Sunday, September 1, 2013

The End of a Chapter

              Midnight tonight marks the end of a chapter for me.  It’s not the end of the book, but it is the end of an important chapter.  At the stroke of midnight tonight, in the eyes of the law, there will be no more children in the Abernathy household.  The book will never close for me as I continue as a mother of adult children, a grandmother, great-grandmother, and so on forever.  Still, though, today is a time of reflection for me on what it has meant to be a mother of young children.

                First of all, if I could make my life’s choices again, I would make the same ones all over.  I have no regrets and consider it a blessing that I was able to bear five children in my youth.  I knew at the time that I was taking a different path than many of my friends, and while I have admired their accomplishments, I am delighted with my own.  A few years ago, I attended an event in my home town, and four of my five children were with me.  They were mostly grown and were polished and dressed in their Sunday best when I met a childhood friend who had never seen all of my kids together in the same place.  Her comment startled me a bit, when she said, “Wow, so this is what you have done all these years.”  It then occurred to me that it was indeed what I had done for nearly thirty years, and I was very happy to show the evidence of my work.  I think I may have realized for the first time that motherhood had truly shaped the person I had become.

                While it’s true that it was rarely easy to be the mother of five children, it’s also true that is has been wonderful.  Motherhood has shaped my happiness and taught me character traits that I don’t know how I could have learned elsewhere.  I learned that other lives quite literally depended on me.  I had to stay on my back for many weeks of a pregnancy to save the life of a tiny daughter.  I arose exhausted several times each night for many years to feed a hungry baby or to comfort a frightened or a sick child.  Every mother since Eve has done this, so I take no credit at being anyone special, but the seriousness of this dependence has taught me that my needs can’t come first.  Learning to sacrifice for the well being, and indeed, the life of another, has gone a long way towards polishing away the selfish rough edges of my soul. 

                Motherhood has also taught me to trust.  While I might have liked to take over their lives and make their decisions for them, I have learned to trust my children and to allow them to make as many of their own choices as they were prepared to make.  We worked daily to teach each of them correct principles and reliance on God.  Then we held our breath and watched them fly away.  At first, it was as simple as taking a deep breath if a child chose clothing that wasn’t exactly to my liking or exhibited personality traits that were different from my own.  As the years passed, each of our children surpassed us in strength, skill, and ability to manage the challenges of an ever darkening world.  None of us, parents or children,  would have been happy to stay together in the overcrowded nest forever.  Although frightening at times, it has been magnificent to watch them soar and to build their own nests.

                Having the babies and caring for them full time has also taught me tremendous gratitude for my dear husband.  In my younger years, I was sometimes frustrated at the difference in our job descriptions as mother and father.  In my immature eyes, the daddy flew away each morning to develop an exciting career while the mommy bird sat on the nest and dealt with the squawking until way past sunset, when the daddy bird returned to the nest after the little noisy fledglings had finally eaten their fill of worms.  His life seemed grand, and mine, well, not so grand.  It’s in these later years where I have come to appreciate the gift I had of being free to tend the children without the worry of providing financial support.  I was there to see every little step, bind every boo-boo, large or small, fill a shopping cart to overflowing with groceries and sneakers and sweatshirts, and attend every school function without having to ask for time off from work.  I was doing my work, and Daddy’s dedication to the family allowed me to do it.  I might add that he also supported me in earning a graduate degree and maintaining a busy music studio while caring for our little ones.  


                Finally, thirty-plus years of full time motherhood has shaped me into the person that I have always wanted to become.  While it’s true that I would have liked to stay the slim twenty something I once was, what I really wanted was to become more tender, more aware of the needs of others, softer, and best of all, beloved by those closest to me.  Mothering of children has not been merely a job.  It has been a calling and a way of life.  For me, it has been a happier life than I ever could have imagined.  While I know that the day will never come that I will surrender my motherhood badge, my days will shift to a different rhythm.  I will experience more time away from the nest to spread my wings and to pursue new flights.  Some choices were put on a shelf for a few decades, but to my delight, when I dust off my former roles, they are somehow brighter for the waiting.  What a wonderful surprise.  When my children bring their little ones back to visit their grandmother, they find her happier, wiser, and more beloved than she ever could have been without those lessons learned as a mother of five great kids.

