The Train

The Clickity-Clack...Clickity-Clack of the wheels on the train lulled me to sleep as I was gently rocked, cradle-like, in my narrow bed in the sleeper car. The room was cozy, (translation ~ small), but clean, comfortable and adequate for two ‘thirty-something’ sisters on a journey from Barcelona to Paris and beyond by way of Switzerland and Germany. Mesmerized by the quickly changing shadows on the ceiling and walls as we scurried past little villages I fell into a contented sleep

.

It was coming upon midnight when the train stopped. To our amazement we were told that we were at the Swiss border and that the train needed to have its wheels changed in order to fit onto the different sized track for the rest of the journey. This was amazing and at the same time quite disturbing as I could not begin to fathom how this massive project could be done at all let alone with all of the passengers still on board. I assumed the seasoned travelers were still nestled in their beds but it seemed that most were standing at their windows in nightgowns, robes and slippers! 

But it was done in record time and we were soon back in our beds sleeping soundly, rocking left to right, left to right to the Clickity-Clack of the new wheels for the next track-line. (I understand that this method has been replaced by variable gauge axles now).

A few weeks ago I injured my knee. Oh it hurt!  It hurt day and night, it hurt when I walked, it hurt when I sat, it hurt the most when I tried to stand and it hurt to lie down. Regardless of what I tried or the distraction I created with movies or food or social media my focus always came back to the pain. It ruled my life; it dominated my thoughts and confounded the ability to function normally.

It has healed now, I’m fine and even though it is no longer screaming out for attention, I still appreciate the value of having a good knee!  I'm quite attached to it in fact.

I realized shortly afterwards though that for nearly three years now my underlying mind-set has been the pain of being without Dale. Similar to my aching knee, when I wake up in the middle of the night that emotional raw pain is there in my mind and heart. Or when I finish anything, be it reading a book, watching a show, painting, taking a walk, shopping….you name it.  As soon as the distraction is over my brain’s default falls into focusing on the pain of being alone.  Not just alone, although that has taken a good deal of adjustment, but the pain that continues on unceasingly is being alone without him. I’m not seeking companionship, which would take care of the being alone but it would never take care of the being without.

In the early hours of morning and as my eyes go from deep sleep to wide awake in a literal blink as they so often do, I’m aware that this emotional pain dominates my quiet times. I can involve myself in all kinds of distractions and goals which work but unless I carry it on 24 hours a day those transitions between activities times quickly make my mind re-set to that standard default which is emotional pain.

But to try to fight it or deny these emotions only makes me focus on them more. One cannot simply say goodbye to a 42 year old bond. 

But then I think of that train. I don’t need to disembark from the comfort of the train, the “being the-wife-of-Dale” train; I just need to change the wheels for use on these current tracks. The old wheels having morphed into the painful emotions that are always turning turning turning below the surface of my very existence.  And perhaps, just perhaps, instead of fighting it or protecting myself from that pain… I should just simply release it.  Not release my love for Dale or the memories but release the painful emotions. 

I asked myself to just let it go. And I felt a change come over me. A freedom. I realize that I may be required to release the pain now and again as it crops up unexpectedly until it becomes the standard mind set. Who would have thought that quietly releasing the pain and have it flutter silently away as if on butterfly wings works better than bravely fighting it and trying to force it to stop!

I’ll talk about Dale’s passing now when I need to but without the pain. I’ll think about it when I want to but without the pain. Isn’t doing that like being fitted with new wheels that work on the track of my new default set point? The one of emotional happiness for the time we had instead of emotional pain for what I've lost?

I stopped by the charming little book store in the village yesterday to look for a children’s book I had heard about for my grandchildren.  Pushing open the front door I passed by the little café on the left enjoying the aroma of fresh baked muffins and then past the book loving employee handing a book to a customer; “I play the guitar and also paint” he said, “And I believe that writing is an art as well and this author is the epitome of that” he went on to elaborate the finer points of the book which I missed as his voice faded away as I continued on in my pursuit of the children's nook.

There it was - a delightful little place with colorful books and matching fluffy toys, a table with chairs and a big rocking chair.  I found the book I wanted and sat at the table to peruse. I was aware that a little child had climbed into the rocking chair next to me but I didn’t look up from my reading. 

Then interrupting the quiet, a little voice: “Hello”.

 “Hello.” I answered back.  I turned my head now to see her - She was a darling little girl with deep blue eyes and long wavy black hair. She sat with her legs crossed and clutched an overstuffed purple unicorn up to her heart.

