A Time to Leave

The heavy rains and dreariness make this a less than auspicious day for a move.  I open the curtains and look at my neighbor's house, knowing this is the last night she will spend in the much-loved home that has sheltered and comforted her family for over fifty years.

She doesn't want to leave.  Her hope was to live out her life in her secure surroundings, but her memory problems have necessitated a move to an apartment closer to her children, with the necessary assistance a person with early dementia requires.

The day is a sad one for her family, her friends and her neighbors.  Her son said this will be the first Thanksgiving he will not celebrate in this house.  Under the best of circumstances, downsizing is an emotional chore -- choosing what to take, what to pass on, and what to sell.

Several neighbors gathered on Monday evening to say good-bye to her over coffee and carrot cake.  The evening was bittersweet; our neighborhood is small -- twelve old houses on a dead-end street.  The majority of families that move in here stay for a lifetime.  We shared reminiscences and laughter, and then tears as we hugged Marge and wished her well in her new home.

The U-Haul is parked in the driveway on this bleak evening, and her children and grandchildren are filling it with the things that will go with her.  My wish for her is sunshine tomorrow morning as she leaves this house for the last time -- and for pleasure in this new chapter of her life.  She will be greatly missed here in our little corner of the world.
 



Small Things

"We can do no great things -- only small things with great love." -- Mother Teresa

 

 

Our town library sponsors a story hour for toddlers each week.  On Tuesday morning, I buckle my little granddaughter, Emma, into her car seat and we head off to the library to meet her other grandma and her cousin and enjoy story hour together.  It is a lovely little program, with songs, books, and free play.  As I look around the room, I notice that there are other grandparents there each week with their little ones.  In fact, everywhere I go, I am seeing more and more grandmas and grandpas who have taken responsibility for the daily care of their grandchildren while parents work.

 

Life today is far more complicated than when I was a young mother.  It is financially impossible for most mothers to stay home with their children now.  For many parents, both paychecks combined barely cover the necessities of life.  The cost of day care is another added burden, and the question lingers in the minds of many of us -- do we want these precious little ones in the hands of strangers for a large percentage of their days during these critically important formative years?

 

And so, we have a new generation of grandparents who spend their days caring for these beloved "children of their children."  One grandmother I have met drives an hour each way twice a week to care for her three grandchildren on the days her daughter works.  A very young-looking great-grandmother has cared for her two little granddaughters several days a week since they were babies.  As I dropped my little grandson, Luke, off at preschool the other day and walked back to the car with Emma, another grandma stopped me to talk, saying how blessed she felt to be able to truly enjoy these days with her grandson.

 

I have cared for each of my three little grandchildren since birth -- now Alivia is in kindergarten, Luke is in preschool five mornings a week and will enter school next year, and  Baby Emma is eighteen months old.  The time has passed quickly.  The physical stamina required has been tough on this aging body -- by the time I have returned home and prepared supper, I am falling asleep in my chair.  However, I have never regretted for a moment my decision to take care of these precious children.

 

We live in a society very different from the gentler times of my growing up years.  It seems to me that the world is a colder place where technology trumps civility, and financial success trumps quality of life.  As a grandmother, I can pass on some of the values that I see disappearing from our world -- honesty, empathy, an appreciation of our natural world, a broader definition of personal success.  My grandchildren are talkers and thinkers.  We have lively conversations on everything, and their questions are challenging.  I would not want a stranger answering these questions.  I cherish the bond we have formed.  Alivia and Luke cherish the bond they formed through four years of being together every day -- they are closer than most cousins -- almost like brother and sister. 

 

I feel hopeless at times in this technological world where greed and the hunger for power seem to have become the norm; kindness and contentment are seen as weakness.  There is nothing I can do to change the world, but I can, in my small way, try to instill in my grandchildren a sense of self-worth that will serve them well as they navigate through life in this cold world. 

 

This trend towards "Grandma Day Care," will be a tremendous force in shaping the lives of our young children.  Instead of competing for the attention of a day care worker, these children are receiving the attention of a person who loves them exactly as they are, and is devoting her days to them.  What could be better than this!

