IT’S OVER, FOR THIS TIME

I’m going to insert this family update in between my corona virus  posts –  I’ll get to the spiritual aspects next time — hard to know just how to talk about that.  I have to look up some things first . ..

Meanwhile —

Daughter and  Grandson Cooper right now are on that little airplane there on FlightAware.  They’re on their way home, after a wonderful visit.   They had a bit of a layover down in Houston and they’re heading to Sacramento, where they will have to turn around and drive a couple hours back east, over Donner Pass, through the snow, and then on to their own home.

So glad they made the effort!   I am sending them home with a sugar high which will take a few days to fade away, I’m sure.  (Hey – I’m a grandma!)

We did have some maple sugar treats, as indicated in two posts ago . . .  Even though the Festival was closed down, they managed to find maple sugar candy and maple sugar cotton candy.

That wasn’t enough!     The next we we made our own (cotton candy):

A sticky sugary affair,  but what tastes better than cotton candy made with granulated maple sugar!!!

Even the games were “sweet” —

the Pie Face game

Why DO they find whipped cream flung in the face funny?

On Monday, their last full day here, we had our St. Patrick’s day meal:  corned beef and cabbage.   It came out really good this year!    I got all ready with fresh sauerkraut, rye bread,  Thousand Island Dressing, Swiss cheese – all ready for some Reuben sandwiches!

(But we ate all the corned beef.)

The morning of St. Patrick’s Day?     We continued our sweets:

I just thought a green Jell-O parfait would be fun!  The “sweet” thing about that was I got to answer Cooper’s question about who is St. Patrick and why is he important.   Truly, St. Patrick was a significant figure in the development of Western Civilization.  His writings are complex, intelligent,  and  inspiring;  they’re important to know even today.  You needn’t stay on the Snakes and Shamrocks level.

I will miss my daughter –  what a good mother she is!   What a nice person.   And I’ll miss Cooper’s “inquiring mind.”  Very inquiring!  I’ll miss his delight with new things, his intelligence,  and his  sense of fun.

And I’ll miss his music:

He’s in an orchestra near his home,  the Reno Philharmonic (for children).   He went through some of  my sheet music and found Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, which he wants to learn for his audition for the next level of orchestra.    Maybe my musician father’s musical talent has skipped a couple generations, down into Cooper.

So another visit has passed.  Another joy of seeing Son and Daughter together – they will always have each other, and Cooper will add happy “spice” to their lives.

I will stay positive and hopeful that I will be around for another visit.

Deo volente.

 

 

CORONA COMMENTS

That is a gleaming black Mustang!  I told Cooper  (my grandson) that it’s extremely hard to take a photo of a nice black car  in the sunlight because the black acts like a mirror.   Here, the Mustang is reflecting the blue sky on the top half, as is Son’s GTO in the background.

So,  part of my California family has come for a visit.  So much for Self-Isolation!  (Oh –  family flew, then rented that car.)   Schools in both his state and my state will be closed from now on, for several weeks, anyway, but that is probably too late to completely contain the spread of the virus from juvenile petri dishes (such as my sneezy sniffly grandson).

I haven’t made any comments on the corona virus so far, here at the Tunnel.  Although I have been following this with great interest since mid-January,  the story has developed and changed so much that it is hard to say anything that will be true a day or two later. And you, my readers, are hearing plenty too.

I’ve noticed changes in the reporting and especially in the comm boxes.   Comments are normally good places to get additional information,  but they are also good places to read trolls who give plenty of false information or who write nothing more than criticism of anything they read or hear.

I’ve noticed lately though that these nay-sayers have toned down a little bit, they’re not so obnoxious.   Don’t know why.   Maybe more and more of them are realizing that this is a serious situation.   It’s socially “bad form”  to add more negativity to our situation.

I’ve also noticed that in the past week or so the news reports have “taken a turn for the grim.”        It’s not just interesting news stories getting us acquainted with what the virus is and  where it is,  how it’s impacting various countries,  there are developments that impact all of us now.  A total Lockdown in our own country no longer seems so absurd.

     At first it seemed that fear of litigation inspired the closings of public places,  but the shutdowns now seem to exceed such fears.

 

Consistently we are told to wash hands a lot, wash surfaces, keep our distance from other people –  which is hard to do in certain places, as in airport lines:

The governor of Illinois called in hundreds of firemen to help with the long lines at customs.    We haven’t eliminated all crowds yet, but we’re getting there.   either the virus or the response to the virus has caught us all off guard.

We’re way beyond “To Panic or Not To Panic.”    That’s almost an irrelevant discussion.  Now it’s:   be prudent, be prepared.

We don’t seem to have consistent answers about how easily this spreads.     So many doctors, nurses, lab technicians, healthcare workers, emergency personnel seem to have caught the virus.  So many!    Did they all use sloppy techniques?   Or is this a very aggressive virus?

