Disgrace

I've known a few bosses who lived large in the volatile and visible world of business. Working within their sense of purpose was all-consuming. It was exciting to catch a ride on the buckboard of power and opportunity.

A successful leader: now that's a paradox. Take a person of high ideals and integrity and a heart to make a difference and mix it with a heaping dose of business ruthlessness, and you've got a CEO. They are the lecturers of life, the ones we clamor for and emulate. They seem to have the perfect blueprint for success. We listen and photograph and follow them around.

I've had a couple of bosses take the tumble from on high. One moment they have the keys to the city, and the next there is a silence so profound you can actually hear their career slip off the cliff. I know firsthand the confusion followed by a loss of confidence after a good public flogging. Perhaps an Achilles heel has surfaced somewhere or an unethical business deal was leaked to the adoring public. There are no laurels to carry on, no prior good deeds that are not sullied by that singular fatal mistake.  Nothing is left but to retreat and dine on the leftovers.

I know that is why most of us live in fear of the public arena. There is no question there are people among us whose contributions could change the world. It is noble to embrace the idea to serve. But there's that first test to walk barefoot across live coals by a culture that eats its young. And then there is the nagging fear that somewhere on down the road it is likely there will be a mistake made, being both imperfect and unforgiving, and that the wrong comment will be made to the wrong person at the wrong time. That faux pas will cast a pall over a lifetime of service and all the gains will be summarily dismissed.

Seems to me we're the ones who should feel the disgrace, for letting the entertainment industry that whines and cries loudest for leadership be the divining rod for who is most worthy to serve. We really need to turn off those little boxes in the livingroom and stop listening to the news talk anchors tell us how to think.

Stick-to-it-ive-ness

My darling niece died last week from cancer that couldn't be stopped. She was 31. She was the sweetest girl, and the smile I remember is smiling back from a picture of the little children she left behind. I haven't seen her since 1998.

Our beautiful granddaughter Aiyana was ravaged by two types of leukemia that overtook her eight year old body in under a month. She left behind a hole too deep to fill. Her maternal grandmother completely missed out on the last 2 years of her life over a family squabble.

A girlfriend's father passed and she didn't even acknowledge it (after 20 yrs without contact). Another friend's uncles and aunts and dad quit talking over a will (3). My bro/in/law and his sister (5); the boys and their dad, sigh, (11/4/ and 2); the girls and their mom (4); the wsm and her sis (25).  And that's just people I know.

Opting out of someone's life should be agonizing, but it seems that life is treated more like a military exercise with collateral damage and acceptable losses. Unacceptable! It is unacceptable to excuse ourselves from talking to each other for years.  I let my nieces drift out of sight because it was easier that way, for me, like there is a magical opt-out clause when it comes to divorce. How I wish I hadn't.

The littlest disagreements seem to turn into a morality play of ego and demand, and be the excuse to not fight it out and get over it.  I would make my boys bunk together when they couldn't get along - and you know, eventually they found a way to make it work. Reconciliation is hard enough without letting a year, or five, or ten help us grow comfortably aloof.

A friend and I had a row that lasted a couple of years once. I've been mad enough at my parents at times to be lost to them for days...weeks...months. I've tried on friends and let them go. But in the end, I know the truth is that everything is fix-able if you want it to be. 

If I could pass along this part of relationship-building, it would be to model the courage needed to make a heart vulnerable, show how to step aside and make room for someone, not freak out during the remodel, and hang onto them no matter how steep the climb.

Rest in peace, honey. Sheila Gallagher Kolsters, 11/2/1979 -- 1/5/2011

Home Turf

I awoke with California on the brain. How totally weird.

We hear that folks are leaving CA in record numbers. There may be a lot of reasons for this, an overly mobile society who wants to explore more affordable places to live, or maybe just tired of trying to raise a family in an environment that over-emphasizes materialism. Inevitably most people recognize the truth of an unsustainable, larger-than-life lifestyle. People come enchanted and leave disheartened. California, with all of its complexities, eventually outprices or outliberalizes us.

Me and my state, we have been like this for decades. It's comfortable. I know where everything is. I have come to depend on its warts and rainbows. But suddenly something happens to mix things up. A friend moves, violence erupts close to home, levees give way along with livelihoods, and the kids move up and out.

