Play Your Game

February 16, 2017 Sally5 Comments

I’m a fan of the synchronized sports shot.

Karl (dark 14) and opposing 14 running for the ball

This is probably one of my favorite pictures of Karl playing soccer because he and the other player are right at the same place in their stride.

I loved watching Karl play soccer.

Tennis was fun, too.

Karl and Michael made a good doubles team. In the picture, they’re sort of synchronized — weight on the left foot, backhand ready.

They did pretty well at tennis — for a couple of soccer players. Against the odds.

I heard their tennis coach give them the same advice over and over that year. “Just play your game,” he told them.

“Their game” was a fairly simple one. Return the ball.

While their opponents were trying to put spin and speed on the ball, not always very successfully, Karl and Michael simply returned the ball. Over. And over. And over.

Sometimes it aggravated their opponents. You could see them thinking, What the heck?! These yahoos don’t know squat about real tennis.

But Michael and Karl knew how to return the ball.

When one of them tried to get fancy, it inevitably failed. Coach would call them over. “Just play your game,” he reminded them.

It worked until they encountered a team whose skill was so superior that neither of them could return the ball. (See “Laughter“)

Coach’s advice was such good advice.

Be you.

Lean in to your strengths.

Don’t worry too much about what others are doing.

Play your game.

family

Disappointment

February 14, 2017February 14, 2017 Sally8 Comments

I wrote this back in November 2013. I had been sorely disappointed with a concert I had gone to with Mary. Too much glitz, not enough real.

To be honest, I had forgotten a lot of the details of that evening until I reread this post.

Spoiler alert: The bottom line is that expectation sometimes leads to disappointment, and disappointment sometimes leads to ice cream — so in the end, it’s all good, right?

From November 2013 —

The fact that Sonic was already closed on the way home was the icing on the cake of disappointments. Or, should I say – the ice cream. I was so sure that a one dollar vanilla cone from Sonic would ease my pain.

Then, when Wendy’s didn’t have a vanilla Frosty milkshake, I was, like, “What do you mean you don’t have it? I’m looking at it on the sign!”

The polite night-shift server at Wendy’s explained. “Nobody ever ordered those, so they took it off the menu.”

“Well, they need to take it off their drive-thru menu as well,” I grumbled to myself.

So I drove across a four lane highway to get to Burger King. Good thing it was 11:17 PM, and nobody else was on the road.

And at least they were open and had a Hershey’s Sundae Pie.

The things we do for our comfort foods.

It wasn’t the ice cream, though, that brought me back to reality. It was riding home in the car with my dear, sweet 13-year old daughter, and thinking how precious it was that I could spend an evening with her.

It was remembering our laughter as we waited in line in the cold and sang Smothers Brothers songs to each other.

It was reflecting on the fact that she didn’t seem disappointed with the evening. My own expectations had probably been too high.

I know people who try not to get excited over upcoming events. “That way I won’t be disappointed,” they say.

Would I trade all the anticipation, all the eagerness, the thrill of imagining what was to come for a blasé attitude?

No, I think I’d rather ride the roller coaster.

And then treat myself to ice cream.

family · Life

Snow and Coffee

February 13, 2017 Sally4 Comments

The snow started to fall exactly as predicated at 7 AM yesterday morning. It continued all day and was still falling when I went to bed.

The electricity went out at 12:40 this morning. I know because the monitor started beeping telling me that the base was off. I have the base sitting unobtrusively under my father’s night stand so I can hear if he gets up or if he falls.

In the fog of sleep, I couldn’t figure out how to stop the beeping. The landline phone also beeped, telling me that the base was off. At least it gave me a message, but the baby monitor just kept beeping.

I pushed a few buttons on the side — one of them had to work. I sat on the edge of my bed holding the monitor and let the fog in my brain clear. Finally, I turned on the light to find the power button and turn the unit off.

Too awake to fall back asleep, I lay in bed thinking about the problems of no electricity.

❄ — No coffee.

❄ — No water. The well pump runs on electricity.

❄ — No flushing the toilet. I reminded myself that I needed to remind Mary and Laurel about this. No water means no flushing the toilet. Ugh.

❄ — No coffee. My mind came back to this fact indicating the seriousness of this situation.

❄ — No internet. The girls use the internet for their classes, but I could email their teachers on my phone. Or take them to the library, assuming that the library has electricity.

