Goodbye Leaves

And so once again we say goodbye to summer and fall. The leaves have colored and are falling everywhere. A few track into the house. The butterflies have flown south, along with many of the birds. The air has turned brisk and it is time for sweaters and jackets and the warmth of cozy bathrobes while sitting by the fireplace.

There is a sadness to saying farewell to the casualness of summer, but now it is time to greet the coming of the cold that sharpens the senses and reminds us of how change is inevitable. Along with this inevitability comes the promise of the return of the bees, birds and butterflies.

In the meantime some of the birds have remained to brighten the day. The blue jays have taken over the feeders and the solemn owl hoots in the silence of the early darkness.

The coming season is a reminder of the shortness of life and the importance of holding close to those we love and the beauty of nature in the world around us. We should never take life for granted, nor those who are important to us on our journey through life.

Goodbye to the lengthy days of light and hello to the season of snuggling in with a hot cup of cocoa, a good book and a crackling fire.

Remembrance of Ruth

It has been said that as we age we celebrate more goodbyes than hellos. That has a ring of truth. During the past years I have lost my parents, a bother, a sister and some friends. I welcome new friends to be sure, but the loss of the longest friendships seem to be the most difficult to experience.

This week I said farewell to Ruth, a friend who has been an important part of my life since 1993. We met when we worked together at an elementary school in the Hopkins School District. I was the school conselor with a strong belief in the power of goups. As the school psychologist she joined me in leading those groups. We parted professional company within another year but our friendship continued and grew.

We lived in the same suburb of Minneapolis and had frequent visits, sharing laughter, tears and joys. We walked together through my adoption, the deaths of my mother and sister, adding my father to our household, my marriage in Malta and the death of my father. I was there when her brother moved in with her after he retired and her grief at his early passing. My husband and I had encouraged her to add a bathroom downstairs while she was remodeling her home to add an additon for her brother who joined her and her mother in sharing a home. She continued to thank us over the years for that advice. Both her mother and brother made use of that bathroom as they grew sick and were unable to use the stairs.

My husband and I included Ruth for our weekly Sunday brunches. Ruth and I met with a monthly support group of strong women who had worked with us over the years as a school principal, a social worker, counselors and a psychologist. That goup of extraordinay women is meeting to this day and celebrated Ruth's birthday a few months before she died. Today these women are saying their farewells at her funeral.

As for me, my husband and I moved away in 1998 but through the years we kept contact through cards and phone calls and our yearly visit to Minneapolis where we visited over a lengthy lunch.

I will not attend her funeral today but I remember a good friend and grieve her passing. She will not be forgotten. Her absence has left a void in my heart.

 Ruth and I both missed those weekly brunches after my husband and I moved to the Black Hills. Our friendship continued through phone and letter. True friends are rare and I will treasure the memories..

Goodbye and thank you for the good times we shared.

In Memory of Dennis

"Who is that standing in the back of the room," I asked Bob at one of the many auctions we attended.

Bob turned around. "I think that is a statue or something."

I looked back repeatedly. I saw no movement. "I wonder if that is going up for auction?"

Then, at last, I saw the tall, dark, thin man with long hair and an outstanding mustache move slightly. I nudged Bob. "It is a real person. He stood like a statue for most of the auction."

Months later at another auction we saw the man again. Bob engaged him in a conversation and discovered they had a mutual interest in trains. His name was Dennis and he attended most auctions, always on the alert for train paraphernalia or for items that might be of interest to our local Pioneer Museum on top of a hill in the middle of Hot Springs.

In time we learned that he was the curator at the museum where he had worked for 38 years. His love of history inspired him to make many improvements to the museum. He kept the place spotless from the first of April until the yearly closing in October. He cared for it much as a parent for his child. This museum is second to none in our country for its displays of Pioneer history from the area. The above photos show rooms with collections of artifacts from a by-gone era depicting our local history.

