What’s in a Name

 

Organizing paperwork today and, in the spirit of ecology was using old file folders.  Grabbing the white out strips to cover up the writing on old folders gave me pause for reflection and contemplation.

The majority of folders were used when George and I had our own business, Heritage Printers.  Back in 2003, fearing a layoff looming on his horizon, George met some people from Press-A-Print.  Press-A-Print offered sales and training for equipment to do an in-home business for promotional products.  You know, the chachki’s used to spread your business name around to get people to buy your products.  Intrigued, and a creative designer by trade, George expressed interest in doing this side business.  He figured in the event he got laid off this would be a great way to supplement unemployment. 

The first thing we had to do was come up with a business name.  After some back and forth we decided upon Heritage Printers.  The background of that name was that Benjamin Franklin invented the printing press and since we were going to do printing (though of a different nature), it was in our U.S. Heritage.  He even designed a logo that incorporated Benjamin Franklin into it.

We set up shop at our home and business trickled in.  About two or three years in we had managed to get a number of jobs.  And the folders I encountered today included some of those business names.  As I spread white out across the folders I remembered some of the jobs we had done for these business.  Lot of business cards.  Probably our biggest job and a repeat job was for Cal State Stanislaus where the daughter of one of our friends was a key contact.  I remembered some of the crazy things they had us make from throw blankets to beach balls, glow sticks and tshirts. 

George never did get laid off which left doing most of the business ventures to me.  I was not as confident about doing the actual pad printing on my own as the science behind it and the fear of making a mistake loomed large.  With George working full time we eventually did what many people in our situation did, we ordered wholesale.  Less work and a whole lot more fun! 

Today’s names that came up were some of the women’s businesses in the group I had joined, churches we did work for, strangers wanting something for an event.  Each white out erased the name of a company or a person for whom we had made connections. 

We closed that business in 2012 as the .com industry had suffered and not many people had budgets for the products.  By the time we were done, we were pretty much doing mostly business cards which was not a money maker at all. 

Though sad in some respects, I was also relieved to not have this business anymore.  Here it is, some eight years later, and I am just now re-using folders from that business.  (It didn’t help that George insisted we keep the files but which I think I finally got rid of or just kept some very basic things in case of taxes.) 

Our brains are much the same.  We have information in file folders in our memory.  For a time we can retrieve much of what is stored there.  As time goes on, the need to retain so much information goes away.  In some cases it is a sign of aging.  For me, my memory has never been that great anyway.  However, sometimes a word, a name, a place will flit across that memory bank and I can see and hear people, conversations and places as if it were just yesterday. 

I love these sorts of memories, bittersweet though some may be.  They tell a story, MY story.  Each name that I remember is an intrinsic part of me, whether or not I remember the details.  I can choose to open the file or leave it tucked away.  It will always be there. 

 

 

Inch Worm - Music that carries us back in time

 

INCH WORM

Written by Frank Loesser in 1952
Sung by Danny Kaye in Hans Christian Anderson

 

Inch worm, inch worm
Measuring the marigolds
Could it be, stop and see
How beautiful they are

[Chorus:]
Two and two are four
Four and four are eight
Eight and eight are sixteen
Sixteen and sixteen are thirty-two

Inchworm, inchworm
Measuring the marigolds
You and your arithmetic
You'll probably go far

[Repeat Chorus]

Inchworm, inchworm
Measuring the marigolds
Seems to me you'd stop and see
How beautiful they are

 

I listen to this song and I am transported back to my childhood.  I can envision an LP album (that would be a 33RPM one, the large ones) in my parents living room, a picture of Danny Kaye perhaps on the front of the album. I can picture my mom singing along with the tune.  I can picture the movie with Danny Kaye singing the song to a bunch of children – and to a little inchworm on a leaf. 

Music feeds the souls and feeds our memories.  Like a time space capsule, we are taken back to various times in our lives, remember ourselves as a young child, perhaps.  Or remembering a parent, a friend, a movie, a place.  It is as though we are watching a movie that took place years ago, with ourselves as one of the characters.  We are IN the movie yet we are watching the movie from our present life.  Disconnected yet connected at the same time. 

There are other songs I can remember.  Some make me smile, some make me weep.  All are precious to me. 

Here are some that I can recall at the moment:

Any of the songs from the Sound of Music, Mary Poppins. 
Grow Old Along With Me
With You (from the musical Pippin)
There is Love – by Paul Stookey
Both Sides Now (Carly Simon)
Barry Manilow Songs
The Piano Guys music
Campfire Songs from Girl Scout days

My list would go on and on.  The playlist on my phone has many of the old songs I love and hold dear. 