Thursday, March 7, 2013

Not All Shows Must Go On

This is old news, but there is a hit Broadway musical, “Book of Mormon” that has received a lot of attention and awards.  I have taken little notice of it.  The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has made little public comment other than to invite people to read the actual Book of Mormon and to visit our church meetings to judge for themselves as to whether the real church is anything like the pretend church that is receiving so much mockery in the musical.  After writing this, I will go back to my usual state of ignoring the show, but today I feel the need to write some of my thoughts.

I am sickened with the thought that anyone would produce a show that openly mocks the religious faith of any person or group.  I realize that free speech is a right, and artists may comment as they wish.  Similarly, patrons may freely choose which events to support with ticket purchases.  Some decide to attend.  Others, like me, shrink from the thought.  What I ponder with this writing is why folks would make the choice to purchase the tickets and attend this wildly popular and egregiously offensive production.  I have a few theories.

First, there is the allure of a new and popular show.  Something different, something that has won awards and accolades in the industry has its appeal to theatre goers.  My professional life has been among the arts community, and I enjoy new productions, too.  However, even if my personal faith were not the target, I would stay away from this one.  The language in many of the songs and dialogues is too foul to print.  I have no taste for that.  Of even greater significance is the desire to stay away from any visual or performing art form that has as its main purpose the ridicule of a particular faith or of religion in general.  The idea of eliciting laughter and immense revenue at the expense of another’s beliefs is abhorrent.  So, the artsy crowd flocks to check out the new show.   I get it.  Count me out.

Another reason why theatre goers may patronize this production could be curiosity of a religion that until recently, was lesser known in the mainstream of American churches.  Most people probably knew a member of the LDS church, but suddenly, the faith became in the media spotlight when a church member became a presidential candidate from a major political party.  There are lots of myths floating about concerning the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  Maybe some attended to see just what Mormons are about.  There are many more accurate ways to satisfy that curiosity.  There are millions of church members worldwide who are happy to answer questions and to talk about their beliefs.  Over 60,000 missionaries volunteer around the world for two year full time missions.  The church is also very open and accessible to visitors, both in our chapels and numerous visitors’ centers and in free printed materials and websites.   Trusting the entertainment industry to accurately portray a serious subject is pretty unreliable.   Curious theatre goers would receive a much more correct and fair representation of the church and its beliefs by consulting a member, visiting a service, visiting lds.org, or by actually reading The Book of Mormon.

Novelty, curiosity about a religion, and even pity or scorn for the perceived misguidance of LDS members is not really what bothers me.  These are annoyances, but they have not caused me to shed tears.  What has truly troubled me and brought this to a personal level is the worry that I have might not have taken the opportunity to express to those around me that The Book of Mormon is a sacred book of scripture that is central to my faith. It is the keystone of our religion.  It is the word of God and a second witness, along with the Bible, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God and the Savior of the world.  I have read The Book of Mormon more than twenty times from cover to cover.  I have studied it and prayed over it and received a sure witness that allows me to confidently say that I know that it is truly the word of God.  No one has to take my word for its truthfulness.  Anyone who reads it with a sincere heart may pray to know for himself if it is truly scripture.  Millions have done this and testify just like me. 

So, for whatever the reason, do I feel a sting of pain when my friends and colleagues buy their tickets?  You bet I do.  Let’s go to the Kennedy Center together and see something that will uplift both of us.  

Sunday, September 23, 2012

The Finisher

Wayne and I have a phrase of encouragement that we share with each other:  "Someday this will be in the rear-view mirror."  Hard things will pass, and we will put them behind us.  Sometimes that takes weeks or even years to gain the hindsight.  Gratefully, some things pass by more quickly.  Our recent experience with Peter's scary race was one of those things.

We gathered this morning with Peter's cross country team and 103 other high school teams for a race on a beautiful but difficult course at the Oatlands Plantation in Leesburg, VA.  After warming up and sampling the course, Peter thought he would not be able to run this race today. His leg hurt, and the memories of his previous heat stroke and hospitalization were heavily on his mind (and on mine, too.) His wise coach encouraged him to just try. He said, "Just start it, and if you can't make it, then turn around and come back."  That was good counsel.  If you have to turn around and come back, you might just as well keep going.  Nobody wants to make a demoralizing 180 degree turn on a race course.