We say farewell and thank you to Dennis Papendick, a quiet and unassuming man who devoted his life to the Pioneer Museum. He was a treasure who rescued our treasures from the past.

Bitter-Sweet

My kitchen window faces the neighbor's back yard. From early in the spring to late in the fall I enjoy a view of a perfectly kept yard. The flowers always give me enjoyment, from the reds and lavenders of the daffodils and tulips to the hydrangeas, sunflowers many others which I cannot identify. Each day I drink in the vibrant colors with pleasure.

For the past eight years I have seen the 90 some neighbor lady out in her yard, tending to her flower gardens. She has a small rolling cart that she uses when she spends the day weeding and trimming.

Each time she is out in her yard I marvel at how such an elderly lady can do this tiresome work. When she sits and takes a rest Bob or I visit with her while she shares her love of gardening. Lately she has been increasingly complaining about the stress of her efforts. It cannot be easy for a women in her nineties to continue this strenuous activity.

Today as I tend to the kitchen chores I look out that same window where for many years I have taken pleasure in the plethora of colors that I drink in for a lengthy season of delight due to the constant efforts of our neighbor. The sunflowers are in full bloom, attracting the birds, bees and butterflies.

At the same time I savor the sight, I feel a tinge of sadness. This weekend she has been moved to our assisted living facility in town. I will miss seeing her, not only bending over her gardens, but the sight of her walking her dog, resting for a brief time in her lawn chair or going out, immaculately dressed, to attend church or some other function.

She has been an inspiration to me and I will treasure the memories and, as long as they last for this season, the careful array of hues growing proudly in her back yard.

Thank you, Nancy, for the beauty you left behind as you follow a new path.

Two Sisters

She was an only child, bringing a lifetime of joy to her doting parents. They spoiled her, but she was not spoiled. She was generous, thoughtful, caring and loving. When she married, spending her life teaching and being a master teacher because of her excellence, her parents moved from their long time home to be close to the daughter who they adored. Throughout their lifetimes she shared her life with them and at the end of her mother's life she shared her lengthy decent into Alzheimers. She was always there for her parents. As their only child they were most fortunate to have had her in their lives.

She had two daughters that she doted on, encouraging them to follow their talents and their dreams. One became an excellent teacher, working with those children with special needs. The oldest one became at the top of her field in various industries, moving around the world to advance to the top, sought after by many companies.

Her youngest daughter lived near her mother, finally recognizing that her mother needed long term care. It was a painful decision but she moved her mother from assisted living, to a memory care unit until recently when her mother is receiving hospice care.

Both daughters were at her side when she went to the hospital, the eldest traveling from the east coast to share time with her mother.

Yesterday I received a call from one of the daughters. "My mother is in Hospice and they predict that she has six months to live. Can we call you tomorrow and you can talk to her? She may not remember much from the present, but she does remember you through the cards you send each month."

This morning I talked with my friend, the one who has been my friend the longest. After our brief conversation, her familiar cheerful voice brought back a flood of memories.I remembered when we became fast friends in junior high. She was younger than I was but we clicked in every way. We shared our hopes and struggles, double dated and had secret gatherings with friends at her house when her parent were both away.

After high school we both went on to college and careers and husbands, moving miles apart, but always keeping contact through phone, letters and visits. We continued to share about our spouses, children, careers and struggles, loves, hopes and joys.

She had her share of difficulties during her life. She lost her parents and then her husband at an early age. She suffered a life altering car accident, having been left with burns that required plastic surgery. She had the usual pain and pride of a any parent watching her two daughters grow, make mistakes and changes in their lives. She touched the lives of many young children through her thoughtful, patient teaching.

Now as the end draws near she has two daughters who look after her and care for her. I said to the youngest today, "Your mother is lucky to have you."

She responded quickly, "We are lucky to have her."