What does your playlist look like? 

 

A Sense of Normalcy

 

As I was driving to San Jose for a visit on Saturday, August 8, 2020, it occurred to me that this was a date I should remember.  I thought on it and realized it was six years ago on this date when George and I experienced our last “normal” day together.  The next day, August 9, is the day our lives would turn upside down with a cancer diagnosis . . . and we would never experience this type of normal again.

I tried to remember back to that day.  It was a Friday, so I would have been off work.  It is likely that I was using the day to run errands, do things around the house as that is what I would have done on a “normal” Friday.  I had that day to myself as Mom would have been at SarahCare for the day.  George would have been at work for at least a half day, finishing up his hours for the week.  When he returned home from work, he was likely in the garage or his office making up the list of wood he needed from Southern Lumber.  The wood he would need to start building a double Adirondack chair for our backyard.  The next day we had plans to go to Southern Lumber to purchase the wood so he could build it.  But, honestly, I cannot remember what I did that day.  It was just another day, another normal day.  The kind that we don’t need to remember.  The kind of day when nothing significant happens so we just lump it together with all the other normal days.

There are many thousands of days that I don’t remember throughout my life.  Sometimes when I talk to people I grew up with or went to school with, they will recall certain details, maybe even vividly, of things that happened.  I oft wonder where on earth I was that I have absolutely no idea what they are talking about.  I do not remember any such thing.  I’ve told myself it’s because whatever was going on was just another typical, normal day.  And most of us recall things based on something that stands out, that was so different that we think we’ll never forget it.  Some of us do remember, others of us do not.  Our brains are so tricky here. 

So, when trying to recollect what happened on Friday, August 8, 2014, it is no surprise that I don’t remember the events of the day.

On Saturday, August 9, 2014, I can remember almost every single detail.  We had opportunity to remember that day hundreds of times in the past five or six years as it is the day that changed our lives, changed our “normal” into something we never, ever would have expected to happen to us. 

I wish we could have had more “normal” years together.  As I watch other older couples walk hand in hand, I yearn for that feeling, for that comfort.  Holding hands was normal for us.  It gave us both a feeling of comfort and security.  Our “grow old along with me” type of comfort that we thought we would have for decades.  Taking walks, going on trips, all the things of a normal marriage shattered, a “new normal” that would wax and wane and take different shapes for the next five years.  Constantly adapting to the changes going on in George’s body required that we not get used to anything to be consistently normal ever again. 

In my new home, I haven’t yet found my new normal.  With a global pandemic causing our whole world to make changes, there is nothing normal taking place and there won’t be for quite some time.  I miss normal.  I want normal. Because normal is a predictable, unwavering process (not that there aren’t glitches) that allow us to be at peace, to enjoy a predictable pace of life and activity.  I do not know what normal will look like for me – or how long it will take to find it.  Soon, I hope.  Soon. 

Are we ever really independent

As we celebrated the 4^th of July, or Independence Day, I pause to reflect on the word “independence”.

Merriam-Webster defines this as “the quality or state of being independent”.  The word independent is defined as:

1.       Not dependent: such as

      a.  (1) not subject to control by others (Self-Governing)

     (2) not affiliated with a larger controlling unit

b.  (1) not requiring or relying on something else:

     (2) not looking to others for one’s opinions or for guidance
     (3) not bound by or committed to a political party

 c.  (1) not requiring or relying on others
     (2) being enough to free one from the necessity of working

                             

As humans, both in the United States of America and in other countries, not one person is ever truly independent.  Look at 1a (1) above: “Not subject to self governing”.  People around the world are always subject to the controls put in place by governments.  Without such rules, we would likely not sustain ourselves with a “me” society that would place our own selves above others.  I do, however, feel that we have too many rules in place.  Some because they are outdated – others because someone somewhere thought we had to be told what to do because someone else used erroneous judgement. 

If you are employed by someone else, you will have rules in place as well.  How to act or not act, how to behave towards other people or clients, what hours you need to work, the number of hours you should be working. 

Part 1b (1,2) above is about not requiring or relying on something or someone else.  The human race is designed to be a social race.  Aside from people who are living in remote areas and may be self-sustaining, most of us have a desire for input from others, for guidance from others, for relationship with others.  Many people follow trends for clothing, for cars, and other nifty things.  Most of us want to know if the car they want to buy is reliable, want to hear from others about whether or not it’s a good choice. 

We, as a human race rely on others for comfort, for safety and security.  We desire relationship with family and/or friends in order to feel connected. 