“I don’t have any friends” she divulged with sad eyes and a trembling lower lip. “Nobody likes me”.

I put down my book. “Why do you think that is?” I asked. Captivated by her dark blue eyes.

“Well I did have a best friend but she moved and I won’t ever see her ever again.” There was agony in her little voice.

“I lost my best friend too” I told her.

We both sat in silence for a few seconds.

“Did your best friend move too?” she questioned.

“No, my best friend died.”

“Oh” she said.

And I could tell she knew now that I understood her angst.

She continued on with her woeful story…“So I tried to get Abby to be my new best friend and she just hit me and told me she doesn’t want to be my best friend”.

“Well that’s a problem” I sympathized. “Why do you think she said that?”

“I don’t know!” she sighed. “She pushed me away and when I tried to pull her arm she hit me so I bit her”

“Perhaps she’s not best friend material” I mused. “The thing is, you need to be friends before you become best friends. Do you think if you were not looking for a best friend and concentrated on being a friend that you might be happier? The best friend part could come later.

“Maybe” she said

“Are there other children in your class that you like?”

“No, none of them want to be my best friend so I don’t l like them”

Are there any children who are nice to you?

“Yes”

“If you had a book to write in, could you write down the names of the children who are nice to you? (I've become keenly aware of the power of counting your blessings at a time such as this).

“I don’t know how to spell their names”

“Can you draw pictures of them?”

“Yes”

Could you draw them with happy faces?

“Yes”

She started rocking and I could see she was in thought, so I finished reading my book, but as I was disappointed in it I decided against buying it and said, “Well I’ve finished my book, I think I’ll put it back and go now”

She reached over her shoulder and grabbed a three headed dragon puppet from the puppet tree and as I put the book back on the shelf she said in a pleading little voice, “Can you give the dragon a hug?”

I did, and I told the dragon that I loved him and that I thought the dragon was very brave. I told the little girl my name and asked her if she would draw me in her new friend book.

She smiled, nodded and hugged the unicorn and dragon.

We had both found a new friend.

I walked out of the book store and climbed into my car and as I fastened my seat belt I realized that it hadn’t pained me to talk about Dale dying. It isn't that I don't still love him or miss him, but like my knee - I don't have to be in pain to recognize what's there. I had released the emotional pain of my loss.  Clickity-Clack Clickity-Clack... my journey through life can continue now.

In Silent Awe

I remember those beautiful end-of-summer days as a child at my grandparent’s farmhouse.  I can still hear sweet Grandma calling: “Come sit on the porch and watch the sunset with me!”

I’d scurry out to the wide porch gracing the front of the old home that I loved so dearly. The porch was draped in the green of lush summer vines and I'd find Grandma sitting cozily in a white wooden rocking chair. Climbing into the matching chair next to her, my young legs were too short to touch the floor but even so we would sit and rock ever so slowly, ever so quietly, ever so aware of being together and we would watch.  She’d place her 80 year old hand on my youthful one resting on the arm of the white rocker and we would just watch the miracle of “God signing his name to the end of the day” as she would call the sunset.

With his colorful pen of gold and crimson and saffron and honey we would observe with amazement how brilliantly his signature would appear on his masterpiece, another perfect day.

It always felt like an important time. Those moments shared with Grandma. A Grandma with her memories and a child with her dreams but not now, this was a grateful and non-rushed time. No words, no music, no hustling or bustling.  Just a time of awe.  Simply enjoying the moment.

It was magical and like they say…it’s hard to feel down when you’re looking up.

I’ve strolled through the great museums of the world, lost in the grandeur of masterpieces brilliantly created by artists whose only goal was an attempt to emulate in paint or marble or clay the beauty and power of God’s masterpieces. Be it his world or his children.

The Bible begins with the words…”In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth.” And it seems to me that he "goes about" each and every day since then attending to it. Every day is unique, every day is important; every day ends with his signature.

Many years have passed since sitting on that front porch with Grandma; the dreams of my youth are my memories now. I feel as if Grandma and Dale are on the other side of the sunset, along with Mother and Dad and Grandpa and all of those others that I loved so dearly in this life.  I’m comforted to know that they will be waiting for me there someday.

It pains me to be without them though. 

