Blatherings about Birches and Flexibility

February 7, 2017 Sally8 Comments

I drove into town this morning for a Bible study but the church was locked up. I felt a little irritated. No one had let me know that it was cancelled. Or postponed. Or whatever happened. Although I had only attended once before, I felt like someone should have told me.

Hmph.

I expected them to be flexible with me in my sporadic attendance, and yet I was not being flexible with them.

In my heart, I mean. This was all taking place at a heart level. I wasn’t really that upset. I was being stretched.

Bud and I used to get a little irritated at the Christian-ese expression of “being stretched.” When someone was undergoing a trial, the “Christian” response included glib statements like, “I guess the Lord is stretching you” or “me” or “him” or “her” or whoever.

I guess I’m growing up. And growing more flexible.

But there’s still so much more room for improvement. Will I ever reach a day when I’m not irritated by a small inconvenience?

My father planted white birch trees along the north border of his lawn.

Over the years, some have grown quite tall. One bends quite low these days, showing the resiliency and flexibility that is its nature. My father comments on it every time he looks out the window.

Robert Frost says the birch is “the only native tree that dares to lean” — and lean it does. Its pliancy and resiliency are remarkable.

I’ve been going for long walks lately, and I feel the tightness in my legs. Yesterday I told myself that I need to start stretching again. As a coach, I’m aware of the different types of fitness: muscle strength, muscle endurance, cardio endurance, and flexibility. Flexibility takes the longest to gain, but it also is the slowest to lose.

In our muscles. In our lives.

My friend, Alyssa, wrote about aspens, their frailty, their humility, the way their leaves tremble in community. I remember the day I first read that post. I wept because my brother’s death was still fresh and painful, and I knew she was telling me of a community weeping with me.

This morning I looked at the birch and knew that it had lessons for me, too.

To bend and not to break.

To keep working to develop that flexibility that will stay with me for a long time. The more I exercise it, the more flexible I will become.

I found myself grateful for a missed Bible study.

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.

Faith · photography · poetry

Threshold

February 4, 2017 Sally9 Comments

Embattled as we are, we sound retreat
Sometimes we need a respite from the storm
To step away is not to cry defeat

Embattled as we are, we sound retreat
To solitude, to quiet oh-so-sweet
To limestone that the sun has warmed

Embattled as we are, we sound retreat
Sometimes we need a respite from the storm

Threshold at Laity Lodge in Texas is one of my favorite places in the whole world.

I’ve been there to watch the sun rise, and I’ve been there to watch the sun set — and I’ve been there at all hours in between.

It is peaceful and strong and restful and restorative. Who knew that a piece of art could do all that?

I probably have hundreds of photographs of Threshold — from close-ups of insects climbing on the limestone to all-encompassing shots taken from a distance as I walked around it to shots taken with her walls.

In Threshold, I recognize Psalm 48. I have numbered her towers – one – and considered well her ramparts. It’s not Zion, but it points me in that direction.

One of my favorite people soaking in Threshold's goodness — One of my favorite people soaking in Threshold’s goodness

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.

Faith · family

Cigarette Smoke

January 31, 2017January 31, 2017 Sally4 Comments

Among my “don’t likes” —
(cough, cough) this scent (so sorry)
— smoke de cigarette

This summer I hope to go on my very first every mission trip.

With a team from my church and beyond, I’ll be working alongside a family to help build a house for them. A Muslim family.

On the interest sheet, it says I need the ability to:

Carry heavy blocks (check)
Walk up hill (check)
Abstain from alcohol for the time in Bosnia (check)
Tolerate cigarette smoke (cough, cough – check)

I’m not a fan of cigarette smoke. There was a time in my life when it didn’t bother me, but sometimes now I feel almost hyper-sensitive to it.

It’s not just that it hangs in the room like low-lying cloud. It’s not just that it stings my eyes and makes me cough. But it sticks to my clothing and my hair. It lingers.

When my brother passed away, I had to stop at one of his friend’s apartments to get a key — and a cloud of smoke escaped when they opened the door to let me in. Once inside, in the smoke-filled the room, I felt my eyes burning. We talked in their tiny living room and I had to fight the urge to cough.

But I reminded myself that these were people who Stewart loved and that loved Stewart. Because of that, I could tolerate — I would tolerate — the cigarette smoke. Love makes so many things possible.

When I think about my trip, I find myself almost looking forward to that lingering smell, too. Afterwards, when I get back home, will I pull something from my bag that smells of cigarette smoke, put it to my nose, and smile because of some memory it evokes?

I wouldn’t be surprised.