I guess it does work both ways. She, as an only daughter, shared her care and love with her parents. Today her daughters do the same for her. Her life has come full circle, but I still cry for my oldest friend. When she leaves our shared memories will be gone. In her case they have been fading for the past year. That will leave me alone to remember.

Never Goodbye

Many have left us, soon to be forgotten. Others will live on in us for the remaining days we have. Some have impacted us even though we do not directly recall them....their name, face, walk or voice. What matters is that they have left a piece of them inside of us, to help us strive for the best that we can be.

Then there are those who will never be lost to us....name, face, walk or voice. This week we lost a TV star who has left her mark on many of us who struggled to find our voice, our life, ourselves. It was during the 70's and I watched faithfully every episode of Mary Tyler Moore as Mary Richards, a reluctantly assertive woman who chose a career over a family, working in a then man's world, growing in confidence and self-assurance of herself as a woman with a career and friends, who did not desparately pursue marriage as an ultimate goal.

I had always wanted a career and, because of the times, believed I had to get married, raise a family. I watched woman during my formative years and decided quietly that I did not want to raise a family, at least not at the beginning. I don't think I ever shared these feelings with anyone until permission was given by the women's movement and my weekly absorption in the life of Mary Richards.

She was largely responsible for affirmation of my life choices at that time. Through her and others like her I found my voice and my life.

Thank you Mary Tyler Moore. Through your portrayal of Mary Richards you gave me courage through the bumps of life. You will not be forgotten as long as I and others who follow will find voice to whatever choices we decide to make. Our silence has been broken and through us, for future generations of women.

A Farewell to Dottie

An email arrived from my brother. "Dottie passed away this morning."

It was the 40's, after WWII, years before the women's movement of the 60's and 70's. Dottie took care of her parents as they became ill, first one, then another. Her life was consumed by her duty as the dutiful daughter and college was out of the question. Into her life came a handsome young engineer who, when she was free from her care taking, rescued her to a married life of safety and comfort, enveloped by her family, her home and her love of the many animals who came to her back yard from the forested gully that wound past her home.

She fed the squirrels, the birds, the fox, raccoons and other woodland creatures who came to the feeders for nourishment. She loved the wild things and ignored the comments from her husband who fretted about the exorbitant cost of feed. Some wives spend a fortune on jewelry, clothes, cars or entertainment. Her life was simple. She preferred taking care of her family and the animals that crept out of the forest to partake of the bounty in her yard.

There were the occasions when she and her husband travelled back to Minnesota to visit with her in-laws and their relatives. During those times she asked her son, Bruce, to tend to her creatures who were fed daily through her generosity. Her son came to check on the house. He had no intention of feeding the critters. While walking through the living room he got the strangest, eerie feeling. He went over to the large patio windows and opened the drapes. Outside the window was a group of raccoons sitting silently, staring and waiting for the food they had been accustomed to receive from his mother. Bruce felt his skin crawl as he looked at this voiceless assembly and, needless to say, he went straight away to the food supply and threw out the food. During the rest of his time checking on the house he did not neglect the critters outside the window. After all, it was what his mother wished.

Dottie kept contact with her husband's family, writing lengthy letters each Christmas, informing us in detail of the her family's activities. She graciously took in her father-in-law for weeks at a time after his wife died. She also took me into her home for a time of healing while I was going through a crisis and had need of a sanctuary far from the problems facing me. I will not forget her kindness to me.

And now we say goodbye to this woman who followed her duty....to her parents, her family, her husband's family and the creatures who came her way. In her new life may she be surrounded by those who made her happy in this life. We can only hope.

Goodbye, Dottie....daughter, wife, mother, my sister-in-law and friend to all.....

A Lingering Goodbye

Early January and a Christmas card was returned. That began my journey into tracking down a long-time hometown friend. We had been through over 60 years of sharing laughter, tears, hopes, dreams, illnesses and deaths of loved ones. How could she disappear from the face of my earth?