With prayers from his parents, teammates, and self, he exerted strong faith, and lots of grit and determination.  Peter ran the whole race on a very tough course. All of the anxiety tears that I had choked back 2 weeks ago changed to gratitude tears and found their way out today when he crossed the finish line. Now he has more confidence that he can do it, and he has a literal track record to prove it.

Whew.  Our ambulance ride is just a memory in the rearview mirror.  Here's a photo of our runner crossing the finish line because he did not turn back.


Sunday, September 9, 2012

Where to Begin

It’s hard to know where to start to describe a weekend so full of fear, blessings, and reflections. Sometimes life events come upon us unforeseen and unbidden. Those are the times when faith, family, and friends help us overcome challenges that would be ever so much worse to face alone. To understand the fear part, imagine watching a high school cross country race on a warm morning about 60 miles from home. You cheer on your son as he passes the 2 mile mark in a 5K race. He is smiling and keeping up his usual spot in the front half of the group. You stand at the finish line and watch the runners come in. The first half passes, and you wonder why you did not see your son. Most of the runners come in, and you think maybe he finished in a big pack of kids, and you missed seeing him. The last stragglers cross the finish line, and your son is not among them. Surely he is at the finish line congratulating his teammates. But, the panic nags you that he might be up there on the hill, injured somewhere on the course. You start running up the big hill, joined by event staff and worried teammates. Yes, there is a runner down, and you know he’s yours. 

He’s unconscious on the ground. Folks are trying to cool and revive him. You hurry off to a hospital in an ambulance and hear an emergency room physician telling you many frightening possibilities. You watch your healthy young son lay unresponsive and then awake to writhe in pain from awful medical procedures. After several hours, you watch him drive off in yet another ambulance to a bigger, better equipped hospital. You follow behind for 60 miles of anguished fear. 

So, just where were the blessings in all of this? To start, both Wayne and I were at the cross country meet. Peter has run in many events, and this was the first time we have attended a meet together. I can’t imagine how the day would have been if we had not been on the scene. While we were still on the course, Peter’s teammates gathered around and formed a prayer circle. These wonderful kids joined their faith and offered up their prayers for aid. Wayne and I will never forget that sight, and our gratitude to them will never fade. Although we were 60 miles from home, my dearest friend, Gail, and her husband found their way to the hospital to provide much needed and appreciated hugs and food. Our daughter and son-in-law, Cindy and Mario, drove many miles to arrive at the second hospital ahead of us and in time to greet Peter at his arrival with a huge comforting soft teddy bear. They supported me and drove me home and stayed the night with me in our very dark house, where a big storm had cut the electrical power. 

Although the first hospital gave needed and immediate relief and treatment, it was the second hospital that provided the calm and experienced judgment of pediatric specialists who frequently treat kids’ athletic and heat stroke related injuries and could keep a level head as to exactly which tests and treatments were needed. I was filled with gratitude for the competent doctors we met who had studied and prepared themselves to calmly offer skilled care. Before long, our runner, Peter, was talking and joking and looking forward to a return to school and sports and friends. His buddy was soon at his bedside offering the best medicine that only a seventeen year old “bro’-ski” can provide. 

I’m very tired, having only been back at home for a few hours, but I reflect on how my prayers were answered and how people who could help us were put in our path. I am grateful for God who whispers peace to my heart and assurance that He loves me and my son. I’m thankful for my husband, who was at my side when I needed him and at our son’s bedside all night long. I’m in awe at the delicate balance that our bodies need to function properly under stress. It is humbling to see the devastation when simple fluids and rest are inadequate, and physical demand is too great. I don’t want to have this experience ever again, but as I lived it, I was never alone. All is well, and we will sleep much better tonight.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

No-More Goodbyes

This thought comes to mind every time I travel to visit family and friends:  I don't like good-byes.  I am always so eager to see the folks at the other end of the trip, but when it comes to leaving my loved ones at home, I hate to part.  While I feel immersed in love with the folks I'm visiting, my heart aches for the ones I left back at home.  When I turn my face back toward home, I'm so happy to ease my homesickness, but I immediately ache to stay with those I am leaving.  I want to have all of the folks I love in one place.  I don't want to say good-bye and to miss you.  That whole absense makes the heart grow fonder idea is over-rated.
 