I don't remember moving out of the fast lane, but I obviously did. The geography is clearer now, the late-summer ugliness as I putter along, gratefully watching the rush rush rush of traffic from a safe distance away. Lost in thought; lost in direction; out of the loop.

California no longer seems edgy or quaint: it more resembles the worn out coat tails we've been riding for too many years.  It can't just be me with one foot rooted in yesterday and the other creeping towards tomorrow, timid and unsure. Where am I?

I've heard it said that the future is waiting to be born, waiting for us to form and shape it. Maybe the greatness of California will someday be found beneath all the rubble, but I earnestly doubt we know where to dig.

1-11-11

No I didn't win the big lottery last night. Now I know the truth about that weird cosmic spiritual good luck day convergence promise of 11111. 

But the right hair appointment did come up. And there was good news on the home front with Momma J on the mend. There's reason to be hopeful on the job front. And we played with one of our Great Grandsons yesterday. Wind 'em up and give 'em back ... children are such a joy.  He's 30 months ... great restaurant squealing age.

We've really gotten into these wish-you-were-there house hunters international shows ... exotic places and people hunting for somewhere to buy. Not that we've ever planned a trip to India or Slovenia, but we don't miss a show. Can someone explain to me what is up with this no closets in the bedroom thing?

We especially liked the suspiciouslylikeus couple who wanted a humble little place in Italy for a romantic getaway. Sigh. Big Italian cities are out: Rome is like $7K a month to rent a flat.  (Knowing that is messing with our when-we-retire-we're-going-to-live-a-year-in-Italy stream of consciousness plan, let me tell you.) Anyway, so what this couple did was find an Italian town in the middle of nowhere with a beautiful view and basic amenities, literally 150 residents using horses and carts, and they snapped it up for about $50K. Hey, that's more like it.

Who are all these people who have a budget of $1.2M for a second home? Everything we own, including our most prized sneakers, don't add up to that.

We're hooked on regular House Hunters, too. One of the favorite episodes was of a young Asian girl who was looking for her first place in Boston. Her parents wanted her in a 2 bedroom for resale and also future liveability. She had saved up a big down but knew two bedrooms was more than she could afford, and although her parents offered to help she really wanted to do it on her own.

Her parents gave some advice, about how to negotiate and what to look for, but left her to it. Back and forth, looking here and there, as she narrated cute videos of each place and sent them overseas. Finally she came upon a great 2br unit (there are always happy endings on this show) that she was able to negotiate down (that always happens, too) so she needed to borrow just a little. We liked how the young woman articulated the symbolic step of getting her own place and at the same time a heartfelt appreciation of her parent's (moral) support (and faith in her).

"You are our daughter. Of course we will help you." That's more like it, too.

Fringers

There was another tragic story of a savage attack on a small political gathering in Tucson the other day.  Here we go again. Another fringer turned violent. You know, the ones who seem just a little bit off but sometimes function okay. We walk with them every day, in stores and parks, at family gatherings.

It just stirs the pot on topics of gun control, civil liberties, public safety, and the care and treatment of our fringe population. We make adjustments for them. That's admirable and the Christian thing to do. But civil liberties hinge on a complicated series of endless preventive measures to ensure safety  ~ the FDA, UL, government laws, seat belts, and the AMA just to name a few ~ and yet operating almost entirely without preventive mental health safeguards.  So it's hands-off to make up for the abhorrant mental health practices of the twentieth century?

That's nuts. The world is hard enough to sift through when you are a sound and reasonable thinker. For someone with processing challenges, it must be a nightmare.  They are easy prey to be changed and empowered by it, and act on what seems to them to be right reasoning. And frankly, hiding behind the First Amendment to say anything no matter how outrageous it is, is really starting to piss me off.

So, to questions. Would true and reasonable gun control have prevented the tragedy here? Would civilized political rhetoric have not keyed in on this particular politician? Would a mental health evaluation have been able to intervene with this tragedy?   