 

Of course, a mother at home with them is always a child's first choice.  Luke reminded me of this yesterday as we drove home from school.  He said, "I wish Mommy could retire, so she could be home with me all the time."  And then, because he doesn't want to hurt my feelings, he quickly added, "But you could still come over to see me, Grandma."  And so, as we grandparents work so hard to provide a secure and loving environment for these little ones, we also know that we are not Mommy, but I believe we are the best substitute. 

In Awe of Nature

I am up early this morning, as darkness still lingers at a time when sunrise and birdsong greeted me a few short weeks ago.  I walk out to the porch, and as my eyes adjust to the lack of light, I see the shapes of two deer grazing in my neighbors back yard.  I watch them quietly as daybreak begins -- such a lovely, peaceful sight to begin my day.

And I ponder -- if more people in our nation lived closer to nature, would we have been more apt to fight to preserve the natural bounty that was so freely available to us?  Would we have been so easily convinced to turn our farmlands into big box stores and cookie-cutter housing developments?  Would we have fought harder for fuel economy and alternative energy to help save our climate?  In fact, would we have been more aware that the climate was indeed changing significantly before our eyes?

Maybe for those who cool their homes with air conditioning rather than window breezes, and drive in cars with windows up and air conditioning on, and work in climate-controlled buildings with stale air and windowless walls, there is no reason to recognize climate change.  City dwellers whose most frequent exposure to nature is a small park amongst the tall office buildings and suburbanites whose little tracts of property are professionally landscaped and maintained somehow don't really have the rhythm of nature in their souls as do people who take the time to look and feel and smell the simple beauty around them every day.

The subtle differences that have been markers for climate change since the early 1970's have gone unnoticed by a majority of our population.  The gradual warming of autumn and winter and the diminished snows were welcomed by many as a convenience, rather than seen as a worrisome, insiduous change in our environment.

I wonder -- will they ever be convinced?  Is it too late anyway?  Have we already scarred this lovely planet and its atmosphere beyond repair? 

Sad thoughts on this quiet autumn morning as the deer munch, and I gaze silently in awe of the beauty around me --



The Precipice

One day you wake up as you do every morning, and you realize that you have reached a breaking point.  There is no huge event that drives you over the precipice.  In fact, you realize it has been a long, slow process -- too much stress, no emotional support, financial struggles, too much work and responsibility, and too little fun. 

And, you feel guilty, because your life isn't as bad as many peoples' lives -- there could be so many more serious problems.  And this guilt makes you feel worse.

Suddenly, though, you realize you are just empty -- there are no emotional reserves left.  The huge bill for car repairs that you can't afford, a few careless, hurtful words spoken, and then finally a late school bus which throws off your tight morning schedule -- you feel the tears prickling at the back of your eyes.

But, you don't let them fall -- you can't, because you aren't really sure if you can ever make them stop.

And then, the day is over, you pick up your car at the garage, drive home to your peaceful house, pour a glass of wine and enjoy the blissful pleasure of a quiet Friday evening.  On Saturday, you spend the afternoon with your favorite cousin, touring apartments and condos in lovely Saratoga County -- a lazy afternoon filled with good conversation and laughter.  You find that the last apartment on your tour is on the sixth floor of Market Center Apartments in Saratoga Springs -- and you enjoy the panoramic view from its huge windows and walk out onto the lovely balcony which overlooks beautiful downtown Saratoga and mountain vistas beyond, with cool autumn breezes and blue skies begging you to linger there for awhile.

The emptiness of yesterday morning is slowly being refilled with the joy and beauty of this lovely afternoon, and you realize that you are not going to fall over the precipice.  You were born with the gift of a happy spirit, and you just have to be sure you take the time to refill the springs every once in awhile -- to spend time with people who make you happy and visit places that bring you pleasure.  You are going to be okay!!

