The Gifts of Here and Now

 

"I sometimes think we expect too much of Christmas Day.  We try to crowd into it the long arrears of kindliness and humanity of the whole year.  As for me, I like to take my Christmas a little at a time, all through the year.  And thus I drift along into the holidays - let them overtake me unexpectedly - waking up some fine morning and suddenly saying to myself:  "Why, this is Christmas Day!"  ~David Grayson
 

 

Well, not quite - although I do agree with the sentiment, it's obvious it was written by a man. Most of the women I know were busily working on Christmas activities for weeks. I've long felt that if it were not for women, holidays would not be nearly what they are - the positive and the negative side. That, I suppose, is a whole 'nother topic for some other time. But there is much to be said for taking Christmas a little at a time, especially when it comes to priceless gifts.

 

 After the dual dramas of dealing with the moves* of two elderly relatives, we treated ourselves to some early "Christmas gifts". In early October, we - with older sister in tow - made the three hour drive to visit our youngest niece and her dad. Having finally convinced him to make the move last spring, she was anxious for us all to re-connect as soon as possible. We definitely felt the same, as her dad is the husband of the beloved sister we lost two years ago at this time of year. He also suffers from Alzheimer's, so time is of the essence...

 

Love of and connection to family are strong forces in most people's lives, but I think take on deeper meaning as we age. As a child, I never thought about, nor could I have envisioned, living without either or my parents or my older sisters. Life simply progressed day by day and many of the thoughts and feelings I had concerned things that were somewhat trivial as I look back on them. They were important to me at the time, however, and I do not mean to infer that they were unimportant, for that is the way of youth. If I had needed to be concerned about my relationship with the rest of my immediate family, I might not have had the energy and drive to pursue the thoughts and actions I did in other areas of my young life.
 

 

As it was, I had a fairly carefree childhood and blissfully skipped from one year to the next. Perhaps I was overly naive, but I like to believe that the adults in my life gave me the security and confidence to move forward. I ache for those children who do not have that kind of stability in their lives.

 

My oldest sister went off to college the year I turned two and began teaching the year I entered first grade. She has always been independent, so moved forward in her career, attended graduate school, traveled widely for work and pleasure, and remained single. For most of her life she lived elsewhere in Montana, but always drove home to spend holidays with us. Because of our family-owned floral and greenhouse business, she spent many of those visits home working - either in the store or cooking/cleaning at the house. I never doubted that she would be there and greatly anticipated her visits and hearing stories of her latest travels and adventures. She was always my "Big Sister".

 

Our middle sister, who was only fifteen months younger than the oldest, also went off to college when I was four. She chose her own route, however, and married the love of her life in her senior year. Because he was in graduate school, they moved east immediately and she completed her schooling there. Never again did she live close, but they - eventually with three daughters in tow - made the long trek back to Montana almost every summer. Again, I never doubted that they would come and longingly looked forward to that one precious week when all the family could be together.
 

 

My oldest sister had introduced our other sister and her future husband in college, so she has known him longer than any of us. Even before he married our sister, he blended into our family easily. Raised on a small farm, he had humble beginnings, but chose a career in biochemistry; he eventually earned a PhD, did research, and became a university professor. I fell in love with him early in life, and always, ALWAYS enjoyed talking with him about science, outer space, and spooky "unknowns".  I never doubted that we would always have these wonderful conversations.

 

There is just so much we all take for granted. As little as two and a half years ago none of us foresaw where we would all be today - and maybe that's a good thing. Time and distance have made "in- person" visits difficult, but we have all worked at keeping in touch and that is what really matters.

 

As with we older ones, life circumstances have scattered our progeny across the country and muddied the waters of connectedness. I understand this. I also know that it takes time and effort to establish and maintain any connection. My sincere hope is that they will find the time and make the effort to do that, because there just is no connection on earth like family bonds.

 

And so we made that three hour trek for the specific purpose of maintaining those bonds and establishing new ones. For there are new generations and new relationships to become acquainted with. Our youngest niece and her significant other have also made the same drive to see us twice in the last month for the very same reason. They both have busy careers and active lives, so the decision to come, and the notification to us of same, were done with short notice. No matter - we've all learned to "go with the flow" and be as flexible as we can. Perhaps it takes losing someone or watching them slowly fade away for us to truly value those we have here and now. When it comes to those I cherish, I'll take what I can get whenever I can.

