Book Review: Of Human Clay

October 14, 2013 By

The best of a book is not the thought which it contains, but the thought which it suggests; just as the charm of music dwells not in the tones but in the echoes of our hearts.
~ John Greenleaf Whittier

IMG_0801It was with great excitement that I recently received newly published memoirs written by two of my friends.  The first to be delivered to my doorstep was, Of Human Clay, the making and breaking of a nun, by Aimee Wise, a lovely woman I met in 2010 at Jennifer Louden’s writing retreat in Taos, New Mexico.

It is a glorious read. I had a difficult time putting it down when I finished reading the final pages. I wanted more. It was like a delicious meal that you don’t want to end. The first words that came to mind when I finally let it go were beautiful, stunning, and heartbreaking. It’s a remarkable love story, not only between a man and woman, but also between a woman, her God, and the people she loved and served for seventeen months as a medical missionary in Malawi, one of the poorest nations in Africa.

Aimee’s story  begins with her Irish Catholic upbringing and her search for a meaningful life as she enters the convent to become a nun. She spends years preparing herself to become a medical missionary. Later, finding herself in a small, forgotten nation, living among people who have been virtually ignored by a patronizing  church, Aimee finds herself facing a patriarchal governing body regulated by Rome and its often hypocritical views of what caring for others is really all about. When she shares her thoughts with a young priest whose feelings are similar to her own, they fall in love, lost in a world of diminishing returns as they each, singularly, try to maintain their balance, vows, and the passion they feel for each other and their work.

Filled with important questions about life, love, and caring for others, Aimee’s story led me back to my own experiences as a child in the Catholic church and my families dismissal when priests in our parish discovered that my parents had been married by a justice of peace in Maryland, on Valentine’s Day in 1942. The next day my father went to war and eventually became a hero in our country’s fight to bring peace to a world at war.  Told that they were living in sin and that my brothers and I were bastards, my parents left the church never entering the doors of any religious organization again. Even as a child of eight, I felt the stigma and inaccessibility to those who wanted to teach me what and how to believe in a spiritual deity.

I highly recommend this book to anyone immersed in their own spiritual journey. It touches the essence and hearts of all of us whether we follow a traditional faith or have invented our own way of believing or disbelieving.

 

I will  tell you about my friend, Shirley Hershey Showalter, and her new memoir, Blush, A Mennonite Girl meets A glittering World,” as soon I’ve finished reading it. Stay Tuned.

Filed Under: Book Reviews, Compassion, love, Memoir, Navigating Through Life, Quotes, The Journey Tagged With:

October Adventure

October 1, 2013 By

IMG_0497October

Gusts hurry clouds
Large as icebergs across unlimited blue
Unclothed limbs thrash beneath shadows
Afraid the sky will burst

The gray squirrel
The one that limps  fusses at the cat
Seems thin like the light slipping
Over the edge

I fill the feeders
To overflowing  rake the path
Blanketed with summer’s remnants
Moldering through expectant afternoons

JZR
10/3/91

Though temperatures will be rising today to eighty  plus, and the humidity will soon make the air heavier, fall is here. At bedtime, I open a window in my room, leave the blanket in place and sleep more soundly than I do in summer. It is hibernation time.

Although I’m a morning person, it is difficult to get out of bed when it is so dark outside.  At this time of year I want a rise with the sun and go to sleep when it falls off in the west.  But that doesn’t leave enough time during the daylight hours to get enough done.  In another month the time will change and I’ll find it easier to get out of bed earlier. But night will encroach sooner than before and the evening chores in the garden will be done in strong afternoon light or wait until the days start lengthening again.

Though I haven’t finished the first draft of my book, it’s time for a change of scene.  Next week, I’m off on an adventure. I’m off to London, where a bridge has been falling down for centuries and a new born prince resides not too far away.  I’m very excited but at the same time having difficulty getting myself ready to go.  Packing has always been a chore for me.  I either pack too much or too little and then complain that my bags are either too heavy or I don’t have enough clothing to keep me from looking like an old, wrinkled wanderer.

After I leave the the house, the dogs and cat behind, I’ll become my traveling self, eager for something new and ready for change.  I’ll see some sights I haven’t checked out before, visit with old friends, see a few plays and listen to beautiful music at St. Martin’s in the Field.  I’ll check out Harrod’s and other stores that catch my interest and wander through the many outdoor markets looking for some small object that doesn’t cost much but  would be perfect for one of my works of art.

At this time of year, we usually go to the beach, just five hours away, where the tourists are mostly gone for the season. There I take in the sound of the ocean, walk barefoot in the sand, and simply rest.  But this year I decided on something different. I haven’t been to the other side of the pond in a number of years and decided it was time to return. And England is one my favorite places.  The years pass too quickly and though there are other places still on my bucket list, returning to special places is particularly comforting.  And having Frequent Flyer Miles to get me there certainly helps.