I’m left with the pain of missing them as well as the physical pains of mortal life at this age but it occurs to me that my pain, whether emotionally, physically or spiritually turns to prayer.  And prayer turns to hope and hope turns to strength and strength turns to courage and courage turns to peace. A peace like I feel when I watch God sign his name at the end of the day, or…I look out the window now as I type this and it’s snowing.  Quietly, softly, peacefully snowing, pure white prisms, none alike, each a mini masterpiece. And I am in awe.

It's only two days until Christmas and I think again of the Christmas carol “O Little Town of Bethlehem” with my favorite line…”How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given.”  This miracle of peace made possible by the Savior’s birth.

What a gift of peace is waiting for us when we stop in awesome wonder for just a moment or two to observe one of God’s masterpieces. Especially at this joyously busy time of the year.

My most loving wishes for a happy and peaceful and.....

T'was the Week Before Christmas

T'was the week before Christmas and two little girls, 

one blond and one red (the redhead in curls)

Would giggle and squeal as Dad brought in the tree, 

he added lights and glass ornaments to heighten their glee.

Year after year, the routine unaltered, 

became part of the girls’ stability and comfort.

When the lights were emblazoned their joy became song 

as in harmony the girls sang “Oh Tannenbaum”.

The girls became teens; each Christmas was Merry,

‘til Grandma arrived with a gift – they were wary;

She said it was an angel, but twas more like a fairy,

 its dress made of feathers, bright yellow like a canary!

As Dad opened the box, he gasped (I can’t lie). 

Grandma was so pleased she wiped a tear from her eye.

Dad retrieved the said ornament and with love in his heart 

placed it on top of the tree and turned with a start. 

His eye met his kind wife's and she knew just what to say, 

“Oh Grandma, how lovely, we’re so happy today! 

To have a new angel to bless our tree 

and year after year we’ll remember thee!”

Now Grandma had talents, none other was better; 

she could tatt she could quilt she could knit you a sweater.  

Her ability to cook is memorable still; 

her desserts were legendary and made with great skill.

But once a month dear Grandma became prey - 

to the blessed event they called “Homemaking Day”.

The crafts, a bit tacky– we could not escape - 

popcorn roosters, computer-card wreaths and giant glass grapes.

Year after year, Dad donned the top branch 

with the bright yellow fairy for he wouldn’t take a chance,

Of offending his Mother whom he loved with devotion 

– to use something else could cause a commotion.

The girls moved on, they each would soon marry 

and have trees of their own (sans the bright yellow fairy) 

But they hold love in their hearts for their dear little Grandma 

and their wonderful Dad who placed love before drama. 

Each Christmas they decorate their own pretty trees

and with love and remembrance they fall to their knees

and thank Heavenly Father for the years so divine

when their father created these memories sublime, 

for it isn’t the gifts they remember through time, 

it’s the tree and their Dad and it’s all very fine.

And so to all a very Merry Christmas!

 May your own fir-tree with lights blazing green & bright red, 

be topped with a shining bright star instead.  

Giving praise and glory to the Son and our Brother, 

and perhaps some unconditional love for your mother.

My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys

We didn’t bring much to our marriage. Well not in the way of “things" - Love and dreams and happiness were abundant but the sum total of personal belongings carted to our small furnished one-bedroom apartment fit into a single car load. The wedding gifts, which we sorely needed, had been delivered, unwrapped, to our new home by our loving parents while we were on our honeymoon.

Among Dale’s belongings however was a black 3 ring binder. Upon inspection as I put things away, I saw that it was filled with articles from newspapers and magazines about people. People as different as could be. I couldn’t find a connection between them as I quickly scanned the pages.

Intrigued I asked and he replied, “Oh that’s my book of heroes!” And he took the book with a loving respectfulness and showed me each page.  It was then that I found out that my new husband’s first real heroes were cowboys dating from the time he was 5 years old. It was on his 6th birthday that he received a large box among his presents. He said he was so excited, so hopeful, but also so very afraid that he would be disappointed if it wasn't what he'd longed for that he actually waited a few minutes to tear off the ribbon and rip through the colorful wrapping paper. But his birthday wish came true! The box contained chaps, a neckerchief, a cowboy hat, two six shooters in a leather holster and…wait for it….wait for it…..BOOTS...with spurs!  Just like Hopalong Cassidy.

I asked him why cowboys were his heroes and he said it was simple…They were always the good guys.

Many heroes were to find their place in his book over the years. Articles were carefully clipped and urged into plastic inserts and snapped into place. In later years the articles were copied and simply tucked into the binder's front pocket as the binder ring was filled to capacity.