❄ — Where are the candles? It would still be dark when I got up for my morning coffee (dang — no coffee) and quiet time. I would have to use candles to read. I remembered that I had two candlesticks on the hutch in the dining room that we use (very) occasionally for dinners. Matches were in the cupboard by the sink in the kitchen.

❄ — Limit refrigerator usage. My mind was in the kitchen, getting the matches, and I noticed the refrigerator. It’s not as bad as in the summer when the electricity goes out because in February we have the free refrigeration of the snow outside. I could get my half-and-half out, but, darn it all….

❄ — No coffee. Coffee is an essential part of my morning routine.

My last thought as I drifted back to sleep was about calling my brother. He delivers newspapers in town and has gotten coffee for me other times at the convenience store when the electricity has been out.

I woke up at 5:13 AM. The electricity was on. Hallelujah.

I made my coffee and sat down to read.

The phone rang around 6 AM. It was my brother, checking to see if the electricity had come back on. He offered to get me coffee.

I’m not sure how much snow we got. A foot? A little more? It’s still falling.

And it really is quite pretty.

Until it starts to mess with my coffee.

family

Taking Care of Me

February 10, 2017 Sally5 Comments

In the selfishness of my heart, I could picture it — somebody taking care of me.

Fixing all my meals.

Bringing me the foods I like.

Tending to my needs.

Like a cruise ship — without the cruise or all the people.

Being a mom and a caregiver is exhausting at times.

I suppose it doesn’t seem like anything too difficult. How hard is it to fix tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich every day?

Or to do laundry.

Or take out the garbage.

The monotony of it could tend towards boredom. Kathleen Norris, in her must-read book Acedia & Me, said,

Might we consider boredom as not only necessary for our life but also as one of its greatest blessings? A gift, pure and simple, a precious chance to be alone with our thoughts and alone with God?

She reminded me of why I am so suited for this job.

While washing the dishes, most of the time I am quite alone with my thoughts and with God. I am running through the scripture I’m memorizing or praying for family and friends. When a family member joins me to dry the dishes, it is a special delight.

The truth is — a cruise has never appealed to me. All that basking in the sun and eating rich foods and drinking fancy drinks.

Okay, the sun part sounds good.

But the lush extravagance doesn’t.

I’d rather be repotting plants.

Or weeding the myrtle.

Or taking out the garbage.

Yes, I find satisfaction in dragging the big garbage can to the end of the driveway for the garbage man to pick up. Today, I’ll clear a swathe of snow as I do it and walk back to the house in the path cleared by the can. Later, I’ll carry the much lighter can back to the house and put a fresh clean bag in it for the new week.

The other day though, in the grumblings of my heart, I wished someone would take care of me. In a flash I saw it — lying in a bed in a nursing home, having to be turned to prevent bed-sores, having someone spoon the food into my mouth all the while talking with a co-worker about the weekend past or the weekend ahead, having someone choose what I was to wear and dressing me in it.

I shuddered.

Nope.

I take it all back. I don’t want someone to take care of me.

I’m fine, thank you.

And so very thankful to be able-bodied and independent.

family · Grief · photography

Shadow and Light

February 9, 2017 Sally6 Comments

I rotated the ivy the other day. It was reaching for the window and had turned all its leaves to the sun.

Sometimes I think we’re like plants — craving light, seeking light, pursuing light.

The shadows are okay, though. I’m learning to lean in.

I looked through old pictures for shadow shots. This one caught my eye. The shadow tells us something the shot otherwise wouldn’t reveal.

These simply accentuate the beauty of the building, especially its columns.

I liked the shadows from the old bridge.

And the long leg shadows in a late afternoon sun.

I was happily looking through lots of old pictures. Then, I stopped.

In the pictures below, you won’t see the shadows, but I do.

On New Year’s Eve 2004, we played a family game of Scattergories. My brother, Stewart, was there. I could hear his voice, his laugh. He always loved games.

I felt a lump in my throat looking at Stewart’s picture. We’ll never play games with him again.

Then I saw this — my mother and father consulting on Scattergories.

They made a good team.

And had a lot of fun.

That lump in my throat grew.

I miss those days.

But they’re just a shadow now.

Like my ivy, it’s time to turn back to the light.

elderly · family

Earlids

February 8, 2017 Sally4 Comments

I sleep with one ear open.

Owen told me about Krista Tippett and her podcast, On Being. The other day I was listening to an episode called, “Silence and the Presence of Everything.” Gordon Hempton, her guest for that episode, said,

… sight is such an affordable luxury that eyelids evolved. We can close our eyes. OK, that’s enough of that. I’m just going to close my eyes and take a break. But not once in the fossil record do we have any evidence that a species evolved earlids. That would be far too dangerous. Animals must listen to survive.

