ponderingsat80’s posterous

Her name was Frances.  I used to meet her whenever I had a doctor’s appointment.  Nervous and apprehensive, I would be happy when I spotted her in the waiting room and would gravitate towards her.  She always had a smile on her face and in an incredibly sincere manner would always inquire how I was feeling?  While I, nervous and self-absorbed, neglected to ask her.

 One time as we sat waiting, she quietly and humbly began to tell me about herself. “I have lots of time on my hands now.” She said.  “So I visit the sick.” She was a retired teacher and had never married.  She lived alone but was not selfish - she was full of empathy and  compassion. “I visit people in nursing homes and hospitals – those without family or friends – the lonely.”  She went on to say.

 I was so touched and so full of admiration that I became almost awe-struck.  She was simple and down-to-earth, and one felt immediately comfortable in her presence.  Was she ever lonely, I wondered?  And my answer was no. Her days were filled with self- giving and helping others – there was no time for loneliness.

 This sweet and gentle soul was taken from us while sitting in a chair, waiting to visit someone. Her weak heart simply stopped beating.  Selfishly, I had never thought to ask about her health and later learned she had been living on borrowed time because of a very serious heart condition (no wonder I kept meeting her at the doctor’s office!).  

 I shall miss this lovely person and I regret not getting to know her better, but what more is there to know – she was one of God’s chosen – she was an angel.   

Doris lived across the street from us when I was growing up.  I loved Doris because she had cats and dogs and a beautiful flower garden which she seemed to be forever watering.  She also had a horse that she kept in a shed at the back of her house.

 She was an eccentric woman with a terrific sense of humour. She was always smiling and she loved to tease me about June bugs that terrified me in the summer.  She was especially fond of my brother Paul with whom she connected and seemed to share a similar sense of humour.

 This is why when he died, although she loathed funeral parlours, corpses and all that sort of thing, she felt obligated to show up, view the body and offer condolences to the family.

 It was dark and threatening as we entered the funeral home, so it was no surprise to  soon hear a rumble of thunder.  With time it grew louder and the room shook with each clap of thunder.  We stood around, talking in hushed voices and I worried about Doris - the poor soul must be so nervous- she hates funeral parlours. Suddenly there was a huge crash and the lights that had been flickering went out, and we found ourselves in the dark.  Everyone stopped talking and there was complete silence, when out of nowhere a voice spoke up and said, “You made this happen, didn’t you, Paul?”  This broke the tension and the room erupted in laughter.  The voice came from Doris who knew him so well.

 Later that evening, I asked, “were you nervous, Doris?”  “Nervous?  Now, why would I be nervous when I knew it was my friend Paul trying to scare us?  He was simply up to his old tricks.  I enjoyed every minute of it.”

Doris lived to be 101 and continued to amuse us with her eccentric ways. We all loved her and were particularly grateful for her sense of humour on a day, that for us, was so painful.

I am not my body’

 I am not my thoughts, my emotions, my pain,

 I am the ME Who lives with these thoughts, emotions and pain

 During this phase of my existence

 I learn and grow from and through them,

 And I must bring this ME

 Into all circumstances and relationships

  While I am In this life.

 This I do for a reason

 Not mine to question

 Not mine to understand

 Just to accept

 This Me is who I really am.

 I come from the Source of Life

 And I shall return to the All who is All.

 It is pure and total Mystery.

My niece who lived with us in France for a year was prone to giggle( as am I) and we shared a dreadfully embarrassing afternoon when a young vicar came to call.  We knew he was coming so we had bought pastries for the occasion.

 He arrived promptly at 3; he was young, full of self-importance, and much too serious.  This, along with his rather pompous attitude, made us nervous and gave us both the urge to laugh. Worried I might lose control, I excused myself to make the tea.  My niece, unfortunately, followed me to the kitchen where we both doubled over with laughter.  In an attempt to hide this from the vicar, we turned on the tap and left the water running.  Several minutes passed before I was able to gain control and make the tea.  We eventually got through the afternoon with dignity but I wonder if the vicar was aware of our struggle to be polite?  He was young, of course, and we respected what he was trying to do, but how much better it might have been if he had relaxed and been himself.  I hope he has learned to do that by now.  

 My niece and I had many exciting adventures together and I was glad we had invited her to come to France  and travel with us in Europe.  She was a tremendous help to me during that year – especially when I underwent surgery for the removal of a thyroid cyst and was hospitalized for several days.  She took over the household chores and looked after the children.  Luckily we had organized to pick up one meal a week from the cafeteria, and during that time, we were able to increase it to three.    