I made the usual phone calls to her new apartment. No answer. After a few times I let the phone ring and ring. What was wrong? Where was she? I didn't know the last names of her two daughters so that was a dead end. The Internet offered no hope. Where was my oldest friend?  At long last a classmate emailed me with her whereabouts.

My heart dropped a beat. Her new home was an assisted living facility in her home town. I was informed that she had a fall and now was suffering from dementia and may not know who I was. How could that be? We had a long conversation....when was it? Could it have been a year ago?

She did not use the Internet so over the years we had made our visits in person, but after my move to South Dakota we mainly used the telephone to keep in touch. We shared so much. We were like sisters.

We met when I was a freshman and she was in Junior High School. Age difference did not matter. We were kindred spirits. She was sweet, kind and an only child who was adored by her parents. She was a majorette for the popular Drum and Bugle Corp, travelling to state and national competitions. She dated my cousin who was visiting for the summer. He fell head-over-heals for her, but it was not to be. She went on to college and became a much-loved kindergarten teacher, married and raised two beautiful, talented daughters. She had her own television show, using her teaching skills to educate generations of pre-school age children. After retirement she continued teaching by volunteering for an ESL program, assisting immigrants in perfecting their English skills.

Whatever she did, she did to the best of her ability. She was a caring, devoted daughter, mother, wife and teacher. She told me once, "I am not the smartest of people. I know that, but I work hard and make the best of situations." She knew herself, with her weaknesses, but accepted herself as well as others who came into her life.

She was in a terrible car accident, recovering after many plastic surgeries. She looked after her mother when she entered a nursing home and spent many hours with her father, including him in her life even after his many failures had caused her ridicule and rejection while she was in high school.

One of her dreams she shared with me was to write a book for teachers, using many materials she had developed over the years for her television show. That dream was put aside as she focused on her daughters, grandchildren, parents and the early death of her husband to cancer. As far as I know she never had time to pursue that dream. Today I wonder what happened to all of those materials?

Her home was sold and today she is in the assisted living facility. I called and was told they would connect me to her room. We talked at length. She sounded her usual cheerful self. It was great to hear her voice, but there was a difference. After talking for a while she said, "I hate to say this, but who are you again?" I don't know if she remembers me even after we talked about her family, our hometown (not the same), and how she liked her new home. Of course, she said she loved it there. No surprise. She always has accepted her life situations, even when difficult. She has not lost her generous spirit. But as of now, the February of 2016, she has lost memories of me and our friendship.

I sent chocolates for Valentine's day and I will call again, and again. She asked me to. My call seemed to cheer her up and maybe, just maybe, the next time I call she will remember me. Perhaps the next time we talk I will not have a sleepless night, crying for a loss - a loss of a closeness we shared for so very many years, since first we met and became instant friends in the summer of 1946. It was that long ago, but it seems like yesterday.

Over the years friends have come and gone from my life. A few steadfastly remained. She was one. And now she is leaving me, slowly, but surely. My heart is aching. Goodbyes are never easy, no matter how or when, swiftly or slowly, expected or sudden. How can anyone replace someone who accepted you, warts and all, with unconditional love?

Of course I know that answer, but slowly, over time I will have to learn to let go and be grateful that even if I am lost to her, I will keep the precious memories of a special, loving friend.

Yet Another Goodbye

After all, by my age I should be used to saying goodbye to friends, but why is it always difficult to have close friends leave your small spot on this earth? I know that this goodbye will inevitably allow for another hello...another enrichment for my life...but for now, for a while, there will be that hole, that emptiness that no one else will ever fill. I will look on that friendship as a gift that I enjoyed for a time and that will always have a place in my heart, but still, for now, for this while, I will feel the vacuum, the void left by a presence moved away.

Farewell, friend and ally. Soon our only contact will be via the internet or telephone. I wish you the very best in your new community, new friends, new life. You have that way about you, and I have no doubt that you will bring new friends into your world, swiftly and surely, as you did when you entered my part and time on this earth, this very earth that you will always fight to protect.

