Author: marebear (Page 4 of 11)

I had an uncle who grew up during the Depression with alcoholic parents. He practically raised himself. It sounds strange, but WWII and the army saved him. It was during that time he met my aunt.

After hearing the stories from his childhood, my aunt vowed to create the home life for him and their children that he never had. Part of that was creating Christmas magic. Christmas Mass was important to them, but so were Christmas decorations, music, and gift-giving. Being a first-generation Italian American, every Christmas Eve my aunt made spaghetti from scratch with homemade sauce, meatballs, sausage, and a bit of pork for extra flavor.

After my husband and I moved from the Midwest to the West, it was to my aunt and uncle’s house that we went to for Christmas Eve. When we had kids, we went to an early children’s Mass and then made the drive through the desert to their home.

Those were the most spiritual, magical drives of my life. Saguaro silhouettes against a myriad of colors at sunset; and as darkness descended, the stars appeared. Stars above the desert shine brighter than one can see in cities or where the sky is cloudy. As we listened to Christmas music, I would look out the car window and imagine another desert a world and centuries away where the brightest, most important star had shown.

When we arrived at their house, the first thing we saw were luminaries lining their sidewalk. My uncle called them his contribution to Christmas. He grew from the boy who missed Christmas magic to a man who helped create it. Because my parents always welcomed people who had nowhere else to go on holidays, I was used to being the host, but it meant the world to me that my aunt and uncle adopted us into their family traditions. Their family was as close to my immediate family as I could get.

My aunt and uncle have been gone for a long time now, and my kids are adults, but I still remember the magic of that drive through the desert, the love they shared, and the light they gave us.

As another Veteran’s Day approaches, I can’t help but think of my cousin who died in the Vietnam War. He never got the chance to be a veteran, and we can never know who he would have been had he lived. I think that is the greatest tragedy when someone young dies—the might have been.

The years during and after the Vietnam War were tumultuous. The men coming back were not honored. They were vilified. We heard story after story about men coming home addicted to drugs. Many were permanently physically injured, and PTSD was just beginning to be recognized as something real. I comforted myself for a long time by thinking that maybe my cousin was better off.

It wasn’t until I became an adult that I questioned my thinking. I believe in Heaven, but I wondered who he would have been and what he would have done in this world. I met Vietnam Veterans who were lawyers, doctors, husbands, and fathers. I grieved all over again as I realized that my belief he was better off only served as a coping mechanism while I was a child.

I recently met a Vietnam vet who is scheduled to have a knee replacement. He has already had surgery on his hips and other knee. He said that when the Hueys dropped them off, it wasn’t always safe for the pilots to land. The soldiers had a choice of either jumping on the way down or on the way up, and if they didn’t jump at the right moment, they might be jumping several feet to the ground. “That takes a toll on your body,” he said. He said it matter-of-factly and as if it was not a big deal. I can’t imagine how it felt to jump out of the relative safety of the chopper into a war zone.

This man caused me to respect this group of men all over again. Very few joined the military willingly during those years. They were drafted. Some found loopholes, and some moved to Canada, but most of them went. They were on the cusp of manhood when they went, but they were all grown up when they came back. Their lives would not be the same as if they hadn’t gone to war, but their lives could still be good.

So, if you know veterans, show them your appreciation. They deserve it.

I darned one of my socks because the darned thing got holes.

Don’t get me wrong. There weren’t holes in the whole sock—just by the toes.

I towed the thread through the toe section, but I don’t sew much, so my sew job was just so-so.

I took a walk while wearing my darned sock, and I enjoyed listening to the birds cheep as I contemplated how cheap I was to darn my sock instead of buying a new one.

I could say “bye-bye” to the darned sock, but buying a new one would make me drive by the store.

I could have stored some new socks in my drawer, but I knew that I didn’t have the space.

It is not as if I have the space that space does. I mean, look how many stars are in our galaxy alone!

How many hours would it take to count the stars in our galaxy? There are too many to count. Some people might say they’re to many to count. Or, they could say their are two many to count. Mistakes happen all the time. Or, is it thyme?

Either way, you can count on it!

Déjà vu:

Desperate people climbing over walls,

Fighting each other for freedom,

Mothers handing over babies,

Crowding airplanes,

Young men and women risking their lives

            Trying to honor their promises.

Fear, danger, heartbreak.

I watched it once when I was a child.

I watch it again as an adult, and I am just as sad and scared for the struggling.

This time, we should have done better, but it seems we did not.

This time, we have to do better for those coming home.

We cannot repeat every mistake.

This time, we need more than a monument for those lost.

This time, we need to love the survivors.

            The other day, a fly got into our house and found its way to a window. It bounced off a couple of times, but then it settled and just sat there. Soon, another fly landed on the outside of the window. It, too, just sat there for a while. I was inside watching them, and I couldn’t help but wonder what, if anything, a fly thinks. Can a fly think? It seemed to me that the inside fly wanted out and the outside fly wanted in.