I immediately thought of my deaf friends, and how lack of hearing must be a real safety issue.

I also thought of how I sleep — listening, listening, always listening.

Listening during sleep begins with motherhood. The new mom can’t help but listen for baby to wake up. In that half-awake/mostly-asleep state (yes, I know that mathematically that doesn’t add up), she must decide whether the noises heard require attention or not.

Now I listen for my father. After he took a bad fall, I put a baby monitor in his room so I could hear him when he gets up at night.

It was helpful when he wandered in the middle of the night — something that (thankfully) has only happened twice. It has helped when he has fallen, another rare occurrence. And it has helped for little things, like his light not working.

But I listen. In my sleep.

My mind filters through what I hear.

Safe. Safe. Safe. All is well.

The other night I jumped out of bed. Mostly asleep had become fully awake. I can’t tell you what I heard, but I knew it was something out of the ordinary. I thought it was a cry of pain. I ran downstairs and found my father sitting up on the edge of his bed with the lamp beside his bed turned on.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He looked at me, confused. “What?” he asked. “What did you say?”

And he put his hand up to monkey with his hearing aid. He forgets to take them out at night, but he doesn’t forget to turn them off.

“Are you okay?” I repeated.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said.

I glanced around the room to see if anything was amiss, but it all looked okay.

“Did anything happen?” I asked.

“What? No, everything’s fine,” he said again. “You can go back to bed.”

I looked at the time. 1:38 AM.

I lay in bed listening for a long time. His deep steady breathing told me that he had gone back to sleep. That luxury didn’t come to me immediately.

I never figured out what the sound was — and I probably never will.

Some things remain a mystery.

Like earlids. I can’t even imagine what they would look like.

Alzheimer's · family

Where the Wild Things Are

February 6, 2017February 6, 2017 Sally11 Comments

Partly because Sam just sent me this awesome collage postcard from Hawaii:

And partly because the Fenimore Art Museum recently announced that in April they are opening an exhibit called:
50 Years, 50 Works, 50 Reasons. Maurice Sendak: The Memorial Exhibition

And partly because the word of the day is “lovingly” and this post has that word in it —

I’m reposting something I wrote in May 2012.

As a side note — I DO do New York City now, very sparingly. By bus.

When I stopped to see my mother on Tuesday, she was in New York City. Well, not literally, but, they were having another travelogue for the residents. Instead of Hawaii, however, this week’s destination was New York City.

I don’t do New York City. Every time I’ve driven someone to JFK, I’ve gotten lost, not getting there, but getting out. I’ve ended up in downtown Manhattan on more occasions that I care to think about. I am a country bumpkin through and through. I don’t do big roads. I don’t do big cities.

But my mother was in New York City in the safety and comfort of The Manor. Maybe I could handle that.

Anyway, I didn’t get to see her. My kids said, “She won’t know the difference anyway.”

Maybe that’s true, but I know the difference.

Since Maurice Sendak died, I’ve been thinking about Where the Wild Things Are. Little Max is so naughty that his mother calls him a wild thing. He’s not even remotely contrite about his naughtiness, yelling at his mother, “I’ll eat you up!” So she sends him to his room.

And off he goes, not only to his room, but to where the wild things are, and where he’s king, and where there are wild rumpuses and such. But he wants to be where someone loves him best of all.

Can you picture his mother tiptoeing into his room, after all his naughtiness? No, wait, backtrack even further. Can you picture his mother lovingly preparing a tray of food for him, things that smell good and are good to eat, making sure they are both delicious and hot?

She tiptoes into his room, but he’s not aware of it because he’s off where the wild things are. She leaves him a tray of food, a tray that says I’ll always love you.

She didn’t do all that so that Max would see the tray and say, “Wow, my mother loves me.” She did it because she loved him.

That’s what I want my children to know. I don’t go visit my mother because she’ll understand. I go because I understand, and because I love her.

So I stopped in to see my mother the other day, but she was off where the wild things are — New York City. I should have left her a tray of food.

family

Art? Or Craft?

February 5, 2017 Sally3 Comments

What is the difference between Art and Craft?

I’m not sure I agree with everything on this chart, but here is a good place to start.