Yes, the access and availability to guns is involved somehow and needs to be addressed. An unpopular stance, but an honest one. The loss of civil rights of the victims can't be dismissed.
Yes, the ugly and vicious political climate of the last election clearly contributed to the events in Tucson, and there is a shared national shame for all politicians engaging in wartime adversarial attacks, including Sarah Palin. Lesson: doing the right thing never goes out of style. Don't let the heat of petty differences make you into someone you're not. You never know who is listening.
Yes, better access to mental health is all we've got when someone is delusional, with disjointed outbursts and ramblings, or threatening to do violence. We need to be able to get the right kind of help, and now. We have reason to weep: there were people in this man's life who already recognized how unstable he was.

Since the mass murder fringe is mostly American, what are we going to do about it? If we were told to make personal sacrifices in order to save our children, who among us would object? To face the thing head on is to talk about the topics we avoid, like our unwillingness to recognize or understand moral and developmental gaps in our friends and children; how and when to make appropriate interventions out of compassion as much as safety; and the personal stake we all have in stopping America from being a national breeding ground for violence. 

Our country seems so lost. We say we love our children but expose them to violence, anger, ugliness, and harm. We put up their smiling school pictures but don't take an interest in them.  We ignore the signs of crisis because it reflects badly on us. We stash a gun in the closet and a clip in the drawer and turn the other way.

Anyone's Son

A friend's son's alma mater was on lockdown yesterday, and this time for real.  A transfer student with a quiet and friendly disposition suddenly became violent and came to school with a gun.

School staff are trained to protect and intervene in a variety of situations - chemical spills, acts of nature, fire, social emergencies and assaults. And part of the routine of every school includes an orderly emergency evacuation.  There is a coding system announced over the PA. For instance, a Code Red (intruder on campus) directs teachers and students to safely sit on the floor in their locked classroom, turn off the lights and wait for the all clear signal.

But it doesn't work that way when violence springs out of nowhere, as was the case in Omaha yesterday. In those terrifying minutes, the students weren't neatly tucked into their rooms like in the practice scenario: they were all over the school, in the cafeteria, walking between rooms, going to the bathroom. It was a normal day.

The highly-trained administrative team must have realized there was one chance to respond in the best interests of the school, and that meant trying to contain the situation.  One of the Assistant Principals and the Principal attempted to intervene and were shot before the young man killed himself. The beloved and respected Assistant Principal died later at the hospital.

Everyone who has ever worked in a school, attended a school, sent their children or grandchildren there is chilled by the news. We cling to wanting our schools to be safe, but even with the best safeguards nowhere really is.  This tragedy, like the dozen or more before it, is what happens when a country becomes so addicted to their right to own guns that they are willing to sacrifice the more fundamental civil rights of life itself.

I was in a discussion yesterday with a gun owner about the sacred intent of the constitution and whether it should be read today on the opening day of Congress. We weren't talking gun control but in retrospect the conversation brings up an important point. Amendments to the constitution, it was argued, are directional adjustments to what the forefathers visualized, in order to adapt to the modern world.

Well that is no more true than in our laws about our right to bear arms. The philosophy of self-protection has not changed although the world has. There is an increasingly violent disconnect between access and responsible access and another Amendment to the Constitution is badly needed. It's not just that guns are too easy to come by and too easy to use. They are the only common denominator here: access + anger + cultural reinforcement = violence.

Today I am thinking of the staff at the high school and the community in Omaha, Nebraska, and wondering what they are thinking about as they kneel in prayer.

This is the American face of violence. It is anyone's son (on the outside, anyway).

Autumn Leaves

My mind hasn't settled in for the night and in the other room I can hear the sounds of breathing slow and steady. It's my favorite sound, hearing the contented purr of my husband at peace.

It seems like it took a couple of lifetimes to get here, and it was worth the wait to discover Fall is the most beautiful time of the year. It's a welcome relief after the long arid summer; it is savory and unpredictable; and the visual changes are breathtaking as it offers up its earthy and bountiful goodness.

I think of the easy way we are together and how natural it feels to work things through, as if someone up there gave us just the right tools to support each other. Ideas go into the discussion pot individually and come out transformed by a balanced blend of our perspectives. There is trust and honor for what is in each other's heart. Whole evenings are dreamed away watching travel shows, reminiscing out loud, and scheming a way to return.