Just last night I came upon his Book of Heroes as I was perusing the book case for something good to read. And it’s clear as I read through the musty old articles collected over 60 long years of his life, that the common thread among all of these people was that they were all good guys, dozens of them, every single one - a good guy.

None of them wore capes, or wielded Rambo-like weapons, none of them had super hero powers.

•   Some were rich financially and did wonderful works of humanitarianism with compassion and sympathy
• Some were poor financially but from their humble situation did wonderful works of caring and helping with compassion and empathy.
•  Some determined a need in the world and created a solution.
•  Some had illnesses but inspired others to live their best.
• Some were athletes who rose through all kinds of trials to succeed.
• Some had Lot-like trials but never lost faith or the ability to smile in order to brighten someone else’s day.
• They were all people who worked hard and had integrity.

And so I carefully and even a bit reverently close the old book and sit back in my chair thinking; “Well this proves it – you become like your heroes”.

And I can honestly say I married one of the good guys.

A Christmas Resolve and Writing Assignment #38 High School part 2

It occurs to me that I've always known that Christmas is December 25. Even as a very young child  I was too excited to sleep just knowing Christmas would be arriving  the next day and I knew full well what day it was because we had been counting down for 24 days on the calendar each day until December 25 arrived – and oh the joy that was ours in those 25 days!

My Dad was Mr. Christmas!  Two little girls waited with great anticipation as the snow fell like giant goose feathers outside our winter wonderland home.  “Here he comes!” Mother would announce as she flung the door open.  With a jolly face of a triumphant hunter of Christmas trees, Dad would bring the very center of our Christmas celebration into the house and across the room to the very spot that he had prepared earlier.  Snow falling off the tree and onto the carpet, but not to worry.  The smell was heavenly and my sister and I would stand together and take great, deep breaths full of the fragrant Scotch Pine.  Dad would sing as he skillfully attached the tree to the stand and up it would go, perfect in size, shape, and freshness.  We would giggle and clap our hands.  

Next, we were put to work.  He laid the lights out onto the carpet in a long string, he plugged them in and if it didn’t work we were to twist each one to see if it was the culprit, was it loose or burned out for good?  The lights were multicolored and in the early years, they were shaped like snowmen or Santa Claus!  Later all the lights were the large teardrop shaped, always colored, red, green, blue and gold with a few oranges mixed in although they were not my favorite but I accepted them anyway.  Once the lights were in perfect order he would tuck them into the soft branches already lit and suddenly, magically, the Christmas season began. 

Next came the ornaments that had been so carefully tucked away and stored with great reverence.  Blown glass German ornaments that cost a fortune today were purchased at the “5 and Dime” in those days.  I loved each and every one of them and Sue and I watched with wonder as Dad carefully placed them in just the right spots. We were allowed to handle them and love them and pointed out bare spots on the tree for Dad to fill.  Oh, how the ornaments glimmered when they were placed near a light!  Next came the silver strand icicles.  Sue and Mother and I held out our arms and Dad draped our share of silver over them.  We were cheerfully instructed on how to place them and we were assigned a branch which we decorated with great pride.  

Skillfully, Dad did the rest and then we stood back and knew that it was a job very well done and again two little girls would clap and giggle with delight.  Dad knew just how to water the tree adding an aspirin and the tree would drink and drink for days, keeping the branches supple and the fragrance heavenly.  Another year, another success and off we’d go to Grandpa ’s house to see his tree.

Now if Dad was Mister Christmas, well Grandpa was Father Christmas!  His tree was always magnificent and he even had Bubble lights!  Some on the tree and even some in a ring around the tree stand!  He would even buy Christmas Logs for the fireplace that would send up gentle flames in red and green with the gold. 

Outside, the roof line of the house was outlined in colored bulbs. A wooden cutout of a larger than life Santa waving his hand to welcome guests stood next to a wooden cutout of a life sized sleigh and life sized reindeer and life sized elves.  All standing in the snow on the front lawn, skillfully illuminated with a soft spot light. Classy they were, not extreme or tacky and expertly made by this carpenter we called Grandpa. The aroma of Grandma’s holiday baking mingled with the scent of the tree.  Candy canes were for the taking and Christmas sheet music awaited my sister and me to play on the piano. 