            How many times do we, as humans, think that whatever is on the other side of something must be better than what we have or where we are? Most of the time, we can only guess that something is better. We can’t be sure that it actually is. Paul writes to the Philippians that he “has learned to be content in any state” (Phil 4:11), but to the Corinthians, he writes “Examine yourselves, to see whether you are holding to your faith. Test yourselves. Do you not realize that Jesus Christ is in you?—unless indeed you fail to meet the test!” (2 Cor 13:5).

            To me, it boils down to the difference between contentment and complacency. When are we supposed to be content with something that is going on in the world and when are we wrongly being complacent? I believe God puts us where we are for a reason, but we need to recognize the reason and try to fulfill our purpose.

            I went on a mission trip when I was a teenager, and the Holy Spirit told me, “There is more to life than what you are living.” After that, I delved more deeply into my faith. Life’s circumstances change as we get older, and we have to continually reevaluate what we are supposed to do. For me, this is much easier said than done. I admit that sometimes I am just a fly stuck on a window, not knowing which side is best. I can only pray this popular, but profound prayer. I confess that I never knew it was longer than the first part, but it sure fits with my thoughts and feelings these days.

“The Serenity Prayer”

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can: and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time; enjoying one moment at a time; accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His will; so that I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him forever and ever in the next. Amen. (prayer attributed to Reinhold Neibuhr, 1892-1971) https://www.lords-prayer-words.com/famous_prayers/god_grant_me_the_serenity.html

            I didn’t think I would ever get out of the closet. After carrying my person’s things for a sad, weird trip where I was almost the only suitcase on a flight, she put me on the top shelf, and she didn’t get me down for over a year. It was hot and dusty up there, and I was bored. Was there still a world outside?

            Finally, she took me down. I was so excited! She put all kinds of things in me, some of them fancy, and loaded me in the car with other stuff. We went on a VERY long drive. There were mountains and a big blue sky. The world was still there! Hotel to Airbnb to hotel she took me, packing and unpacking me almost every day. It was fun, but I was a little relieved to see our house again.

            I thought she would put me back on the shelf, but she rolled me in a corner for about a week. Then, another road trip—this time through the desert. I saw even more blue sky and Joshua trees and cacti. In a city, I saw a lot of bright lights, but it was super-hot. We were there for a few nights, and when we got home, I thought for sure it was shelf time for me, but boy, was I wrong!

            She packed all kinds of clothes into me, and we went to the airport. It had been a while since I was on a plane, and I was a little nervous. I mean, those handlers just toss you around, and they stack all sorts of things on top of you. Duffle bags are heavy, and don’t even get me started about golf clubs. Anyway, I was sure happy when they let me off the plane. I love riding around on the carousal, and it is always a good feeling when my person finds me. I hate being lost.

            I really enjoyed this trip. I got to see the Midwest with all the trees and the puffy clouds in the sky. I wasn’t even tired when she kept opening and closing me to get her things. That is what I am made for! I am proud of how well I protect whatever she packs into me, but I can’t always do a good job. The end of that trip did not go well.

            It started okay. My person carefully put the tag on me, and the airline clerk was friendly. As I said, I don’t like being in the plane, but I knew my job. This time, my person put special things in. She packed an afghan that a friend had made for her. She carefully wrapped it around a big envelope full of old family photos that wouldn’t fit into her backpack. In my outer pockets, she placed some books that had been her mother’s and a plaque that honored her cousin who had been killed in a war. I wanted to do an especially good job, but sometimes, things are out of my control.

            This time, when I was on a carousal, I went round and round and round, but my person never got me. Where was she? Where was I? It was an awful feeling. I think I sat in a building for a whole night before they threw me onto another plane. Where was I going this time? When they took me off, they put me on one of those carts and just left me there sitting outside. It was raining, and I kept getting wetter and wetter. All I could think of were the books that sat on top, and what about the pictures? I had to protect the pictures! I tried my best to keep my bottom dry. The envelope and afghan helped.

            I don’t know how long I was there, but this time, I was glad to get on a plane. At least it was dry in there. It was late when they brought me into another airport. This one looked familiar, and that made me feel a little better. I sat in an office all night long, wondering if my person would ever find me. She did! She came the next morning, and she was just as relieved to see me at I was to see her. It wasn’t until we got home that she found out how wet I was. I felt so bad! The books were damp, and the pages were curling. All of her clothes were wet and needed to be washed, but the afghan and pictures were still dry. I had done my job the best I could. After all of that, I am ready to be on a shelf for a while. I need a rest.

            A coworker of mine recently flew somewhere for the first time in her life. She was both excited and nervous. Her husband has been working out of state, so her desire to see him outweighed any fear.

