Bones, Books and Bathrobes

I’ve been a busy bee. I’ve had to because it’s March already and I still have winter goals that I haven’t accomplished. Snow is on the ground and its 19 degrees outside but Easter stuff is in the stores so that's a clear sign my window of time is closing. One of those goals was to get my husband’s speech therapy machine purged of all the personal stuff and out of the house. He died six years ago and I really should have done it long ago but after working on it this week---first to re-teach myself how to use the Lingraphica, then to purge over sixty storyboards I built for my husband---I can proudly say I’ve finally got the job done. Digging up bones is an emotionally task but all I have to do now it to wait for a nice spring day when I can take it out to the college’s speech pathology clinic where I’m donating it and they will pass it on to someone without insurance. The current version is smaller but the program itself hasn’t changed.

Storyboards consisted of pictures, words and voice-overs which my husband could use to practice saying words and doing speech class homework. Each storyboard illustrated sentences like: I had a stroke five years ago; I need to pee; my name is Don; can we go out to eat; I need the jock rash powder; I need help finding my wife; I don't feel well today; or Levi, Come! It’s a slick program with thousands, upon thousands of pictures in categories for everything and anything you can imagine. Purging storyboards one picture/word/voice-over at a time brought a few tears as I remembered my husband sitting at the dining room table parroting the machine while I made dinner. He never did get his unprompted vocabulary up above of a couple of dozen hard-earned nouns and the phrases, “Oh, boy!” and “Oh, Shit!” and “Oops!” But it wasn’t from lack of trying. Now, that particular section of Memory Lane no longer exists and there’s a sign posted where it used to begin that says, “He Never Gave up on Himself.” 

I just ordered a new book written by an author who is new to me but you might know him---Parker J. Palmer. He’s 80 years old and has written ten books. I found him by way of a Facebook meme with one of his poems. The poem was about reading one of his old journals and finding 50 blank pages followed by a page that said, “The void is filled with love.” When I got to that line in the poem, I had one of those moments that literally took my breath away. I’ve got journals like that where I abruptly quit writing and happy cycles explains the voids. One of the goals I had for this winter was to go through all those journals and diaries and finally let go of them. I haven’t done it yet but it’s moved up to second place on the list. Anyway, I went looking for information on Palmer and found he’s got a new book out ---On the Brink of Everything: Grace, Gravity and Getting Old.

I don’t know about you but when I buy books on Amazon I read a lot of the reader reviews. In the case of Palmer’s above mentioned book there were 183 reviews and 80 percent gave it five stars and seven percent gave it one star. Apparently he wrote some less than favorable stuff about Trump near the end that upset some of his fans thus the one star reviews. A four star reviewer wrote: “This book is a great invitation to philosophical, psychological, and spiritual reflection as we enter our senior years. Loved the author's wise and insightful narratives, poems, and quotes, as well as the narrator's voice. I could have done without the constant hammering of Berkeleyesque political ideas such as diversity, community organizing, and Americans' so-called white supremacy...” Anyone who could use the phrases “so-called white supremacy” and “spiritual reflection” in the same review peaked my interest enough to buy the book. He needs to do more spiritual reflection if he doubts that White Supremacists exist in America.

On his Amazon page Parker J. Palmer was quoted: “I don’t want to fight the gravity of aging. It’s nature’s way. I want to collaborate with it as best I can, in hopes of going down with something like the loveliness of that sunset. For all the wrinkles and worry lines, it’s a beautiful thing simply to be one of those who’s lived long enough to say, ‘I’m getting old.”

