All Saints Day

These are some shots from a walk through Pere Lachaise Cemetery in Paris, resting place of several famous people, including Gertrude Stein and the composer, Frederic Chopin. 

The oldest people buried here are a husband and wife, Abelard (1079-1142) and Heloise (1101-1164).  Many graves have been added since that time.  The most recent I saw was in 2011, but most are very old.  Many are moss covered or strewn with cobwebs; some have sunken over time.

Lots of the family plots are marked by crypts where the bereaved can come to pray.  The smell of incense and flickering of candles can be found at several graves.  As sunlight shines through the stained glass that appears in the back and sides of many of the crypts, color can be seen through designs cut into the doors in their fronts.

After all these years, I still felt as though I was witnessing the grief of the bereaved looking at these graves.  Seeing how they attempted to preserve the likeness of a loved one, or tell something about their lifestyle in the memorial they chose, I understood the desire to make sure the one they lost was not forgotten having experienced that same feeling.

Grief is such a painful process; it overwhelms us leaving both body and soul spent.  Once you have lost someone, I don’t believe you ever really stop grieving.  I think the best you can hope for is to find peace.

Peace to all who are mourning.

https://www.mamakatslosinit.com

Never have I seen a ghost; but if I did, I am pretty sure it would be here.

Mother's Dreams

When this photo was taken my mother was young and single.   She had no way to predict that she would be granted ninety-three years of life on this planet or be partner in a marriage that lasted over fifty years, ending only with the death of my father.  She could have had no idea she would carry ten babies under her heart, but see only eight of them survive her.

She is so young in this photograph.  The slight smile on her face and the gleam in her eyes hint at a heart filled with dreams.  I will never know what those dreams were.  Never know how many of them came true.  I can guess that having grown up an orphan she was anxious to get out into the world to make a life of her own, but she never told me that.  She offered very few glimpses into the life she had led before this photo was taken.

On summer nights we used to sit on the front stoop and look at the stars.  She often talked about the dreams she had for my future.  The world was moving fast then, and she saw fantastic changes in technology coloring the world I would know.  She would make outrageous predictions, and we would laugh.  As the laughter faded and she grew quiet, her gaze would return to the stars.  We would sit quietly each lost in our thoughts.  How many of her thoughts were of the young girl in this photograph and the dreams in her heart?  She would not say, and I would never know.

What I Miss Most

(This is the home of my husband’s grandparents.  The photo rests on a quilt made my Grandma Olivia the lady of the house. )

I don’t have many photos of my childhood home or the people and rambunctious activity that filled it.  Still, I can picture that place as if I had been there only yesterday.  It was a two bedroom home–three if you count the unfinished basement occupied by all of the boys.  It was far too small for the hordes of people who lived there.  Under-insulated and heated only by two glorified space heaters, it was a meat locker in the winter.  Without air conditioning, we had ample heat mid-summer though.  On the face of it, my home should have been a miserable place to live.  It was not.

My dad was a short, stocky man of few words with a quick and wicked sense of humor.  His name was Elwyn– Ellie to my mom, but Woody to the rest of the world.  Few people really knew him, introverted as he was.  He loved to read everything from Popular Mechanics to the poetry of such extremes as Ogden Nash and Robert Frost.  He worked twelve hour days.  When his long shift was done, he came straight home to all of us.  I remember him coming through the back door at night. I would run to him and climb up on the steel toes of his size 13 EEE Wolverine work shoes, and tired as he must have been he would dance me around the kitchen.

He called my mother Bunny.  Her real name was Susie, though she was known to our teenaged friends simply as Suz.  My mom was as funny as my dad; I think that is one thing that kept their marriage strong.  She was old school,  waiting on him hand and foot when he was home.  My mom had quirky mannerisms and butchered metaphors mercilessly.  In turn, we teased her without mercy.  She never took herself too seriously to be able to laugh along with us.

The house where I grew up was loud. Stories of outrageous antics pulled by someone who lived there were recounted time and again.  It was filled with laughter, and it was filled to the rafters with love.  There are many things I miss about living in the home of my parents, but none of those things compare with how much I miss dad and mom themselves.

Sending Out a Ripple

Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring those ripples build a current which can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.

Excerpt from Bobby Kennedy's Ripples of Hope speech

One of my earliest memories outside things that happened to me personally is the assassination of Bobby Kennedy.  The images of him first at the podium and later on the floor live in the recesses of my brain.  They launched for me an awareness of the nightly news and a world in turmoil beyond my front door.  From that time on I have been an obsessive news watcher.  This news story was my gateway drug to a lifelong habit of consuming far more news than is probably healthy.  Current events leave me weary.  Hearing snippets of Bobby Kennedy's encouraging and wise words this past week lifted my spirits and restored my hope.