"may the wind always be at your back..."
(from and old Irish blessing)

Remembering Shirley

Shirley Temple died last week. Unlike other celebrities from another era, her passing received scant notice. I did receive one email from a high school classmate recalling someone we "grew up with."

How could I forget? She was a huge part of my depression-era childhood. She sang, danced, smiled and cheered us a bit during those dark days of unemployment and for some, despair over a disappearing style of life.

Cheering us up a "bit" meant a lot to many of us. She lit up the screen with her bouncy curls, sunny smile and perky, can-do attitude. We fell in love with her and she never let us down. She remained a model of positiveness among nagging gloom. There were no scandals such as we are bombarded with by the press today regarding the movie idols and their use of drugs and sensationalism in a desperate effort to retain the spotlight.

Shirley remained in that light through her talent and upbeat aura, retiring out of the limelight when she reached adulthood, followed by a life of service to others. She never disappointed us fans, with the exception of her early retirement. Looking back, it seems a wise decision. Her impact was as a child star and I believe she recognized that early during her stardom. She moved on, leaving her movie career, but also a legacy of films that would live on to delight more generations of children..Talk about maturity!

So goodbye to a positive influence on my childhood. Thank you, Shirley, for being you. You helped me during my formative years to remember that "being oneself, the best self one can be" is the most fulfilling and satisfying life to lead.

Where Did it Go?

Two emails arrived this week that got me reflecting about life, family and friends.

The first one was an announcement that my last surviving cousin had died. He was the end of our generation in my home town of Ely, and, as my cousin, Lois, the writer of the email noted to my brother and me, "I think you two are the last left of that generation". Those were sobering words.

Later I received another email from Mary Jean, a school friend who lives in my home town. She wrote, "Where did life go when we weren't looking?" This friend has a way with words...to the point, and with a poetic quality.

Where did life go? It seems only yesterday that I was young and looking forward to a future, wondering what it would hold in store. I still feel much like that person I was growing up in the north woods, protected from much of the world, running through the woods, talking to strangers, exiting the house early in the day, to return in the evening after a day of adventures. Our parents didn't worry about us in those days, even though we were unconnected by cell phones. We actually communicated face-to-face, looking into each other's eyes, waiting  for a response that included the non-verbal. We felt the world around us, smelled the scents of the forest, swam in the lakes (unsupervised), biked to the next adventure, dug in the earth, made sand castles, salted bloodsuckers, captured night crawlers for fishing, toads and frogs and chipmunks for short-term enclosure in cages, (thanks to the construction talent of my oldest brother), sprinted after the fireflies, picked wild berries, scraped our knees and played outside until well after dark.

During the inclement weather we played board games, listened to the radio shows and read, and read and read some more. We had our secret places such as forts in the woods and a crawl space on the top of the shed above the alley, where we hid from adult intrusion, and perused magazines and comics, wrote journals and secret codes. In the winter we sledded, made snow forts, sucked on icicles, threw snowballs and stayed outside until our woolen mittens and jackets became soggy with the wet snow. Shivering with cold, we reluctantly trudged into the house, suddenly welcomed by the aromas of homemade bread and cups of hot chocolate steaming on the kitchen table.

We had chores and homework, but we were sheltered from the outside world, except through the news reels at the movie theater and, when company came over, our ears plastered to the heat vent in the floor upstairs, listening to the adult conversations in the living room below. Drugs, crime, murder, wars, were only on a distant radar. We felt safe.

The teen years brought us closer to adult realities. There were the social studies classes, newspapers and greater awareness of our outside world. Still we were busy with teen-age stuff...dating, football games, gossip, malts at the downtown popular hang-out, proms, clothes and flitting contemplation of our future plans, often pushed under the covers with our busy-ness of growing up, or, perhaps, our fear of facing that great unknown...unprotected and no longer so safe.