 

It's said that a road runs in both directions and that is certainly true. You see, a simple three hour drive for a weekend visit is not such a simple thing to me - it has great meaning and is one of the finest gifts I could ever receive.

 

"You have to be vulnerable

to have real intimacy with people.

It's a two-way street, you know?"

~ Michelle Pfeiffer

 

*For background on the "dual dramas" of the moves:
November Musing - Part 1
November Musing - Part 2

 

November Musing - Part 2

There comes a time when autumn asks, 

"What have you been doing all summer?"

The best laid plans of mice and men...

In early June, while I was out working in the yard, my husband came to me with "I found something you might want to see..." By the outside corner of his workshop he had been moving and rearranging some spare lumber. "We need to be careful, but behind these boards I found a small bat - there seems to be only one." My husband knows me well - I did, indeed, want to see this. Only once before had I ever seen a wild bat live and up close. (To read about that time, please click here: A Flap in the Night)

 

 Carefully we removed the boards, one at a time, until we spotted a small, lumpy, oddly-shaped dark creature neatly tucked into a small space near the ground and between the boards. Taking a stick, I gently nudged it from behind until it wriggled out to where we could get a closer look. I thought it might take off, but then it was bright daylight and that pretty much goes against a bat's nature. Probably this was the day roost of the Little Brown bat and it planned to settle in there until sunset when it would take off to feed.

 Photo courtesy of BatGuys

We obviously roused it early; it wouldn't flee, but then it also wouldn't give up its space easily. Opening its little mouth widely, it divulged a set of tiny, needle-sharp teeth.

Having expressed its discontent, it turned its head away and froze, undoubtedly hoping this was all just a bad dream. We carefully covered it with boards and left it alone.

"But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane [you aren't alone]
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley, [often go awry]
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,

For promised joy."

From Robert Burns' poem To a Mouse, 1786

 

 

Several times in recent years my older sister had mentioned that she might consider moving closer to family at some point: "After all, in five years I'll be ninety..." Having lived most of her life in Montana, with parents gone and sisters living in other states, she was facing up to some tough decisions. She'd always been independent - single with no children - so had to take care of herself. She'd lived in her current town for 60 some years and, although she was fairly active and had many friends, knew the time was approaching when she might need some help. Friends are wonderful, but there's usually nothing quite like family.

Last December, while she was here for Christmas, we visited a couple of independent/assisted living facilities. One seemed just right for her - small and very friendly. Best of all, it was located in our little community and just ten or fifteen minutes from our house. She flew home telling us she'd "think about it." Evidently, that didn't take long, as we soon received a phone call telling us she'd decided to move here. We were very happy with her decision.

 

Over the next six months, she methodically and single-handedly (for the most part) plotted her course and set about accomplishing some extreme down-sizing and preparing for a major move. She was merciless in her mission! She had it all planned - would go through her belongings, make decisions on what to keep, line up others to do her garage sale, contact her realtor, have the condo appraised, and do whatever needed doing to get it ready to sell. She figured she could accomplish all that and put the place up for sale around the first of June. Whether it sold or not, we'd drive over and move her in the late summer, by September at the latest.

In early June, I received a fretful phone call. The condo had sold within the first week and she had three weeks to vacate. "It's OK" I reassured her. "Line up your garage sale and we'll see where things stand after that." Wrong - the people who ran garage sales needed more notice, but they did visit her and gave her a rough estimate of what her furniture pieces were worth. Operating like the true trooper she is, she invited friends in to pick and choose items to buy, lined up other friends to help prepare for a garage sale, checked into places to take the things that didn't sell, and advertised her very own sale, which turned out to be fairly successful. But there were still many decisions to be made and many things to do.... her weekly phone calls became daily ones. After one particularly stressful call, my husband looked me in the eye and said "You need to go and help - NOW!"

It wasn't that I didn't want to. It's just that this sister, who is fifteen years older than me, has always handled her own life and told me what she was going to do. I've always been her "baby sister" and never felt that there was much I could do for her. But now it was obvious that she needed my help, even though she might not ask for it. I flew to her as soon as I could.

 

Arriving at her place, I found her physically exhausted and frailer than I'd remembered. Obviously, the last few weeks had taken a toll. I set about packing up all of her belongings that she knew she was going to take. That part, although time-consuming and challenging at times, was not terribly difficult. But there were still a number of decisions to be made, most of which only she could make and she was running out of steam to do so. Gently, I tried to move her along on these, but often heard "I can't make that decision today - I'll look at it tomorrow..." Sometimes we exchanged angry words and there were tears. This was not the sister I knew, but I gradually tried different methods to get her to budge and, in some cases, just quickly told her what the answer had to be. She began then to tell me "I just want to wake up and have this all over with." Believe me, I felt the same...

