An Unexpected Gift

On December 21, the last of the red blossoms dropped from our Christmas cactus. Actually, I always thought we should name it a Thanksgiving cactus since it bloomed brilliantly during that holiday. Then, on December 22, I noticed that the plant had some new blossoms.

"Did you notice the new buds on our Christmas cactus?", I said to my husband. "They weren't there yesterday. In fact, it was blossomless".

Bob had noticed. That was no surprise since he is more observant than I.

"I don't understand. There was nothing there a day earlier."

On the 23 of December there were more buds and several blossoms. On the 24th more buds and blossoms appeared. Today, on Christmas, the plant is resplendent with blossoms and buds.

I still do not understand. Never before has one of these plants re-blossomed immediately after shedding every flower. They have bloomed twice a year, months apart, and that was that, and what I expected. This plant, a Christmas gift we received last year, placed in the back seat of our vehicle after a Christmas gathering, is truly a gift that keeps on giving.

This Christmas we are enjoying the rich colors from early November, continuing until ???? It is a mystery.

Tonight, I know nothing more, except this, "happy Christmas to all, and to all, a good night".

The Annual Countdown

We came around the corner of the store pushing a cart. There was the sign - Ten Shopping Days Until Christmas!

Ten shopping days left. I had given only passing thoughts to the holiday, being absorbed in my many volunteer activities. But the countsown sign reminded me that I had personal tasks...gift wrapping, card writing and overall unwinding before the holidays. It was time to pause for personal reflection and a re-charge of my batteries.

I began my yearly connections with old and new friends. As I wrote cards,  the music from the radio was interrupted by a shocking news story. I had long learned to tune out "fiscal cliff" arguments, waiting for the final decisions, but this story gripped me along with the rest of our country.

Another tragedy for so very many because of the demons in one lost soul. After the intial shock and conflicting details, the news was filled with the same old gun control issues. It was to be expected, as always, after a mass killing. This time the tone was sharper, but the extremes came gushing out....from "ban everything" to "arm the teachers".

It made me pause. Do you suppose the next step will be "arm the kids?" This may sound ridiculous but I have lived through a lifetime of extremes in our culture. Where is the middle?....."in medio", as my old Latin teacher would say. We cannot seem to really listen to the "others", foreign to our view of the world. Getting into their skin, walking around in it for a while, might, just maybe, bring us closer to agreements that would work, and smooth out the rugged paths of our lifetimes.

Meanwhile, some things never change. I find comfort in rituals that remind me of safer times and places, devoid of violent television, computer games, and the constancy of the noise of instant communication. It is no wonder that the photo of Mr. Rogers went viral in no time. It seems that other people yearn for the presence of a man who exemplifies calm, understaning, acceptance and warmth.

There are only a few days remaining until a holiday with familiar carols, rituals, family, friends, feasting, and, hopefully, acceptance of the best of who we are and who we are becoming.

Mr. Rogers, you touched many children and adults. May your words of comfort remain with us long after this holiday, this crisis, and during conflicts to come. You taught us that safety lies within.

Only Thirty Minutes

I held his hand while he stared at the clock on the wall.

"I have thirty minutes", he said.

I continued to hold his hand.

"I'll stay with you", I told him as I held his hand.

After a time he looked at me and said, "Sometimes I think I should have gone with the others on Guadalcanal".

His words broke my heart. I know from his testimonial he gave me a few months back, that his service during the Battle of Guadalcanal as a medic, and later, as a prisoner of war, was a terrible time, etched in his memory over a lifetime of struggles and joys - both the good and the bad. I believed nothing could have been worse than those weeks during World War II. But I was wrong. His dying, facing him at this moment, was his only struggle, fresh and painful, while his years in the South Pacific had faded in comparison.

"I'm sorry", was all I could say, but I stayed and held his hand.

After thirty minutes had passed he repeated, "I have thirty minutes".

I stayed for another thirty minutes, and another. I waited until his wife arrived for her daily visit to him at the VA hospital.

"I couldn't leave him alone", I told her. He thinks he is going to die soon".

He lived for a few more days. he died on a Sunday and, as far as I know, he was alone. His wife arrived a short time later. I hoped that some nurse or attendant had been with him. I don't know, but I don't feel that anyone should leave this life without someone by their side, someone holding their hand, someone listening to their final words.

My consolation is that his story, his words of his years of service, will live on. They will be in my next book, VOICES OF VETERANS, which will include stories from WWII through the present conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan.

His words will be a testimonial to his life and to the service of all of our veterans.

Humor, Acceptance and Hope

Yesterday a new president was inaugerated as president of the Oglala Sioux Tribe on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. The ceremony was full of pageantry, solemnity and tradition, as well as an easy going, relaxed acceptance of its schedule and missed details.

The printed programs arrived part way through the ceremony, a person was incorrectly identified (much to the crowds enjoyment), everything proceeded ahead of schedule, to the dismay of the master of ceremonies, ("I will get fired for this", was his frequent comment) and a last minute unscheduled speaker or two took over the microphone.

The casual approach, mixed with the solemnity and traditional rituals, from the passing of the sacred pipe, the drumming, the elegant headdresses on the elders, the annointing of the new president with a feathered headress and all of the speakers who made notice of not only the newly elected officials, but also the retired ones, made for a comfortable and impressive ceremony.

I couldn't help comparing yesterday's inaugeration to our ceremonies....precise, dignified, on schedule and not unexpected. In spite of the fact that I am not of the Lakota culture, I thoroughly enjoyed the pageantry, as well as the "going with the flow" attitude.

What was most noteworthy was the utmost respect for the elderly, their traditions, and, in the midst of the poverty and despair among the people, the underlying and strong message of hope - hope for the future - hope for the generations to follow.

I can only imagine that over the years of suppression on the reservation, that the Lakota people are growing, in large fact to their humor, relaxed attitude and eternal hope and struggle for a better tomorrow.

Goodbye to Tim

Our former neighbor was buried today. We said goodbye to a gentle soul, full of humor and goodwill toward the world around him. We never heard him complain, but if anyone had a right to do so, it was Tim.

His life was filled with duty, to his country when he served in the navy, and to his fellow man during his twenty-nine years career in law enforcement, working for the FBI and the San Francisco State Police.

After an accident Tim was confined to a wheelchair for the remainder of his life. He and his wife moved to the Black Hills and opened a handicapped accessible camp ground on their land beneath the Seven Sisters mountain range south of Hot Springs. I remember him sitting on the road in his wheelchair, waiting cheerfully for guests to arrive at their campground - guests who never showed. They moved here in 1994 and while he could, he continued to help others by volunteering at the drug and alcohol center in town and he partipated in a parade via his wheelchair. He supported the Save our VA campaign, knowing he was dependent on it for many of his needs. His wife brought him there many times during emergencies, and that is where he died.

He was a delight to be around and I was proud to intoduce my daughter to him when we stopped to visit him while he was at the VA in Milwaukee. Years later, when he was lined up in front of our house to join the parade, my daughter happened to be visiting. We went into the street to talk with him and he remembered her, although he had met her only once before during his hospital stay in Wisconsin. He was in the parade, giving living testimony to the terrible effects of too much alcohol.

It was fitting that this man of courage and duty received military honors after the service. A police officer in full uniform sat in the chapel during the service and the Hot Spring's veterans were lined up outside, giving a military gun salute in tribute to a gentleman who served his country and offered joy to all who were fortunate to have known him.

Goodbye, Tim. You enriched our lives, and thank you, veterans. You gave him honor.