Spiritual Wealth

Each weekday morning I rise early, walk slowly down the stairs and begin to feel the stiffness in my muscles ease as I start the coffee pot and open the door to my lovely porch -- the sunrise filters through the branches of the old white pines and reflects on the windows I open to let in the fresh autumn air.  As the coffee brews, I watch the birds at the feeder and sometimes see a deer or two passing through in search of an early morning meal.  The quiet of these autumn mornings is such a contrast to the lively birdsong of spring.  I love this old house, with its familiar coziness, and long to linger on the porch for a bit, but school has begun and my daughter-in-law is back to work, so I must hurry down to take care of my grandchildren.

As I walk through the door of their house, I am greeted by the precious little faces I love so much.  I begin the familiar morning routine to get them ready for the day ahead.  During scattered moments, I pause to savor the beauty of my son's house -- so new and pristine and different from my own home.  My favorite spot is their kitchen with its sunlit mullioned windows and French door leading to the lovely deck my son designed and built.  This morning the windowsill holds an old Ball canning jar brimming with roses and a pot of basil, whose scent lingers on my fingers as I touch the leaves.  Sunlight falls on the jar of roses, and I am thankful for this moment.

For a woman of 62, taking care of preschoolers is a tiring and demanding job.  In the midst of temper tantrums and diaper changes I remind myself that I have chosen this life so that my grandchildren will know daily security and love while their parents work.  I have the time to listen to their questions and give thoughtful answers; the bond between us is strong. 

Perhaps, though, it would have been a wiser choice to take a job in the real world after our business collapsed last year.  Perhaps I wouldn't be struggling to make ends meet.  Sometimes I so much miss dinner out and buying sprees at the book store.  But, this morning as I savor the beauty of a jar of roses in the sunlight and look forward to a leisurely walk through the neighborhood later -- enjoying a couple of beautiful cottage gardens along the way -- I know my spirit was not meant to be contained in an airless office.  My spirit needs to be free; it needs to be one with nature, and it needs time to reflect upon and enjoy the world around me.  I may be lacking in material wealth, but I am so rich in spirit!



The Politics of Intolerance

 

 

A perfect rose on a September morning -- how lovely.  As I water and tend my plants and flowers, I am in a peaceful world of my own; how I wish life were as simple as moments like this in the garden.  Unfortunately, life is far from simple.

As we navigate through this election year I am reminded again and again of the complications we face in choosing the best candidates -- we are bombarded with a constant deluge of words, many of which are harsh and often untrue.  It is imperative that we listen and read carefully these words, so we can make the most educated decisions on those whom we choose to lead our communities and our nation.

In the past few elections, though, I have become alarmed at the vitriolic tenor of the public, the media, and the candidates themselves.  There is no spirit of compromise.  There seems to be no willingness to listen or consider the beliefs or the ideals of  the "other side."  Even though I feel very strongly about certain issues, I force myself to read and understand opposing views. 

I find it increasingly upsetting, though, as I read many Facebook comments and numerous blogs.  I notice a growing intolerance in this country -- and maybe it has always been there, but has been better hidden when people did not have access to social media to espouse their inner hatred and racism.  Huge segments of our society are filled with anger that their tax dollars go to support "worthless" folks on welfare.  While many of them do not support raising the minimum wage, they still do not want their tax dollars paying for health care for these same "worthless" working poor who cannot afford large health insurance premiums.  They look askance at Disability because too many people who could be working collect disability instead.  And who are they to judge who is physically able to be working?  They worry about all the people who are collecting unemployment, but working on the side as well.  They worry on one hand that all the illegal immigrants are taking good jobs from real Americans, or, conversely, that these "worthless" immigrants are not working and are receiving free medical care and food stamps.  And what is the alternative for these "worthless" people -- what happens to them if they are unable to work, or unable to  find jobs in this difficult economy?
    
And yet, these same Americans (mainly Republicans) do not worry about their tax dollars supporting banks and corporations that make billions of dollars, outsource jobs and take advantage of huge tax loopholes and deductions, or wealthy people and corporations who rely on offshore addresses to avoid the taxes they legitimately owe to the United States.

