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Archive for July, 2019

What lies behind you and what lies in front of you, pales in comparison to what lies inside of you. (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

Ontario. The Blue Water Motel. Simple accommodations with a personal touch. *The Bend Eatery, ample portions of pemeal and creative homemade fruit-covered waffles. A vacation without tourism. Cars in the parking lot with license plates from the United States are rare.

Pinery Provincial Park. A cool breeze, and time doesn’t demand each second be filled. Branches wind into patterns begging to be photographed or painted. I pay more attention to the scenery than I do to the zipper on my backpack.

A butterfly jumps rather than flies from one space on the path to another. As if leading the way. He flies from the trail after I take his picture. Is he sending a message? I don’t want my photo taken. Or, pay attention, lady.

“Which way does this path lead?” my husband and I ask two young women as we reach a fork in the trail.

“To a view of the lake.”

Yes! We need to go. A man with two small dogs meets us on the way. We tell him what we were told, then stop at a park bench to rest and enjoy the breeze, the sky, a lake blue enough to be good friends with the heavens. The path was uphill.

I don’t realize my backpack is unzipped until the gentleman returns. “Is this yours?” he asks.

My wallet! Inside are my driver’s license, money, and credit cards. I can barely speak. Thank you comes out as a sputter.

A Canadian angel with two small feisty dogs just saved my life.

We return to the Blue Water Motel. Route 21. A few more days vacation. Washed with gratitude. I pray my attitude remains, blossoming, growing, turning our remaining few days out of the States into awareness—on as many levels as possible.

Thanks to all who turned the word relaxation into a reality. Peace to all who need to find it. 

 

*link found only on Facebook, a new facility

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It’s paradoxical that the idea of living a long life appeals to everyone, but the idea of getting old doesn’t appeal to anyone. (Andy Rooney)

My vacuum cleaner and I have more in common than I like to admit. Two of my toes are bound together after a mishap in my living room, and the electrical cord on my vacuum cleaner is held together with enough tape to stock a hardware store.

The vacuum and I both wheeze around too much dust.

“Come on!” I call to it. “One more time over the shag carpet.”

As an inanimate object, its answer is a weak whirring sigh.

If I were asked to follow my double-jointed youngest granddaughter’s exercise routine, my sigh would be similar.

Older citizens have limitations. Physically. Not when it comes to a capacity for giving and caring. We can live locked inside our pain or despite it. My grandson calls me a wrinkled kid because I get down on the floor and play with him. Perfection isn’t required. Not when imagination fills in the gaps.

Imagination, hope, love—gifts inanimate objects don’t have as they age. I pray to continue to learn, to celebrate possibilities hidden inside each new crease.

 

 

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Experience teaches us only one thing at a time—and hardly that, in my case. (Mark Twain)

Wow! I see individual leaves on the trees. A male and female goldfinch at the birdfeeder. Sky, blue with white slivered memories of larger clouds. All seen through dark sunglasses. The world no longer appears wrapped in fuzz.

Not to my cataract-free eyes. My brain remains as scrambled as ever. How many places have my thoughts run as I drive a few miles along a familiar route? Past politics. Into man’s inhumanity to man. Through global warming. My stomach considers lunch and dinner preparations—I should have stopped for breakfast.

There’s a speed indicator on a pole. How long has that been here? I pass this way often enough to drive it blindfolded. Okay, almost. The number on my speedometer drops. Into a one-thing-at-a-time ordinary pace.

Ugliness remains. I look at it differently. I can be peace by joining others who live love. By not giving up. My cataract-free eyes have sight yet can continue to seek vision. Wisdom, it is earned. Never an automatic right.

 

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If civilization is to survive, we must cultivate the science of human relationships – the ability of all peoples, of all kinds, to live together, in the same world at peace. (Franklin D. Roosevelt)

If peace were a bird, it would fly through heat or wind.

It would thrive in a nest open to storm.

 

If peace were a mountain,

it would stand patient,

constant, firm for centuries.

 

If peace were a tree, it would begin

as an acorn, unafraid of darkness,

then grow to house birds,

and reach for mountains.

 

Peace. It transcends

mountain borders,

and allows foreign bird species

to nest together.

 despite unseen possibilities.

 

originally published in For a Better World

 

 

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hospital bed in intense color with parking lot below

Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans. (John Lennon)

Spaghetti with homemade sauce, salad, a special bread, and tapioca for dinner. The pudding is the kind that sticks to the bottom of the pan, not the pre-packaged stuff that requires no more than the opening of a plastic lid. I wanted to make something special for my husband. A just because.

My timing could have been better.

“I’m feeling a little queasy,” he says after eating a much smaller quantity than usual.

Somehow queasy is understated. By the next day he is dehydrated enough to pass out at the emergency room entrance. As his inadequate support I go down with him.

The crisis ends. One healed moment at a time.

And I sit at the computer knowing life is not mine to control. I can give. I can look a homeless person in the face and offer food or money, listen to a friend when I would rather open a book or take a nap. Act or React.

Perhaps all I can do sometimes is have a vague outline for the week and an open heart.

Right now, I have plans to learn to be more flexible, “with a little help from my friends.”

Thanks to all my friends who gave more than a little help.

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