It would seem I’m in a good position to self-isolate;  due to illness, I can’t leave my home anyway.  But I do get friends coming over, checking on me, bringing me things, wonderful visits;  and now my little family is here. It’s so great to be all together that the virus is sort of on our minds,  but not foremost on our minds.   We are still having fun.

Or trying to.   Our local Maple Syrup Festival was canceled,  but the maple grove was still open for walking around in, and their store was open for purchasing things such as:  Maple Syrup Cotton Candy!       What a nice treat!

Son, Daughter, and Cooper explored the equipment in the maple grove,  cooking Cooper, not the maple sugar sap:

The virus may ruin tomorrow’s excursion too, which would be a trip to the REOlds Transportation Museum.

This is where the Oldsmobile originated  and Cooper is very much into cars nowadays.

He might a well enjoy a nice Valkyrie now at his age since he doesn’t have to worry about affording one!

So, a phenomenon shared by the whole world.    That happens only in terrible disasters.

Is this a mass psychological disaster or a real physical one?

Whichever it turns out to be,  no expert, no scientist, no doctor,  no leader, no president can protect you,  Each of us must protect ourselves to the best of our knowledge and to the best of our ability.

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And, yes,  there is a spiritual dimension to this.  Next post.

CONVENTIONAL “WISDOM”

I’ll get to Christmas things soon . . .   tough few days, healthwise again — during which time I watched some old, old Christmas  movies.   If you have YouTube,  I’d highly, highly recommend one called “Beyond Christmas.”  It’s America,  but a society long past,  what we used to be . . . a wonderful experience.

But here’s another one I saw recently.  It came apparently not recommended.  In fact several times I saw the warning:  “This contains material not suited for general audiences.”      But why?   Here’s what I wrote about it when it ended:

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I fear this movie will lead some people astray in matters of science, politics,and religion.
The snob in me is telling me to not tell you the name of this movie — well, maybe… I’m fighting that.
Here are the elements of the movie – elements, not the plot.

Here are some scientists on their way to a meeting.

 

They’re going to hear someone speak about the latest discovery in some caves in southern  Spain. It’s a physical discovery not a theoretical discovery. Think you can tell these scientists in the identical black hats anything new? Think they are unlike the scientific establishment of today?
And then there is the Church, some of who – some, not all – priests (and also protestant ministers) hear the scientists and think they are bringing the Church into modernity by listening to “modern” scientists and agreeing with acceptable conventions of science.    That becomes their orthodoxy.  They join the latest fads, whether it be evolution, or man-made climate change. What if Christianity forms a consensus that socialism is harmless and beneficial to the world? What if the scientific community say that little gray aliens are just people from other planets?  If it’s the consensus . . .

This (unnamed) movie shows the dangers of being conventional, following the majority opinion, whether scientific or religious.    This  movie shows us both.

Those inside the Church know that God made all things —

NGC-5468

   — and therefore true science cannot contradict what the true Church teaches but can only increase the number of reasons we have to praise God and marvel at His world.
Our human  “book of scientific knowledge” has not written the last chapter yet.

a collision of galaxies

 

Remember when we didn’t know that galaxies collide, regularly,and with unimaginable forces on a cosmic scale. Remember when we thought the speed of light cannot be exceeded? Remember when we were taught that the universe is held together merely by forces of gravity acting on matter?

 

It’s well-known that someone who is an expert in one thing only has no competence in another field. A scientist has no competence to speak of religious things; and a priest has no training or competence to speak of scientific things. (Unless of course in the rare instance that one has a double Ph.D, both science and theology.)

 

But this is what got Galileo in trouble. The Church didn’t mind the scientific discoveries he had made. The other scientists of his day minded very much because what he said defied their conventional understanding of science. They turned against him.   What got Galileo in trouble is that he began to make pronouncements on philosophy, religion, and political matters. He had no standing in those affairs, no competence, and he was quite wrong in those things.

True, the Church stepped in to stop him, but remember that he was put under house arrest in his beautiful Italian villa, and that his favorite and beloved daughter was his caretaker. It was the scientists of his day who ridiculed him and treated him harshly.

Such issues are similar to what was presented in this movie.
It’s what happened to the scientist whose  daughter discovered the beautiful cave paintings in southern Spain.   Beautiful, yes, but where they were found was in a cave that was obviously about ten thousand years old.    Convention said these were ignorant cave men, with “primitive” brains so they could not have drawn beautifully accurate pictures of Ice Age animals.

The little girl’s father had taught her that “we learn best by doing” – not by believing what other people tell us. She was a wonderful little actress,  portraying a little girl whose heart was torn apart by the virulent opposition of the scientists who said things she knew not to be true and by the Churchmen who thought the discovery would undermine their conventional teachings.   Unfortunately, her mother at first dared not defy religious convention and so opposed her husband’s scientific conclusions.

Sorrow there was in the little girl’s heart, but a child’s heart recognizes the truth.  And so should we — be free to recognize truth and facts, and keep  our minds open for further developments/

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This movie kept flashing warning signs that “some of the content of this movie may be unsuitable for general audiences.)   Hmmm? The conventional teacher in me, protective of my readers, listens to that warning.
But the real me won’t.   You may be challenged,  but you won’t be harmed by watching this movie.   Just, in life,  steer your way clear of false science and steer your way clear of man-made religious ideas.