We all experience independence of various facets of our lives.  For instance, someone who is an experience welder does not need help to do his job.  A baker can be creative and make many things really well, not relying on another person (except maybe the praises of the people who are eating the goods).  We can live independently within our home for the most part – able to walk, dress, shower, cook, clean, etc. on our own.  We all have the desire to be independent.  We will never be totally independent while on this earth because, as I said earlier, certain parts of our lives will either be governed by others or we will rely on others for assistance to do the things we cannot do. 

I believe we all have times when we feel independent.  We yearn to be free.  Free of rules and regulations, free to exercise our own rights, free to do as we please.

Freedom comes at a cost. The cost of freedom to the people of our nation could be the life of a soldier fighting a war against tyranny somewhere in the world.  The cost of freedom in our personal life could be a relationship with someone else. 

In my mind for the past few years, I dreamed of the day when I would no longer be a caregiver and would be free to move about as I please, caring only for myself.  I knew that day was coming, just did not know exactly when.  To keep myself positive, I imagined what I would do ‘after’ George was gone. 

Now that he is gone, there is a part of me that misses that partnership, the caring and nurturing given over the course of five years.  While I am grateful to have some semblance of freedom, I would give that up in a heartbeat for more time with my George.  You see, independence – freedom, comes at a great cost.  The cost for me is a life without my husband.  (Two, if you are counting.) 

What lengths are you willing to go to be ‘free’, to be independent?  Or are you, like me, content to rely on others for things, to rely on some rules in order to keep people safe or healthy? 

Uncomfortable Truths

I have been struggling for days to find the words to say in regards to the tragic events of recent weeks.

There has been so much unrest in society today – what with a few months of sheltering in place due to the Coronavirus (COVID-19) and now protests and riots after a horrible display of abuse of power by several police on the Minneapolis force resulting in the death of a man because of a holding tactic that is obsolete for our times…. Made even worse by the fact it was a white police officer and a black man. 

I haven’t watched a lot of TV over the past months, mainly because I haven’t had one in my possession.  For several months before that I found I couldn’t watch TV as I was still grieving the loss of my husband.  The TV was just too much noise for my brain.  This resulted in the fact that I must have missed hearing about several other instances of “white cop kills innocent black person”. 

The ensuing unrest over the death of George Floyd, the most recent incident, seemed to be more than expected.  When I made a comment which I thought was supportive of the black people, a few cherished African American friends called me out on the carpet.  They proceeded to launch into the justification of the protests and riots and mentioned the other cases.  The ones I had not heard of.  I guess I can’t fault them for not knowing that I had no idea about these others. 

On my posting on Facebook I was more or less accused of not understanding what this infraction means to the black community. 

Dawn, people are very tired, upset and heartbroken. There have been protests going on the past couple of months due to this pandemic, and I have not seen you utilize this same language. They too have inconvenienced others over inconsequential matters. A man was murdered and people have a right to protest. We can’t win, e.g. if it’s a peaceful protest and a man takes a knee, he’s vilified and labeled as a monster. What would you suggest? Have you ever thought about the methods the unheard use? You allude to MLK, and he was still assassinated. Many people get mad either way. We can’t get past this due to racism; it’s a stain on this country that will never go away until people take a hard look at themselves.

And

Where are all these good cops when their colleagues are killing us? I'm really wondering because we are being shot/strangled with 2, 3, 4 + cops on scene and they NEVER intervene. They know they can and do get away with murder time and time again and these silent "good cops" are no better. We are sick and tired.

As a result of these comments, I found myself stepping back and trying to look within me to figure out how to respond, how to feel, how to view all of this. To understand that, I suppose you need to return to my roots. 

I was raised a town that consisted of 98% middle class white people on the east coast.  In all my years of school there, in my classes, you can count the number of not only black people but other races on one hand and still have fingers left over.  To say I had little exposure to people of any color than white would be an understatement.  I wasn’t friends with any of them, not because of their color, but because our interests were not the same, we didn’t travel in the same circles, and thus I had no opportunities to get to know them on a personal level.  Does that mean I’m prejudiced?  No.  Does that mean I was fearful of being in their circle?  No. 

When I was in high school (I think), my parents decided to host two black boys from the projects in Waterbury.  They spent several weeks with us at our home and we saw them on some occasions afterwards.  I do not remember much about their time with us.  My younger brother will likely remember more than me.  The reason – they were BOYS.  Not interested in things I liked to do. 