 

There were numerous errands to change banks, sign papers, and pick up empty boxes. Little by little, the physical part of her move progressed. But then there was the emotional part. In the course of the first week that I was there, we had three different farewell social events to attend. These were each rich, heart-warming occasions that showed just how deep my sister's connections were and how much she was admired and loved. To me, somewhat the outsider with the "need-to-get-done" checklist, they took valuable time away from all we yet had to accomplish before moving day. But I also knew how necessary this part of the process was for all involved, so I put on my best smile and my company manners and made the best of it. My sister reveled in each celebration and became more exhausted.

The day after we discovered the Little Brown bat, I tried to find it again. Carefully removing the boards, I checked out every tiny nook and cranny but found no sign of it. Having been disturbed, poked, and prodded, it must have decided that this was no longer a safe place to remain. I'm sure it was agitated that it needed to move and I hope it found another more suitable day roost where it could sleep in peace and comfort. May it eventually congregate with others of its kind and lead a long, fulfilling bat life...

 

My husband drove in the following week and began figuring out the space needed for what size of moving trailer we'd rent. That week, as the preceding one, quickly evaporated and we glimpsed the end in sight. My sister, who suffers from severe osteoporosis, developed back pain which she surmised to be another hairline fracture. She ate like a sparrow and just wanted to sleep. I stopped asking for decisions to be made and just packed, figuring we'd deal with it later. The last two days passed in a haze - the trailer got loaded, lots of folks dropped in for final goodbyes, to pick up items they'd purchased or been given, to drop off goodies. With the condo now empty, I scrubbed and vacuumed until I was exhausted. Finally, we hit the road.

 

The trip home was thankfully uneventful. My husband took the lead with the truck and loaded trailer; we followed behind with me driving my sister's car. Although my husband and I take many road trips and trade off driving, it had been many years since I'd put in a full day's drive myself. I knew I was capable and just hoped it would go well, but I needn't have worried. My sister slept much those two days on the road and never once asked to drive. I think it was a case of just doing what needed to be done - for each of us.

Since the move, we have all settled into our own routines. My sister is still independent, but has help where she lives if she needs it and knows she can call on us any time. She is slowly adjusting to the new community, climate, and lifestyle. While allowing each other space, we do call and see each other more often. She has rested up, regained her appetite, and enjoys her new home; old friends call often. I love her dearly and she so amazes me! I hope that if and when I'm her age, I'll have the courage and determination to make whatever decisions are needed, to uproot myself and move on to wherever I need to be. I hope I'll have someone to stand by my decisions and help me do what I must...

"To decide is to walk facing forward
 with nary a crick in your neck
from looking back at the crossroads."

Betsy Cañas Garmon 

 

 

To be continued here:

November Musing - Part 3

 

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Bittersweet Ice

We lost my second sister in December, just before Christmas. Her death affected me deeply and made for a difficult transition between the usual joy of the season and grief. My eldest sister flew to spend the holidays with us as usual, and step by step we embraced each day together, treasuring the time as never before, knowing full well that a part of each of us was now missing.

We are, and always have been, a scattered family. Now flung across six states, we do what we can to maintain contact and some degree of connectedness to each other. Because of this, the holiday season, and the weather, my brother-in-law and three nieces wisely decided to put off a family gathering to remember my sister until late January. It had been ten years since our family had all been together and I yearned for this connection now, as never before. Death can do that to a person.

Determined to make it to New Mexico no matter what, we built an extra day or two into our travel plans, just in case. The weekend before we were to leave, a major storm began to gather strength somewhere far out in the Pacific. This is not all that unusual, as most of our storms approach from the southwest, carrying relatively warm, moist air. Western Washington is well-known for its rainy climate and this is why. But if one of these heavy, wet, air masses should collide with a frigid one moving down from Canada, the result can be a wallop of a storm with high winds, snow, ice and all that goes with it. The day before we were to leave, this is exactly what happened.