The name of the movie is Finding Altamira.    It’s on YouTube

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“INTO EACH LIFE SOME RAIN MUST FALL”

What is that title,  an old song popular a couple generations ago?  It became a common  motto that we used to say to each other.   But  “some rain”  can become a Deluge, still in human memory — a regular Noah’s Flood.

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You’ve all seen this, you know its name, perhaps the artist.*     It’s me . . .  too.   I think I’m wearing down:   right hip injury, one week of pain, resolved;   excruciating kidney pain, four weeks, pretty much resolved;   underlying serious disease flares up, two months, ongoing difficulties;  and now left hip pain or injury somehow, ongoing.

This is NOT me!!!!!!!!!     Sheeeesh!   Oh man oh man oh man oh man!    Honest to Pete!   For Pete’s Sake!

(Well, that exhausts the expletives I use.   But I really mean it!)   Sometimes I can’t write a post for The Spruce Tunnel —   don’t mean to complain but the Tunnel archives need a record of this . . . )

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Trampled.     Grandson Cooper and his Mommy are coming from California for a visit next week.   I should feel excited, but actually I feel more fear than anything else.   Fear that I can’t get the house ready.

We had some successful vegetable plants this year, and nice flowers,  but I wanted to also grow some pumpkins, which would have been ready this time of year for Cooper to enjoy seeing the pumpkins on a vine.   But not all of the vines grew, and the one that did, looking a bit like the one in the picture,   got trampled by deer one night.  Their hooves ripped through the leaves, driving some of them down into the ground.

A big leaf has grown back,  maybe two or three.    Pumpkins will be ready in about, oh, say, early December.  Under the snow, here in the Far North.

Son has kept up with the lawn.  It looks so extraordinarily nice that neighbors stop me as they’re walking by and comment on it.   His secret?    Nourishment.   Over and above the usual fertilizer,  he knows the lawn needs calcium and lime and iron.    Iron has produced a thick, dark green covering of grass.    Nice!

Weather that the lawn likes,  the right combination of hot and humid alternating with cool and dry — and judicious intervals of lawn mowing has helped.

Sometimes the day ends before the work does.  Here is Son mowing at night, thanks to the headlights on the lawn mower!

Here he is coming the other way –

How fun!

School has resumed,  but I have not been able to resume any serious studying – yet.  However, my interest in ongoing language studies has been aroused by watching back to back Netflix series,  one entirely in Korean,  one in French, one in German,  one in Norwegian,  one in Australian  (oh, yes, I needed to turn on my Subtitles for that),  and I’m currently watching an interesting one in Spanish.

And FOOTBALL !   has resumed finally.     I know there are a lot of political controversies about the wholesome sport of football, drummed up by radical leftists (who else is complaining about football?)  — but I can almost ignore most of that.

But here’s something good and sweet relating to football  that caught my eye:

The leftist entertainment-news media likes to tell us only about the bad football players.  And if they’re not bad,  they gleefully report on accusations.    But how about this family!

That is Philip Rivers holding his youngest, just next to his beautiful wife.

Well, you might know him better like this:

Philip Rivers, currently quarterback for the Los Angeles  Chargers.    He’s a pleasure to watch,  even  though his games will be trumped by the Bears anytime.  Or Packers.  Or Lions.

Mr.  Rivers is a devout Catholic,   and spends full-time hours off the field doing works of charity and social causes;  and presumably  being a good husband and father, although he always lists that first.     He is the founder and promoter of the Rivers of Hope Foundation and the San Pasqual Academy, if you’d like to look into worthy causes to support.

So — look at the good ones!   And enjoy this football season!

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Since I’ve been hard on the “New Version” of the Catholic Church lately,  I think my next posts will be about the growing menace of world totalitarianism,  global socialism, and the New Church — all one and the same.

Using the keyboard today wasn’t as hard as I thought.

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.*  Edvard Munch:   “The Scream”

IT’S A “GOLDEN” SUN THAT CASTS THE SHADOW

Happy Face

Humans express their deepest feeling through poetry:

 

Loss and Possession
Death and Life are one
There falls no shadow
Where there shines no sun.

(by Hilaire Belloc)

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As I wrote last time,  July starts a period of time that carries some not-so-happy anniversaries for us.   But time really does lessen the sadness, so some anniversaries will indeed become  not-so-happy . . .  and then pretty-good-happy.

Once we walked these alien halls . . . .

. . . . in the Cleveland Clinic, on our way to seeing Hubbie during his last year.

This was his  home for a long time:

 

It’s a pretty big place.   And after Hubbie passed away, we had a pretty terrible time to experience.