In my home we were raised to treat others with kindness and respect.  Everyone.  Race, religion, background, etc. were not first and foremost.  What mattered was the character of the person.  It mattered that they treated others well, that they worked hard, that their values of honesty and integrity were in check. 

Yet, as I walked and meditated the other day after being told that black people are tired, frustrated, etc., I needed to take a hard look at myself to figure out where I stand. 

I have been reading various posts on the topic.  Listening to what this black community is saying.  Thinking about what I am or am not thinking or doing about this issue.    

I admitted this morning that as much as I would like to say I don’t see color, that I in fact do see it.  Does that make me a bad person?  The fact that I see it?  I have friends that come in many colors.  Some of them are very near and dear to me and are the best examples of great human beings.  Honest, kind, loving, friends.  With them I don’t see color. 

Yet, if I am out walking alone, am I inclined to look at a non-white male as a threat?  Maybe.  More of a threat than a white male?  Maybe slightly.  I can’t say for sure.  I think the demeanor of that male, black, white or yellow, will be more important than their color.  If they are jogging, or walking around talking on the phone, or just looking like they are friendly, my response to them would be a friendly nod or smile.

Given this, I have to say that while I may SEE color of skin, my reaction to that person is more likely to be more about their behavior than it is the color of skin.  I am obviously going to feel threatened by ANY male who acts aggressive in public, who is walking around in a dark hoody, sunglasses, pants that hang below his butt, acting suspicious. 

I normally don’t have a problem finding words to speak or write.  This time I have had so much playing around in my mind, I find it difficult.  I have been trying to spend time educating myself, analyzing where I fall short, and determining how to put into words all that has transpired these past few days. 

Here are some of my take-aways:

1.        While I am inclined to say “All Lives Matter”, after listening to the voices of others, I can understand why it is important to say “Black Lives Matter”.  One example that made this clear is the Bible story of the shepherd in the field where one of his flock has gone missing.  While it is important that all of his sheep are safe, he knows he must find the one who has gone missing.  Therefore, we must make it important to make the black community feel as they are important, and enfold them into the flock.  For they are just as important and just as necessary as the other sheep in the field.

My niece posted another analogy that I will share:  Saying all lives matter is a given, but the focus is on black lives because those are the people who are oppressed and discriminated against BECAUSE of their skin color. An analogy for you: say I lived in a neighborhood with 10 other houses and 1 of the houses was on fire. When the firemen show up, do I say “all houses matter - spray water on all of them!”? No - we direct the fireman to put out the house that is burning. Not because the other houses don’t matter, but because one is burning.

2.       The majority of protestors are peaceful.  They need to make noise to make their voices heard.  Inciting of violence and destruction of property is coming mainly from people taking advantage of the crowd.  Their purpose is not the same as the majority of those out on the streets. 

I still believe that violence should not beget violence.  I still believe we need to figure out a way to use our words and voices in a manner that words for everyone.  Isn’t there a saying about it’s easier to get your way with sugar than with vinegar – or something like that?

3.       We can be quick to blame those at the top – the people who control this country.  They do need to take on some of the blame for policies that aren’t followed through on, for making promises and not keeping them, for not being able to pass one single law without hundreds of caveats having nothing to do with the actual issue on the table.  Buried within every bill that’s passed are lobbyists and people with deep pockets who are swaying the conversations.

However, we need also to look at this from the ‘molecular’ level… from each and every person here on earth.  If each of us could take this to heart and try to bring about positive, long-lasting change, then there should not be another George Floyd incident, not other Breonna incident, or any number of black killings by white cops without good cause. 

We need to own our own shortcomings.  We need to be involved.  This is as true, if not more true, for the black members in the community.  They need to be involved in the making and carrying out of policies. We all need to be more aware of what is going on around us.  This is not just a black problem or a white problem, it is a problem for everyone.  The solution starts with each of us doing even one small thing to make this world less racist, to ensure that those little black children have every chance to make it into their grown up world as a contributing member of society. 

We start with us – and we take it up a level – and then another level - - until those at the top “get it” and make this a more fair and equitable country on every level.

4.        As white people, we need to make it our mission to sit down and talk to people of color around us.  Have conversations.  If we see them experiencing issues because of their color, we need to see if there is a way we can help them.  I never felt that I was a person of privilege just because of my skin color yet this is what the black community feels.

How we get involved will depend on each person’s circumstance and comfort level.  That’s not to say that we shouldn’t step out of our comfort zone to help.  There will be times we should step out of our path and get involved. 