I may or may not show up here during the next couple of  weeks, depending on what I’m doing and how I’m feeling. Sometimes a body just needs a break from old routines. Other times life is so exciting I just may have to break my silence and fill you in on what’s happening.  In any case, I’ll be back in three weeks. Enjoy this wonderful season and the changes that lie before all of us.

Filed Under: Poetry, The Journey, The Seasons, Theatre, Travels Tagged With: ,

The Velocity of Autumn

September 24, 2013 By

IMG_0776This past weekend we took another one day trip up to the Arena Stage in Washington, DC to see The Velocity of Autumn, a ninety-minute, one act play, by award winning playwright, Eric Coble.  And oh, what a fantastic show.  This two person play, starring Academy Award winner Estelle Parsons, (Bonnie and Clyde) and two-time Tony winner Stephen Spinella, (Angels in America) had me rolling in the aisles with laughter and teary eyed with sadness all at the same time.

Artistic Director at the Arena, Molly Smith, says in her program notes, “We find ourselves in the middle of some of the most powerful questions we face as human beings.  When does one step in to help a parent and when does one stay out?  What happens when family members are unequally engaged? Whose responsibility is it anyway? What happens when authorities step in? Police, social services, doctors: What is this thing we call control and how long do we get to hold onto it?  How much are we like our parents – what is nature and what is nurture?”

The play is about seventy-nine year old artist, Alexandra, and her war with her children who want to put her in a nursing home. She’s surrounded herself with explosives in bottles and jars wicked with rags, while in her hand she holds an old Zippo lighter that once belonged to her husband. Her front door is barricaded with furniture. She’s determined to be left alone, and is ready to blow herself, the building, and the whole block up if her daughter and one of her sons, send in the police to drag her away.

As the play opens Alexandra is asleep in her easy chair with classical music playing in the background. Her youngest son Chris, also an artist, climbs up the magnificently autumn colored tree just outside her large bay window. He opens the sash from the outside, climbs into the room, scaring his mother who is ready to light the fuse on one of the bottles.

Chris and his mother have not seen or talked to each other for years since he ran off to explore the world and discover who he was becoming.  Chris, commandeered by his sister and brother to help bring their mother to her senses, is greeted with Alexandra’s rage. Mother and son connect as Chris listens to her wishes to be left alone, to watch her tree grow outside her window, living in her own home of some forty years. Through shared  memories of past visits to New York’s finest art museums when Chris was small and a budding artist himself, they of begin to find balance, coming to terms with what lies ahead.

As we walked out of the theatre after the show, I told Bill, “I understand much better what my mother was going through during the last years of her life.”  About to turn seventy-one in November, this poignant discussion about aging, independence, and family, helped me to understand how quickly the autumn of our lives comes upon us and the difficulties we face when we insist upon being by ourselves as our coping skills become less than what they were.

I found myself suffering along with Alexandra, needing to be in control and left to her own devices. But as the child and caretaker of a now deceased mother, I also understood Chris and his siblings’ need to protect their parent and the community around her. Chris unlike his absent siblings, brings sensitivity to the conversation and the war comes to a close.

I remember how terrible I felt when I told my mother that it was time for her to turn over her car keys to me. She’d been visiting the body shop almost monthly to repair the dents and dings her car accumulated while she was out and about being independent. Afraid the problem might one day grow into harming another person, I asked her to give up her car. I watched her spirit shrink as she lost her independence. I’ve spent hours wondering how I will feel if and when I find myself in the same position.

Despite future possibilities, I’m enjoying my elder-hood. It is a joyous time. I have more freedom than I’ve ever had in my life. I am not an old lady who sits on her porch in her rocking as the world goes by. I’ve been around and learned some amazing things about life and survival. And I keep moving on. Should I ever face what Alexandra faced, I hope I’ll not surround myself with explosives. I’d prefer to take joy in what I have and can do to live each day as a reward for sticking it out through the bad times.

This show is on its way to Broadway.  With all the Baby Boomers coming of age, I think it will be a hit.  Don’t miss it!

Filed Under: Caring for an aging parent, Compassion, family, Navigating Through Life, Quotes, Theatre, wonderings Tagged With: , , ,

Shouldering My Shoulds

September 17, 2013 By

DSCF0623A few days ago as I was working on my memoir, I wrote, “Though he has broad shoulders, I should not lean on them as much as I do.”  Seeing the words “shoulder” and “should,” just one word apart from each other stopped me in my tracks. They are words with different meanings. Their spelling is alike, except for the “er” in shoulder.  And they are very much related, especially in the way we use them today.

I  looked up the meaning and origin of each word. According to the Merrriam-Webster Dictionary, the word should comes from “the middle English word, sholde and the Old English word sceolde.”  One of its many uses is “in auxiliary function to express obligation, propriety, or expediency.”

Shoulder on the other hand “in Middle English is sholder from Old English sculdor; akin to Old High German scultra.”  We of course know it to mean the part of the body between the neck and the tops of our arms. It can also mean to carry a burden or to push through.