Ripples of hope that make me thankful...
The vegetables currently growing in my garden
The flowers that fill the yard
The light of long days
The chance to relax and restore the soul
My son who is a good man and is spending his "year off" working at a residential treatment center for troubled adolescents
My daughter who is a gifted teacher
My daughter who improves people's health and self-esteem by caring for their smiles
My husband who is faithfully by my side
American history which reminds us we have been through turbulent times before and emerged battered, but not broken

Ten Things of Thankful

A Mother's Love

In high school my daughter's friends gravitated to one home more than any other.  Their friend Eric is an only child and his parents graciously opened their basement to Rock Band, pool and all sorts of teen amusements.  Instead of one child, the house was often filled with a dozen or more. Scrumptious home baked treats were served warm from the oven and both parents created a welcoming atmosphere where the kids felt relaxed and at home.

By senior year the kids became aware of changes in Eric's dad, though it wasn't until later that they learned he was suffering from Alzheimer's.  Over time this gracious man retreated from the kids.  When we discovered his illness I felt awful for all the times this rambunctious group of kids descended on the family when they were already dealing with so much.  We could have easily shifted their gatherings to our own basement.  But at no time did Eric's parents close their door to the kids even when it would have been so much easier to do so.

Eric's dad died while the kids were in college. I attended the visitation and delivered a message from my daughter.  Off at school in Memphis she was unable to be at the funeral for this man for whom she felt such affection.  She wanted them to know she would be there if she could.

Eric's mom smiled and commented about what great friends these kids had remained in the years after graduation.  Looking so serene she pointed out that Eric would have a strong support system to help him deal with his loss.  At that moment I understood why she had endured teens screaming along with Rock Band while caring for her ailing husband night after long night, and I was awed by her wisdom.

While her husband's disease caused him to recede into the past, while her teenaged son lived fully in the present, this loving mother was thinking about the future.  In that future she knew her son would experience painful loss and would need strong relationships to help him cope. She determined to provide a place where those friendships could be forged.  As this realization flooded me I was struck with such respect for this woman.  My heart connected to hers mother to mother.  I understood again why this young man has turned out so well.

TToT: European Sensibilities

Last night I attended the annual Holocaust Remembrance Service at our local temple. Afterwards, I went through old photographs I took during our visit to Dachau Concentration Camp in Germany.  I also ran across this Ten Things of Thankful post I wrote shortly after that visit and decided it was worth a second look.

Ten things the Europeans reminded me for which I am grateful…

SUVs and huge club-cab vehicles are a choice, not a necessity.

Water should be preserved.

(Run off from the mountain is captured in Salzburg, Austria.)

A person should walk—for his or her own good as well as the planet’s.

Beauty all around us improves life.

(Konstanz, Germany)

You make yourself rich, by keeping your needs few. (Apologies to Thoreau who said this better.)

             (Sweet little home amid multi-storied buildings in Lindau, Germany)

Honor those who have gone before you.

(Every grave we saw in Germany and Austria was immaculately kept no matter its age.)

Laugh much.

          (Top of a carousel at the Christmas market in Friedrichshaffen, Germany)

Celebrate what you have.

       (Scene on the famed Glockenspiel of Munich depicting a dance celebrating the     survival of those who made it through a dread disease that devastated the city.)

Do not let the past define you.

(Dachau, Germany Concentration Camp)

Make your faith known.

(Church in Liechtenstein)

Prayer from last night's memorial service...

Fully Compassionate God on high:

To our six million brothers and sisters murdered because they were Jews,

grant clear and certain rest with You

in the lofty heights of the sacred and pure

whose brightness shines like the very glow of heaven.

Source of mercy:

Forever enfold them in the embrace of Your wings;

secure their souls in eternity.

Adonai: they are Yours.  They will rest in peace.

Amen

TToT

Sunflowers

Friends recently sent bouquets of flowers to my church in memory of my mom.  Included with several kinds of flowers were these amazing sunflowers.  They practically glow when the sun hits their petals.

The humble sunflower is a fitting tribute to my mom.  It lacks the sophistication of many flowers yet has a simple beauty that is unmistakable.  Though some consider it weed-like, its infectious spirit brings accolades from others.  It is the Kansas state flower.

It keeps its face towards the sun; even as the sun shifts through the sky the sunflower follows it soaking in all the light it possibly can.  Scientists call this tendency heliotropic.  Thinking of this I realize my mother was a heliotrope.

(Originally shared in 2012, but posted again on Kansas Day 2018.)