Comparison Chart

BASIS FOR COMPARISON	ART	CRAFT
Meaning	An unstructured and boundless form of work, that expresses emotions, feelings and vision is called art.	Craft refers to an activity, which involves creation of tangible objects with the use of hands and brain.
Based on	Creative merit	Learned skills and technique
Serves	Aesthetic purpose	Decorative or functional purpose
Emphasizes	Ideas, feelings and visual qualities.	Right use of tools and materials.
Quantification	Difficult	Easy
Reproducible	No	Yes
Emergence	Heart and soul	Mind
Result of	Innate talent	Skill and experience

(Found at: http://keydifferences.com/difference-between-art-and-craft.html#ixzz4Xosvibyc)

I found myself looking through old pictures on this blog and trying to decide: Is it Art? Or, is it Craft?

SCN_0083 — Philip scribbling on a coloring placemat, about age 2.

I’d guess at art, although craft is certainly an element of coloring pages.

Or should I have captioned it “Two craftsmen”?

No — I think art is the right choice here.

Mary's quilted purse — Mary’s quilted purse

Is quilting an art or a craft? So much artistry goes into quilted objects, but it’s probably a craft because it’s a functional object and reproducible.

A baby picture of Laurel that I tried to paint.

I dabble with watercoloring for a while — obviously never got very proficient. I shudder to call this art.

Made at Laity Lodge. I drew the daffodil, copying from a picture, and carved it, making lots of mistakes. Craft?

Teenage boy activity in church. Definitely art.

My painting -- mama Elephant and her baby — My painting — mama Elephant and her baby

Elephants painted in art class. We’re copying Eli Halpin’s style — but still art, I think.

My place-cards. I loved making these. Craft. And Art. I put my mind into these, but also some heart.

There probably isn’t a clear delineation most of the time between art and craft.

The artists exercise craft, and the craftsmen use art.

family

Overwhelming

February 3, 2017 Sally5 Comments

“I don’t know how you do it,” people say to me.

“Oh, please” and an eye-roll are my usual responses. If only they knew.

The best advice I ever received came from my mother-in-law. She had 13 children of her own and raised a 14th, just for good measure. I asked her once how she did it.

“You just do,” she said.

And she did.

Talk about an overwhelming task.

When life is full and feels like too much, I start with the first small thing and go from there.

Routines help — but we can’t be a slave to them.

One small thing.

Then another.

Breakfast set out — juice with pills beside, cereal and Lactaid milk. My father knows to expect these.

Blood pressure recorded. Easy. And done.

Move to the living room and make sure he has his newspaper and a pen.

Help the girls with school.

Or write.

Or read.

Or laundry.

Lunch at 12:30. Soup or leftovers.

And so the day goes.

Like walking over a creek using rocks as stepping-stones. Sometimes things get a little slippery, but I try to maintain my balance.

How do I do it?

One step at a time.

I just do.

family

Dusting

February 2, 2017February 2, 2017 Sally10 Comments

Yesterday the home health aide came but Dad didn’t need a shower (at that point) and didn’t want his nails done. I was home so she didn’t need to make his lunch. She made his bed and then came to me.

“I need to do something,” she said to me. “Can I clean?”

Can you clean?!? Can you clean?? I couldn’t believe my ears. Yes, I was thrilled.

I worried that my response would be too over-the-top so I took a deep breath, smiled, and said, “Sure! That would be great!”

I showed her where the vacuum cleaner was, which was the first thing she asked for. She wheeled it into his bedroom and I heard its hum as I went to find Laurel to help her with her math.

We were deeply ensconced in the back room studying ratios when she came looking for me again.

“I’d like to dust his bookshelves,” she said. “Do you have any spray?”

I couldn’t remember the last time those shelves had been dusted. No, I am not a housekeeper.

But I knew there was some Pledge or something around.

We started looking.

And looking.

It wasn’t anywhere.

When something is missing, I often say, “It’s always the last place you look.”

Mary hates that saying.

“I’ll just use a rag,” the aide said and headed back to his bedroom.

I went back to ratios.

Look behind Philip's head. There's the Pledge! — Look behind Philip’s head. There’s the Pledge!

Then I saw it. On the bookshelves in the backroom. We had dusted when we got the room ready for Christmas, but left the can of Pledge sitting out on a shelf.

See? I told you I’m not a cleaning person. I don’t even clean up the cleaning supplies.

I was delighted to hand the can to the aide, who, in turn, seemed delighted to clean my father’s bedroom.

Maybe she’d like to tackle clutter, too.