5.        How to we help more black people become the General Colin Powell’s, Condoleeza Rice’s, Barack Obama’s, Oprah Winfrey’s or Martin Luther Kings of this world?  These are just some of the wonderful examples of who black people can become!  The.       y are people we look up to, admire and aspire to become.  We need MORE of these examples.  We need to see this on a broader scale.  Each black person has the potential to rise up if given the opportunity. 

These are just a few of the things that I have been reflecting on this week.  I am still evolving and still trying to figure out what it is that I can do to bring about change.  Maybe it is making donations to organizations supporting black education or policy reform.  Maybe one day I will stand by with others at a peaceful demonstration.  Maybe it is just making sure I stay aware of those people around me who need my love and support.  Maybe it is about letting others know that Black Lives Matter and speaking up about that.

All I know for certain is that watching and listening and reading this past week has opened my eyes to a huge problem and I want to be part of the solution going forward. 

June 2, 1979 - A simple love story

Again - a page from my memoirs.  Something I wrote in 2009 on what would have been a 30th anniversary of my marriage to Mike.  I wanted to take the time today to remember a simpler time in life, a simple ceremony to celebrate love.  With all the turmoil going on in our world today, I think we could all use a love story.   

Dear Mike:

Thirty years ago today I woke up at Uncle Dick and Aunt Trudy’s house along with my college roommate, Sherri Brehm. It was decided we should stay there because you and your family were housed with my parents.  By staying with my uncle I would not have to stand in line for a bathroom!

After waking up I felt kind of funny in my tummy.  I said to my uncle, “Either I am hungry or I have butterflies in my stomach.”  To help figure that out, he took Sherri and me out for breakfast at a local diner.  Guess what?  I was hungry!

Later in the morning we headed over to my parents house to get ready for our big day.  Sherri and I got our dresses on, brushed out our hair and put floral headbands on.  We came downstairs to take some outdoor photos.  I know people say it is bad luck to see the groom before the wedding ceremony – but you and I were not always known for doing things by the book. 

You and most of the family took off for church while Sherri and I waited for my dad to drive us.  Dad parked the car across the street from the front door of the church and went inside.  Sherri and I sat patiently in my dad’s brown Zephyr and watched people entering the church.

Sherri looked over at me and said, “I can’t believe you aren’t nervous!”

I smiled and told her, “I’m just glad this day is finally here and we can make things legal.”  You and I already felt like a married couple and this ceremony was simply the icing on the cake.

You knew that sharing this day with my family and friends was important to me and never once questioned going all the way back to Connecticut to get married.  I felt special getting married in the same church as my parents and grandparents.

Dad finally came out to the car to let us know it was time to go in.  Sherri and I walked across the street, up the stairs and into the foyer.  I was all smiles as I stood at the back of the church with my dad.  (See photo to right.)

My Aunt Dorothy (Dot) was playing the organ for us.  As she started the Wedding March (Here Comes the Bride) Dad and I began our walk down the aisle.  Even as I nodded and smiled at people on the way to the altar, I couldn’t help but notice your beautiful smile waiting for me at the end of the aisle. 

As Dad handed me over to you, we slid together and held hands.  The ceremony began. 

My friend, Ellen, sang “With You”, a beautiful song from the musical Pippin.  I am such a sap that I started crying – but we were prepared.  You had tissues in your pocket.  You slyly reached in and handed one over to me and we shared a tender moment in the process. 

When Reverend Shirley asked, “Do you, Michael, take Dawn to be your wife?” you apparently were not paying attention.  Do you remember the slight hesitation until your best man, Kenny, gave you a nudge and you stuttered, “Oh, yeah, … I do!”  We chuckled. 

On the walk up to the altar to do our final vows, I stepped on the corner of my dress and you kept me upright.  It was not noticeable from the congregation and Reverend Shirley quietly said, “The things they’ll never know.”  You flashed your mischievous smile at me.  Another private precious moment to be remembered.

Reverend Shirley pronounced us “husband and wife” and we kissed before turning towards the crowd.  We marched out to “The Wedding Song” by Paul Stookey and stood at the front door of the church to receive best wishes from family and friends. 

Once done with the receiving line we headed down to the church basement where we had a simple reception consisting of mini sandwiches, cake, punch and coffee.  We preferred to keep things simple and informal – and our wedding and reception exemplified this perfectly. 

Do you remember the reception?  We bustled around from table to table to visit with our guests.  Mom had hired a friend to play music on a piano in the church hall.  For our first dance we just sort of turned in circles as you never did know how to dance!  Then it was time to dance with Dad. I always enjoyed dancing with him.  I was daddy’s little girl as we twirled about on the dance floor.

