  He gave solace, when needed, in times of stress and anxiety.  He loved us, no matter what we might have done.

Several months into that first school year, the Newman Club organized a retreat up in the nearby mountains.  I had never done anything this before, but it sounded exactly what I needed.

The camp was somewhere east of Los Angeles, a rustic setting nestled in a forest. From the time we arrived at the camp, I felt at peace. All of us hurried inside, anxious to claim a bunk in one of the dorm rooms.  There was no pushing, no domineering, no one person making others feel worthless.

Having never been camping, I was unprepared for the chilly nights and the crisp morning air.  My clothing was not substantial enough to keep me warm, especially when it snowed in the night, leaving about six inches on the forest floor. Nevertheless, thanks to the generosity of those who shared warm mittens and thick sweaters, I stayed warm.

Throughout that weekend, my heart sang.  It was as if a giant anvil had been removed. Like a newly feathered chick, I flopped my wings, and took off.  Faith came at me from every direction.  From the treetops came God’s blessed light.  From the ferns sprang His offerings of love.  From my fellow participants came God’s unconditional love.  From our times of prayer and reflection, came discovery of my love for the God who loved me back.

I smiled until my face literally hurt.  I laughed at the crazy antics of my roommates, and joined in the singing in front of the fireplace at night.  During prayer times, tears poured down my face, yet I did not have the words to explain why.  It was as if someone had reached inside, pulled out all the pain, and filled me with a wholesome goodness.

I do believe that God touched me that weekend.  Not with His hands, for I did not feel the slightest brush against my body. What I did experience was the enveloping of His arms, holding me and making me feel safe. He gave the gift of feeling both loved and lovable.  He made me feel important, and inspired me to continue to follow His way.

When the weekend drew to a close, it was with deep regret that I packed my things.  I hoped to hold on to all that I had experienced.

I would love to report that my life was permanently changed, but it was not.  When at home, I continued to feel inadequate.  Not one day passed without hearing what a huge disappointment I was.  There was nothing that I did that ever pleased my parents, and not once did they give me a single word of encouragement.

When I graduated from college, I moved back to the still stifling environment of my parents’ home.  Pulled down by the never-ending criticism of my unmarried state, my unemployment, and by the wasted years at college, I quickly fell into a state of despondency.  The local Mass situation had not changed, even if the pastors had.  One pastor continued to preach the same old fire and brimstone message about the blackening of our souls.  In another, the Mass was so short you could be in and out in less than forty minutes.

It was not until my husband and I moved into the parish that he had known as a teenager, that the glow returned.  I rediscovered the God who loved me, who sheltered me from the storms of life, and who walked with me every step of every day.

It was, and continues to be, a community of caring individuals who come together to worship and to pray for each other in times of need.  While priests have come and gone, the overall feeling has not.  We are the parish, the ones who define the atmosphere that envelopes all who step through the doors.

I know that there is a loving God who helps us walk through life’s challenges. He has blessed my life in ways that I am still discovering.

That is the story of my faith.

 

 

 

 

A Fresh Idea

            When it comes to getting my hair done, I’m an avowed cheapskate. As far back as I can remember, my hairdos were monitored and maintained by my mom. She cut it, permed it and styled it, all using home care products that were unpredictable at best.

My hair hung well below my hips until I was nine. At that point, after tiring of my cries of pain, my mom decided to cut my hair. We walked to a bus stop, then rode from the country into Dayton, Ohio. There, at a shop, I got my first professional cut and perm.

I loved the feeling when someone else shampooed my hair and ran a comb through it. I was entranced by the parting and snipping that shortened my hair to shoulder–length. I hate the perm. Long rods were wound into my hair, rods which were attached to an electrified pole.

My dad hated it. In fact, his words were so hurtful that it was a long, long time before I allowed my mom to cut my hair again.

After college it became popular to have an Afro style. I loved it. My hair was very short, easy to take care of, and required minimum care. The one downfall was that my hair did not take to the perm chemicals naturally, and so I had to have second and third dousing in order to get tightly wound curls.

I kept this “do” into my marriage.

Then I discovered the joys of going to the beauty college, where I could get my hair cut for free. Yes, it took a long time. Often hours. Every step along the way a supervisor had to come over and approve. But it was free! And inconsistent.

After months of this, I graduated to the next stage, which still required hours, but the skills of the operators were much better. For this I had to pay a minimum fee, I think five dollars. Quality varied, and I had to be flexible in terms of the final product.

When this program was terminated, I moved to the floor of the school, where my care was still monitored,  but not as closely. I was still getting perms, but only enough to put some life in my normally straight hair.

After I went back to work and was making a little more money, I found a local shop that only cost eight dollars. Perms were now out of style, so all I needed was a trim now and then.

I kept this up for years. Again, the quality varied. Sometimes I got a good cut, something that pleased me. But more and more often the operator cut my hair too short, making me look more male than female.

Three months ago my sister-in-law treated me to a cut at a salon that normally charges forty-five dollars! I was in shock, but, I have to admit, terribly pleased with the result.

That was the first time that I understood two main things: you get what you pay for and there is a difference between a cut and a style. I fell in love with style. Not that my “do” is fancy, because it isn’t. What I liked was having my hair cut evenly, the finished product a blend all the way around.

I would have returned to that shop even though it’s a long drive, but then I met someone local who called herself a stylist. The next time I needed a cut, I went to her. Once again, I loved the result. So I returned and will continue to go to her as long as she is local.

Now my cuts cost actual dollars. It pains me to pay so much for a cut, as I am still an avowed cheapskate, but I love the end result. It is well worth it to pay more if, when you walk out of the shop, you feel pleased.