Life is interesting and creative. There's room to grow. And room to learn. And space to make mistakes and be forgiven. The new improved ways of love are precious. And then there's his smile. Yup, the fall is definitely my season of choice.

Heading East

A new year is like resetting the odometer. Only better.

And the hint of how wonderful it is going to be came in the form of a series of phone calls from friends all over the country. Great news, said one; We're happy to announce, said another; I've made a great life change, said a third; and it went like that throughout the day.

My own little corner had some news as well. A friend recommended me for a job and the interview is Wednesday. Not only does that boost my spirits but I'm touched to be held in such esteem. Thank you! Love you! Win-Win!

It's been a looooong break between innings. So yay or nay, the prospect stands as a directional marker for where the new year is taking us, and it's gonna be good.

Living Without Walls

Happy New Decade.  (I really mean it this time.)

The end of the era Christmas was one of the best in recent memory. Folks just kicked off their shoes on this one and no one had to be somewhere else. Been thinking about that, the old traditions and new ones just coming on line and how good we are at adapting to what seems to be constant transitions.

The family was on the move ... Tim to his own apartment in a quaint little suburb of Sac and Dave from beautiful Shasta to beautiful Sonoma. Me and the old man snuck away for a few days to Monterey. We met a flurry of interesting people and saw beautiful places with one sunshiny day and two rainy ones. We spent one evening with rain and wind so blustery that it knocked out power for all of Cannery Row. The angry surf and rain and high gusts were incredible.

Our consensus is that people everywhere are
Wonderful.
    Open.
        Funny.
            Friendly.
                Interesting.

Nice to know as we carry a little extra worry-weight around. Carpe Diem! We made our way back to the little hotel and snuggled up in front of the fire. Life is vibrant and savory, every single day.

I'm sure it's because this old age thing is on the brain after witnessing the necessary collisions with trying to respect the private essence of a person's life.  There is so much value placed on our lives just the way we made them, and we fight hard to keep life from tumbling down.

We step forward, then back, and forward again, trying to soothe the heartwrenchingly tough transition of coming to terms with what remains. Maybe all of it; maybe not. It is maddening to watch. It makes us anxious and optimistic to know struggle and realize it will be ours someday, for things we take for granted -- our thoughts, our bodies, our lives.

So instead of resolutions of a personal sort, it is all hope for a decade of new beginnings, gentle transitions, guidance and wisdom, and a heaping spoonful of compassion sprinkled on top.

The Great Race

I love Christmas for all the wrong reasons. I love that it provides a chance to chat with neighbors over a plate of cookies or a holiday card. I love to see smiles and patience as the crowd waits together in line. I love the salespeople happy to sell me a gift that will make someone's day.

People are more open and friendly at this time of year. We laugh and look at each other. We pick up a stranger's toll across the bridge. We give sweet strangers holiday cards because they are lonesome and sad. Life transforms into pleasant connections as we race through days that are crammed with chores and decisions. 

When does that happen otherwise? It's as if the holiday magically puts the world in a good mood. It melts away the worries and wishes for what we don't have, and we are left with the really good things we take for granted the rest of the year. 

And so, in addition to the sweet, savory memories of my little boys with bright shining eyes full of wonder that will always mean Christmas, I yearn to make a habit of the me I become at this time of year.

Everyone worries about what lies ahead and we make New Year's resolutions ... and then we break them. So this year I've 'earmarked' an idea for 2011 ~  to live Christmassy all year long. Be more generous with time and energy, reach out to those in need, be more considerate and thoughtful. Make more of an effort to open my home and my heart.

I don't know about you, but it feels like the new year is already looking up.

Shes baaaaack!

I was let go yesterday. And it was the happiest day of my life.

The family had been working together because of Mom's stroke, which is surprising with as many opinionated personalities that have no hesitation whatsoever sharing their ideas continuously. Ok, so we're loud.

It's been about 3 weeks and the family had to morph into an organized something or other if we wanted to monitor things. With 3 in one unit and 2 in another, we had no idea if we would be able to blend. But surprisingly we became a big, hairy brontosaurus loping along with a big smile and 10 brains. One of the brains took on the healthcare issues, another nutrition, another the legal stuff, comfort and encouragement, and so on down the line. Clumsy, but productive!

