Category: living in present

A Glimpse of the Divine

The music gives me a few minutes in which my soul relaxes into the divine. Even with my shoes on.  

Thin places.

…it’s called The Ground because I wanted to convey a sense of having ‘arrived’ at the end of the Mass; to have reached a kind of peace and grounded strength, after the long journey of the Mass, having gone through so many different emotional landscapes.

Ola Gjielo

There was once a pastor who removed her shoes before preaching at our Lutheran church. She said it made her feel grounded. Quirky, maybe. Certainly not theologically offensive. That people who attest “for dust you are and to dust you will return” (Genesis 3:19) would object surprised me. I don’t know. Maybe they were afraid that she had athlete’s foot.

Norwegian composer Ola Gjielo offers a piece called “The Ground” as part of his Sunrise Mass (2008) for choir and string orchestra. The Latin would be familiar to pre-1965 Catholics, the English familiar to regular churchgoers. Gjielo composed this piece specifically to use within or without the mass. It is a stunning choral work to which I turn when I want to feel grounded.

I prefer the Latin text to the English. The Latin highlights the structure of the music which opens the portal to the divine, of which I write in other essays. The soaring melody, lush harmony, and simple but intricate accompaniment create space in which to see God.

Grounding is a popular concept in times of chaos. The instability of the major institutions of government/economy, health, religion, and education shakes the ground underneath all of us. We need to grab hold of something solid, be it friendship, God, family. The music gives me a few minutes in which my soul relaxes into the divine. Even with my shoes on.   

It’s a Saturday

Did years of work and family leaving us with little time or energy to call friends for no purpose decondition us?

There was something quite intentional about dial phones.

Isn’t this Lincoln’s birthday? That was a holiday at one time. A holiday that in Illinois resisted sacrificing to President’s Day, which by rights was Washington’s birthday. My mom used to make cherry pie on Washington’s Birthday. Do children know that myth anymore? Today I see no mention of Lincoln on the media.

Five people live in this house. I saw ED for about 30 seconds. I have spent maybe 10 minutes with Mike. I have not seen the boys at all today. Mike hiked for several hours. I have spent most of the day in Norway (my shed), reading, writing, catching up on emails. Memories of calling friends just to talk came to me. I called Susan, then Nancy, and left voice messages.

I called Judy – and we chatted as of old. She admitted that she rarely calls people just to chat. How did that happen? Did years of work and family leaving us with little time or energy to call friends for no purpose decondition us? Texting and e-mailing has replaced phone calls. We agree that texting is good for “Where are you?” but not so good for “how are things?”

Energized by the short conversation and much laughter with Judy, I pledge to call friends regularly. Let’s see how that goes.

Plans made, plans discarded.

One day, the music may be heard, the words read, I may travel again and attend concerts with friends.
If not, I have enjoyed life and maybe made the world a little nicer for those who will sit in the shade.

Covid as a prison.

Facebook mocks me . . .

resurrecting my posts from two, three, or more years earlier, all pre-Covid. Little did we know.

Just a few months ago I wrote about the difficulty of making plans. Naively, as the Delta variance abated, we did just that. My family bought airfare to Chicago for the holidays, planning trips to the theater, to parties with friends, to meals at our favorite restaurants, to community festivals. Omicron obliterated most of the plans, forcing us to create our fun in semi-isolation in the gray, cold city.

To be clear, we had a great time: meeting unfamiliar cousins, viewing the lights of the Chicago Botanic Gardens in the company of good friends, Christmas day activities with our children and grandchildren prior to the onslaught of Covid that evening.

The holidays are long past, but the virus still rules. Plans fizzle as people announce exposure to Covid or the presence of suspicious symptoms. Those of us at a higher risk (old and fat) are especially cautious.

I reflect upon Martha Stewart . . .

and her time in prison. Lest you think that her five months at Camp Cupcake was one lovely vacation, please read the link. Nevertheless, she came out professionally and, it appears, personally unscathed.

This is not to make light of imprisonment. It is horrible and inhumane, a poor system for retribution, rehabilitation, and containment. I reflect upon Martha and her ability to turn lemons into lemonade, so to speak.

First, Martha’s sentence had a beginning. My Facebook photos of March 2020, documenting a glorious week in Mexico, reflect no awareness of the trauma to come. How would we have reacted if we had been told that as of March 15, 2020, we would be restricted to our homes for at least two years with limited social interactions and risk of ill health if not death if specific procedures were not followed, e.g. mask wearing, vaccinations, obsessive hand cleansing?  

Second, there was an end to Martha’s sentence. Five months in prison, five months house arrest. Ten months. Almost two years into Covid, we remain uncertain about the trajectory.  

