Lori's Tomatoes

 There is an older gentleman who goes to my church and can be seen most weekends in summer handing out homegrown vegetables to whoever is interested. He offers tomatoes, squash, and peppers to anyone he sees, no matter how well he knows them. Inevitably someone makes a comment about how he must be such a dedicated gardener and how much he must enjoy growing and eating from his substantial garden. He answers that he doesn't eat tomatoes or squash or peppers, he just plants them for his wife. This sounds like a sweet thing for him to do and she must be very grateful. What makes it even more sweet and nice is that she passed away more than a dozen years ago. Jake has been planting a garden for his dear deceased Lori for over a decade even though he doesn't eat anything that comes out of it.  This amazes me that he would show his love for so many years with such dedication. 

When she was alive, they were a very typical older couple; they had raised a larger family, and like most families, there had been some rough spots and stresses. They weren't the type to make a big public display of affection. But Jake still goes out every spring and plants a vegetable garden for Lori. One time I told him that I think of Lori whenever I eat one of the tomatoes and he muttered a thank you but I could see the depths of the thanks in his eyes.

I have not had to deal with the loss of a spouse or a child, but I hope if or when I do I can honor that person with the elegance Jake does.

In the Moment

 Not too long ago I had the pleasure of watching my one-year-old grandson at my house. He was fun to watch playing with his toys, checking to see if he could outsmart the baby-proof cabinet, and running down the hall to visit Grandpa. Then, after about forty-five minutes exhaustion hit and he was in tears. The only thing that calmed him down was snuggling up in my lap. Not only did he have to sit there, but he had to have my complete attention. If I picked up my phone or a book he started whining again. I realized that he wasn't going to be happy unless and until I was totally present to him. So we sat together and in a few minutes, his head dropped to his chest. I moved him to my shoulder and went back to my multitasking, but realized how important those moments with him were.

Afterward, I started thinking how that time of being totally present is something I do not strive for nearly enough; on the phone with my kids, listening to my husband talk about his interests that I do not necessarily share, in prayer. If I could focus and concentrate like that during mass, what would that do to my spiritual life? If I spent even a few minutes concentrating on my husband, how much could that improve my marriage?

Multitasking by itself is not a bad thing. If our minds did not drift to what we need to get done, many things would never get done. But maybe trying to be more present with our family and friends and more focused during prayer are good goals. We are not wired to laser focus on each task we do, but how wonderful it is when we have the opportunity to be totally present for a moment or two.

Guest Paper

 When I was born, we lived on the East side of Manhatten in the top-floor apartment of a brownstone. The landlords were Mr. and Mrs. Hyman, an older couple with who my newlywed parents had a good relationship. We eventually moved out and had a house in the suburbs and I had several siblings. I remember one Sunday we packed up the car and went down to Manhatten to visit the Hymens. As a youngster of about five, it was pretty uneventful. I knew the routine for visiting adults: don't touch anything without permission, don't argue with your sister, be polite, and so on. At some point, I had to go to the bathroom and after getting permission, I went in. It was a typical old people's bathroom with a cover on the toilet and just cluttered enough that you knew it was used regularly. I noticed that on top of the toilet there was a roll of toilet paper that was noticeable thin and scratchy. Scratchier than I had ever seen in my short life. On the toilet paper holder was a nice soft roll of two-ply quality paper. For some reason that really set my mind spinning. Why would anyone buy such scratchy paper? why not use the nice stuff all the time? will they use up that roll of good paper after we leave or put it away someplace until the next time they have guests? Do they actually like scratchy paper? I certainly was too shy to ask Mrs. Hymen directly and I never did talk to my Mom and Dad about it.

I started thinking about this incident when I dug out a roll of not-so-nice toilet paper that I bought in the Spring of 2020 when there were not many choices. As I wish that I had not bought such a large package of this thin, not-soft paper I remember the Hymens.  They were definitely of an age to have been affected by World War II, I do not know if they were in the US or Europe at that time and I also do not know if they had friends or relatives who were in battle or in concentration camps. Were they in the habit of being frugal, even with toilet paper, or did they feel bad about small everyday luxuries? Did they switch the rolls to honor their guests, or did they think that these young people could not handle austerity?

At this late date, I cannot ask anyone for more details, but I can ponder. How attached am I to small, and not-so-small creature comforts? Am I grateful for all these first-world comforts? Do I ever think about those who live much simpler lives, either by choice or necessity?  

So I guess I have learned to not put the single-ply toilet paper in the guest bathroom. But also, put out the better, matching dishes, open the new box of crackers, use that better bottle of wine, celebrate that I have friends and family that come over to spend time with me. Also, remember those who don't have the option of better toilet paper.

A Walk or a Hike?

 I just wanted to let you know that my husband and I completed a 3.25-mile hike on the Peewah Trail at Trail of Tears State Park. My husband said that it would be impressive and I could tell everyone about my accomplishment. If you are not duly impressed, I better let you know the rest of the story.

