Remembering Lindsey

A photo that was taken about 5 years or so ago, by my late niece Lindsey Wallis.  

Incredibly talented, with seemingly boundless enthusiasm and curiosity, so friendly and caring. A bright star that has left this mortal world, but maybe she's one that I will see when I look into the heavens at night.

The Forces of Nature Tour

My friend Sue and I (and my dog Henry!) recently completed a huge road trip that we dubbed "The Forces of Nature Tour" because in the course of 3+ weeks we encountered many of nature's most awesome "events." Our trip started with a tropical storm and ended with a flood, and in between we saw hot springs and geysers and icy glaciers, and saw evidence of massive earthquakes and volcanic eruptions.

It was a fantastic trip! Each day was packed with new adventures, so much so that the only way to be sure to remember the experiences was to keep a journal. Here's a link to the online version of that journal, plus plenty of pictures because photography is another passion of mine.

https://forcesofnaturetour.blogspot.com/2018/05/prologue-grand-adventure-part-two.html

Come along for the ride!

How The Mags Got Her Name

Those who know me, either in person or as readers on this blog or Facebook, may know about Maggie, my beloved Chow mix whom Greg and I lost in November of 2013. She and I had a lot of adventures in the almost-16 years of her life, especially in my times on the road as a touring musician. We visited every state from our Florida home to the rocky Maine coast, to the wilds of Michigan's Upper Peninsula, to the urban heat of Houston, Texas, and every state within that odd quadrilateral boundary. She was always so enthusiastic and curious, and while she didn't care much for people, she absolutely loved nature.

Her distrust of people probably came from her beginning: she was taken from her mother far, far too early (the vet's estimation of her age suggests that she left the litter at four weeks, exactly half the time puppies should spend being nurtured and taught by their moms). After that, she'd lived in three different homes, where for one reason or another she was unwelcome. God only knows what unintentional (I hope it was unintentional!) abuse/neglect she suffered in that time!

Still only about seven weeks old, she was dumped on me, too shortly after I'd lost another beloved dog (Sasha, the blue Chow). I wasn't sure I wanted to keep the puppy, and refused to even name her. But gradually I began to realize that the poor little thing had been shuttled from pillar to post and it needed to stop with me.

I was still uncertain about a name, but during a conversation about favorite childhood books with my friend Vicki, I mentioned the Maggie Muggins series. Vicki interrupted me, exclaiming, "That's it! That's the puppy's name!"

She was right, of course.

Patient Advocacy

 

On the anniversary of the sad day Greg and I heard the word "inoperable."

It was heartbreaking to go from him being not sick enough for a liver transplant to being too sick ... just like that.

Please understand that this is not me, continuing to wallow in grief. I post with a message for YOU: Friends, I cannot stress enough the value of a doctor who LISTENS. Who doesn't hear only what they expect to hear and then tune you out, but thoughtfully LISTENS. We finally did find such a doctor, and I will bless him until the day I die, but there's still the regret that we didn't find him soon enough.

Make your doctor LISTEN. And if that doctor does not - for whatever reason - find one who will!!!

(photo by Ann Sims, taken in happier times at the very first FamJam, 2013) 

"Bookends"

As I sift through the relics of my past life - a sometimes painful, but very necessary task - the words of an old Simon and Garfunkel song flit through my mind:

Time it was 
And what a time it was, it was 
A time of innocence 
A time of confidences

Long ago it must be 
I have a photograph 
Preserve your memories 
They're all that's left you.

My grandmother lovingly and painstakingly collected these dishes for me, many years ago. Our family enjoyed many a Christmas meal, the occasional Sunday dinner, and the odd "just because" meal using them. And while I may never again host a Thanksgiving with full service for 12, I have my memories. Thank you, Meemaw. I'll love you forever.

Hurricane Heartbreak

Received the most heartbreaking email just now. It is one thing to see TV reports of massive flooding and destruction from high winds and storm surge ... but another thing altogether when the victims are people you know and love. Phrases like "no guarantees about power, water, etc. so we have to be prepared to tough it out" ... "our house is wrecked: the entire downstairs wiped out by the storm surge" ... "try to board up what we can, remove as much of the moldy stuff and not go hysterical in the process" ...

I wept like I haven't wept in a long time.

Understand that it's often the head talking, more than the heart, when words such as these are said: "Will have to process, and get on with it ... it could have been worse and we can rebuild ... a lot of people are hurting more, but our situation isn't good and it will take a year or more before we can get back in place probably."

Hearts are hurting very badly now. Hearts cannot really take in all that has happened. Hearts cry out, "Why me?" even when the head knows there's no rhyme or reason to the more violent forces of nature.

Hurricanes like Harvey and Irma rage through relatively quickly, and for the vast majority of us fade very quickly from our consciousness. But even those who escaped the physical violence of the event itself now must deal with an emotional violence that reawakens with the handling of each ruined photograph or the memory of that favorite chair that is now sitting, God only knows where. Those experiences and memories won't soon fade.

The rest of us can pray and encourage, lend a hand or donate money as needed, and remind ourselves, "There but for the grace of God go I."

Aging Stinks

Aging stinks. There’s no way around it. It stinks. Out loud.
Don’t offer me the time-worn platitude that we should be grateful for getting older, as many don’t get that opportunity. I’m all too painfully aware of its truth. I am grateful for every day that I get to be one day older ...
But aging stinks.
Yesterday I was confronted full-on with this truth, as I was forced to enlist help in transferring items -- mostly furniture -- out of storage. I was forced to sit on the sidelines and watch a couple of young men handle my belongings, all the while 100% KNOWING that I had been able to handle these things myself (or with assistance from another) not all that many years ago. I KNOW, because I personally had participated in moving these items during various relocations. And it was torture to idle by, watching someone else work. I felt lazy, and useless, and maybe even a bit embarrassed ...
And today, with a jolt, I realized that this is PRECISELY the way Greg must have felt as he assumed the role of Director, more than Doer, at events we participated in. He may, in fact, have felt even worse and more helpless, as he was sick long before he started showing outward signs of being sick.
Yeah, I remember sly comments that were made to me about how I was doing more than my share of the work of Celtic Heritage, and the oblique suggestions that Greg was taking advantage of me; I heard, second-hand, observations as to how Greg was “one of those” men who sit by and watch their wives work. Knowing how much he would be hurt, I never let on to him that I was hearing these things. I do realize -- well, I do hope -- that no one was intentionally being cruel. But they were judging, and it still stings ... and I kind of hope that they feel at least a pang of regret at having judged my husband without fully understanding what was going on. Because the simple truth is that NO ONE understood, not even Greg himself, what was going on. His body was aging, though due to chronic illness rather than sheer age, and he was forced to “idle by, watching someone else work.”
Aging stinks. There’s no way around it. But with the loss of physical ability comes the opportunity for greater insight, and I can certainly be grateful for that. I’ll fight the feelings of laziness and uselessness and embarrassment, and try mightily to fight the fear of being judged by others. And I’ll pray for resistance against judging that which I do not understand.
Maybe that prayer is something we all could make, regardless of our age?