I first heard the expression, “Don’t should on me,” years ago at one of the first Alanon meetings I went to.  Dealing with my mother’s alcoholism and another family member’s drug habits, I went to those meetings to find my way through the maze of how to live my own life while being a family member with concerns about my loved ones. My mother-in-law had also been an alcoholic when she was alive and I’d successfully made her into my worst enemy by telling her that if she really loved her son and her new grandson, she shouldn’t drink.

It was years before I learned that “should” doesn’t mean anything when it comes to addiction, whether it’s to alcohol, heroin, or food.  Addiction is a disease that is genetic and runs in families.  It is a biological urge that is difficult, if not impossible to overcome.

I have always been a “shoulder.” Should is a frequent part of my speech no matter who I’m talking to, and especially when it comes to myself. “I should go to the gym four times a week, I shouldn’t eat too much dessert, and I should be more patient,” are always on the tip of my tongue. It was a family pattern I grew up with. I was constantly being told I should or shouldn’t, as in “You shouldn’t be seeing that boy. You should be seeing someone closer to your own age.”

I’ve also been one big “shoulder.” I’ve carried a lot of stuff belonging to other people on my shoulders so that they would feel less pain. I’ve always hated watching people, especially my family and innocent creatures like dogs, cats, and horses suffer. So in order to keep those I love from painful predicaments I often try to carry their baggage for them. When it came to my parents, I was their go-between when they fought. I became the family “fixer” who knew just what to say to calm everyone else down, while I broke apart from the weight.

I’ve been known for taking the reins when someone falls off their horse and lies on the ground broken and in pain. I took my mother in during her last years, caring for her as best as I could, often at my own emotional expense. I know now that I shouldn’t be carrying anyone else’s baggage but my own. But it’s still a tendency and I’m working hard at being less prone to that way of life.  I’m being fairly successful, though now and then I find it particularly difficult to pass up taking in a stray dog or cat.

The pinched nerve in my neck/shoulder area is almost 100% better. I think it had something to do with a should.  The one in which I said I should have my first draft done by October first.  Well, it’s not going to happen and that’s fine by me. I’m learning to listen to my body when it tells me what I should and shouldn’t be doing.

Are you a “shoulder?”  If so, what makes you want to take on the weight of the world?

Filed Under: Addiction, Compassion, family, Memoir, Navigating Through Life Tagged With: ,

Meditation On Fall

September 10, 2013 By

IMG_0489

goldenrod
turns the field bright yellow
the moon is full

We’ve had a very tolerable summer here in Virginia. There’ve been a few short heat waves that have been replaced by glorious cool spells, lower humidity. Weekly rains of half an inch or more have kept me from having to water the garden. Temperatures in the eighties have been manageable. The garden is looking a lovely green. I’m not a “Summer in Virginia” fan but this one was certainly delightful compared to so many others I’ve lived through.

cool night air
trace of frost on grass
toad sleeps deeply

My favorite season is upon us. Nights are cool enough to open windows, turn the A/C off, use a  blanket. The yellow school bus is back, picking up and dropping off neighborhood kids wearing light sweaters in chilly morning air. The dogwood leaves are deep red. I can see the green of other trees and shrubs fading as I travel up and down neighboring hills. Walking in the early morning is a perfect way to honor each new day.

leaves drop
scratching the window pane
wind from the north

I’m interested in cooking again.  My favorite things to make during cold months are soups, stews and braises.  I’m tired of salads, though late winter will find me longing for spring greens and juicy, red tomatoes. Local peaches are about gone and if you can find them, are mealy, unappealing. At the farmer’s market bins overflow with apples, winter squash, potatoes, onions, aromatic garlic, beets. As the days cool further, cold weather crops like broccoli will return with brussel sprouts, cabbage, spinach, and kale.

feather quilt
pulled over my head
bear hibernates

 Soon we’ll be raking leaves, stacking firewood close to the house. Hot steamy cups of tea replace the iced variety I brew every day in summer. I switch to PJs with sleeves, keep a quilt nearby should nights grow colder than expected. Max and Sam cuddle closer. Through the open widow I smell wood burning in my neighbor’s fireplace.

from the chimney
smells of oak and poplar
fox hunts nesting mice

 Early morning walks with Sam and Max in the dark. It’s harder to get out of bed before the sun rises. I’ll take more naps. Evenings will find me heading for bed earlier as the light dies.  My eyes want to close as I read.
Every night the same paragraph over and over again without moving forward.

tea grows cold
book open on the bed
afternoon nap

     Energy surges with brisk walks. It’s time to shut down the garden. Cut back dead flower heads, prune this and that. I make notes of what to replace in spring. Plan on ferns and woodland flowers as tree canopies spread.

autumn rain
my feet cold and damp choose
soft woolen socks

       HAPPY FALL EVERYONE!
HOPE YOU ENJOY IT AS MUCH AS I DO.

 

 

 

 

Filed Under: Poetry, The Garden, The Seasons Tagged With: ,
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