My vision of heaven is where I will always be surrounded by those I love.  Sure, you can roam about as you will and won't be chained to me, but I never want to be far from you.  I want to be at your side without the time and distance of travel.  I want to see my darling grandchildren whenever we wish it.  I want to chat face to face with my kids without buying plane tickets.  I want to talk about music with a beloved friend without having to send a text or squeeze in a quick hour when we wish we could talk all day.  I don't want to dread the day when my best friend will move, and I will remain behind.  I want to spend forever with my husband at my side and surrounded by all of our loving family and friends.  I want it all so much, that I think about my heaven every day. 
 
Make no mistake, I'm not suggesting that I am in a hurry to change my residence from earth to heaven just yet.  For now, and for many more years to come, I will settle for my pieces of heaven, and I will travel back and forth between them.  It is good to know that when I leave one place on the map, I can anticipate joy at each end of the long car ride or airplane flight where another group of folks waits to welcome me.  But some day, I want each of you to have a home on my block.  To never have to miss you will be happiness forever for me.

Sunday, July 29, 2012

Deep Down Gratitude

It has been a long time since I have taken the time to write. That doesn't mean I have not had times of joy and many moments of joyful thoughts. I'm pretty good at pondering, but I've been slow to compose my thoughts. 

This thought has been on my mind for the past couple of years, and I have often repeated it to my family. "To have wealth, one must have two things - charity and gratitude. You must be grateful for what you have, and you must be willing to share it generously and without expectation of a return." I could write on this topic all day and expound on my personal economic policy. Fear not, I will spare you this time. What I want to reflect upon today is profound gratitude. 

Recently, we had a very pleasant trip to New York. We enjoyed visiting with our family and friends whom we dearly love. We stayed in a local hotel. In fact, it was the very hotel where I worked for several years as a maid during high school and college. That was 35 years ago when I learned for myself how hard it is to clean bathrooms and make up a couple hundred beds in one day. I also worked there in the laundry and folded so many sheets and towels that I would daily wear off the skin on the palms of my hands. It was very hard work, even for a young energetic body. I don't think there was a minute when I enjoyed it, but I knew that if I were to return to college each fall, I would need to do this back breaking work. I was grateful for the employment, and I remember that I earned the minimum wage of $2.37 per hour. 

Well, on this recent trip, I recognized a familiar face at the hotel. One of the maids who worked with me in 1977, is still working there today. She has recently advanced to the position of head housekeeper, but for about 35 years, she has continuously performed the tasks that I remember as being so hard. While I was earning a BS degree in music education, she was cleaning. As I earned an MA degree in music performance, she was cleaning. While I moved to Virginia and reared five children and enjoyed teaching hundreds of music students, she was cleaning. A huge volume of water has passed under my bridge of life in the past 35 years. Through it all, she was cleaning and then coming home exhausted to her own home and children. Her face looks much older and more careworn. She was happy to see me, and she asked if there was anything that I needed for my hotel room. I had to choke back my tears as I thanked her and refused her kind offer to serve me. 

This is not a treatise on who should have to work and for how long, nor is it an attempt to cast pity. It is a deep heartfelt thank you for the opportunities that have blessed me these last 35 years. I am profoundly grateful for my education, the sacrifices of my parents, the devoted care of my husband, the support of my friends, and the many experiences I have had to spread my wings and achieve my dreams. To my housekeeper colleague, I salute you. To my God and Protector, I most humbly thank Thee. Without consideration of any financial sums, which, in my book, is never an indicator of wealth, I feel abundantly blessed and eager to share. May you feel similarly.