Love works all kinds of miracles.

Faith · fiction

Truth — An Allegory

January 30, 2017 Sally2 Comments

Beleaguered Truth walked slowly into the public square.

Tired hands held the pole which was seated in the cup of the worn strap around her neck. No longer was her flag high and proud. Her arms, so very weary, could not keep the staff close to her breast and so it dipped.

TRUTH — the tattered flag proclaimed.

And Truth herself walked slowly in amongst the crowd.

Few stepped back to make way.

Some stopped and pointed and jeered.

Still she walked.

Eyes down.

So weary.

Her knuckles were dry and cracked, weatherbeaten.

Her robe, once white, was now dingy, like January’s snow in March.

She walked into the square, heading for the center, to stand where all could see.

Someone stuck out a foot — to be funny, to be mean, to earn a few guffaws and high-fives.

Somebody stuck out their foot, and Truth stumbled.

The sound of the pole clattering on the stones silenced the crowd, but only momentarily.

A cry erupted — “Replace Her! Replace Her!”

Her flag was ripped from the pole and a new one tied on.

Together the crowd lifted it high.

I couldn’t read what it said.

I was too busy trying to make my way to Truth who was being trampled by the mob.

Isaiah 59:14 “…for truth has stumbled in the public squares,
and uprightness cannot enter.”

Faith · family

Pine Cone Jesus

January 29, 2017 Sally5 Comments

I loved having the fireplace this Christmas —

The cheery yellow-orange-red-gold flames warmed my body and my heart.

We set the nativity scene up on the mantel and put some Christmas lights behind to show it off.

However, a closer inspection revealed a dastardly crime —

Someone had replaced the Son of God with a robot. A man-made piece of technology.

Karl moved Jesus around on a regular basis.

But this was the worst.

The Tower of Babel laying in the manger.

We try to build our way to God.

Or replace Him with something we’ve built.

But I found Jesus —

— arms wide, atop a pine cone, with an all-encompassing view.

He seemed to be saying,

Come unto me, all ye who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

Matthew 11:28

Jesus in a manger or Jesus on a pine cone. Either way — Jesus.

elderly · family

Four Questions

January 27, 2017July 3, 2017 Sally7 Comments

This post was originally written in April 2011 when my mother was still alive and still at home.

Question #1
I asked my mother one day, “Mom, do you know what Alzheimer’s is?”

She knew. “It’s a condition where people can’t think sensibly,” she responded.

It was a good answer. Alzheimer’s is not a condition where someone simply doesn’t think sensibly. They can’t. And yet, sometimes, they can. Like being able to answer that question with a pretty concise response shows sensible thinking.
Question #2
Yesterday my mother handed me a sheet of address labels with her name and address printed on them.

“These are for you,” she said.

“I can’t use these, Mom,” I told her. “They have your name and address on them.” I tried handing them back to her, but she pushed them over to me again.

“That way you won’t forget me,” she replied.

I felt a little ache in my heart at those words. “Mom, I won’t forget you,” I reassured. “Will you forget me?” I asked it, even though I already knew the answer.

“Oh, no,” she said. “I’ll never forget you.”

But moments later, she forgot that she had even given me the address labels and took them back to her pile of things. She removed one and stuck at the bottom of a note she had written herself about dinner with a friend — a dinner that had taken place months or years ago. She had forgotten. But she stuck the address label on the bottom of the note.

“This will help me remember,” she said. Oh, if only it were that easy.
Question #3
Alzheimer’s is a condition where people can’t think sensibly. The varying pieces of information that are coming at us and constantly being filtered in our mind are no longer being filtered correctly. It’s impossible for a person with dementia to make sense of it all.

One day we were going through some clutter and my father picked up a kitschy dog made out of golf balls. “We could probably get rid of this,” he said.

“Are you going to get rid of me?” my mother asked. With the filters missing, that was what she heard.

“You’re too valuable,” he told her. “We’re not going to get rid of you.” It was the perfect response.
Question #4
So many people have shown kindness to my mother. Total strangers, long-time friends and family members have all pitched in to keep her safe and to make life easier for my father. I know my father appreciates it, but I often wonder if my mother is even aware.

Yesterday, she answered that unasked question. Are you aware of all the things people do for you?

She was looking for my brother. “He’s up at his house, Mom, right next door,” I told her.

“That’s right,” she said. “He has been so nice. Every night he brings dinner right down to us so I don’t have to fix anything.”

Yes, he does. And I’m so glad you recognize that. Even if you don’t always recognize me. I know it’s because you can’t think sensibly.