I read a comment yesterday from one man who said almost 50% of Americans are on some sort of government welfare.  As I fact-checked his statement, I noticed one Christian news article that made this same statement -- but the 50% figure also included people currently collecting Social Security, Medicare, and Unemployment, all programs that are funded through worker and employer contributions.  

I hear extremely nasty comments about African-Americans and Arab-American, Mexican-American and Indian/Pakistani-American immigrants etc., etc.  I cannot understand -- unless we are Native Americans, we are all descendants of immigrants to this nation.  What if our ancestors had been denied equal opportunity to build a life in this country.  I have English, Dutch, German, French, and possibly Irish blood in my veins -- how am I "better than" these newer immigrants???  And, how many wonderful contributions have been made to our society by all of these people!?

I am frustrated and disillusioned -- and, even more difficult to understand, is the fact that many of these angry, bigoted people call themselves Christians.  As a life-long Christian, verses from Matthew 25:35-40 have been the strongest influence on my adult life:

"Come, blessed of my Father, into the Kingdom prepared for you from the founding of the world.  For I was hungry and you fed me; I was thirsty and you gave me water; I was a stranger and you invited me into your homes, naked and you clothed me; sick and in prison and you visited me."  Then these righteous ones will reply, "Sir, when did we ever see you hungry and feed you?  Or thirsty and give you anything to drink?  Or a stranger, and help you?  Or naked, and clothe you?  When did we ever see you sick or in prison, and visit you?  And I, the King, will tell them, "When you did it to these my brothers you were doing it for me."

Amen --



 

It Takes a Village

Every morning I wake to birdsong -- I fill the feeders each day with fresh seed to feed the multitude of birds that flock to my yard.  I love to listen to the quiet sound of the sparrows as they settle in to roost in my ivy-covered trellis each summer evening.  However, as much as I love sharing my yard with these precious little creatures, I have never taken the time to educate myself about their habits.

For years we have had a bird house hanging from our front porch roof, and each spring sparrows make a next in the little house, as well as in a small hole below the gutter; I watch as they carefully make their nests, and hear the chirping little ones as the parents rush to and fro to feed them.  

This spring my husband built a new bird house for the opposite side of the porch, which hangs just outside my living room window.  Within a week, two sparrows called the house their own and set about filling it with bits and pieces of twigs and dried grasses.  I watched them carefully, awed by their determination and loyalty as they took turns tending first the eggs, and then the tiny baby birds.  One morning, I saw something hanging from the nest and realized it was a little dead baby -- having lost my own first baby at birth, I cried as I pulled the little body down from the nest.  A couple of days later, I found another little dead baby on the porch floor -- what a sad ending for two such dutiful little parents. And the nest was empty and quiet --

As summer progressed, I no longer checked the birdhouse, not realizing that another little family might be raised during the same season.  Recently I noticed more action around the birdhouse, but didn't really pay too much attention.  Early this afternoon, I heard insistent chirping outside the living room window.  Taking a quick look, I noticed two puffy little sparrow babies perched in the squares of my rose trellis, chirping and looking scared.  In the limbs of the Rose of Sharon close by, were at least four adult sparrows, flitting around, chirping to the babies, nervously watching the little ones and trying to encourage them to spread their wings and leave the trellis.  The fluffy little babies looked a bit bewildered and afraid, but apparently the adults convinced them to try, and they hopped off the trellis to one of the closest limbs.  The adult sparrows flew close to them, in and out of the bushes, until they convinced them to fly on a bit further.  

I was surprised as I watched -- I knew that both parents took care of the babies, but I never knew that other birds were part of this "coming of age" process.  What an amazing sight it was -- these birds flitting nervously about -- and, after the "village" had convinced the little ones to leave the nest and no birds remained on the trellis or in the bushes, I watched as the little mother sparrow took one last lingering look into the doorway, perhaps feeling a bit sad at the prospect of her empty nest --