And then all of a sudden we were out of a job. Kicked to the curb.

In the last couple of days, it's as if a lightbulb was turned on in Mom's brain. The cobwebs have cleared in that supremely independent head of hers. She abruptly began participating in her own progress.

Yesterday, for instance, I arrived at 08:10 hours expecting to find her in her pajamas, reluctantly eating breakfast in her room. Like the day before.  But what did I find? Nothing. She was MIA.

I felt a bit of panic after a speed walk through the diningroom and PT room and beauty parlor didn't turn her up. I checked all the exits in case she was making a run for it. And when I ended up where I began, in her room, she was waiting (impatiently) for the doctor and the physical therapy team to arrive.

Not only that. She had already groomed and dressed herself, walked down to the dining room in a walker, ordered and eaten breakfast and put on her face. (I had only managed to get dressed and have a cup of coffee in the same amount of time.) Hey lady, give us a chance to keep up!!

And then she proceeded to push her little bit of weight around! Tackle the world! Hurray for Mom!

I got the distinct impression by lunchtime she was thinking her family (me) was treading all over her newly reacquired territory, and so I packed up my marbles and went home. I smiled the whole way.

She's baaaaaaack! 

Grandma Hartje

This is for Jenn.

I'm not quite ready for bed and you were on my mind. Mostly I was thinking about everything that is changing in your life and how sad it is to say goodbye.

Maybe God made you the type of person who can adapt to anything that life throws at you so in times like these you have the strength to carry on. I know Grandma Hartje was a big part of your life, an inspiration, a joy, and a continuity link. She and your Grandpa have always been hugely important.

 It is never enough time when we are grieving the loss, but those memories will keep them present in your hearts and more precious as time goes on. I marvel at your niece and nephew being able to really know their great grandparents and to be part of the stories of their lives. They will truly remember them and that is a gift.

I hope you and the family are sitting around the dinner table with some of that German beer you talk about, laughing at all the great stories about your grandma and grandpa. I hope you are looking through photo albums. And I hope the healing begins to soften the ache ... and you find your strength.

Funerals are tough but they do let others share how much your grandma touched their lives and help you see they share the loss and offer support.  From this distance our voices are just a whisper, but we are wishing you well. Good luck today: it's almost over.

Moving Across States with Two Dogs

Hyperbole and a Half is an entertaining read. (Here's a preview ...)

Daniel Hannan to America: Get Off the Road to Serfdom and Actualize the American Ideal! | The Foundry: Conservative Policy News.

Patriots ~ this is a fascinating account of the principles of our democracy seen through the eyes of a conservative Parliamentary representative in England who explains magnificently what is really at stake.

Daniel Hannan to America: Get Off the Road to Serfdom and Actualize the American Ideal! The Foundry: Conservative Policy News.

Even from You

It's midnight and I need to get some sleep. I will be spending tomorrow and the next day with Mom and there are a lot of important things to attend to there. But thoughts pour out of my head so fast I can hardly lay down.

I've been thinking all day about the meaning of the term: being of sound mind. Does it mean we make lucid decisions that are always in our own best interests? Or does it mean we fully understand the issue and are deciding for ourselves?

I've been thinking about what it must be like to be suddenly hampered by illness and confined by a body. The frusteration must be immense. What does she think about when she lays facing the wall with her eyes open? Is she having day terrors where she imagines an indefinite future of alzheimer and stroke victim roommates?

Her world had already begun to collapse with failing eyes and ears, but she kept her spirits up with exercising her sharp mind, playing cards and staying active. 

The fear factor is a major hurdle to taking back her life.  Here we were rushing around trying to ensure her right to participate in decisions pertaining to her life and care, and we have overlooked the importance of safeguarding her fragile emotional state. There are a lot of ways to become a victim. 

When my dad died a friend suggested I not make any major decisions for at least a year. That was really good advice. The shock and loss messes with our balance and it sometimes takes that long to find solid ground, like it did me. Mom has had a physical loss of her independence and is struggling to regain her footing. I don't want anything or anyone encouraging co-dependence.

And so to Mom's favorite Italian, we hope love means putting personal desires on hold for the sake of the other. What will this crisis reveal of what is in your heart when this is over? We have to be careful no one takes advantage of her vulnerablities.