Oh. My. God! I want to look at my life that way. I want that loveliness of a sunset image stuck in my head to give me a look that says: I'm-at-peace-with-the-universe. Have you ever met someone who has that kind of glow coming from deep within? The Dalai Lama is the most famous person I know who has it. And if I wanted to end this post with an irreverent twist I'd say he's glowing because he gets to hide his pudgy body under flowing robes. I’d be happy, too, if I could do that. Robes Rule! And the next time I’m caught by a surprise visitor when it’s almost noon and I’m still in my bathrobe I’m going to plaster the Dalai Lama’s sowing-happiness-and-wisdom look on my face and avoid making an excuse or apologizing for my attire. ©

Photo at the top by Miranda Penn Turin; Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu

The Think Piece --- from Pancakes to the Dalai Lama

Every so often I try to write what I call a ‘think piece’ which, to me, means I have to dig deep and write something that makes me and others think rather than just record diary-style what’s going on in my world. Looking for inspiration is the tough part and I tried to find it at the Guy-Land Cafeteria. It’s a great place for people watching and it’s big enough that the seating is never full therefore you can stay as long as you like nursing your coffee or going back through the line for dessert without feeling pressured to give up your seat to someone waiting. No one ever has to wait at the cafeteria, at least at the time of the day I haunt the place. And best of all, I’m not the only one who is there pretending to be John Steinbeck or J.K. Rowling.

The cafeteria has a breakfast special that’s a great buy: two eggs, two pancakes and two pieces of bacon for $4.80. They also have a mini breakfast of one each of the before mentioned items but I’ve never ordered the mini in the thirty-odd years I’ve been going to this local chain. I clearly said ‘special’ as I touched the poster advertising this golden oldie but when they called my ticket number and I got my order back to the table, I noticed it was a mini breakfast. I grabbed the plate and was heading back up to the pickup station, thinking I’d picked up the wrong plate, when I noticed my ticket actually said mini breakfast. The manager who took my order must have been on auto-pilot when he saw an elderly lady standing in front of him. Most senior citizens of the female persuasion probably order the mini plus the manager was frazzled trying to supervise a new line cook and taking orders at the same time. I weighed my options of just eating what was on my plate or waiting for a corrected order and I decided that I didn’t get what I wanted but I got exactly what I needed. I even heard my hips thank him for his screw-up. 

“I didn’t get what I wanted but I got exactly what I needed.” I googled that sentence and it turned up 817,000,000 hits. Yup, I am not the only person on the planet who thought that idea was somehow more profound that the sixty-one characters it took to write it. At the top of the list was an essay about praying for one thing but God giving you something else. There’s a whole lot of that going on in google-sphere. People expounding on the inspirational value of what someone got that was better than what they asked God for is a popular theme. There’s even a Garth Brooks song titled Unanswered Prayers about a guy and his wife who ran into his old flame at a hometown football game. “She was the one that I'd wanted for all times,” Garth sings, “And each night I'd spend prayin' that God would make her mine, and if he'd only grant me this wish I wished back then, I'd never ask for anything again.” And then he sings the punch line in the chorus: “Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers.” 

Obviously, all those the-universe-had-better-plans-for-you type articles were not talking about getting one pancake or egg instead of two. But still, when you go to a place looking for writing inspiration you’ve got to asked yourself if a restaurant manager I’ve known since the last century making that mistake was serendipitous or was it just the fact that I was actually noticing every single thing in my surroundings, looking for signs and points of interest to hang a ‘think piece’ on. If I hadn’t been there intent on finding a writing prompt maybe I would have just been annoyed at what happened and forgot about it before noon. Or worse yet, I would have brought the mistaken breakfast to the attention of the manager so he could feel bad and then I could feel bad for making him feel bad. I used to have a friend who made big scenes over things like that, even if it happened to someone else’s order at the table. We quit going out to eat with her and her husband because it seemed as though she was looking for reasons to berate and embarrass service people. Why do some people go through life twisting the simplest mistake or ill phrased sentence into a personal affront worthy of a hissy fit?