Then we became adults with all the accompanying responsibilities. Over the years we were bombarded by the news of the entire world as our world became invaded by TV, computers, cell phones and we felt compelled to be aware, to vote, to take stands and to enter into life with all that we could offer to make that world a better place.

Where did life go? Am I really one of the last of my generation? I remember when my father moved in with us. He was almost 87 and he enriched our lives until his death at 92. I remember when he said that he did not want to die. There were so many things happening and he wanted to live to see what would happen next. He had always lived life with gusto. He supported a family in a job he detested, "underground, damp and sunless," he spent his free time in the woods he loved, and he read every newspaper and magazine within his reach, an influence on me I am sure. He gave to others, constantly helping out his neighbors, his community, his church. He led a full life, even during his last years when he moved in with us after my mother's and sister's deaths. He brought our neighborhood together, something that I had been too busy to do with work and all. He kept our fires burning during the winter, cutting the wood, piling it by the fireplace, and keeping a toasty fire 24 hours a day. After a few years he could only tend it during the day hours, and during his last year of life the wood lay uncut and the fire burned no more.

He lived life but at the end he, too, wondered, "Where did it go?" It passed too quickly and he was not ready to let it go.

He was a model and I hope to live life as he did...to the fullest and to the very end, and wonder, as does my school friend, "Where did it go?"

Bye, Bye, Bees

It was a final farewell today. Someone purchased our empty hives with all of the equipment that accompanies bee tending. They are gone for good, along with any nostalgia that remained when I gazed at the empty hives. It's funny that I would miss something as impersonal as bees, but I did. Even in the middle of winter, when the weather rose to the 40's in the middle of the day, I would wander out in the back yard and watch those little hummers leave the warmth of their hive to relieve themselves far from their clean home. It was not as much fun as watching them in the spring and summer when they buzzed back to the hive laden down with yellow pollen, but it was more reassuring to see them fly in and out in the cold and bleakness of winter, an amazing sign of life humming inside of those small white boxes.

There are not many wild bees in our back yard as when we had our bees buzzing around. The yard is quieter this summer, with the exception of the lumbering, fuzzy black and yellow bumblebees, going about their work of pollinating and keeping life moving along for future summers.

Our house is quieter, too, with our faithful old cat gone from our lives. Bob put a headstone in the flower garden where he lies beneath our peach tree. As that tree grows I will know that Bugsy helped give life to future peaches in that side garden, in view from his favorite lounging window where he spent so many peaceful hours dreaming in the sun.

Life is easier. There are less chores. There is less commotion, less to worry about. But then there is less to love.

Meanwhile, I wait for more hellos. They have always arrived when I least expected them.

This coming week I have family from the Cities, books to sign and five days of a celebration honoring our veterans in our Veteran's Town. Life does go on.

Eighteen Years of Love

We brought our old cat, Bugsy, home from the vets on the third. They called every day, several times, during his four days there, to update us on his condition. Finally they realized that there was nothing more they could do for him and we knew that the days ahead would be filled with pain. The decision seemed obvious to us. Perhaps it was obvious, but it is never easy. We have been through this many times before, but it never gets easier. As some wise person said to me as I was struggling with this, "It doesn't get easier because it is love."

Through my tears I am remembering how Bugsy came to us, an abandoned six-week old kitten, surviving on grasshoppers on our land south on Cascade Road. It was October and the bugs would soon come to an end. We were staying in our camper, one last time before the winter. We took him back to the Cities, knowing that in a year or two he would have to make the trip back with us to our retirement home in the Black Hills.

He never complained - through eight moves - including our flight from the flames during the Alabaugh Fire of 2007 - until we finally settled in this last home in 2008. We chose this house for him and our other cat. It had several great windows for sunning and watching birds and other critters. It had a sound basement for the litter boxes. We never considered buying a house that did not favor our cats.

He was good - never clawing furniture - careful to retract his claws when jumping on our laps. and always eager for food, never forgetting his early starvation years of abandonment in the woods.