We will be protective of everything and everyone for awhile, just to be sure.

Listen with your Heart

It's amazing how much of any family crisis is about the poor housekeeping of other relationships. Parent to child, sister to sister, sibling to sibling. Working as a team for the common good is hard when everyone perceives the common good differently.

It's tricky, these family dynamics, and it is distracting. Maybe a little bit less distracting for me, who at the moment appreciates being on the second rung out and not the biological daughter. No shrapnel is flying my way, at least not yet.

Spending time in a skilled nursing facility makes me doubly committed to championing for the rights of the elderly, especially during health challenges. Our facility is fantastic, with loving-faced caregivers and instant responsiveness. The hallways are wide and brightly carpeted with beautifully appointed rooms with big windows. It is spotlessly clean and the food is ample and good.

A cockatiel sits at one end next to the beauty parlor and physical therapy room; and there is a library with reading machine and an aquarium just outside the spacious and comfortable diningroom. Her room is bright with poinsettas and cards, and a wallboard lists the family visit schedule and photos of her friends and grandkids.

This has been a learning circuit as one of her caregivers. First lesson: it's not just about making sure the bed is changed and medications are given. There is a myraid of ways to protect her interests in the life that is waiting for her on the outside. She has opinions and ideas about all of that. Only her family worries about those kinds of things. Only we know her well enough to know what it will take to lift her spirits and keep all of the layers nourished.

That's been the real work: pushing ourselves completely out of the picture to focus on her. I awoke unbelieveably exhausted. Can it really be only Wednesday morning?

She has good and bad days, and swings high on the one side with strong conversations and normal behaviors that are comforting: sitting up and reading her cards, teasing her visitors, smoothing the blankets and fussing with her hair. And when fatigue takes over, she withdraws into her own thoughts and is not very responsive. But she turns her head to listen, her eyes latching onto our faces and the discussion. She hears us, and she understands.

It is then that the weight of the world is on us to safeguard her rights. So much of her life involves that strong independent side. I take her hand, close my eyes and listen with my heart ~ what is it, Joy?  I worry that if we do not work hard enough, that part of her life will slip away.

Today I rest and tomorrow am back on watch.

Recalculating

I was thinking about Garmin today on the drive home, how I have really come to rely on it. I slide in behind the wheel and although I'm making the physical decisions, pressing down on the accelerator, looking both ways, using my blinkers, Garmin is in charge.

I've struggled with this all of my life, even finding places I've repeatedly visited. I don't know the first thing about using the sun as a directional marker or which freeway goes where. We 'wanderers' keep a deep, dark secret, and that is we don't trust ourselves behind the wheel. We don't have that inner voice, that sense, or inkling, or whatever you want to call it. We know where we are and where we're headed and that's all.

When I lived in Phoenix, my dad recommended that I lay out a city map on the bed and helped me memorize the relationships of streets and landmarks. The strategy worked well, except when the destination is complicated, say across six cities and as many freeways.  Overall, with lost-at-the-corner drivers, there needs to be trust in something more.

And that is how I came to rely so much on a GPS. I love how it adapts.  It talks. It frets. It warns. It lets me detour to the outlets and afterwards recalculates how to get back on the road. If I know a shortcut, it will double check that the route we are on will take us where we want to go.  There's been a couple of wild trips when GPS took me through unfamiliar territory, and as I scurried around the state, I had to learn how to follow. In other words, the tool only works if you trust, listen and act. 
In a spiritual way, you can't build a relationship with God without a willingness to listen to listen. Sometimes the desire to take control and be willful is overpowering when I am lost, and there are too many times that I have. But when I ask for help and delegate all of life's fears to Him, He knows the direction and leads the way.

And so as I reflect on all the detours in life, with all its challenges and lessons, I can see it was ego, or fear, or just plain pig-headedness in the way of understanding this simple truth. All I would have had to do is trust Him to pick the route and then follow it. Recalculating...

Mother, May I?

I am watching the human behavior of change and shifting roles in a family entrenched with how it's always been. From just outside the limelight I see movement towards an authentic integration of my relationships with my steps (sister and brother).