 When we threw the garter and bouquet my little cousins, Robin (ten) and Jennifer (twelve), caught everything.  It was quite comical watching Robin put the garter on his sisters’ leg. 

The afternoon flew by so quickly and before we knew it we were back at my parents’ house where we changed into comfy clothes.  We spent the early evening hours with close family in the back yard opening gifts, laughing and talking about the day.  We weren’t in a hurry to get anywhere.

When we left the house, we drove to Waterbury to our “first honeymoon night” hotel.  I don’t even remember the name of the hotel now – which is pretty bad considering it was one of only two available at the time!  We got to our room, looked at the clock and realized it was time for our favorite shows!  So we quickly ran down the hill from the hotel to McDonald’s to grab ourselves something to eat and then dashed back to watch “Love Boat” and “Fantasy Island”.  Is it possible our honeymoon was over before it began since we were so bent on spending a typical Saturday night together??  Or is it we knew had the rest of our lives to be together and were not in a rush to consummate things?  Whatever!  Again, we were not a typical couple!

Our wedding day was perfect for us. 

*********************************************

Breakdown of wedding costs:

Church:                                          $0.00

Minister:                                      $30.00

Wedding Dress:                         $125.00

Shoes:                                          $15.00

Groom’s Suit:               $0.00  (Gift from Mike’s foster mom, Joy)

Reception:              $125.00  (Provided by Ladies Guild at church)

Flowers:                            $400.00  (I think that’s what they were)

Programs:          $0.00  (My sister printed at her place of business)

Photographer:                                $0.00 (My oldest brother, Alan, took photos as did others)

Bride’s ring:                                 $80.00

Groom’s ring:                                $0.00 (Mike’s late foster dad’s wedding band was given to us to use)

Honeymoon (Wtby- 1 night)       $60.00 (Guessing at this because I don’t remember now)

Honeymoon (Boston-1 night)      $60.00 (Again a guess)

Honeymoon (Cape Cod-2 nights) $0.00 (Cottage belonged to college roommates parents, did not chg us)

TOTAL:                                     $895.00

(Above pricing does not include plane fare to/from San Jose/Bradley International and some small miscellaneous charges such as food or gas.)

Lyrics to song Ellen sang:

With You

From the musical, Pippin

My days are brighter than morning air
Evergreen pine and autumn blue
But all my days are twice as fair
If I could share
My days with you

My nights are warmer than firecoals
Incense and stars and smoke bamboo
But nights were warm beyond compare
If I could share
My nights with you

To dance in my dreams
To shine when I need the sun
With you
To hold me when dreams are done

And oh....
My dearest love
If you will take my love
Then all my dreams are truly begun

And time weaves ribbons of memory
To sweeten life when youth is through
But I would need no memories there
If I could share
My life with you

***************

Lyrics to The Wedding Song by Paul Stookey

He is now to be among you at the calling of your hearts.
Rest assured this troubador is acting on His part.
The union of your spirits, here, has caused Him to remain
For whenever two or more of you are gathered in His name There is Love. There is Love.

A man shall leave his mother and a woman leave her home
And they shall travel on to where the two shall be as one.
As it was in the beginning is now and til the end
Woman draws her life from man and gives it back again.
And there is Love. There is Love.

Well then what's to be the reason for becoming man and wife?
Is it Love that brings you here or Love that brings you life?
And if loving is the answer, then who's the giving for?
Do you believe in something that you've never seen before?
Oh there's Love, there is Love.

Oh the marriage of your spirits here has caused Him to remain
For whenever two or more of you are gathered in His name
There is Love. There is Love.

Crossing Over

This past week as my schedule has shifted into something more of my own, of my newer norm, I find that I am sleeping just a little bit longer at night and having many more dreams.  Sometimes I can remember bits and pieces when I wake up, but usually by the time I started about with my day the memory of the dream fades or goes away completely.  They say dreaming is that part of you which is working through the things that are going on in your life.  You’ve heard many a person say, “I solved a problem while sleeping last night”.  They aren’t altogether crazy! 

George used to have dreams that he could describe with such detail it was amazing.  When I try to put into words what I dreamed about I am lucky to have even a sentence that is so vague I can barely recognize what it’s about.  I might remember little tidbits – but never whole dreams – at least no usually.

Last night I again had many dreams.  When you dream the story seems so real, so vivid.  They are logical yet illogical at the same time.  You are immersed in the story yet separated from it as if you are an onlooker to what is going on.