It was the shadow cast by the golden sun of his life.     I’ll tell you why I say “gold.”    Somewhere after this period of time,  we got the idea that since Hubbie enjoyed our backyard pond so much and really, really enjoyed watching the fish,  we would, then, honor his birthdays by adding goldfish to our pond — one for each year of his age.

So Son and I visited our local pet store a few days ago on our annual mission.   That’s where Son saw that Happy Goldfish in the first photo up there.

We had to buy –  a LOT!

Then we took them to our back yard, where Son gently helped them get used to the new water temperature, and then slowly introduced them into the pond:

(We didn’t get to our task until nighttime.)

We left the pail there at the shore overnight so the little tiny goldfish could swim right back into it if they needed shelter.

They probably didn’t need it,  but it made us feel better.   The next morning all but one were missing and unaccounted for;  presumably happily under water.

Pretty good success rate.  And we felt pretty good that  another annual ritual in Hubbie’s honor was successfully accomplished.

Our pond has some Golden flecks in it now.

We had our “shadow,”  but now we are able to celebrate the “sun.”

There falls no shadow
Where there shines no sun.

Happy Birthday,  Hubbie.

 

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The Archives on the right  listed for November 2010 tells the full story of those Cleveland Clinic days.

WHAT TO DO WHEN IT’S OVER

That’s   anything.      What To Do When Anything Is Over.

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Hey!  Got enough to do in your life?

 

We’ve all experienced the end of something,  a certain period of time ends.

Good or bad.   It’s over.    Your attention has been taken up with certain activities or issues, good or bad or “indifferent,”  but then it comes to an end.   And we find that Life still goes on.

 

 

We can choose whether we go on, too.  Or not.

 

But eventually  we have some biological urge to get on with things.  To “move on,” we say.

How do we get started . . .  again?

What’s needed for a restart?

Well, if it’s “company,”  overnight, out-of-state company,   there is much preparation,  then you oversee the “company,”  and then they leave.

Cooper was here!!!   My grandson from the High Sierras.    Here he is wearing the sweater I made him.

(Modeling the sweater.  Being goofy.)   It’s the one with the red cardinal tweeting out the word  “Joie!”     Glad it fits him.

It was a wonderful rather surprise visit from Daughter and Cooper.   Lots of fun –  I might blog our activities soon.  Constant activity, fun, laughter, noise.      Sure kept me busy for this past week.

And then it was over.

But more serious things, bad things can happen too.     And then they will over too.  Things will work out one way or the other, and then you clean up the loose ends:  Clean the house;  clean up the leftovers;  clean the carpeting (sometimes necessary!) ;  clean up the toys and all the other objects that have left out or moved around;  clean the car . . .

Oh, yes,  the car —

These photos today are from inside my car, inside a car wash.

They wave you on in,   and somehow,  if you follow their wiggling fingers, right or left,  then your tires  connect to something — and you’re committed.

It’s going to be messy,  loud, wobbly, bewildering,  but you know it’s all for the scrubbing and the rubbing and the cleaning.

Why all this?  because after having company,  you clean.  After some issue in your life is over, there is “cleaning” to do.    After some period of time is ended,  before you can go on effectively,  you must clean up the debris:    organize your thoughts, remember,  reflect,  learn,  discard certain moments and  erroneous interpretations, learn anything you can from the experience. . .

. . . .   That’s the physical and the mental, and then if you’re human,  clean up the spiritual aspect:  give thanks, give thanks for the people you know,  the ones you’ve  just dealt with;  forgive yourself;  forgive any others, go to confession, if you must;    and commend everything you can think of to God’s care.

Then relax!   It’s over.

It’s your turn to leave that period of self-reflection and restoration.   This is how you grow!    Life is a series of moments that are  Teaching Stations.    You experience, hopefully fearlessly facing the challenge, and then it’s over.

It’s behind you.    Time to resume your life, living in each present moment as it comes.

 

I drove away and put that red-roofed Car Wash behind me . . .    Always remembering that newly beautiful blue car in the review mirror, ready to go !

Ugh!   I’m still cleaning up.

There’s  always  so much to do!

.

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MEMORIAL DAY RANT – 3/3

3/3 –  “Lemonade Happens”

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Okay,  I can’t stay ranty for long.   I was “real mad”  when this first happened – right before all my out-of-state Memorial Day weekend company (which, by the way, are all still here).

“When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”    I don’t like that little saying.  It’s too . . .  too . ..    too Pollyanna.    Most often, in real life,  you just have to deal with the lemons.

But once in a while —  lemonade happens.

Last Friday was the day I should have been all ready for my California family to visit for the holiday weekend.   Laundry done, house cleaned, shopping,  baking, cooking, activities planned —

—  AND my new refrigerator had arrived and my old one was now clean and emptied, ready for pick up from the utility company,  which would give me a nice $50 check,   I guess for “upgrading” to a more modern refrigerator.

 

Company coming and TWO refrigerators in the kitchen.   Everything else pushed over, displaced, or covered up.  But it was going to be okay because the utility company was going to come and take one away.