Sunday, May 6, 2012

Over My Head

Written on June 25, 2010

Today started off very noisy, but by noon, we had a new roof on our house.  It gives me joy to see it and to know that we are protected with lovely shingles with a lifetime warranty, but it is even more joyful to reflect on all the life that has gone on under that roof.  Our five children have grown up here and are now beginning to bring their own children to rejoice with us under this roof.  Under this roof we have been protected from the storms and stress of life, both physically, and most especially, spiritually.  It gives me joy to think of all that has happened here and all that will yet happen, all under new Georgetown Grey, high definition shingles.  It is a metaphor for the love of God that has surrounded us, blessed us and protected us for so many years. 

2 Pieces of Heaven

Written on June 24, 2010


I don't know exactly what heaven will be like, but I have a pretty good idea.  Our joyful times on Earth can be replicated and expanded upon in heaven.  Today I met a dear friend who I had not seen for many years.  She is now on temporary assignment at the Washington, DC, temple.  We had a lovely visit at her apartment, and then we rejoiced to serve in the temple together.  I happily thought that that scene will play out again and again, to be in the House of the Lord with those we love. 
 
My other piece of joy, which I also believe will be a part of heaven, was tasting my first ripe tomato of the summer.  I wait all year for that.  Thanks to Gail's bounteous garden, I didn't have to wait for mine to ripen.  There must be ripe tomatoes in heaven, but there is also joy on earth, and we can have that today.

Pride, Joy, and Roofing Materials

Written on June 23, 2010

Today I had a choked up joyful moment as I watched Peter carry out a very loyal act for one of his friends.  Pete showed persistance, compassion, and maturity far beyond his tender age of 14, and I had a glimpse of the man he is becoming.  That was joy.
I also tried to have the joyful luxury of a short nap, as I get pretty tired after working out.  As usual, just as I stretched out and fell asleep, I was interrupted and never got to doze.  That's OK, though; the interruption was the delivery of 180 bundles of new shingles that will be put on our house on Friday.  It was pretty cool to see them get hoisted up on the roof by a huge crane.  Much cooler than a nap would have been. 

2 Things Unrelated

Written on June 22, 2010


What I did for love ended up in what I did for joy, which is often the way it is.  If you haven't tried it, you haven't experienced the challenge of gluten free baking.  You see, gluten is the protein that holds wheat together.  Remove that, and well, it's a challenge.  This evening I successfully made a yummy batch of chewy cookies for Wayne.  It was a triumph, as many of my gluten free efforts have not been as fortunate.  The joyful part is watching Wayne sneaking back into the kitchen for another treat.  Yes, I notice as each cookie disappears. 
As an unrelated piece of joy, I just ordered a pair of rocking chairs for our new front porch.  If you've been following that saga, you know that it has been long and very frustrating.  But, the end is in sight, and at last, it's time to get the chairs.  The next step will be the 5 hanging baskets of flowers that I will need.  That will wait until next week when Cox Farms begins its annual 50% off sale.  Expect more joyful notes as I peacefully rock and enjoy the blooms on our lovely new porch.  Ah, I can hardly wait.  What will make it even better is when the grandchildren visit and find their way into our laps as we rock.  Now that is is joy

2 Days of Happy Contacts

Written on June 21, 2010


My kids bring me joy every day - some days more than others.  Yesterday and today were "more" days.  Our 3 girls all remembered to call their dad for Fathers' Day.  That made him happy, and it gave me joy, too.  They know that they have a wonderful father, and they love him very much.  That kind of joy is at the foundation of my happiness.  Today we heard from our missionary son, Joseph.  Some of you may not have met Joseph or know what he is up to.  He has been a full time missionary in California, teaching the gospel of Christ in the Latino communities of the San Francisco area, for nearly 2 years.  We are very proud of him and the service that he gives.  He brings honor to his father and to me, and that fills my heart.  Taking care of little ones for all of those years had its own joys, but now it is a very fulfilling joy.  Thanks to my kids, for calling and for honoring and loving us.  May your days be long upon the land for doing so.

I'm not Julia Child

Written on June 19, 2010


I've been too busy cooking all day for 2 days and one evening to reflect and write.  I've been preparing for a bridal shower and a dinner with friends.  I'm not a great cook, and I'm not sure I enjoy it all that much, but I did find joy.  It's a joy to make and share with friends.  It's a joy to easily buy fresh, delicious, healthy food and to prepare it in a kitchen that is outfitted with all the modern conveniences and decorated to my taste.  It is a joy to be healthy and strong and to feel it (except for the sore back and knee, but it's all good.) Bon Appetite.