One of the dreams I had last night felt so real to me.  Again, I do not remember all the details.  I sort of remember that I was at an event that was outdoors.  I recall, vaguely, that my parents may have been there.  I was by myself, keeping busy at the event.  My thought went to George and my dreaming self knew he was away and wouldn’t be home for a few days. 

All of a sudden, I looked up – and there was George coming towards me, earlier than I’d expected.  I was so excited to see him.  His face was pale and he looked like he wasn’t feeling well. By his side was a valet with a cart holding his many suitcases of belongings. 

I ran up to him as fast as my legs would carry me, thrilled to have him back.  I flung myself at him and gave him the biggest hug and he hugged me back. I felt warm, comforted … loved… having him home again, secure in his arms.  And then…. I remembered nothing else of my dream.

When I awoke, I remember feeling grateful that George had come to me in a dream.  Although there may have been a time or two that he has appeared, this one was by far the longest time he spent with me and one that I remembered.  I took my Angel George teddy bear that is nearly always in my bedroom with me these day – and hugged him and said “thank you for visiting me last night”.

I got up and dressed and headed out for my morning walk.  My typical routine is to shuffle a playlist from my phone so I have no idea what song will play next.

Some days, I think  - no, I know – God puts songs into our heart that we need to hear.  This morning, true enough, He did just that.

The following song I heard after George passed.  It reminded me of lying next to George in his final days, encouraging him to “go home”.  It was the same home I remember my dad asking about in his final days when he lay in his bed and asked if he could go home.  I remember thinking, “you are home”, but realized the home my dad spoke of was his heavenly home, not the one here on earth.  And so, I was taken back to my thoughts of my encouragement to my father – and telling George it was okay, to not be afraid.  He could be made whole again with His Lord and Saviour and his God. 

I couldn’t find the lyrics online to the song so I don’t have all the words correct.  It is sung beautifully by Christian artist Craig Aven if you choose to look it up.

Can I Go Home Now

It might sound crazy but I’m homesick
For a place I’ve never been
A place where sin can’t sensor in
A place I know that grace is taking me

Lately I feel like I don’t fit in
This worlds’ been looking strangely dim
But I should know that’s how it goes
I guess my heart’s just where my treasure is

Can I go home now? Can I go home?
 I’m clearly aching to be made whole now
I’m not complaining, I know I’ll make it
But I can’t help asking, Can I go home now?

You say these trials our faith (sic) cannot compare
To the good times up ahead
And as I wait I’ll only taste
But my hope grows deep to finally have the rest

Can I go home now? Can I go home?
 I’m clearly aching to be made whole now
I’m not complaining, I know I’ll make it
But I can’t help asking, Can I go home now?

There are days I don’t know how to pray or what to say
Where would I be without your spirit there to pray for me
Shaping me to make me strong to help me look like God’s own son

So that I can hear the words “Well done”

And child come home now.  Child come home now.
You’re clearly ready to be made whole now
I knew you’d make it.   It all was worth it
There’ll be no more asking ‘cuz child you’re home now.

No more asking cuz child you’re home now.

Well done my good and faithful servant.

This morning as I walked and listened to this song, I was taken back to the dream I’d had last night.  Remembering this luggage cart that had a whole bunch of luggage on it, more than George had ever taken on any trip before.  What was the reason for this – and for his appearance as he came towards me.  He was obviously frail and didn’t feel well.  That signified, to me, the fact that the cancer had taken it’s toll on his physical being.  The luggage – was he packed to go somewhere for a long trip – or was he bringing it on a cart and leaving it behind in the physical world.  Was luggage really his baggage – all the things he collected over his lifetime?  His memories of his children, his wives, his parents and siblings – all the things that he had accumulated, good and bad.

I’d like to think that he had packed the bags and had come back to see me to one more time, to let me hold him in my arms just one last time.  To feel, really feel, his arms around me giving me comfort and mine doing the same for him.  I truly did feel safe, loved, warm during that embrace as we experienced a moment of honest togetherness.  The elation I felt upon seeing him.  That was so real to me.

If you’ve never experienced this pure, raw yet beautiful gift from a loved one who has passed, you cannot imagine what it was like.  I have never had a séance – or a meeting with a psychic – to help me witness something such as this.  I have been to a group meeting where John Edward, a famous psychic and medium.  It was a phenomenal experience for me.  While I’d hoped one of my loved ones would come across, they hadn’t.  But John’s words that night were so honest and pure about those on “the other side” that my loved ones’ have told me they were with me in ways I’d not experienced before.  Maybe I wasn’t ready, I don’t know. 