            I remember my first flight well. I had just graduated high school, and my friend wanted someone to go with her to Texas to visit her aunt. My dad did not want me to go, and he would not give me permission. I knew he was worried, but I was full of myself as a newfound adult, so I earned enough money to pay my own way and told him I was going.

            My friend’s dad drove us to the airport. It was a nerve-wracking ride because we left too late, and her dad tried to make up the time by weaving through Chicago traffic. We made it, though, and when the jet was barreling down the runway, my friend looked at me and said, “Isn’t this fun?” I responded, “Wonnerful, just wonnerful.” I was too terrified at that point to enunciate my words.

            The airline was the colorful, but now defunct, Braniff. We were told to be sure to ask for decks of playing cards with the logo on them. Getting those cards was the highlight of the flight. I was relieved when the flight was over. I had no idea at that point how much flying I would do in my life.

            It turned out that I would fly at least twice a year for over thirty years. Moving away from my home state was the main reason for this. I wanted my children to know their extended family, so I made sure we got back every summer while they were growing up. It was not easy when they were small. Diapers, baby formula, car seats, toys, seating arrangements, etc. I once had to argue with airline staff because of a seating mix-up. They did not put both of my kids with me. My best argument was, “Trust me. No one wants to sit next to my children.”

            On one flight, there was a lot of turbulence. My daughter said, “This is fun!” My son was just enough older than her to know something wasn’t right and told me that he was scared. I wasn’t too thrilled with it myself, but I had to stay calm so they wouldn’t freak out. I have never been afraid to fly, but I never developed a love for it either.

            It is a means to an end, and that end is the people I love. I knew when I moved away from everyone that I was giving up a lot. I continue to fly because I want to be with my family when I can. My mom and I used to say, “We don’t have to live close to be close,” but being away since her death last year has been tough. I believe I gain a lot by living where I do, but that gain is only worth it because there are flights I can get on. This month, some family members flew to be at my daughter’s wedding, and it meant the world to me. For family, the end is worth the means.

Saguaros bloom crowns.

Daisy-like flowers top spires.

Summer comes. I smile.

            I recently saw that it has been 50 years since the movie Love Story came out. One might not think this movie would make me think of my dad, but it does. Whenever a commercial for the movie came on, it would play the most iconic line, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” Every time he heard it, he got mad. “That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard,” he would puff, “When you love someone, you are constantly saying you’re sorry because you always screw up!”

            Somehow, I took this lesson to heart even though I was not very old. Of course, growing up Catholic helped. We are constantly feeling guilty for something and apologizing. We even have a sacrament to do it officially. The line still makes me think about what love is and how we show it to each other.

            One of the Bible readings at our wedding was 1 Corinthians 13:4-7. “Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” This is a common reading for weddings, but when my then fiancée first read it, he felt inadequate. He thought there was no way he could live up to it. I told him no one can love like that, but we are supposed to try.

            This brings me to a new understanding of all of this. If we equate Love with God, then it does mean not having to apologize because God is perfect. Jesus’s love for us is pure. We need to understand and appreciate this because it shows us for what to strive.  I have to humble myself when I “screw up,” as my dad would say. Love means different things to different people, but when it comes to people, not God, my dad was right. We must be willing to admit when we are wrong and say the words, “I’m sorry.”

            It is almost dark as I am writing this, and as I watch the last sunlight from today fade into orange and blue, I also see a young boy on a skateboard using my driveway to turn around. He is the same boy I saw yesterday bouncing a small ball in the street around the corner. He bounced it high, and if he didn’t catch it, he ran after it only to bounce it even higher. He gives me hope, and I want him to do the same for all of you.

            Unless you spend time with children like I do, you may think they are all zombies sitting in front of screens who never see the sun. This may be partially true for some, but kids who attend school in person during this pandemic still look forward to recess. They run and swing and slide just like I did many years ago. Sure, the playground equipment looks different. They have brightly colored curved slides whereas I had a tall, straight shot down a metal slide that burned my legs on a hot day. They don’t know the thrill of flying off of a merry-go-round, but they can climb monkey bars.

            They enjoy making crafts in class and going to Art to try their hands at drawing, painting, and creating. I hate to say it, but I dread their excitement when they get recorders in Music. That is a sound that cuts right through my nerves. I didn’t have recorders in my school, but I remember being pretty good at the triangle.

            Technology is here to stay, but the upcoming generations integrate it in creative ways. Students attending school remotely are learning how to record themselves doing show-and-tell and uploading a video. Yes, show-and-tell is still around. Kids might be showing off the back flip they learned on YouTube by uploading a video to TikTok, but they are doing a real back flip.

            Children are still children with all the enthusiasm for life that we had. Sure, they have had a rough year just like adults, but children are resilient, and they follow our lead. We have to teach them safety by keeping distance and wearing masks, but we also need to encourage them to embrace and enjoy life.

             I am thankful for the boy finding joy in the simplicity of a bouncing ball. It reminds me to do the same.