It was only in the past few months that he began to howl many times during the day. It puzzled us, and annoyed us - especially early in the morning - but I remember my other cat yowling during his last few months of his elderly life. Perhaps there was an onset of some physical discomfort, or, I like to believe, that these treasured pets knew that they would be leaving us and wanted somehow to remind us not to forget them when they left.

How can you forget eighteen years of purring, rubbing, insisting on lap time and the sight of him licking his face and paws most carefully after each meal, curling up and lying in the sunshine of an eastern window? Then, during the day, somehow, when the sun was moving through its cycle, old Bugsy would follow the sunshine to the southern window, and finally, late in the day, I would find him curled up in my office in the sunshine of the window facing west.

We brought him home from the vets for his last two days, fed him all his favorite foods, gave him his painkillers and extensive lap time and had the vet put him down yesterday while he was curled up on my lap

Bob buried him over flowers and catnip in the garden closest to his favorite window where he would sit and watch the birds, squirrels and occasional cats, deer and wild turkeys that stopped at the bird bath or feeders. As we covered him with the garden earth I listened to the birds who had flown to safety overhead as we said our final goodbye to the cat who had given us so many years of furry comfort, trust and acceptance.

Today, as I do my household tasks, I look at his favorite spots, see him stretched out or curled in a ball, and I remember.

Waiting is the Hardest

Our eighteen-year old cat, Bugsy, is at the vets. We brought him in on Saturday. It turns out he has pancreatitis, an illness fairly common in older cats. The first two calls from the veterinarian were hopeful. We thought we would take him home on Sunday, but he took a turn for the worse. We visited him this morning and he is miserable. It hurts to see him hurt and we began to consider having him put down. He got kidney disease a couple of years ago, but has done well on the food and meds. Several weeks ago he developed a thyroid problem. It's tough growing older for many of us.

Meanwhile, we wait. We wait with hope that he will recover and spend some quality time back home with us. If not, we will say another goodbye, and after eighteen years it will not be easy. I try to prepare for the inevitable eventually....ever hopeful that it will be later than sooner, but no matter when, saying goodbye is never easy. And although another hello will be around the corner, it is that time in between that is the most difficult, and, that time is now.

Intermission

Can it really be two months since I jotted down some thoughts on this blog? I looked back, and sure enough, I stopped writing, volunteering and doing other entertaining things in order to work with an editor on my book that will be coming out this summer....hopefully!

Editing takes concentration and I put my focus on that endeavor. Now I have several days before I begin working with a publisher. That, they tell me, will take another two months, perhaps three. That's what happens when you self-publish.

This respite would have given me a few days to catch up on the messes piling up in my office. Well, that was my plan, but you know the old saying, "the best laid plans".....Those plans went belly-up when I went belly-down with a fall. Now I am nursing a knee that had surgery years ago and am waiting to see if there is any serious damage that may require another surgery. A visit to emergency (of course it happened on a weekend) showed no broken bones. But then, my usually positive husband tells me that ligaments take longer to heal than breaks. Sigh....

What do I get out of this event? I am saying "Hello to much rest and goodbye to my water aerobics, walking and type A personality activities." It is temporary, I keep telling myself. Be patient. Well, what else can I do?

For one thing, I am spending a few moments on this blog before I return to my "sitting with leg up" activity. Sigh again. Sometimes it takes a mishap such as this for folks like me to stay still and catch up on reading, enjoy the daffodils that somehow managed to survive our cold and stormy weather, and reflect on how fortunate I am compared to......you know, the comparison thing really does help. Just watching the news, let alone being aware of many others around me, and I return to gratitude for all I do have in my life.

So, for now, I will enjoy this intermission and soak in the more comtemplative aspects of living. It's about time!

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.

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.

Hello Again, Again. Goodbye Again, Again

We can always count on our Christmas Cactus plant bringing color to the gray of November and December. It blooms on cue, in time for Thanksgiving, lingering into December. Our second cactus on our porch lags a few weeks behind, with brilliant blossoms to follow.