To make up for no message yesterday, I'll send a second one this afternoon.  I attended a lovely piano recital this afternoon, another one where kids that I substitute taught earlier this spring were performing.  Some of them played like little professionals, and others played liked regular kids who take piano lessons, but each of them gave up free time to practice and to prepare.  As I listened, I thought, "I love my job."  I work so hard all year to make these performance opportunities happen for literally thousands of kids.  When I see them play and see their happiness when they achieve a level of artistry, I feel joy.  It warms my heart to the core.

The Circle of Life

Written on June 17, 2010

Today I had a wonderful visit from a former student and her 2 sweet little daughters.  I was delighted to see Jen.  I was her teacher for 10 years and have watched her grow from a little girl to a lovely young mother.  She was a joy to teach, and she is still a joy to see again.  Before she leaves town, she will stop by again, and I will teach her little girl a few notes on the piano.  Yes, I feel a little old, but mostly very complete.  Life is beautiful!

A Pattern

Written on June 16, 2010

I'm seeing a pattern in what I do for joy, and it's no surprise that it's music.  For today's joy, I practiced the piano for about the tenth day in a row, which is a real record for me these days.  I haven't done that in years, and although I'm awfully rusty, I still love it.  I also finished another year of teaching with a great lesson where the student is reaching that point where she loves to play and sees herself as a pianist.  I love that moment when a student "gets it"  and is ready for a bigger challenge.  So, that's my joy for today.  What's black and white and happy all over?  Mom at the piano.

2 Songs

Written on June 15, 2010

While I'm still sweating from today's walk in very humid Virginia, I will pause to write about a joy I have several times each week.  I work out at the gym and pool on M, W, and F.  On T, Th, and Sat., I walk the streets of Greenbriar, sometimes with Gail, sometimes with my I-pod.  When I walk alone, I always start and end with the same 2 songs, and they always bring me joy.  Here they are:  I leave the house with Helen Reddy, singing "I am Woman."  No, it's not the feminist message that brings me joy, but the confidence that I can accomplish hard things.  These last 2 years have been quite a journey for me. The piece I end my walks with is even better, "The Promise of Living," from The Tender Land by Aaron Copland.  The music is wonderful, but the words are even more so 

"The promise of living with faith and thanksgiving is born of our loving our friends and our labors."  

If I were clever enough, I'd post the music here for you.  (here you go mom!) I can't hear it too often.  I feel gratitude and rededication every time I hear it.  Yes, I feel joy every time, joy that life is rich for me and has the promise of lasting forever.


Friday, May 4, 2012

White Bean Chicken Soup, and Piano Music


Written on June 13, 2012 

Once again, I found a message stuck in my outbox.  It is Saturday's.  Sorry to send out of order, but here it is:
Two joyful things to report today:
 
1.  I heard a lovely piano recital given by 2 girls at the tender age of 14 or 15.  They played beautifully, and I was pleased to be the teacher of one of them for 3 weeks this spring while her regular teacher recovered from surgery.  These 2 girls are truly gifted, and they work hard to develop their gift.
 
2.  This is much more practical and probably cognitively incongruent on such a hot day, but I found joy in making a big pot of a family favorite and my own original recipe.  Here is the recipe, in case you like soup on hot days, too.  It makes a big pot, but it's so good, you'll want to eat all of it, or freeze it for another day when you don't have time to cook.  Pretty much every day.
 
1 or 1.5 lbs, skinless, boneless chicken breasts cut into bite sized pieces. (I use kitchen scissors for this, and they work great.)
1 lg Vidalia onion, chopped ( a bag of frozen chopped onion works,too)
1 bunch of celery, washed and chopped, including leaves
6 carrots, peeled and sliced
2 Tbl. butter (I know, use olive oil, if you must.)
2 cans diced tomatoes, with juice
2 cans white beans (cannellini) drained and rinsed to remove excess salt
2 Tbl. chicken stock paste (or bullion or broth, whatever you have)
1/2  tsp crushed red pepper  (more, if you dare)
1/4 C fresh cilantro, chopped (I have great new multi-blade scissors to chop herbs.  I highly recommend them.   The fact that I can now harvest the herbs from my garden also gives me joy.)
Enough water to make the consistency that you want.  I add about 4 cups, maybe less.
 