Have I ever mentioned that I love the Dalai Lama? He says wonderful things that make perfect sound bites and memes, like: “If you think you are too small to make a difference, try sleeping with a mosquito” and “Remember that sometimes not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of luck.” But one of my favorite Dalai Lama quotes is: “Time passes unhindered. When we make mistakes, we cannot turn the clock back and try again. All we can do is use the present well.” Okay, I did it again. I set out to write a ‘think piece’ but I ended up letting the wise words of someone else be the catalyst to make myself and others think. ©

Two Little Words and a Cranky Widow

I was picking up lunch at Wendy’s in between Zumba Class and getting my new hubcap---that really isn’t a hubcap---installed on my car when I got annoyed at myself for thanking the guy at the first drive-up window for giving me my change. Am I the only one who still remembers when service people thanked you for your business? I hate it when I feel compelled to “close the deal” with the obligatory 'thank you' when people at takeout windows fail to say it. That's the way I was taught to do it in my teens when I was on the other side of the retail counter but kids, today, seem to be trained to believe customers should thank them for taking time away from their flirting with co-workers to wait on us. At the second Wendy’s window, as a girl handed me a junior bacon cheeseburger she said, "Have a nice day!” Oh...why didn't I think of that? I’m on the way to a funeral but I’ll try to have a nice day. My house is going into foreclosure but I’ll try to have a nice day. A friend is getting his leg amputated today but I’ll try to have a fricking nice day! Okay, I’m going to pretend I didn’t write this paragraph because I’m starting to sound like a crotchety old woman who beats puppies with her cane, begins every other sentence with “in MY day," and stir-fries kittens for dinner.

I didn’t go to a funeral that day and my mortgage was paid off two years ago but the son-in-law of my best friend was getting his leg amputated while I was at Wendy's. The patient, a young guy with twin toddlers and a daughter a few years older, has been cancer free for four years but the surgery to replace his thigh bone with a cadaver bone never healed. His only hope for a normal life, not dictated by pain management was to amputate. As sad as his plight has been, it’s also been a joy to see my friend’s amazing and supportive core family, extended family and church family all pulling together to support his daughter and son-in-law through it all. There are, of course, other families around like his but we don’t always appreciate their specialness or say out loud, “Thank you! Thank you for living your faith and values even when times are hard. Thank you for passing those values on to everyone in your sphere of influence. Thank you for being the best of the best role models." My husband and I always thought of our friend as the son we wished we’d had and it’s been a long time since I’ve told him that. Note to self: Do it soon! I’m not getting any younger. 

I don’t know, maybe hearing a string of insincere thank-yous at takeout windows dilutes their meaning when it comes to expressing heart-felt feelings so deep they make you teary-eyed just thinking about them....but I doubt it. How else do we express appreciation for everything from a stranger picking up something you dropped to a friend being the awesome person that he is? An online dictionary says ‘thank you’ is used “for telling someone that you are grateful for something said or done” but shouldn’t there be degrees of ‘thank you’---little thank-yous for takeout windows and huge THANK-YOUS when someone makes a real difference in their world?  Ya, I know, that's what adjectives are for, Jean! I can say, "A supercalifragilisticexpialidocious thank you, T.C.!"  Oops, I don’t think I used that word correctly but I have a strict rule that I only look up one word per blog entry so hit me with your best admonishment if supercalifragilisticexpialidocious is not a proper adjective.

The Dalia Lama is fond of saying, “The roots of all goodness lie in the soil of appreciation for goodness.” I believe that. I believe we need to acknowledge goodness when we see it. I believe goodness is all around us, even in our darkest hours. And I believe few of us say the big thank yous as often as we should. They're such little words but if you believe the Dalia Lama they help the seeds of humanity grow. They make us feel appreciated, that's for sure, and they're probably needed more in the world today than ever before. So here I am writing this sugar shower to the son I wish I had to thank him for the things mentioned above and for having such a goofy sense of humor that he lights up every room he enters and for being the one and only person who would unabashedly cry with me after Don died.

Thank you to everyone still reading this essay. You may be interested in knowing I've made a promise not rag on myself the next time I say "thank you" at a takeout window. I'll just practice saying it small, no adjective needed. You may also be interested in knowing I have no funny or wise words to end this 'Sunday Sermon' but I do want to assure cats lovers that I could never, ever get hungry enough to stir-fry kittens. ©