Reflections

I am an early riser, have been since high school. Morning is the best part of the day for me.  Each one is fresh with promise. You never know what you will see – deer sauntering by, owls roosting for the day or coyotes out with their pups. 

Today was one of those days. I went out to check the irrigation system and stood amazed at the sight before me. There must have been a dozen or more hummingbirds playing in the water spray. Darting in and out of the water, they would flutter near a leaf sipping droplets. I was standing in their circular flight path and could hear the helicopter buzz from their wings. It was magical! 

I ran into the house to get my camera. An amateur at photography, I was trying to find the correct setting for hummingbirds flying at the speed of an F-35 fighter jet. Not the best images but wanted to
share the magic with you, enjoy!

The monarchs have left. Just yesterday they were fluttering around the garden. Only the yellow grass butterflies remain. 

On the beach I noticed the sea oats turning brown as goldenrod sways with the ocean breeze. Plants have turned a deeper green. In the summer they are pale to reflect the sun rays and retain moisture. An amazing survival tactic on the harsh dunes.

Growth is slowing in tempo with the sunlight as the season turns.

May has always been a favorite month to me. Winter is over, everything is awakening and color once again paints the earth. May was my Mother’s birthday month and of course the celebration of Mother’s Day.

I am not sure when I first heard the annual discussion about Mother’s Day. I must have been eight or nine years old. Seemed silly to me. My Mother would send out hints about the upcoming special Sunday and how she thought she should be honored. My Dad would respond with a sly smile and say, “You are not my Mother.” To which Mom replied, “I am the mother of your children!”

Dad did take us shopping to get something for Mom. Her day was always made special. But it just bugged her that she couldn’t get Dad to budge and give her something, from him, on Mother’s Day.

I remember asking my Dad if it wouldn’t be easier to just get her a Mother’s Day card. He replied the back and forth banter was more fun.

My parents were married for 65 years. In 2006 my Father had a series of health issues that ended his life. He died on Mother’s Day morning. My brother called me with the sad news as I was going to breakfast with my son. 

I was devastated. My Dad was the rock in my life. Always there and never wavering in his love and support for me regardless of my poor choices.

There was a wonderful celebration of his life in the church they had attended for many years.  We gathered in Mom’s apartment afterwards and went thru their desk. My Mother was nearly blind from macular degeneration and could not do this on her own.  

In the back of the desk we found two cards. Both envelopes had an “H” on them meaning they were for my Mother. One was a birthday card for her May birthday. The other was a shocker – a Mother’s Day card. Inside in my Dad’s shaky hand writing was a short note: ‘Surprised?  Love, B.’

Survival stories always intrigue me. How do people dig deep and find the inner strength, faith and determination to get thru seemingly impossible situations? An avalanche, adrift at sea, buried in rubble or being held hostage. If my life depended on it, could I amputate my arm with a pocket knife like mountaineer Aron Ralston did in 2003? 

I have a few friends who are passionate about fitness and mental responsiveness. By that I mean they have trained their minds to assess, decide and act fast. They can do all this while I would still be saying,
“Wait, what’s going on?” 

Lots of folks seem to be fascinated with survival situations. Just look at the popular reality shows where people are dumped in the middle of nowhere with a knife and no clothes. (The no clothes part would do me in – there are places where bugs should never crawl.) I imagine there is a nice paycheck once they do their time in the wilderness, but it would not be enough to tempt me. 

Ingredients to survival probably include a positive attitude, will power and the ability to take emotion out of the equation. Does the caveman mentality take over; eat or be eaten? Do prayer and faith influence the outcome? What makes it a miracle when someone is found alive in the wilderness and a tragedy when someone is found too late? 

Would my ordinary become extraordinary in a life or death situation? I sure hope I never have to find out. In the meantime, I continue to admire and respect those that summon every ounce of courage they have & survive the unimaginable.

We have survived another winter – welcome spring.

A chilly January day is a great day to pack up Christmas ornaments. It is not really a task, more of a ritual, maybe even a joy. 

As I handle each ornament, I remember how it happened to become a part of our collection. Those that were bought usually told a story of a vacation or special event. There are the ‘First Christmas’ ornaments, the school picture ornaments, college logos, Alaskan bears, Niagara Falls, Outer Banks lighthouses, turtles, shiny fish and Disney ornaments. They are timestamps of our life.

Those received as gifts were stories of friendship, new homes and shared experiences. My son’s snowboarding Santa, my daughter’s miniature doll house, the dog and cat ornaments all represent a year and a special person who thought to give it to us. 

Then there are hand-made ornaments (sometimes filling out the back of the tree). Macaroni angels, bread dough figures and hand prints covered with glitter and lots & lots of stars. Stars are big in elementary school and Sunday school. We have egg ornaments that were made by three different generations with tiny scenes inside. Each one opens a special memory. 