Post Thanksgiving Routine

I move slowly this morning, body still tired from the preparations and celebration of the past week.  I am in no hurry as I begin the task of straightening the disarray that comes of having filled the house with company. As I go through the motions of restoring order, generations of my family feel close at hand. I gather tablecloths and head outside to shake errant crumbs of oyster dressing made from mom's recipe onto the lawn.  One bite of that dressing transports me to Hill City, Kansas and a far-too-small house full-to-bursting with our huge, rambunctious family.
Back inside I pull apart tables to remove leaves added to make room for my extended family.  I slide the scaled-down tables back into their usual places where they are disguised as end tables and accent pieces the rest of the year, and smile knowing their true purpose is to provide a gathering place for those I love. I slip the extra chairs I have collected through the years in order to provide adequate seating for all who return each Thanksgiving day into discrete spots throughout the house.
As I disassemble the Thanksgiving scene voices and laughter echo in my memory; some from yesterday, some from years ago.  I picture someone I love perched on each wooden seat as I return it to the place it will remain until November rolls around again. My heart is full as I send up a silent prayer.  It is only right that this diverse group of characters fills my house each year on Thanksgiving, because in truth they are the gift for which I am most thankful.

Mama Kat:  What seven people would you want to invite to Thanksgiving dinner?  The truth is the answer is always my family.  I have to cheat and  tweak the number to more like 27 than 7, but the answer stays my family.

Lone Leaf

Three leaves rustling in the breeze caught my eye.  The tree had shed all its other leaves some time ago, but these three were still firmly hanging on.

My mind shifted to Maudene, a dear lady from church.  Though she hasn’t been well lately she was always a spunky lady with a quick smile and quicker wit.  After their husbands died, Maudene and her friends, Lois and Carol, attended church and Sunday brunch together every week.  They could always be found at the 11:00 service on the East side of the sanctuary about five pews back, heads together sharing a story and laughter.

Tenacious as the three leaves dancing on the branch over my head, these ladies held on.  Both Lois and Carol’s memories and thoughts became muddled over time.  Their bright minds darkened.  Both ladies died in their nineties.

It was bittersweet after this to see Maudene alone in their pew on a Sunday morning.  More than once we moved to join her.

What must it be like to be the last one holding tight, no one to dance in the breeze with you.  No one to share the stories and the laughter.  There is tremendous blessing in a long life, well lived.  Still, there must be pain and loneliness that comes of being the last one still holding on.  The lone leaf.

I pray for Maudene’s restored health.  I pray she doesn’t experience pain.  I pray that some day when her time comes, she is able to let go peacefully, and that her soul is caught on an updraft, the lone leaf dancing across the sky.

I wrote this several years ago.  Maudene is no longer with us.  Coincidentally, my daughter was hired by a local dental practice earlier this year.  The office is managed by Maudene's daughter, Marti.  

Memories of Friends

In the past month I have attended funerals for two men who were the type of people phrases like "pillar of the community" and "salt of the earth" were created to describe.  There are so many reasons I am thankful to have known men like these.  They taught me much...

A moral compass and abiding faith are the best means for keeping a life on track.

People will remember if you have treated them kindly.

Your word is your bond.

Truly big people have no need to make others feel small.

Marriage is a lifetime commitment.

Parenthood is both a great responsibility and greater joy.

Neither fame nor wealth are the true measure of a man.

Understated wit is far more funny than the crude, in-your-face banter that often passes as humor.

Quiet souls run deep.

A noteworthy person feels no need to be noticed.

We can change the world quietly, starting in our own little sphere of influence by living a life others aspire to emulate.  

Rest in peace, Vern and Tim.  You have earned it.

                                                                                TToT

Old Glory

I was thinking this morning how recognizable the American flag is.  Its stars and stripes, a bright representation of where we started and what we’ve become boldly depicted in the red, white and blue of which we are so proud.  Yet even when something happens to dim those colors, we remain steadfast.  Plain as ever are the stars of all fifty states and the stripes of our fore-bearers.  The icon is important, but the people it represents are what truly matter.  It is our strength, our wisdom, our values and our love of humanity that lend the true brightness to our flag.  Long may she wave!

Shine

Today's Write Before Christmas @ Bigger Picture Blogs prompt is To Seek the Light...

My house is filled with light these days.  There are miles of Christmas lights, a fire in the fireplace and lots and lots of candles.

There is something very soothing about candle light.  It softens the rough edges. Everyone and everything looks better to me in the glow of candlelight as though painted with love.

The flame of a candle is like life itself.  Each require oxygen to survive; each have warmth and energy.  The light of a life well lived illuminates all it touches.

Our life like the flame can flicker and sputter in a wind or storm, in our challenges and burdens.  In the darkest of times all we can manage may be a flicker, but this may be the spark of hope that sustains us. Our flame can also burn brightly especially when we are living a life that glorifies God. When we live for His glory our life becomes brighter and more remarkable to those around us.

As I take in the array of candles burning in my home today I imagine them representing people in my life.  These people are my beacons, my source of guidance and inspiration. Their lives have made a difference in mine.  Some have gone before me and I miss them. Though I may no longer be able to see their brightness first hand, I can see their light still reflected in all that they touched.