Normally this might happen in baby steps, inching along the wall before wading in.  But as with most crises, it thrusts life onto us when we are unprepared and a choice emerges from the awkward gap that forms.

We are all aware of how important it is (symbolically and otherwise) to leave space for reentry. But in the meantime someone's got to provide full coverage for the details of life that have been independently managed.

The difference between in- and inter- dependence is huge and the implications of it will weigh down our patient if we are not careful in how the transition is handled.

Mother, May I?  Just for a while?

Nothin' but Joy

It's been a full week, that's for sure. Family emergencies bring up all sorts of issues, and no matter how often we go through it we are not used to it. Thank God for small favors.

My (step) Mother and I have pet names for each other: she is wicked step mother and I am Cinderella, or Cindy. We picked that up the first Christmas after my dad passed, when she was down in the dumps. Somehow that became a catalyst for making our relationship parenthesis-free.

As you know Mom had a stroke on Monday and things looked mighty grim. She was unresponsive, confused, unable to speak, and doctors were unable to get a CT scan or an MRI to verify the stroke and  damaged parts of her brain. She had a strong reaction to the sedative and it appeared we would remain in a holding pattern until the tests could conclusively determine what had happened. What to do? She could not be discharged until a diagnosis and therapy could not begin until she was discharged.

We prayed for mercy and guidance, and by Wednesday morning things had not improved. She didn't understand what had happened and we worried for additional setbacks. And then a young, clever neurologist came in with the philosophy that the tests were secondary to treatment. He ascertained by her behavior that a stroke was evident and wanted treatment to begin as soon as she could walk with assistance and marginally be able to eat. He took her off all sedatives and ... let it ride.

On Thursday morning Mom was sitting up in bed, having walked a little already, was coherently putting sentences together, feeding herself with assistance, and peppering her talk with her delightful sense of humor. It was a shocking improvement in just a few hours, and with great pleasure the doctor released her to the skilled nursing wing of the independent living community where she lives. Cards poured in; family hovered and friends, too -- so much so we needed to turn some away.

I was in Shasta when the news came ~ and just before heading home was at a railroad crossing with lights flashing and arms down, waiting for a train that never came. It's Dad, I mused, and his warmth filled my heart to overflowing to be on my way. (I always keep promises.)

I believe in miracles, little shiny glimmers of spiritual filaments of God's perseverence and love. I believe they are everywhere, but we don't always notice because we are distracted and busy. In quiet times of worry, when we sit still in ourselves, they shine brightly and clearly ... a faithful binding of gratefulness and hope and strength to shoulder the challenges ahead. And sometimes we get a little reprieve.

Like now. When the doctors finally got a decent CT scan, they could find no damage from the stroke anywhere.  No dementia. Her memory appears intact. For us that means she is on the mend ... and that fills our hearts with gladness and thanksgiving ~!

'XO'

It's no secret, except to those in denial (me, half the time), that boomers are nudging towards the head of the line with this age thing. Life feels forever in our 20s until we are offered discounts on food and movies, and we look at each other and laugh.

The downside of being in the pre-elderly set means our elders are showing some serious wear. Mom and dad are gone now and most of their friends. My terrifically wonderful aunt and uncle are slowing down but mostly they've existed in a perpetual state of suspended animation, timeless but with gray hair. For my (step)mom Joy, too. Oh, her hearing isn't good, or her eyes, but she is sharp as a whip.

Life has become appreciably fun lately, maybe more precious as we ourselves creep along, or maybe because that long timeline isn't as long as we thought. Recently we began routine visits to carve out time together and it's been nothing short of wonderful. 

The long drive is easy, and along the way I listen to music and news. We do errands together sometimes, or go to her favorite restaurant for lunch, hang with Tony, do some little task that make her life better, talking a blue streak all the while, hugging and reminiscing and laughing.

This past weekend all 105 lbs of her with that upbeat sense of style and keen active mind suffered what appears to be a stroke. She seems generally able to understand and recognize us, but she is unable to speak. Just like that.

The strides in therapies to help stroke victims regain a lot of their former selves will be important to us now. And maybe after the assessment tests and evaluations, her strong spirit will charge down that road. But until then, I hope you will join me in a healing prayer. 

xo, wsm