More nostalgia comes once the ornaments are dusted and ready to be stored for next year. They will get packed into decades old gift boxes from stores that have long since closed or merged such as Marshall Field’s or Carson Pirie Scott & Company. My Mother’s hand writing is on top of some of these boxes, showing the year and the contents.

One of my friends asked, “How long is it going to take you to get all those ornaments down?” I replied, “As long as it takes. I am on a memory journey that just can’t be rushed.” 

Enjoy your January

I am an early riser, 4 am early. My internal alarm just goes off at that time and my brain clicks into gear. You may be rolling your eyes when I say this, but I think it is the best time of the day! The world is quiet; no man-made noise going on and the night sky is absolutely brilliant.

One such early morning I was star gazing on my front porch. I watched the stars battle to be seen as the sun began to rise. One by one they became invisible with only the largest and brightest planets still shining at dawn. Finally, the sunlight spread to the west and they too disappeared. 

But were they gone? Not really, just out of human sight. How do we know for sure if we can’t see them? We don’t even think about it – we just know the stars are still there. No matter how difficult the day is, the stars will be there to soften the night. Regardless of how dark our night is, we have hope that the sun will rise giving us another fresh day. Isn’t this what faith is like? You don’t see it, can’t really touch it but it is there. It is there if you believe that God is in your life. 

Isn’t this also true with love? When you know you are loved you believe it even when there is nothing visible. It is deep, it is strong and unwavering. You don’t need greeting cards or social media announcements to affirm the feeling. Love is the gas in our human tank, it is what makes everything else worthwhile. 

1 Corinthians 13:13 …Faith, hope and love but the greatest of these is love. 

I hope you enjoy some star gazing this fall!

Living near the coast gives you a sense of constant movement. While the lifestyle is laid back, the landscape is constantly changing.

The Outer Banks itself is a moving island. Decades ago, the sand blew over the banks from the ocean and built up on the sound side until a western churning hurricane blew it back over the coastal desert to the Atlantic side. Man has changed that natural cycle with buildings that disrupt the wind driven sand.

Recent storms and heavy rainfall created challenges for building owners and the authorities that engineer the inner workings of civilization here. Ponds and lakes left by five days of torrential rain formed where stands of pine and live oaks once stood. Hacked down in the name of progress, the missing vegetation and ecosystem associated with those fields of trees, could no longer process and filter the rain.

I live near the woods. Most of the deer, owls, coyotes and fox living near me I recognize by sight or sound. Now there are new kids on the block as birds and mammals displaced by the scalped acres, wander my way. This has created an uneasy dynamic in the territorial nature of the local wildlife. Battles over turf can be heard at night and even during the day.

‘Never mess with Mother Nature’ comes to mind as I think about this recent change up. We love to gaze at the stars but flood the night sky with artificial light that dims their glow. We love the beach but are witnesses to those who litter and damage the dunes. We love the water but pump our man- made pollutants into the ocean. We love the animals as long as they don’t eat our flowers or mistake our small pets for food.

We need to do better to protect and preserve this beautiful and unique place. I need to do better in my little corner of sand to replenish what I take away. The only constant in life is change, let’s try and make changes for the better.

I am sitting on a plane next to my daughter headed to NYC. We should be going to a Broadway play or on a girls shopping trip but that is not the case. Instead, we are headed back to Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center for yet another chapter in her three year fight against Cholangiocarcinoma or bile duct liver cancer.

It is a beautiful morning in New York. The sky is clear, temperature in the 70’s with low humidity. Great day for walking around the city. I wish we could but the nerves in my sweet girls feet are dead from chemotherapy. When the nerves are no longer functioning, nothing else works right and her bones are moving out of place in her feet. This leaves her in pain most days. Walking, such a simple thing that we all take for granted.

Everything about this situation is contra to a parent’s protective instinct. Helpless is a terrible feeling when it involves your child. I would trade places with her in a second if that were an option. The only thing I have found to do is research and read everything I can get my hands on about this insidious disease. To the annoyance of most doctors I ask a million questions until I understand something completely.

You can go crazy quickly by following the “Why is this happening to my daughter” thought process. I went down that road and most others a parent would travel. Fact is, none of these routes provide any comfort. There is some relief in knowing she is taking part in trials that will advance the science for her and others in the future.

I do not believe God has caused this disease to invade his beautiful creation, nor do I think this is a part of his plan. I do believe reaching out to God is the only way I will make it through this nightmare. I pray for strength, for self-control so my tears fall at the right time, in the right place. I pray for breakthroughs in research, for determination and clarity to the researchers. I pray with the faith of a child for the life of my child. I pray as a parent prays and then I go do what I have to do.