A “four-hour window”  for their arrival, during which time I couldn’t do any last-minute shopping;  just hang around the house.    Waiting.

And they never showed up.   No phone call.  Nothing.   They had called two days before to ask for my confirmation.    I confirmed.  Twice.   No idea why they didn’t come,  but with all the busyness and tension — happy tension, getting ready for company —  frustration turned to anger.

I called fifteen minutes before the end of the business day when I was pretty sure they weren’t coming.  As withi all corporations,  I endured multiple transfers to various departments,  but I finally got a nice Customer Service lady who said she would look into it right away and come back with an answer — maybe they were still on their way.   She put me on hold (yet again)  and I waited.  She came back to ask some questions, put me on hold again.

And then a corporate type recording came on the line announcing that business hours were over, please call again on Monday.   Which of course the Robot Recording didn’t know that Monday would be Memorial Day.

So the Customer Service lady and I were cut off while we were communicating.

That’s the LEMONS!     And I let them have it via email,  text messaging, and the complaint form on the Website.

Then,  free to go out shopping for company, I came home with a load of groceries and found my new refrigerator was overfilled . . .

. . . . and overflowed into my old refrigerator.

That’s the LEMONADE.  I can’t tell you how many times we were all grateful for plenty of refrigerator space!      We’d bring home leftovers from restaurants and  have plenty of room to store them!     Lots of bulky fruits and vegetables.  Lots of things to drink!  No spills, knocking things over,  stuffing the shelves.

So the joke’s on me.  I laughed at my previous anger;  I laughed at myself,  many times!  We’ve had a great fun visit, everyone enjoying the novelty of using two refrigerators.

Moral of the story:   Things are often better than  what they seem.    I can handle this.   No need for such momentary frustration.

Glad to have two refrigerators!!!

(But I’m not going to tell the utility company that!)

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GONNA “KEEP HIM”

Apologize for absence.    Health issues . .  I think I’ll be okay now.    And during it all,   a new refrigerator was delivered . . .   had to move out of one and into the other.  Able to do that now – and to blog again.

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“KEEP HIM”

I write here about “Son” sometimes.   It was his birthday today . . .

He liked the gifts I gave him.    We had a wonderful day, enjoying things we like to do together.   Menu:   Lake Trout and lobster.   And a  birthday cake called “Death By Chocolate.”

They say Love is wanting  the best for the other person.  Wanting his best.    Doing whatever is best for him.    Doing the things he likes   —  because the things a person likes reflects the way God has made him, and so his interests help him become the person God wants him to be..

Son seems to be well on his way to doing that.

I think I’ll keep him!!

 

 

FIFTY YEARS OF . . .

Whenever there is a long gap between postings, there always is an underlying reason bubbling under the surface of my emotions . . .     this week, no different.  

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This week, the reason:

A snapshot of my Grandma and Grandpa’s 50th Wedding Anniversary celebration.  Family and Friends and neighbors attended.  Picture in the newspaper.   For my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary there was a smaller celebration.

And for mine, today, a very small one indeed.   Hubbie didn’t make it.

Hubbie didn’t quite make it to that age.    Son and I will celebrate.  We’ll celebrate mostly his life,  his life in this marriage,  and life itself which takes so many twists and turns, and only by seeming coincidence are we born of parents who managed to find each other  . . .  and marry.

Our very, very early years together are more vivid to me than all the rest, so I will just share those early times for The Spruce Tunnel record.

I had a bachelor party, of course.   (I’m the blonde.)

I don’t know what all the others were doing,  but a couple hours later I didn’t look so good.   I drink my rum by the Tablespoon now,  not by the glass.

A day or two later I was being attended by my bridesmaids just before the wedding:

It was a winter wedding, of course.  December 21st.   Blizzard outside for two days before,  no snowfall on that day, then big blizzard again the next day.  Bridesmaids dresses were royal blue velvet trimmed in white fur.

Shortly thereafter I was being led down the aisle by my Dad.

“Helped”  down the aisle, more like it.    I was holding together until he patted me on the arm and said everything was going to be all right.   I so much remember every moment of that day.

My  Dad in that picture is the same age as my Son is now.   I don’t understand this Passage of Time thing.

Then we are at the altar:

We were married High Church Anglican,  An Anglo-Catholic wedding ceremony, complete with Mass for the wedding party, beautiful liturgy, beautiful music, and an exquisite soloist singing Ave Maria.   It felt so perfect.

Then we did the Cake in the Mouth thing:

 

And then the Search For the Blue Garter thing:

Dear New Husbands:  It’s a bit embarrassing.  don’t take too long….

 

Shortly after our wedding, two weeks later,  I graduated from college.   Hubbie caught me walking  down the hallway with my new diploma:

Then I began teaching my new  class:

Our honeymoon was spread out over the next few months because of our immediate teaching duties, but we hit the highlights:   Niagara Falls with my handsome new husband:

On the  ferry  (the Staten Island Ferry?)  on our way to see the Statue of Liberty:

And then on down to Washington D.C.