Two little girls, by means of these cheerful preparations, were taught what Christmas was all about; Celebrating the birth of our Savior with all these symbols to remind us the great commemoration it was. 

Santa would be arriving soon joyfully waving and calling out to us perched upon the shiny red firetruck as he entered the small downtown where we would bundle up against the winter cold and wait in a line with other red nosed, wide eyed children to sit on Santa's knee to make our one Christmas wish.

Ahh, the Christmas wish.  I had given it much thought before climbing up upon Santa’s knee. Only one wish allowed so it had to be the right one. Even then I knew that there were things I wanted but knew I couldn’t have so I fit my wish within the realm of possibilities. So I had given it much consideration.

And now, once again I’m counting down to Christmas. I’ve known it was coming for quite some time so I prepared myself by giving careful thought to my Christmas wish, knowing that I can’t have Dale with me or many of the other things that are out of the current realm of possibilities, I've decided on a good, simple, peaceful one. Simply that I may have peace.

Why is it that I am well aware of December 25^th and make such complete and full preparations and yet  when the candles are lit on my birthday cake and I’m asked to make a wish and blow them out…I’m suddenly surprised and come up with a wish as I inhale and as I exhale I watch the little fire lights flicker out and I already regret that I’m just using the same wish I wished last year and the year before and the year before that…you know…the one that didn’t come true?

And why is it that the act of making New Year's resolutions sneaks up on me? The New Year's Eve party I'm ready for, the New Year's day activities are well planned but each and every year the idea of making resolutions for the new year sneaks up on me and I hustle to come up with a list and sadly, (much like the birthday candle fiascoes) it's almost always the same list which I’m realizing, after many failures, that a list of resolutions scratched out in a hurry-up New Year’s Eve moment are actually just quick wishes with no actual resolve whatsoever, but in my defense, written none the less with good intentions (which I may concede is a step beyond the birthday wish).

I read recently that 90% of the things that we do are based on habits. And achieving success in our resolutions depends upon on making or breaking habits. Or as J. Paul Getty suggests (with a bit of experience I’d say):

The individual who wants to reach the top must appreciate the might and force of habit. He must be quick to break those habits that can break him – and quick to adopt those practices that will become the habits that help him achieve the success he desires.

And Jack Canfield (the author of Chicken Soup for the Soul) instructs:

Whatever habits you currently have established are producing your current level of results. More than likely, if you want to create higher levels of success, you are going to need to drop some of your habits and replace them with more productive habits.  Good or bad habits always deliver results.

Ok!  So I can list my resolutions (or areas for which I desire success) but back it up with what habits I need to change or make in order to be successful. Then add the steps I need to take to work on making/breaking those habits.  Now that’s a more systematic approach and holds a better chance for the hope of “resolution” success rather than just making a list of the desired results!

He goes on to suggest that it’s best to choose just 4 habits to work on in the course of a year since it takes 13 weeks of repeating a behavior for it to become a habit.

So why shouldn’t I make a New Year’s resolution list with only 4 items  (with its accompanying habit to make or break) and then work on one chosen habit each quarter,  working at it gently and kindly but wholeheartedly. Keeping in mind the saying I once heard: “Successful people make it happen - Unsuccessful people make excuses”. So I don’t want to be too kind and understanding to myself while listening to the little voice in the back of my head that is determined to give me permission to make and accept my own excuses.  LOL

Hey, the time is going to pass anyway right?  So between now and New Year’s resolution time (it won’t be a surprise, I know it’s coming December 31st!), I will give some serious thought to my 4 resolutions.

I remember that on that snowy December day so long ago when "little girl me" climbed up on Santa’s lap, I whispered to him that I wanted a doll (the one that I had determined was my one great wish) Her name was Betsy. 

I still have her.

And so while I’m counting down to December 25^th, this year I’ll have a separate countdown to New Year’s Eve and by giving it some genuine thought between now and then…I will be ready to make resolutions I will actually have hope that I can keep. That will surely make for a Happy New Year!

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WRITING ASSIGNMENT #38 - HIGH SCHOOL - PART 2

• Did you have a favorite teacher in High School? How did he or she influence your life?
• Did you have a despised teacher in High School? What effect or influence did he or she have on your life?
• Did you attend your school dances or proms? With whom? Describe them, including the clothes you wore, the type of music that was played, the popular  dance styles etc.
• Tell about your hopes and dreams at this time in your life and what plans you made.
• What was an historic event that took place during "Your generation"? How did it affect you?