Ron and I enjoy taking walks, usually in the neighborhood, sometimes when we are out of town. We recently took a couple of days off for our anniversary and drove to Cape Girardeau, MO. We knew that there were a couple of state parks with some hiking trails in the area and we thought that walking a mile or so along one of these trails would be a good way to enjoy an hour or two together. We went to the Visitor's Center at the park and got a map of the trails. I should have worried when I asked her how hard the trail was and she replied that we should be able to do it since we were wearing hiking shoes. As she described that there were some hills and tree roots I should have been listening better. She gave us a trail map that Ron stuck in his pocket.

So we drove to the trailhead and grabbed the 1/2 filled water bottle that was in the car. (We had left the cooler at the hotel.) Despite the weather report calling for rain, we started out with the sun shining and the temperatures in the mid-seventies. We went up and down the first couple of hills and they were a little steep. Ron said it was about the same as the hill leading to our house, I reminded him that the road to our house is paved and isn't 3.25 miles. He also on every uphill shouted out that downhill can be harder than uphill. I responded only when you have sore knees, and that is not a problem for either of us. 

The views of the Mississippi River were fantastic and the autumn leaves were stunning as we ambled along. The temperature was creeping up and the hills were starting to feel steeper. Ron pulled out the map and we realized we had not even gotten even halfway along the loop. I finally looked at the map and realized that those topographic lines that show you how steep the hills are were very close together and there was a whole lot of them. I was kind of watching the clock and figured that walking on pavement we should do about three miles an hour, so a casual walk on a path should be maybe twice that? About this point, the walk became a hike and was less enjoyable as I started thinking about how tired and out of breath I was becoming. I was also getting jealous of my husband, who is a good five years older than me, moving at a pretty quick clip and wearing a dress shirt and khakis. Every time I stopped to catch my breath, he would be concerned but confused. I started having "what if" thoughts about possible illness or accident way out in the middle of nowhere and no way to get rescued. It didn't help any when Ron decided it would be a good idea to spread out about ten feet so if one of us falls, we don't knock down the other one. I definitely was not enjoying this chore of finishing the hike at this point.

We kept tramping along, got off the trail by about 100 feet once, and had to stop to figure out where the trail went three or four times. I did trip and fall one time and threatened Ron with his life when he started to pull out his phone to take a picture. Eventually, after almost two hours we figured out where we were on the map and I felt better knowing that we were heading back toward the trailhead. About this time I also noticed that the breeze was getting cold and damp and there was a faint sound of thunder in the distance. Thinking about the impending rainstorm just made us move a little faster.

We got back to our car after two hours and fifty minutes. I looked at the sign and besides listing all the hazards of the trail, it gave a suggested time to plan for the trip. 3.5 hours. I just looked at the sign, then at Ron, and then back at the sign. We had just basically sprinted around that trail! I had not enjoyed the hike because I thought that I was lazy and out of shape when we could have stopped many more times and still been typical hikers. Ron is almost a foot taller than me and his legs are much longer so he was taking fewer steps. Also, my ego wouldn't let me admit that he is just better than me at long walks, probably genetically. 

Yes, we will go hiking again. No, I will not feel guilty about setting a slower pace. I will definitely plan better, bringing enough water and looking at the map more carefully. I will try to be less competitive and just enjoy the moment.

It Shows

 I had the opportunity to spend two weeks in a kindergarten classroom recently and was reminded of how honest they are about what goes on in their life.  I also was reminded that they usually do not have the communication skills to express their feelings well, nor the ability to make many changes in their lives. 

When they get tired, they either fall asleep in their chair or do whatever it takes to stay awake and alert; often this involves making noise or moving in ways that the teacher does not condone. When they are scared or worried, you might see tears, but you are just as likely to see anger or silliness.

I think as parents or other involved adults, we often are so wrapped up in our own problems that we forget that our children have feelings about what they see and perceive. Most teachers can tell when a child is exposed to some kind of change at home. It might be a sick relative, a missing pet, a change in the family routine, or something else that they have no control over. Often the adults have little or no control either. But some things the adults do have control over. No child should have to listen to the adults around him/her argue or fight. They should not have to listen to one adult put down another adult.  They definitely should not have to be exposed to immoral behavior whether it is drug use or theft, or violence towards a person or place. 

Yes, your child's teacher knows when there is something that your child is struggling with, whether it is a change in your work hours, a fight with an ex-spouse, or any of a myriad of other things. But you, as a parent, can do much more to help your child verbalize and deal with his/her emotions. Sometimes you can fix the problem, sometimes, not, but you are the one most likely to be able to pinpoint what it is that is hurting your child's heart.

So, when you are at your wit's end, even if it is not intuitive, give your child an extra hug, spend a couple of minutes talking to him/her, remember that they are feeling most of the same stresses you are and they cannot control anything about it.