We all light our candles off the original light, the one who's birth we celebrate in this season.  Even as the light spreads from one to many its original brightness is not diminished.  Our own light is not diminished when we shine it in the world.  In this same way my saints and beacons were able to shine their lights and share God's love without losing any of their own connection with God.  God's love has no limits.  When our light goes out here on earth, love remains.  It spreads and grows becoming more plentiful.

Let me never miss a chance to shine.   Let me be a part of the string of lights used to bring brightness into the dark, cold world.

2011

Chopin's Grave

The muse weeps atop the grave of Chopin while holding a broken lyre.

Frederic Chopin died in 1849 yet his grave is still visited every day.  A crowd gathers bringing flowers and waiting in turn for the chance to snap a photo or two of the gravesite.  One hundred sixty-four years have passed and still he is honored with remembrances.

As I stood in a cold drizzle, shoulder to shoulder with about a dozen other people looking at the grave and the flowers strewn around it, I began to consider my own life’s work.  What a humbling experience to estimate the impact of my work in light of such greatness.

We can’t all be Chopin, but that is okay.  As much as the world needs great musical talent, it needs other things as well.  My impact will not be felt the world over, but I pray that it will be profound in the lives of the people I love.  To be remembered well by the ones I love, that would be music to my ears.

Originally posted when we returned from Paris in 2013.

TToT: Great Women

Over the past few days I have been reading bios of women who were alive before a woman could vote in this country. These women look forward to voting for a woman for US President. (iwaited96years.com)  I have seen the I Voted stickers left on the grave of Susan B. Anthony.  It has been a wonderful reminder that we all have role models upon whose shoulders we stand as we face the future.

Ten Women Heroes who have helped make me who I am...

Grandma Ruth and my mother Susie who both lived life with so much gusto that their spirits never grew old despite being blessed with long lives.  They stayed in touch with current events and poked fun at the world as it changed in ways they deemed questionable. They understood the gift of service both volunteering with "old people" well into their own eighties.  They neither one took themselves too seriously modeling senses of humor that helped them take whatever life dished out.  My mother often told me that "sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying".  It took me a long time to understand that laughing despite problems and irritations reduces their power.

My sisters who never made me feel like a pain in the neck despite being older and much more cool than I was.  Who looked out for me and made sure I had what I needed and were always  my biggest cheerleaders.

Janice, a Sunday school teacher, the first to point out to me the strength of my faith.

Mrs. Payne, my Story Hour leader from preschool was the first person outside my family who seemed to understand just how important books would be in my world.  

Teachers...
Linda Leebrick who taught me art my freshman year of high school.  She exuded kindness and encouraged me to try things I wasn't sure I could do.  She showed me how to look more closely, noting details. When a murderer ended her young life too soon, she taught me about loss.

Bettie Brooks who taught me in 4th grade and again in 8th.  She encouraged my love of reading.  When I graduated college she helped orchestrate my first teaching opportunity sharing her classroom with me.  

Carey Van Sickle the supervisor of my Social Work internship with the public schools during graduate school.  She gave me my first job as a school social worker and modeled for me smart practice serving clients well while maintaining boundaries that protected my sense of self.

And Wanda Warner, the mother of my friend.  Wanda saw the diamond in the rough within my teenage self.  She asked questions about whatever I was into at the time listening intently with a sparkle in her eye.  She had the ability to bypass the prickly rough edges and get down to the potential she believed lived inside me encouraging me to tap into what she saw. 

Thankful for the women who shaped me this week at Ten Things of Thankful.

TToT

All Saints Day

These are some shots from a walk through Pere Lachaise Cemetery in Paris, resting place of several famous people, including Gertrude Stein and the composer, Frederic Chopin. 

The oldest people buried here are a husband and wife, Abelard (1079-1142) and Heloise (1101-1164).  Many graves have been added since that time.  The most recent I saw was in 2011, but most are very old.  Many are moss covered or strewn with cobwebs; some have sunken over time.

Lots of the family plots are marked by crypts where the bereaved can come to pray.  The smell of incense and flickering of candles can be found at several graves.  As sunlight shines through the stained glass that appears in the back and sides of many of the crypts, color can be seen through designs cut into the doors in their fronts.

After all these years, I still felt as though I was witnessing the grief of the bereaved looking at these graves.  Seeing how they attempted to preserve the likeness of a loved one, or tell something about their lifestyle in the memorial they chose, I understood the desire to make sure the one they lost was not forgotten having experienced that same feeling.

Grief is such a painful process; it overwhelms us leaving both body and soul spent.  Once you have lost someone, I don’t believe you ever really stop grieving.  I think the best you can hope for is to find peace.

Peace to all who are mourning.

From an original post in 2013