And, as I continued to listen to the song, I found myself looking up towards the heaven and wondering if somehow George had not truly crossed over until just now.  He had always told me he did not want to leave me.  He would miss me so much.  He couldn’t imagine being without me.  Is it possible that he was still hanging on, not ready to let me go? 

But – as I listened again to the lyrics, I could still hear the echo of George’s voice asking “can I go home now”.  On that walking path this morning, I spoke out loud to him and told him, “Yes, you can go Home now.”  Be free my darling, be free.  Do not let the burdens of this world, the baggage you collected over the years, to hold you here any longer.  And then he crossed the bridge to eternity.

I was at peace - - and I know he is truly at peace now.  Truly whole again.

I continued on my way, listening to my songs.  Thinking.  Praying. Processing. 

And, again, a song came on that I’ve listened to over and over in the past few years.  When I first heard the song, it was after George’s second cancer surgery.  The one where’d we been told “they couldn’t get it all”.  The one that told us there are no further treatments or options.  I remembered crying the first time I heard it as it speaks about change… and miracles.  And at that time in our lives we needed a miracle.

The song is “Here As in Heaven” and is sung by Elevation Worship.  It goes as follows:

Here As In Heaven

The atmosphere is changing now
For the Spirit of the Lord is here
The evidence is all around
That the Spirit of the Lord is here

Overflow in this place
Fill our hearts with Your love
Your love surrounds us
You're the reason we came
To encounter Your love
Your love surrounds us

Spirit of God fall fresh on us
We need Your presence
Your kingdom come
Your will be done
Here as in heaven

A miracle can happen now
For the Spirit of the Lord is here
The evidence is all around
That the Spirit of the Lord is here

As I listened today, however, it started to take a new shape.  It spoke to me about my future.  A miracle can happen as I move forward with my life. What that miracle is or miracles are is yet to be seen. 

What I do know is that right now I am looking to close on a house that will be new to me.  A house that I will be making my own by furnishing it with my vision, by adding touches that will not only allow me to be my new self but also will honor those whom I have loved who have passed.  I am getting ready to cross over to the next phase of my life here on earth.  I am ready, Lord.

Yes, God, I have always… always… known you to be with me even in my darkest hours You have been with me – guiding, directing, nudging, loving.  The miracle today is that I was given the gift of holding George one more time even if only in my dreams.  A touch that felt so very real at the moment my dream was playing out.  And then the gift of music and lyrics – showing me again that George is now moving more towards you than he already was, letting go of this physical realm for real and making the journey of his lifetime.  And again reminding me that miracles can happen, are always happening.  They may not be what we ever expected – but they could very be more than we expected, more than we could ever imagined.  For when our hearts are on You, dear God, the world is full of possibilities, of goodness, of healing; of love and laughter and dreams coming true; of knowing that when life hits us hard we can change our direction and explore things from a different angle.  Who knows where the road may take us.  Only God knows… only God. 

Do you ever wonder….?

Something happened this week and it made me think…. Do you ever wonder?

Here’s what happened.

A letter came back to me in a plastic wrap that the post office had put on it.  In it was an envelope I had mailed out all torn up.  I couldn’t read the address to whom it had been sent but could see stickers, “undeliverable return to sender”, “forward to (because now I wasn’t living on Lenor)” and “postage of $2.15 due to mail it out. 

I opened up the plastic wrap and pulled out the envelope.  Inside the envelope was a magnet that said, “Chicago”.  I thought, “what the heck is this? I never sent a magnet out!”  I carefully peeled back the yellow stickers to see whom the letter was addressed to.  I started laughing!

Back in March when all the sheltering in place started and a community of women came together to sew masks, I had a few people who needed elastic and I had some.  In this envelope that was addressed to another sewer up in San Francisco I had carefully sealed up 10 yards of elastic. 

Two months later this package made it’s way back to me but not with the contents I had mailed out… rather with a Chicago magnet that was not purchased by me.

I stood there and thought…

I wonder where the elastic went?  Did the elastic get caught up in machinery at the post office?  I wonder who mailed the magnet?  Will someone be disappointed they didn’t receive their gift?   

This made me think of other similar things.  Like…. A time that my luggage didn’t show up in San Jose when I did.  It arrived several days later and the tags on it looked as though it had been on a trip without me.  It had gone to several other states.  I remember thinking “I would have liked to be on that trip!”

Do you every wonder about stuff like that?  “How did this bottle from Timbucktoo end up on the beach?”  “Where did the balloon I lost drift off to?”  “Would my life look this way if I’d chosen a different response to a situation?” 

From simple and mundane to philosophical inquiries, what do you wonder about?