It is no surprise . . .

that mental health issues have soared within the past two years. Inconsistency feeds mental illness. I bounce from optimism to despair and all points between within minutes. An oft-repeated phrase is “I’m sick of this”, uttered by people as once again plans are put aside.

An Indian proverb posits:

Blessed are those who plant trees under whose shade they will never sit. I keep that in mind as I play music that will never be heard, write words that will never be read, maintain a body that may never travel far, make social dates to be discarded for time alone. One day, the music may be heard, the words read, I may travel again and attend concerts with friends.

If not, I have enjoyed life and maybe made the world a little nicer for those who will sit in the shade.  

Help! I Can’t See

I no longer want to fight my way through museums, theaters, airports, restaurants, and other venues. Time with the family to watch movies, play games, and enjoy good food is enough.

Chicago with mountains.

Baby, it’s cold outside. Mike and I are in Chicago to celebrate the holidays with all the kids. After I retired from church music in 2019, we committed to spending Christmas 2020 in Chicago until Covid shut down society. This year, feeling safe as the vaccine came out and venues reopened with precautions, we left the sun of Arizona along with ED and the boys. Nevertheless, plans have been altered. The tickets for A Christmas Carol were refunded because of production cast exposure to Covid. Plans with friends were discarded after a covid exposure in one case and cold symptoms in another.

We are traipsing through the icy wind of the Midwest pretending to have a good time. The difficulty isn’t just the cold for which we don many layers. My knitted cap presses against the flexible titanium eyeglass frames contorting them on my nose. The elastic of the face mask pulls the frames further askew, increasing the distortion and covering the lenses in steam. I stumble, alert for curbs, trying to adjust my depth perception. Thankfully, there is no snow or ice.

Most public places are crowded and noisy. Lipreading is impossible when the faces are obscured by masks garbling articulation. Few people speak loudly enough to overcome the ambient noise and the tinnitus that plagues me constantly. Just getting to a table in a restaurant is fatiguing. Casual conversation is impossible. Reservations are required for every activity.

We had planned to come for no more than 10 days but extended to 14 to accommodate airline travel. Under current conditions, 10 days would have been enough. I no longer want to fight my way through museums, theaters, airports, restaurants, and other venues. Time with the family to watch movies, play games, and enjoy good food is enough. Maybe next year.

What Would I Do?

What will normal be for me as an individual, for society as a whole? Perhaps I am already living it.  

Where am I going?

Fully retired, Mike and I made plans for an extensive trip to the Western Europe and Baltic states. A road trip up the California coast was on the agenda later in the year. We continued to be busy with family and friends, meeting for coffee, drinks and meals, attending church (well, maybe not so much), enjoying concerts and plays, flying to Chicago to join our kids, new granddaughter, and friends there. Our grandsons had reached an age of increased independence, relieving us of many of our duties in Arizona.

A meniscus torn while performing a rainbow lunge exacerbated the arthritis already developing in my knee, requiring a partial replacement. Will I be able to go on the cruise? I asked the doctor. Not exactly warm and fuzzy but realistic, he gave a skeptical nod. We proceeded to plan with a casual eye on this virus rumored to come out of China.

The reality hit as we drove home from Mexico in March: borders were being closed. The world was experiencing a pandemic. We girded our loins, pored over news reports, and adapted our traditions, all while planning to resume normal living by Christmas 2020.

Hah!

Now what? The nearly two years of pandemic have provided everyone with time to evaluate and re-evalutate their lives. With no need to dress up, or even dress, clothing choices were simplified. Technology moved up to the needs list pushing jewelry and makeup to lower section of wants. Cooking at home became the norm. We ordered in to support local businesses, some of which did very well, especially during the early days when states allowed them to sell alcohol on takeout.

Back to my original question. What would I do if it weren’t for Covid? My surgery has healed as much as it will, leaving me with arthritis in both knees. I can do most of what I want, except mount and dismount a bike and climb stairs hands free.

We have shelved plans for extensive travel and no travel abroad which I miss sorely. Our experiences on a cross-country trip during the height of Covid left us with mixed feelings: many sites are closed, health mandates vary from town to town, and hotel and restaurant prices have climbed, understandably. It’s more comfortable to stay home.

Knowing many people with break-through infections, we are no longer enthused about going out to restaurants and concerts. We entertain a small group of friends at home, continuing to order in to support local businesses.

Truly, the world is opening up thanks to the vaccine. We feel relatively safe because of our fairly good health and boosters. But a sense of caution permeates our adventures. At one time, we would have struck up a conversation with the people at the next table; now we do so now separated by distance and masks.