And now, goodbye.....

For the second time we lost our colony of bees. A few days ago they simply disappeard from their hive. They seemed to be thriving all summer, downing the sugar water we supplied during the flowerless months of October and November. They were many and active, (I have two bites to prove it), but suddenly they are gone from our lives. We know they had an ample supply of honey they worked so diligently to harvest all summer.

Was it colony collapse? Was it the effect of the pesticides that neighbors spray to keep immaculate lawns? We may never know, but we think we may not try our bee endeavor again. It isn't the work involved, but the heartache that follows their absence. It amazes me how much I count on the little buzzers flying around, dancing on our flowers, drinking water from the bird bath, diving into the hive, loaded with yellow or orange pollen, then flying off to forage and fertilize our part of this world.

We intend to harvest the honey they left, a reminder of their energy, devotion to the colony and their part in the continuation of the lives of the plants that surround us with their beauty. They are remarkable creatures.

For now we say goodbye. We may change our minds. There is a hole to fill.

Yet Another Goodbye

Life is always filled with goodbyes. Some are more painful than others, and some are permanent. I want to keep saying hello because I know, sooner or later, I will be experiencing another goodbye.

This week my husband and I are seeing off friends we have had for many years since moving to Hot Springs. During our time here we have greeted the new wife and seen two children born to the couple. They are leaving for better opportunities for sure, but for me it means no more lunches and shopping in Rapid City with us girls, no more political chats with the husband, and nor more watching the children grow, learn and develop into adulthood.

We will keep contact, but it will not be the same. We may get photos of the children at their different stages and, hopefully, we will see one another now and then. What we will have are fond memories of the years we did spend with one another and rejoice with them in their new life. They have enriched our lives with their friendship and that will remain within us long after they move away.

Goodbye, goodluck and the best of the best from us.

Mortality Matters

Many of us ignore death most of the time. We gloss it over with words such as "he passed", "she crossed over", "he is in a better place".

When I was young we said "died", period. We had wakes (visitations) that lasted a day or more. The body was viewed in the home and I even remember when I was a tot that I was held up to my uncle's body to give him a parting kiss. (That was pretty traumatic at the time, but I did face death head on, with no frills about it).

One of the ways we look at death as children is through our pets that come and go from our lives. Each time a special pet dies we grieve at our loss, often with vague realization of the permanency of their absence. If we do not lose a parent, friend or sibling until we are adults, we remain distant from the realities of the brevity of life. Life feels ever so long and permanent in our youth.

Each time I attend a funeral, which become more numerous as I age, I re-look at my own dying. It is not an easy look for the most part. In a few years I will be a blip on the screen of life and after those who knew me are gone, there will be no memories of me on this earth.

This is a reminder to make the best of the time I have to live my life to the fullest, and that will be unique to me....the road only I can take.

It always gets back to "hello, good-bye, hello" until the last goodbye.

A neighbor died recently. He was quiet, thoughtful, gentle and unprovoking. I would like to be that kind of neighbor, although that is not my nature. I guess the best kind of neighbor I may hope to be is one that is not critical, is accepting and available in emergencies.

One of my veterans that I interviewed died around the same time. He was a Korean War veteran, and alert and healthy when we visited a few weeks before his death. I was shocked when I saw his obituary. I learned that he died as a result of a fall. He had an opportunity to fight for his country one more time with his offering of his testimonial for Save Our VA in Hot Springs. He was proud of his story that was going to Washington as a voice of one of the veterans who cared about other veterans.

The deaths of both of these men reminded me of the numerous "good-byes" I have said during my lifetime and the gratitude I have for the ways in which each of these individuals have touched my life in one way or another.

Life is short. Each departure is a remembrance and a preparation for my own final "good-bye", and each one a memorial to the preciousness of "hello".