travelling across...

... the state to visit the cousin in South  Carolina. I went up to Atlanta on Friday afternoon, to attend a dinner sponsored by my employer. Celebrating people who have been with the company for years, in increments of five: twenty, twenty five, thirty and a few who have been with the business for thirty five years, which seems like forever, huh? After the dinner (average food, in a large corporate banquet facility), I went to spend the night in the attic in Decatur.

I had requested to be off work on Saturday, and was hoping to go to visit my pen pal who lives in Greenville. But he has such a busy social calendar, it did not work out with me trying to set up a visit on short notice. I still had the day off, so I called a cousin who lives in SC, and asked about driving up to visit her. That was apparently a much better plan, as she welcomed me. Then I contacted a cousin who lives in Decatur and asked if she was interested in a road trip. It came together in a remarkable manner, with us leaving Atlanta about 9 am on Saturday.

Down hill from there: it took four hours to complete a two hour drive. Traffic came to a near halt for no apparent reason in east Georgia. We diverted off the interstate, and took rural two-lane highways that parallel the four lane for a number of miles. Then got back into I-85 near the bridge that spans the GA/SC line. Missing the creeping traffic that was traveling at 3 m.p.h. for miles. Assuming there must have been an accident, as the south bound traffic was slowed when we got back on the road to Greenville.

Arriving at the cousin's house, two hours later than planned. Had a good visit, lunch, laughs. And headed back towards metro around 4 p.m., where we got in another inexplicable snarl, driving at 12 m.p.h. for about an hour as we neared Atlanta. Though I did not expect to have that problem on a weekend afternoon: there is absolutely no predicting what will happen when you are traveling on a highway that is twelve lanes wide. It finally resolved, and we got back in around 7. Causing me to finally get back home around 10 p.m., after another delay around the airport where there was invisible construction (signs, orange barrels, but no workers doing any actual work). And flopped into bed, weary from all that sitting, creeping, detouring, inching along.

'church in the yard'...

 ... is what my co-worker calls his version of peace and serenity on a Sunday morning. Though I have been badgering and pestering him for years to participate in organized worship, he is not an attender. He reports he goes out and does his communing with the universe in his yard when he gets his lawn mower out and pushes it around when the grass needs attention. Or does the pine straw raking in the fall, to rearrange as it falls from trees and needs to be put out as mulch around the landscaping.

There are many who may appear to be 'unchurched' or just not supporters of Organized Religion, who find a sense of peace that comes with time spent out in the world, in a restful environment. Taking the time to sit quietly, with a cup coffee, early in the morning before the busyness of a day begins, deeply inhaling fresh air from the back steps. Or standing there on the deck, observing the quiet and solitude of the natural world, with your glass of orange juice, as the small creatures found in nature begin their daily activities.  Sitting at the breakfast table with your cup of hot tea that is part of your getting-ready-to-face-the-world routine, gazing out at the activities around the outdoor bird feeder. Just taking a moment to put your day, life, the universe in perspective before plowing ahead into the busy schedule a new day presents.

I appreciate it too - whether you get your 'church in the yard' time of tranquility early in the day or late in the afternoon. Mine occurred when I got home from a long day at work on Sunday afternoon. I have two bright red plastic, adirondack-type chairs out behind the house, where I can sit and be still, vegetate and ponder the universe. Hopefully with a friend for a bit of conversation and tall frosty glass of lemonade. Yesterday when I got home from nine-and-a-half hours of on my feets, I took the Sunday paper and a cold drink out to commune with nature on a beauty-full day. For the first time since the fall, found the time and space, as well as need for solitude, and sat in my yard. Read the newspaper on the actual day it was delivered - pretty unusual lately, as they have piled up for days without attention.

And had Church In The Yard. Thankful for peace, a secure place to live, health, family, a long list of things that I am frequently reminded are reasons for gratitude. Including the co-worker who enjoys his version of church-in-the-yard.

book review: "Life As We Knew It"...

... was surprising, as I did not really expect I would enjoy it. I found it as a recorded/talking book, another that was randomly picked off the shelf at the library. In an effort to always have something going when I get in my car for a long drive, it caught my eye, along with another, so I took them both. When they do not 'capture' my interest, they won't be read, and will be returned without my finishing them - now that I am old enough to know I do not have to stand up before the entire grade school class, give a report, receive a grade!