Living where we do, there are several ways to get to SeaTac Airport, which lies midway between Seattle and Tacoma. You can "drive around" by way of Tacoma (and its well-known Tacoma Narrows Bridge) or take a ferry from Bremerton or Bainbridge Island into the heart of downtown Seattle and secure a ride from there. When the small bus company that "drives around" cancelled all runs due to icy conditions, we decided to risk driving to a ferry in our heavy duty vehicle. At 5:30 AM, with a friend in tow to drive the truck back home, we did just that - slowly and carefully, to be sure, but we made it. Downtown Seattle was glazed and deserted with nary a cab in sight. But we had booked a ride with a company that guaranteed to get us there, and before long a huge black SUV approached the curb and loaded us in. Another slow, careful drive delivered us to the airport.

OF COURSE we had checked everything out via the Internet before leaving home, and everything was in "GO" status! Once at the airport, however, it was obvious that this was not exactly the case. The place was crowded with long lines of people trying to re-book cancelled flights, which seemed to be most of them. Ours was one of the few not cancelled, so we checked our bags, secured boarding passes, and whizzed through the practically empty security station.

I have never come to rely on a cell phone - my husband and I possess one between us and rarely use it. For this momentous occasion, however, with seven of us flying and two of us driving across hundreds of miles, these little miracles of communication became invaluable. Thirty minutes before boarding, they cancelled our flight. We re-booked for a flight two hours later, which was also cancelled. We booked a third flight for the next morning and somehow managed to reserve a room at a nearby motel. Looking back, I'm not sure how this happened, as all the airport motels had been booked solid since the storm wreaked its havoc. Serendipity, I guess, but we were extremely grateful and decided to have lunch before retrieving our bags.

Bellies full, bags claimed, motel courtesy van caught, and snug in our room, a flurry of phone calls and emails got everyone up-to-date on each other's whereabouts. Everyone (except us) expected that day had arrived, was resting, visiting, and would gather for a family dinner out that night. We would tip-toe through snow and ice to a Denny's across the parking lot, but anticipated a family dinner the next night. Tired, but content, we enjoyed a quiet evening.

I had to slip back outside to try to capture the wonderland spread before us in this mundane, big city parking lot. This storm, unwanted and retched as it was, had coated everything in a thick, transparent layer of ice.

I lingered far longer than I planned, totally entranced by the beauty of crystalline branches, buds, leaves - each reflecting the lights, other icicles, and their own color from within.

I thought of my missing sister - how she would have loved this! Soon, we would gather with her family, honor her memory, and maybe then this ache in my heart would lessen...

Transfixed, delighted, and exuberant, I arrived back in the room to be greeted with yet another email - morning flight cancelled. An hour on the Internet revealed what we had feared - all flights booked.

I called my niece and we tried, between us, to figure something out. "You could take the train to Portland and fly out of there..." No, the train is not running due to downed trees and branches on the tracks; anyway, all flights out of Portland are booked... "You could try for Saturday morning...." "No way could we get there in time for the service...we've tried everything we know of, we just can't make it." Finally, we just cried together - time, space, memory and grief running together in long streaks down my face.

The next morning began no better: the 3:30 AM wake up call that we had requested, and then cancelled, was not cancelled and woke us up; my sister called at 4:00 - she had not talked to my niece and thought we'd be on our way to the morning flight. We slept a bit more, then roused ourselves to the sound of planes taking off - evidently the ice had begun to melt...

Now I was feeling cheated and really angry. Back to the airport we went, this time to catch the Airporter back home. They can cancelled all morning runs, but would begin at noon. As we waited, visiting with other would-be passengers, there were huge blasts which reverberated through that end of the terminal. Looking up, we could see ice on the skylights and what appeared to be cracks. Police cordoned off the area, fearing falling glass, although we did not see any. Ice melting off of a higher roof had let loose; we later learned that seventeen windows had been broken. By the time the bus arrived, 45 of us were clamoring to board - luckily, they'd sent two buses.

Tired and out of sorts, we settled in for the two-hour ride. Wiping a small opening in the condensation on the window, I viewed a world that was foggy, white and wet, reminding me of a drippy version of Dr. Zhivago. After about an hour, traffic slowed to a crawl and the driver announced that, due to falling ice, the Tacoma Narrows Bridge was closed - for an indeterminate time. Our driver thought quickly and took an exit to a McDonald's, so that we could all grab a bite to eat, use the restroom, and not be stalled in traffic. We waited... still no news on when the bridge would open. The only thing to do was to return to Seattle, take a different ferry across Puget Sound to reach our highway so that all the passengers could be delivered to where they needed to go. Of course, by the time we hit Seattle, it was going-home time on a Friday night!