In a big Dutch oven or stock pot, sauté the chopped veggies and chicken in butter until onions are translucent.  Add the tomatoes and juice, water, beans, and stock.  Stir in red pepper and herbs and simmer for a couple of hours.  If you're in a hurry, you can eat it when the veggies are soft, and the chicken is done.  It's healthy and delicious, and it gives us joy every time I make it, which is about once a month or so.

Sing Along

Written on June 13, 2012

This gives me joy every time we do it, and today was no exception.  Nearly every month, I go with members of my church choir to a local assisted living facility  where one of our former choir members is a resident.  He looks forward to the visits, and usually sings along with us, as do several of the other residents.  We sing favorite hymns and patriotic songs, or Christmas carols - songs that the folks love and remember.  I have seen for years what researchers are now reporting in scholarly journals - musical memory is one of the last parts of our brains to leave us.  I have seen folks who have long since forgotten their own names and those of their families.  Still, they can sing familiar songs, often in more than one language.  It is remarkable.  I have read the reports and understand the physiology to some degree, but it still is miraculous to me. 

Movie Night

Written on June 11, 2010


OK, today's offering is just an old black and white movie I borrowed from Netflix.  I recommend it - "Roberta."  It's a Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers musical with great songs by Jerome Kern, wonderful dancing, gorgeous costumes, lovely sets, and plenty of sweet romance.  The movie has it all.  I didn't realize that it was the source of so many famous songs.  I have to say, it gave me joy - alone in the house, stretched out on the couch. Put it on your cue!

Not Everything is Profound


Written on June 10, 2010

Not every piece of joy comes from profound reflection.  Today I felt it when I moussed (is that really a verb?) my hair and put on a pair of funky earrings, handmade for me by a dear friend.  I smiled in the mirror, and thought, "Take that, you 50 year old grandmother!"  My other joy will be this evening when Wayne and Peter and I  drive to Baltimore, sit right behind homeplate, and watch my boys' favorite team, the NY Yankees.  I love to see the bond that Peter feels with his Dad and Grandfather Rotz and Uncle Jeff, who are also Yankees fans.  He will have Grandpa and Jeff on the cell phone throughout the game.  I go along for the ride and certainly NOT for the food at the ball park.  Go Yankees.  Sorry, in advance, for the defeat, O's.
Watch for us on TV.  I'll be the one with the great hair and earrings and the happy face.  Look for the joy.



I don't plan to write a daily double, but I do have another moment of joy to add for today.  As you probably know, Peter and I deliver Meals on Wheels on Thursdays as part of his homeschooling experience.  I drive, and he delivers.  I have always loved watching his interaction with the grateful clients.  Today, an elderly Asian lady who speaks very little English said, "When your boy bring me food, I happy."  I was happy, too, even joyful.
 

My Lillies

Written on June 9, 2010

For today's moment of joy, I looked at my lillies.  I even talk to them and thank them.  They are happily blooming in the front, sides, and back of my house.  I have loved them for the 25 years that we have lived here, but especially for the last 5 years.  In 2005 when our house burned, I saw and felt devastation.  To my surprise, in early June, my lillies opened their lovely faces, just as they always had.  They didn't seem to notice that we weren't home, the windows were boarded up, and my heart was so heavy.  I remember tearfully saying to Gail, "My lillies are blooming."  She, ever pratical, said, "Don't cry.  Cut some and put them in a vase."  She said just what I needed to hear, as she always does.  I have reflected on those lillies ever since as the symbol of graceful beauty amidst heartache, and I have tried to behave that same way.  I have chosen more lillies as decorative accents in my house to remind me.  Even in hard times, they hold their heads up and show their splendor, opening a new bloom every day for a season.  They rest, and then they come back again the next year, year after year.  They toil not, neither do they spin, and yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed as one of these.  Today I found joy as I considered the lillies.