 My niece now has children and grandchildren of her own, and no doubt she was well prepared for this responsibility.  We often get together to reminisce and we recall with delight the afternoon tea with the vicar and the giggles we were forced to suppress.  

(for Kim)

“Now what am I going to do!?”   I murmured to myself, as I stood there petrified.  “How am I going to back the car down that hill?”

When we first moved to the country there was no garbage pickup service.  People had to take their garbage to the town dump that was situated off the main road at the top of a one lane hill.  My husband usually took care of this, but my 11 year old son and I had the dubious honour of doing it this time.

 As we tossed our bags into the pit, I suddenly realized there was no way for me to turn the car around; I was faced with having to back down the hill. I’ve always had trouble backing up and I worried I might end up against a tree or in the ditch.  As I stood there nervous and undecided, my son looked at me and said, “I can do it, Mom.”   “What?   You can, really?”  I asked.  “Sure.”  He insisted, “I drive the tractor and the truck on the farm all the time – I can do it.”    “Okay then, she’s all yours.”

 I held my breath as he got behind the wheel and wondered if I was making a mistake?   To my surprise he backed the car down the hill as well as if he were going forward.   I took over as soon as we got to the main road, but I was very impressed with his skills - I had no idea he could drive a car like that.

 The farmer up the road had taught him to drive a tractor and before long a truck!  My son spent almost every day at the farm and was intrigued with the machinery and farming – he loved the animals and wanted to be a vet until the day he witnessed a calf being born and saw what was involved!  What a marvellous experience that was for a young boy.  I shall always be grateful to the farmer for his kindness and attention towards my son - he became like a second father to him.

 Eventually garbage pickup service was established and there were no more trips to the dump, no more fear of meeting a bear (yes, there were bears) and no more worries about backing the car down the hill.

 Years later, this same son taught me to parallel park – a skill I sadly lacked.  I think I have mastered that, but backing down a hill will always remain a challenge!  

   (for J/9)

My youngest daughter and I cannot go anywhere together where one must be serious and quiet.   We possess the same laughter gene and can break into fits of uncontrollable laughter over the least little thing and in the most awkward and embarrassing situations.  We’ve always been this way and I love it!

 She is my ray of sunshine.  Not that one needs to be addicted to the giggles to be a ray of sunshine – rather it is her personality and warmth – her nurturing nature that makes her this way.  She brings joy to those who come in contact with her.  She walks into a room and the room lights up!

 It is she, who, when we lived in the country and had severe thunderstorms during the night, kept vigil with me while the others slept oblivious to it all. There was a need to fill jugs with water, set out candles and flashlights and unplug electrical appliances  . . . Because the house was built on rock, it attracted the lightning and it was frequently struck;  inevitably the power would go off.   I loathed those storms, and she, the little mother, would get up and sit with me, and we would play cards until they passed.  

  Later in life, it was she who came to spend a few days in the country to help me through a difficult time.  She has always been a ‘fixer’ and wants everyone to be happy.  She is a good listener and a beautiful person.  I am very proud of her.

 But I am off topic which was laughter.  As i said, it was next to impossible for us to go places where one needed to maintain a sense of dignity.  There was the time when in church a man bumped his head on the shelf that held a statue and we tried without success to hide our giggles.  It was contagious, and the woman sitting next to us coughed and covered her face to hide hers.   Another time, while buying chickens at the meat market, we turned around to find two extremely tall basketball players standing behind us and we almost bumped our noses on their belt buckles.   When I remarked to the butcher how big they were, he, not making the connection to the guys behind us, replied, “yes, and they are grain fed too.”  That did it – unable to complete our purchase of chickens, we covered our mouths and ran from the store doubling over with laughter as we got out on the street!

  We still cannot go places together where laughter is forbidden, or impolite, but I would not have it any other way -  laughter is good for the soul.  Or is that confession is good for the soul? – I think both apply - laughter is the best medicine in the world that I know of.  

It was a hot July morning when we packed the family, complete with new dog, into the station wagon and headed to our new little house in the country.  Everyone was excited and looking forward to spending the summer away from the city.   But when we unloaded the car and began to settle in, I was suddenly  overwhelmed with guilt and worry, what have I done to my children?  Where will they play and with whom, I wondered?

It was the custom to buy or rent cottages on a lake at that time, so that the children could swim and boat and meet new friends.   We were on a country road – no cottages, no lake, no water to play in . . . where would they meet new friends?

That worry was quickly put to rest when the children set off down the road in search of adventure.  By evening, each had found a new friend, each friend had a dog, and several of the friends had a pond to swim in.

 What fun it was to watch as they played hide and seek on our front lawn – hiding behind trees and rocks, their dogs revealing their hiding places as they excitedly ran around or sat beside them.  And to watch the games of badminton or softball played almost every night.  