We settled into our new life.   We continued to travel, all around the country.  Our early albums are filled with photos of mountains, plains, caves, fun hotel stops,  Mt. Rushmore, Las Vegas, and Disneyland.    It was like we were on one long “honeymoon” adventure.

Hubbie bought me a piano and let me adopt my Grandma’s cat:

We taught school,  watched all the societal changes and learned what tear gas smells like.  (Our wedding wasn’t the only momentous event that happened in ’68.)     We had two children, traveled more, visited our parents regularly, the ordinary things of marriage happened, Hubbie got sick, and passed away several years ago.

He didn’t “pass away”  very far.

All those of our family who have died in recent years are not  truly “away,”  but they are “away” in the cruelest, most difficult way  —    not “away”  but inaccessible.

I will have an inaccessible husband at dinner tonight.   We will go to one of his favorite restaurants.   I will have something he liked to eat, within the restrictions of Friday abstinence.  I will aim for a strawberry kind of dessert, because he liked strawberries and one time he communicated to us through strawberry ice cream — don’t ask.

All this was what was on my mind during this past week or two.   I couldn’t  post about ordinary things.

Christmas baking now.   Preparing for our little family to be together for the holiday season.   Because life goes on and time passes.

I don’t understand this Passage of Time thing.   But it must happen.

The Present is what’s important.

Deo gratias.

 

 

 

 

IF YOU CAN’T HAVE A REINDEER . . .

(Where do we come from????)

LUCKY LUCKY ME!   —

I stopped off at my local library today and saw this poster on the door.  I must have looked so excited, the librarian got up from her chair and handed me my own little personal poster of the Event!

The Reindeer are COMING!!!    Each December, outside in the cold, cold front yard of our library,  they bring reindeer for us to look at (and to pet if we can sneak our hands through the fence).

I have a feeling I shall never travel to Lapland or to Saamiland, two areas of the world where  half my family came from, on each side of my family,  paternal and maternal.   I think that makes me one quarter “Indigenous” people!      (Does that make me qualified for special government protection and privileges?  ha ha   –  Never!    Lapps and Sami don’t have anything to do with government,  no matter what borders they live within.) 

The UK’s Daily Mail just published an article that said scientists have shown by DNA studies that the Samis migrated out of Siberia about 3,500 years ago, moved into Finland,  until the Rus (later the Rus Vikings — which is another half of my ancestry)  pushed them northward, where they live today,  above the Arctic circle.

With the Reindeer.

This is an old family photo of my Grandma’s cousin with the reindeer.  (His reindeer?)

The explanation is on the back of the photo:

So if anyone can read Finnish,  you’d get the story.  I’d really like to know what it has to say.   My Grandma traveled to Kemijarvi, Finland,  to see her relatives.

She traveled alone in the days when women “just didn’t”  travel alone,  (or so we are taught to believe nowadays)  but she saved money, and off she went.  First stop:  Us.  My Dad, Mom, and I.    We lived a short bike ride away from O’Hare Airfield  (today’s International Airport), so she was able to make a stop to visit us first.

I think she traveled next to New York where she boarded a small oceanliner, the Swedish-Chicago Line.

I was way too young to care about the details, but I sure would like to know about them now.   She apparently had a wonderful time of reunion with her mother’s family and sightseeing around northern Finland.

(The say “Americans are a nation of  (legal)  immigrants.     My Grandma and Grandpa were the most patriotic Americans I’ve ever seen,  and yet Grandma’s visit to her “homeland”  made a big difference in her.    It would be a big deal to me too.   Is it that since we are all transported from some other nation, we all have some deep longing to return to the land of our ancestors?    It is not a fictional notion that Dracula can travel only in a bed of his native Transylvanian soil.      There is some deep, deep spiritual connection with the Earth that God put our ancestors down into.   Siberia?  Russia?  Lapland?  Saamiland?   Finland?  Sweden?   These places call to me . . .  but I can’t answer . . . .  )

Three short generations ago, my family moved to this country.   It’s been great.  I love to be an American.   They all settled down in the Far Far North which was similar to their homeland,  they  became American,   raised families . . .  but, you know,  no reindeer here!

If you can’t have a reindeer —

.     —   Grandpa usually found a buck.

He was a big strong silent-type Swede.  I’m not sure that he and his brothers talked much.   Of the seven siblings, only two married.   They spent a lot of time in the woods, near a lake,  with our family name, and deep in the forest.   For him,   just like Sweden.

Where did we come from? 

Why are we here?  

Why were we made?   

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(“Disclaimer”) 

No reindeer hurt in the making of these photos,   but, well . . .   the buck was.

 

 

– – – – Our Dear Meghan – – – –

Bear as metaphor

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Our Dear Meghan passed away this morning . . . .

 

 

Either:    “…more later …”

.   Or:       “… there are no words …”

.   Or:       ” …  It can’t …”

 

Nothing makes any sense … yet.