Written by Susan Beth Pfeffer, and published by Hughton Mifflin. One of many surprises is that it was designated as a YA (young adult) publication. It was shelved there with all the other books on CD, reading the blurb on the back made me think it might be interesting, without realizing it was written for teens. When I started listening, and found it read by a YA, I thought I would not care to continue. But I did keep at it, and found it to be a very thoughtful story.

Science fiction - not something I usually read. About a meteor hitting the moon, and the resulting crisis on the earth. The tides changed, causing flooding world-wide. Earthquakes and volcanoes, that then caused changes in the weather patterns, ashes covering the sky, gardens withering due to lack of sunlight, then extremely cold winter. Disruption of all public services, no electricity, no broadcasting, no law enforcement. No food, no water. All from the perspective of a high-school aged girl, Miranda. She lived with her mom, and two brothers in a small town in Pennsylvania.

The plot was very well thought through. Many details considered, small worries to add to huge problems, compoounding the anxiety of the family, as they struggled to manage with limited supplies, constant doubt and fear while trying to remain positive. It was remarkably believable. I think maybe I should start stockpiling dry goods and bottled water....

the beligerent auntie...

... was really in a rip-snortin' hell-raisin' mood when I got to the care facility on Wednesday morning. I arrived a little after ten o'clock to allow ample time for persuading her to do whatever might be necessary to make herself presentable for going to the appointment she had with the doctor at 11:40. I expected it would take some smooth talking to get her to comb her hair, or brush her teeth, or put on a blouse that did not have stains or breakfast. But she was on a rant, out in the hallway near the nursing station.

Demanding the staff take her down to the basement and help her retrieve the items they had taken from her room and stored there, very much against her will. She was insistent that the things they moved belonged to her, and complained loudly that they had no business going in and removing her furniture. Asking all the workers about going, right that minute, with her so she could get her belongings and put the items back where they were supposed to be.

The building where she lives is all on one level, there is no downstairs, no basement, no place below ground level where anything could be stored. The staff has not removed any thing from her room, other than clothing when they do laundry, which is always returned to her. (They did wash a beautiful hand-made, pink, wool sweater she knit years ago, in hot water to reduce it to child size.) It is more than likely that everything that goes through the commercial laundry machines is washed in the hottest water, with harsh industrial detergents and tossed into high temperature dryers. But that is just a hazard of communal living, where everyone is dependent on staffers to care for their personal needs.

This whole scenario reminds me of her stay in a rehab center when she was released from the hospital about eighteen months ago. She had fallen and injured a hip, had been in the bed for a week, and could not be released to return home and live independently without support. She was transferred to a nursing/rehab facility, helped to regain mobility. During the stay, she was absolutely certain that she had clothing stored up in the attic there. Insistent that someone had come in her room and taken her dresses, clothing made by her mother, and moved it up into the attic. Sadly: she did not transfer there with any dresses in her possession - and there was no storage in the attic. I don't know about the staff there, but I finally just quit trying to convince her she was mistaken about both the clothing and the storage area.

She was persuaded to leave, and go with me to the appointment by one of the workers who assured her she would have plenty of time to get her furniture back. He told her he would be there when she returned, and would go with her to help her find the missing articles. She was absolutely certain people had come and taken her belongings, and it was stored below the building. Hopefully when she finished with her ice cream and cake, passed out to residents for the monthly birthday party, and returned to her room, she had forgotten about the missing furniture.

driving south today...

... to make a run to Valdosta. I have not seen the auntie in weeks, plus she has a dr. appointment today. I changed this from a couple of weeks ago, when I went to VA and knew I could not get her to the follow-up appt. Even though the facility where she lives will provide transport, I always try to get there to take her to anything medical. They are really good about taking her when needed, but if I don't go along, I do not know what transpires when she meets with medical personnel.

It is sad to think/know the auntie is not lucid enough to be a reliable source of information, while still being so conversant that she would answer any question posed with a response that might seem perfectly sensible. But she has absolutely no short term memory, and while giving the appearance of being perfectly capable, she simply cannot mind her own business. Meaning someone needs to be available to tend to her business for her. That would be me.

A friend drove with me the last time I went to Valdosta, so I could bring the auntie's car back and try to sell it. It has been sitting at her house for probably a year - at one point the battery was so dead, I had to get it towed to the dealer, where a new one was installed. I know the car ages each day (just like the rest of us!) and felt I should be making an effort to get the maximum amount of value for it by finding a buyer. It sat out on the street in front of my house with hundreds of passers-by seeing it each day, and only got a couple of nibbles. Two people were interested enough to come and drive - but nothing even close to a sale.