Back to my original question. What would I do if it weren’t for Covid? Travel, for sure. But I have no interest in shopping, actually never did. I can wear the clothes that I have had for several years, as long as they are clean. It is easier to avoid earrings rather than risk their popping off along with my hearing aids when I remove my mask. A little makeup to ease my companion’s shock at my age-lined face satisfies my vanity. Dinner with friends in the silence of home is preferable to the cacophony of a commercial venue in which we pretend to hear each other while shouting our vocal cords raw.

I retired and tore my meniscus while Covid was permeating our society. Meanwhile, I have aged. What will I do if/when Covid is controlled? I read, I write, occasionally I make music. What will normal be for me as an individual, for society as a whole? Perhaps I am already living it.  

Why Don’t We Just Dance?

I am always up for dancing, even alone, as a celebration of life, of health, of movement, a way to take my mind off the tensions in the world. Turn the TV off. Dance.

Baby, why don’t we just turn that TV off?
Three hundred and fifteen channels of nothing but bad news on,
Well it might be me
But the way I see it,
The whole wide world has gone crazy.
So baby, why don’t we just dance?

Recorded by Josh Turner
Songwriters: Jonathan Singleton / Jim Beavers / Darrell Brown
Why Don’t We Just Dance lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, BMG Rights Management
Okay, we don’t look quite this coordinated.

My body moves, my feet tap, my shoulders twist, my arms fling,driven by the rhythmic pulse of sound, energizing me. Nothing boosts my mood faster than gyrating to a favorite song. I enjoy dancing with Mike because he has good rhythm and we know each other’s moves. After self-coaching (123 123 back-step) and stumbling our way into synchronous movement, we relax into our standby disco step, which is a basic swing. As long as we count aloud, the step works with most music. If the choreography is monotonous, I suggest a spin or turn.

Weddings and other events for dancing are rare. Because dance bar music starts at my bedtime, we don’t frequent those spots. We have broken out in dance in the kitchen when the music is right.

Watching television a few days ago, we observed couples doing just that, poignantly reminding me that dancing has faded away in this house. The years of family singing and bopping have disappeared. Other than some hustling at my 65th birthday, six years ago, moments of spontaneous eruption of dance in the past few years can be counted on one hand.

The part of dance most fun is when each partner is aware only of the other. Several years ago a man invited me to dance with him at a wedding. He was nimble, strong, and knew how to lead. With all the twirling and spinning, there was only time for me to concentrate on remaining upright. It was a once in a lifetime experience.

Mike and I both like to sing as we dance, but I sing to him. Although Mike sings quite nicely, his mind is on the music, not on me.

So baby, why don’t we just dance
Down the hall,
Maybe straight up the stairs?
Bouncing off the wall,
Floating on air,
Baby, why don’t we just dance?

Mike and I could dance the down the hall. Any bouncing off the walls would be the result of protecting our knees as we climb the stairs. No floating on air, just hard breathing sending us to the couch to enjoy an episode of Midsomer Murders. Nevertheless, I am always up for dancing, even alone, as a celebration of life, of health, of movement, a way to take my mind off the tensions in the world. Turn the TV off. Dance.

I Disagree: Life is A Gift, Not a Trial

I sit in my shed, vibrant colors of my yard blessing me. I am not a theologian, nor am I a scientist. But I have read enough to be astounded that this planet with its abundant life exists at all.

Heaven?

My initial impulse was to slap the speaker, but restraining myself, I nodded politely. Unknown to this kind man of many years’ acquaintance, another close friend of mine had passed away too young. Not from Covid. But the politics of Covid had restricted our past months of friendship and now dictated the terms of our mourning.

So when my friend offered feeble excuses for refusing the vaccine, I attempted a smile while invisibly rolling my eyes. I was too tired to persuade him of the insanity of his thinking. And then, as a good born-again Christian, he said the words that boil my blood: I’m okay with dying since I know where I am going.

My thoughts went to the families of our friends who have passed away. All of whom would cherish more time on earth with their loved ones. I said my goodbyes to my friend and walked away.

I am not a theologian, but I am Christian. The mainstream Protestant denominations of which I have been a part have all moved away from preaching that the reward of life on earth is eternity with God. The message I hear now is that life as a gift. Teachings point us toward living with compassion, kindness, and generosity. One can assert a belief in the afterlife, but honestly, there is no way we can know. We know the present with enough challenges for a lifetime.  

[I didn’t want to put this in, but at this point believers will say that eternal life is real because the Bible says so. There are entire libraries devoted to this argument. I can’t comment here.]

I sit in my shed, vibrant colors of my yard blessing me. I am not a theologian, nor am I a scientist. But I have read enough to be astounded that this planet with its abundant life exists at all. As a child doesn’t need to understand the intricacies of fetal formation and birth to play and laugh, I don’t need to understand the hows and whys of geographical and anthropological development to value earthly existence.