 

 

 

3 DAYS OF TRIAL

I like birthdays.   At my age it’s a celebration not only of me (my life),  but of my family and all the friends I have.    It’s my birthday tomorrow.   But there are some other more important things that are taking up all our attention:

Here is the last time I saw our dear Meghan . . .   the young woman who is such a big part of our lives and who is so gravely ill right now:
.  . . .  well,  the last I’ve seen her this week.  Being put into an ambulance.  The doctors decided to move her to another hospital where “the most seriously ill patients go.”

Son went with her, of course.    Which is my second “trial.”     He followed the ambulance to the hospital in . . .  Detroit.     And Son drives a gleaming black GTO.   

Attention-getter, even at our local intersection traffic lights.

Okay,  just follow a mother’s heart.   Driving a car like that in one of the murder capitals of our country;  one of the hijacking capitals of our country.     Doesn’t matter that he’s a good driver, an intelligent person, and that everyone said he’d be just fine.   This mother’s heart was not at ease until I got a text from him telling me he’s in the hospital, with Meghan,  and he’s okay.  Now he’s okay.   I’m okay.

While this was going on,  this was going on, my third trial:

Daughter and Cooper were in that little airplane,  (over Nevada), heading right into that severe storm over Chicago.   Their projected flight path took them north, then east,  then back west to Chicago . . .  so that they could get a little commuter plane that would take them eastward . . .  right back through the storm to our home.

That was the news.  The actual flight turned out to be a bit better:  about an hour delay in  take-off,  but a strong headwind reduced the flight by 30 minutes, connecting flights were made, they arrived, and all is well, if not a little busy around here.

“Uncle” Son is due to arrive soon tonight, a happy reunion for brother and sister, for uncle and nephew . . .   and hopefully he can remain present for the birthday celebrations we will squeeze in tomorrow.

All in all, there is a lot to be thankful to God for.

Deo gratias.

CABLES, BUNS, AND DOING IT THE HARD WAY

My Dad said  . . .

________________________________________________________________

 

Sunday is different from the other days of the week – in Christendom.  And so I will slow down today,  take time to enjoy, put aside troubles and aggravations for one day,  and think about things I really like to do.

Like blogging.

It’s been a busy week, and I’ve been distracted.

Yes.  I’ve been at it again.   One and half days on the goofy cords and cables and wires and jacks and inputs and outputs and “devices” here and “devices” there and digital converter boxes and antennas and a big 36-year-old television and a pretty-new little one.

And can I mention pliers, hammers, screw drivers, my “omni-tool butter knife, ” scissors,  a metal nail file, magnifying glasses, reading glasses,  assorted flashlights, and four or five different remote controls.

(Not my photo;  this is way too neat.)

Doesn’t matter what I was trying to do;  I’ve got it only half done.    I still don’t have sound with my VHS player;  and I still can’t watch football games – which was the reason for the frenzied electronic activity anyway.

Somewhere during these past few days,  these appeared:

Well, they didn’t just appear,  I made them.   I had some ground bison meat that was pretty fresh, and I had a craving for a big, juicy buffalo cheeseburger with tomatoes and lots of piccalilli and catsup!

But I didn’t have any hamburger buns, and I didn’t want to go to the store.   That would have been the “Easy Way,”  for which my Dad had a word or two.   My Dad is that Marine in the first photo above.

Right there, he looks like a very young, handsome, proud Marine in his dress blues.  But when I was a small little girl, he looked like a big, strong authoritative father figure hovering over me, teaching me things and giving me advice.     Yes, sir!

Some of that advice turned out to be pretty smart, even though it didn’t always make sense at the time.    One thing he always told me was this:  “If there is an easy way and a hard way to do something,  always choose the hard way.”      Not the right way or wrong way;  the hard way.     He didn’t mean make it stupidly complicated like some Rube Goldberg contraption:

 

He meant choose the more involved,  the more complicated, the more thorough way of getting the job done.    Do a little extra while you’re doing the job.    You’ll learn something  and you’ll be glad in the future that you went the extra mile.

As a wee little girl I usually muttered to myself when I heard that;     silently,  inaudibly, of course,  standing next to him,  but deep down I kind of knew he was right.    The right way is the hard way, I guess.

I wanted that  buffalo cheeseburger.  The easy way would be to get in the car and drive a couple miles and buy some buns.    The more involved way, the hard way, would be to make the buns yourself!

Glad I did.  I got the hamburger buns,  some hot dog buns,  and some really good cinnamon rolls out of that dough.    And I know what’s in them!  No long list of  ingredients,  known or unknown.  I used flour from a 12,000 year old strain of wheat*,  they’re  healthy and they taste good.

 

Well, I’ve got one more thing to try for that big old television set and the VHS player. Tomorrow.

Glad today is a day set aside for worship, getting back to God, and . . .  rest!

 

Semper fi, Dad.

_____________________________

 

.*   That’s  Einkorn Organic Wheat Flour,  jovial brand,  available on Amazon

Personal Updates

When you’re old, old, old, old like me — well,  this is the oldest I’ve ever been anyway —  you kind of want everything settled and everyone in their place.   You don’t mind a little kerfluffle now and then,  but these last three months . . .  my goodness!