Drove it in to town so I could leave it in front of a business situated on a very busy street yesterday, with a 'for sale' sign in the window, and hope it might do better there. I am guessing there has been  no serious interest due to the price, but I have a concern that there will be questions from probate court if I reduce the asking price too dramatically. Even so, if it sits on the street where thousands pass by every day without a good response, I will lower the price. Knowing as I do that we are all aging, along with our vehicles, getting more miles added on each day...

book review: "Sister"...

... picked at random from the library book sale rack for $1, when I dashed in looking for a paperback I could take along, read, and toss. Written by:Rosamund Lupton, who lives in the UK. pPblicized by Target Corp as a Club Pick. Copyright 2010 by Crown, a division of Random House.

Thus far, a sister (Tess) has disappeared, days later discovered dead in a defunct men's washroom in a public park in icy cold winter weather in London. I am thinking there is no way there can be a happy ending, for any good to come of the time the surviving Beatrice has spent living in Tess' hole-in-the-wall apartment trying to come to grips with circumstances surrounding the death. The deceased sister had just been through the misery of childbirth, only to have her newborn die, and she was struggling with both grief and post-partum depression. During the pregnancy, she was being treated with an experimental drug designed to replace a faulty gene that causes cystic fibrosis, a hereditary disease that caused the  of death of their brother at a young age.

I've been reading the book since I left home last Saturday to go to Richmond on Sunday for a memorial service, so naturally I've been dwelling far too much on death and dying, grief and loss. A quote in the book really caught my attention. The book is written in the first person, so this is Beatrice talking, referring to her deceased sister Tess:

"I don't know what time it was," I reply.... "Time didn't mean anything to me anymore. Usually  time alters and affects  everything, but when someone you love dies, time cannot  change that - no amount of time will ever change that - so time stops having any meaning."
When I saw your strand of hair, I knew that grief is love turned into an eternal missing." (pg. 55)

I'm not finished, and keep reading, hoping for a fact to be revealed that might alter circumstances. Create a change that will bring Beatrice some sense of peace, as well as understanding about the disturbing facts surrounding the death of Tess. She is just now trying to make arrangements for the infant to be buried with his mother, while the mother of Tess and Beatrice finds this ghoulish and completely inappropriate. It is both hard to read and difficult to put down, impossible to walk away, just close the book and quit.

a sweet remembrance....

... today at the memorial service for my brother in the church where he was a faithful member for over forty years. He and his sweet wife raised two sons there in that congregation, who have become fine young adults with families of their own. They were/are committed to many of the programs their Baptist family supports: local, national and international missions, education, Boy Scouts, Habitat for Humanity, providing food pantry items for those in need, partnering with a neighborhood school.

The service was well attended by many of the members who know and love that family. People who have worked beside him in many of the volunteer projects he diligently gave his time and skills to when the need arose. People who participated in mission labor with him, or helped on the kitchen/meal prep. team on Wednesday nights. Fellow church members who hammered and sawed with him on Habitat builds. Sunday School members who sat on the back row of the class, goofing, where they acted like teenagers in the senior men's group. Co-laborers who showed up on a Saturday morning to pull weeds in the flower beds, where they appeared unannounced, ready to do the job that needed doing.

I learned things about my brother I would have never heard, no one would have mentioned about his diligent work habits. Over a forty year career of working as a super smart computer guy, IT specialist. One man told of early on, years ago, when their team would break for lunch, the group would spend fifteen minutes eating, and the rest of their lunch hour playing cards, laughing and cheating. My brother was the guy reading computer manuals. On his lunch break.

A long time co-worker told of the group being presented with a problem requiring technical skills far beyond their collective expertise. Giving credit to their success in creating the necessary software to the one everyone else wanted to collaborate with: Brother.  Another told the story of a guy who worked elsewhere in the building, would come down a stairway to ask for help with resolving a problem. Then return to his desk, only to discover the go-to guy figured, tinkered and provided a solution by the time he made it back up the stairs to his own workspace.

I believe at times like this that the person whose life we are celebrating is also the one who would most have enjoyed the party, but sadly not present. All those others gathered for that time of remembrance are in someway connected to the grief of loss and the Joy of Home-going by that one person who is at the center of the Venn diagram, where the intersection lies. I am so thankful I was there to see and meet, talk and share with all those people who were parts and participants in his life for all these years. Amazed at how frequently I heard: 'you look so much like your brother.' But so sad to think that rich full life is over.