I don’t want to hear about the rewards of eternal life. I want to see people value all life, human and otherwise. Jesus showed us how to live. He just happened to lose his life by doing so.

Where do you go to pray?

Find a place to pray. The world cries out for healthy souls.   

Where I go to pray.

Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore unsuitable.

I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of praying, as you no doubt have yours. 

Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing.

If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.

Mary Oliver ~ Swan: Poems and Prose Poems

Ordinarily, I don’t go to the woods alone. I prefer to go with my friends who are smilers and talkers. Although I welcome the restorative qualities of nature, an environment populated by animals alarms me. I live in the city where the only snakes I encounter are human.

Writing and music are my woods, where I go to pray. Accompanying singers and making music with others is fun and stimulating, but sitting at the piano or playing my flute alone, I transcend to a space where smiling and talking are noisy interruptions. Writing settles my mind, centering me on the present.

Karen Armstrong confesses, I have discovered that the religious quest is not about discovering “the truth” or “the meaning of life” but about living as intensely as possible here and now.

Where do you go to pray? Just as the body needs sleep, the soul needs prayer. Not the heart-wrenching cries to a “Santa in the sky” god, but moments to connect with all living things so that we can live intensely. I call that connection ‘God’ although it doesn’t need a label. It’s awareness and appreciation of the miracle and fragility of life on this planet resulting in valuing all life.

Find a place to pray. The world cries out for healthy souls.   

Living the Dream

Mike has always supported me in my endeavors while asking little in return. I can do no less than greet him with an energy bar and a hot shower so that he can live his dream.

On the trail.

Mike’s turn

My writing shed is ordered, scheduled to be installed early November. That gives us time to work on Mike’s dream.

For close to two years, he has been spread-sheeting his plans to hike the Arizona Trail, in increments, of course. In September, he will start in Flagstaff to conquer about 140 of the 800-mile passage connecting Mexico with Utah. He is collecting camping gear, watching alerts for water availability, and hiking several times a week to condition.

I am reserving hotel rooms. For me.

Should I be worried?

Concerned loved ones have asked if I am comfortable with Mike’s plans to go alone. Maybe I am ignorant, but I have no qualms. The guy has been researching this experience endlessly for months. The path itself is never far from civilization. And we will use a satellite-dependent app to stay in touch.

Occasionally we will meet for a meal, to replenish supplies, or to allow him a shower and a night in a bed.

Mike has hiked the Grand Canyon from the south rim several times. A few years ago, he joined SD and our friend Bob to hike rim to rim to rim, south to north to south. They realized too late that they should have begun from the north rim in the heat of June, discarding their plans for the third leg.

Mike, Bob, and Larry spent three days on the Appalachian Trail in 2019. He knows what he is doing.

Do it while you can

Death and disability are claiming friends and family with increasing rates. Life does not guarantee endless time to pursue our dreams. Mike has always supported me in my endeavors while asking little in return. I can do no less than greet him with an energy bar and a hot shower so that he can live his dream.

How did this happen?

It is a cliché to say that time speeds up with age. My own theory of relativity of time states that the time appears to move more quickly relative to the number of events and memories experienced. I wonder if I can get a Nobel for that idea.

In the blink of an eye.

Where are the boys?

It seems rather absurd that we can go days with only infrequent glimpses of the boys. They are at school weekdays followed by golf practice and disappear to their quarters or go out on weekends. Our schedules often preclude supper together. Noises coming through the ceiling from upstairs are the only evidence of their presence.

Each time their paths cross mine, I am astonished. How did they grow up so quickly?

Milestones

This week Blue Boy turned 17. The family is celebrating today after which the kids will head out for paintballing in the desert. On their own. Weird.

Ironically, my Baby Bro turns 60 today. 60!!! I still remember the family going to the drive-in movie the night before his arrival to view Pollyanna. My mother said, as she did every day, “Maybe Tom will come tonight.” (He was named before he was born, in the day when the gender was revealed at birth.) We pointed out that she said that every day.

The next morning, the family chalkboard bore the message: Went to the hospital to get Tom.

Going on 11 years old, I was more than excited and woke Big Bro to share the news, who insisted on reading the message for himself. We called everyone in the family and waited.

I like to remind Baby Bro that I changed his diapers.

What makes us feel old?

My mother once said that she felt old when her children started taking social security. I am discovering that many milestones remind me of my age. My Baby Bro’s birthday for one. My own children are aging so quickly that I have to do math to calculate their ages. Admiring my grandsons and their growth is another awakening.

Theory of Relativity per me

It is a cliché to say that time speeds up with age. My own theory of relativity of time states that the time appears to move more quickly relative to the number of events and memories experienced. I wonder if I can get a Nobel for that idea.