Traffic was bumper-to-bumper and I felt disheartened and totally drained; it would be after eight in the evening by the time we finally got home. Suddenly, our cell phone rang - it was my sister calling me from the family dinner. We talked a bit, then she held the phone out so that everyone - brother-in-law, nieces, great nieces and nephews could yell "Hello- wish you were here!" Well, I certainly did too, but in that dark, cramped bus heading to nowhere, even with more tears running down my face, I felt loved and included. Across time, distance, and weather - that's what families are for.

Glass sculptures pictured here are from Fluent Steps by Martin Blank

http://martinblankstudios.com/

Sisterhood

I have many sisters. Two were born into our family long before I was. They, each in their turn, left home while I was still quite young for college, work, and marriage. They returned home for visits when they could, which for one was more frequently than the other. And so I grew up in a strange in-between type of situation, sort of like an only child with three mothers, although this is not really accurate. Time, maturity, and maintaining meaningful connections resulted in the three of us becoming quite close, as we remain today, in spite of differences in age, experience, interests, and distance.

Many of my sisters are simply friends, although friendship is far from a simple thing. Younger, older, or near my age, each has something to offer and does so willingly, generously, and often quite unknowingly. In any case, we have a connection of some kind and have formed a bond, an invisible thread that binds us together as "sisters".

My younger sisters are a constant source of inspiration with their abilities to adapt to this ever-changing world. Their enthusiasm propels me forward and enables me to glimpse a future that I may never fully experience. They invigorate me with their energy and activity, keeping me from growing stale and living in the past. Because of them, I remain optimistic and hopeful about the future.

My older sisters have become role models for me, showing me the positive sides of a well-aged life. They have learned the art of graceful living, paring life down to what is truly important and adapting well to their changing life situations. Like fine wine, they warm and sustain me. Because of them, I know that I, too, can make it through this life - one small step at a time.

There are sisters of a certain age - closer to my own - who hold a special place in my heart. For we have, after all, shared a very particular space in time, which others have not. Every generation and each era within it, is quite unique in some ways. To be born female in the same place and time creates a connection which is automatic and intrinsic. Although living in some nine different states, some of these sisters and I now meet every three years or so to maintain that connection.

As a group, our paths first crossed in the early 1960s at a small-town Montana cow college.

By happenstance, we all pledged the same sorority and began a journey none of us could have predicted.

Living together, in rather close quarters, for three years cemented a bond for most of us that has never been broken.

During those years, "the house" was truly our home away from home.

The '60s were years of turmoil and change. Emerging from the cold war with a quickly progressing space program and ever-accelerating associated technologies, Americans were plunged into dealing with the war in Viet Nam, unrest at home with the anti-war demonstrations, the advancing civil rights movement, women's liberation issues, and a whole plethora of illegal mind-altering substances. Then - BANG! BANG! BANG! - came the assassinations...

To those of us who'd experienced a simpler, quieter life before television, stepping out from our newly-shed adolescence into a world ripe with never-before offered opportunities (with equally unknown pitfalls) was an exhilarating experience! Stirring equal rights, birth control, and changing gender roles into the mix created a heady concoction for those of us raised in the smaller communities and rural areas of the West. But we were young, energetic, motivated, and somewhat innocent, so we did more than just wade through. We plunged in with both feet - and most of us survived...

Because that particular place and time can never be duplicated, and because we shared it all and have remained in contact through the years, marriages, births, divorces, deaths and moves, the bond we share is still strong. And so we gather: to remember, share, laugh, cry, and contemplate those now-distant times.

But that alone, I don't believe, would be enough to keep us returning to each other time after time. For although we now have a clearer understanding of where we all came from, we are progressing towards a place we know nothing about. In fact, NO one does.

To age, adjust, and adapt in this millennium will be quite the challenge. But communication in this new age is quicker and easier than ever. If we've been committed and able to stay in touch since the days of those messy, blue-copy ditto machines (if you're younger than that "certain age", this is probably Greek to you...) and snail-mail packets of letters, then keeping track of each other via email and Facebook is a lead-pipe cinch.

We do not gather simply because we share the past, but because we are still stepping boldly forth to meet the future, whatever it may be.

We have loved and supported each other through all this time - you don't suppose we're about to stop now, do you?

What is it about memory that hangs on,

seizes the heart and won't let go,

tranports us to another place and time?