Forgiveness

There is much written in scripture about forgiving those who wronged you. But scripture does not give you a step by step instruction, nor does it go into detail about the complex emotions involved.
A couple of months ago I was falsely accused of being abusive to a client. Somehow through poor communication, lack of checking on documentation, and who know what else I was invited to resign. I was furious and had no idea who to be mad at. I presumed a supervisor had taken advantage of the situation to hurt me, but couldn't figure out who. Fast forward five days to when I finally got to talk to the CEO of the organization who apologized and assured me that was not her intention that I leave on poor terms or that I leave at all. She requested that I rescind my resignation, which I did since I had no other employment lined up.
At this point I should be able to forgive and move on, right? No, human nature keeps it from being that easy.
At this point I cried, a lot. I calmed down enough to go back to the office and waved down my supervisor. She was a little leery of coming into my room considering how angry I had been acting the previous few days. I broke into tears again and told her I was sorry that I didn't trust her. We talked for at least a half hour and things were good between us. That was easy. The hard part was yet to come.
I knew I had to reconcile with the two workers who ran that "termination meeting."; one of whom I have known for over 30 years. I had heard that she was very upset about how events had spun out of control. I sent her a text, " I forgive you, lets talk." It took her a week to respond and we finally sat down at a coffee shop and talked. I wanted so much to tell her about how hurt I was that she could believe that accusation, how I hadn't slept since that day, about my physical symptoms of the stress I had gone through, but I consciously chose not to. I let her do most of the talking, Her apology did not admit any fault on her part, which bothered me, but we were talking again and things were not quite back to normal, but close enough to function.
Reconciling with the other worker was a little problematic. She was the HR person and was in a different building. I have little or no opportunity to socialize with her but then I have to deal with her because she runs the HR department. It took a while but I decided that I need to treat her like nothing happened. I had to call her about my time card and was civil and polite. That might have surprised her. Last week she was in our building for something and I sat down a cross from her at lunch. She was uncomfortable at first, but got pulled into the conversation and seemed to relax. We passed pleasantries back and forth the rest of the afternoon and she went out of her way to wish me a pleasant weekend when she left. I think she feels forgiven.
This past month I have learned that forgiveness is an action, not a feeling. Feelings don't necessarily go away, but forgiving is still part of the healing process. I don't think I could have continued at this job unless I chose to forgive those who hurt me. I still carry the hurt; but it is hurt, not anger. I have learned that you can't force an apology, especially one that you will be satisfied with.
"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." Yes, forgiveness is freeing. We all get hurt by other humans. We need to forgive whether or not the offender apologizes or even shows any remorse. We need to learn to let go of the anger, anger does not heal hurt. The hurt will heal faster without that layer of anger and hate on top of it.

Phone Conversations With Dad

My Mom has been struggling with Alzheimer's. It is a horrible disease that slowly robs the victim. But I want to talk about my Dad who has been having to deal with his wife of over 60 years slowly disappear and his world turn upside down.

My Dad has always been kind of quiet, especially at home. He seldom told you what he was thinking and would never disagree with Mom in front of us. Most of our conversations were about sports or about family members or maybe his giving us some advice. He was strict, but seldom emotional.

When we grew up and moved out of the house we were all expected to call once a week and talk to Mom. Dad would get on the other line and listen in, but he seldom said anything. Mom would pick up the phone, she would call Dad, then she would check to make sure he picked up and then we would talk. Often Dad would not say a word until it was time to say goodbye. I guess I presumed he was listening, never really thought about it, but he always knew what was going on with me.

When Mom was diagnosed several years ago, it was hard for both of them. Dad had been taking care or the financial needs and Mom would take care of the physical needs but that was going to change. Dad cut back on his work schedule and his social life and also allowed us kids to help him for the first time. He gradually stepped in and took some of Mom's load and paid for help in the areas he couldn't handle. About a year ago Mom got to the point that she could not live in the house and moved to the skilled care center. That is the point that I was not calling home to talk to Mom, but to Dad.

In the past year I have gotten to know my Dad in a different way. He couldn't just sit and listen on the phone. At first the conversation was mostly about Mom, but gradually we have learned. He tells me more about how he is doing and what he is doing. He is gradually learning to ask the questions Mom used to and I am learning that he really was interested in what I was saying all along. We talk about the weather, and the family and about sports, but sometimes we start to get on a more intimate level. He will talk about his reminisces and his memories; that conversation was always be filtered through Mom in the past.

Last week he told me about reading through the letters he and Mom wrote back and forth while he was in the service. She told him about her new niece, my cousin. Dad reflected how much has changed. That baby is now a grandmother and the young lovers who were fascinated by that baby were married, raised six children of their own and have been blessed by 20 grandchildren and two great grandchildren. This is a part of my Dad I had never met before.

It is hard to watch my Mom deteriorate and my Dad suffer through it with her. But I am very blessed that I am getting to know a part of my Dad that he used to only share with Mom. I know that as both of them age, our relationships will evolve and there will be some sad times; but I am learning to embrace the positive pieces, the intimate times.