One of my sons befriended the farmer up the road and learned to drive a tractor.  Another joined a softball team in the nearby village.  And another discovered a school friend on the road and they biked together. My little daughter spent hours by the pond with her new friend across the road.  And I signed them up for golf lessons at a golf course not far away.

My fears over what I had done to my children quickly dissipated and we began a marvellous summer routine that would go on for several years to come.

 Rainy days, thunderstorms and long games of monopoly follow in a later entry.

     (for Rob)

“Non, non, non.  Ne touchez- pas! -  C’est defendu!”   The attendant shouted as he came running across the hall at the Louvre in Paris.

What’s his problem, we wondered?  As we examined the art displays in the hall.  It was only when the attendant continued to admonish someone that we turned to have a look, and to our horror, discovered he was yelling at our little boy!

He had climbed up and put his sunglasses on a bust!    We immediately apologized to the attendant, grabbed the hand of our naughty little boy and hurried him away.  It was with great difficulty that we held back our laughter and pretended to be upset - the scene had been so incredibly hilarious!       

“My husband will kill me when I tell him I’m pregnant.” She told a friend.

 ‘He’ll kill me’ is just an expression, right?  Wrong.   Her husband killed her.

We went to the viewing, my brother and I.  We were very young, but old enough to notice the expression that  remained frozen on her face - it was one of pure terror!

 We were not alone to suspect something was amiss ---- the husband who claimed she’d hit her head and died when she fell in the bathtub, was suspected of not telling the truth, and an investigation into her death soon began.

 He went around sorry-eyed and weepy, but my brother and I found him creepy. (Ooh, that rhymes)

 Later at the trial it came out that she was not the only one to die because she got pregnant – several other young women he’d dated died under mysterious circumstances.  One of them fell down the stairs, hit her head and died. And another drowned accidentally in a boating accident.  They too, had the misfortune to get pregnant.

 Many reputations were ruined and gossip was rampant as the days wore on.  But the real story was, he had been abandoned by his mother at birth because he was conceived out of wedlock, which in those days was a huge scandal – especially if you were from a well-to-do family.  He was raised in a middle-class family and he appeared normal, but he was far from that - haunted by the fact he had been abandoned at birth, he vowed to never have children of his own.  He became obsessed - obsessed enough to kill!    Get pregnant and you die was his motto.  

 He killed – not once but several times.  He was charged with murder in the first degree and was hanged two years later.

(for Rob)

It was to be a picnic at the beach – a wonderful day by the ocean.  Instead, it turned into a frustrating and terrifying experience.

 The beach was crowded as we searched for a spot to spread a blanket and settle down with our two children and a friend for a day. Having set up chairs, a picnic basket and our one year old little girl in a seat, we turned to change our 3 year old boy into his bathing suit, and to our horror, he was nowhere in sight! 

 I felt physically ill as I took note of the crowds of sunbathers on the beach.  We immediately left our little girl with our friend and took off in search of him.  “Did you see a little boy wandering by himself?” We asked.  No one had seen or noticed him.  My stomach was in knots as I visualized guards pulling him out of the water.  Up and down the beach we went, asking over and over again if he had been seen.  Two hours – two hours later!  Someone suggested we look in the ‘lost and found’ area.  Hitting my head with my hand, I nearly screamed “Why did we not think of this?!”

 “Hi Mommy, hi Daddy – I have milk and cookies. ” He announced with a look of pride on his face.

 That was the first time he disappeared on us.

 Several years later while hiking in the Alps, always full of energy and curiosity, he ran ahead of us.  We were not too concerned until we came to a fork in the path and he was not there!  Which way had he gone?

 Again, I felt that familiar knot in the pit of my stomach as panic set in.  What to do? Where to look?  Who to ask if they’d seen a young boy hiking by himself?

 Someone had, and an hour later we found him with an American couple standing next to their car in the parking lot. They were concerned and upset - they did not want to leave him alone. It was with mixed emotions that we greeted our little son, and we felt enormous gratitude towards these wonderful people who had suggested he take the tram to the parking lot with them to wait for his parents.    

 This young wanderer has grown into a beautiful person.  He has again hiked in the Alps and spent time in Sweden as artist in residence, and although at times, I felt like an irresponsible parent, I realize he had a need to explore nature by himself.  We can now enjoy his magnificent landscape paintings, some of which may just be because of the experiences of a little boy lost. 

In today's world, would a little boy by himself end up with milk and cookies?  And would a young boy found hiking alone be offered help by conscientious and responsible people? In today's world, a little boy lost might well  have a very different outcome.