So,  just to make a record in The Spruce Tunnel,   here are some updates for my family and friends before I can go on to other topics.   Let me see if I can give an accounting of everyone:

In no special order,  I’ll start with Cooper.     Not too many hours ago today,  Cooper was on the Staten Island Ferry,* and on his way to the Statue of Liberty.

Don’t mind the squint.   He’s got light blue-gray-hazel eyes and the sun is very bright.  He’s also just returned from a several day spelunking tour and hopefully enjoyed the deep dark caves of eastern America.    Can’t wait to get a letter from him describing the caves!

Cooper apparently made it out to the Statue.     His daddy asks the question:  “Where’s Waldo?

That’s my “tiny little’ grandson in front of the Statue of Liberty.   Or is that a camera trick?

Daughter is vacationing in New York City too, along with Cooper and Daddy,  so that side of my little family is all happy and accounted for.       That’s fine with me!

Now, Son . . .

Son is somewhere on that map,   having left Florida yesterday and on his way home  here in the Far North.     But I don’t know his route.  His texts are  not too specific.    All I know is that it took  not 3 1/2 hours,  but about 7 hours for him to go one-half inch up the eastern coast of Florida yesterday.   Apparently there are some pretty nice beaches along the way.

I am glad for him.  He’s had a lot on his mind, a lot to worry about, a lot of decisions to make, a lot of new people to meet, a lot of tasks . . .  and now he is alone for three days  in a pretty nice car,   beautiful scenery,  only his own thoughts to guide him.    He’ll be fine.

  Dusty:     This has been a 3 or 4 month long concern,  but Nancy’s horse has finally found a new home.    I’m a bit confused because it doesn’t sound today like he’s going to the same place people talked about yesterday;  but although the destination is different,  both locations are described as “wonderful”  places for a horse with caring people . . . .   I hope everyone is as happy as Dusty will be.   He will be just fine now.

 

Our young friend M.       —

This week I took her to a big university hospital where they are supposed to know everything and be able to do everything.    They don’t.    And they didn’t.

She was patient #1595201 on the board.  All for nothing.  They went in – and they went  back out.

My young friend M.  is back to square one and rather beyond disappointed.   We have to wait.  Wait and see.    Wait and see what the medical industry will do to her.   And I’m very scared for her too.   Son and I and all her friends stand by her.  We hope and pray she’ll be fine.

 

The bat and the bird.     Well, I took care of their possible entry point:

A little duct tape and some metal screen.    Okay, a guy would probably smack his forehead and say,  Why on earth . . .?         But it works for me.    There was about a 3/4 inch gap between the fireplace insert and the fireplace opening.  Now there isn’t.   I have peace of mind and I don’t have any birds and bats tonight.    That’s just fine with me.

 

Me.    Update on me?      Well,  I still covet your “butterflies.”    Or else I won’t be here to give you any more updates.     I read today ** that when Jesus walked this earth,  He lived His holy life for our benefit;    He lives today for our benefit.     He did miracles of healing back then;  and His miracles of healing  still exist for our benefit.    Because Jesus is also the Son of God,   True God and True Man,   His goodness and love and power are not confined to any one generation,  but are here, now, present for us all.

If prayers surround a person like graceful little butterflies,   then I too am just fine.

 

___________________________________

 

.*  If you’re from New York and  I got the name of that Ferry wrong, well,  sorry,  I’m just an Out Of Towner —   Pretty good movie!

 

.**      From  “Christ in His Mysteries  by Dom Columba Marmion   (A very valuable and highly recommended book.  I wish I could buy all of you a copy!)

PRAYER AND PERU — CRACKING UP

(Prayer over my sister Nancy) –

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The world around me is “cracking up.”     Jesus told us “Heaven  and Earth shall pass away but my words will never pass away. . .”       Normally, that would be comforting.

. . .  Comforting words because it means you can absolutely rely upon  the words of Jesus  (and that they have been pretty closely and faithfully passed down to us)  — but upon taking a second look,  Jesus has referred to the world “passing away.”   Not exactly rock solid ground we’re standing on.

Whether it’s the world of men we live in or the planet earth we live on,  we can’t trust that it will always remain the same.    Storms happen.   Tsunamis happen.    Tornadoes happen.   Earthquakes happen.

Here is a before/after photo of what happened this month in Peru:

That was a pleasant, medium-size village in Peru on the left;  what’s left of it after the earth cracked apart on the right.

A close-up of one of the fissures.    In case you haven’t been paying attention,  there have been cracks and fissures in the earth all over our planet in recent years, happening with increasing frequency.    Sometimes they are preceded by immense  groans and howls and roaring noises from deep in the earth;  sometimes the strange sounds are reflected up into the atmosphere.

The surface, the ground we stand on seems to be undergoing “some changes.”

My yard seems to be okay right now.

But not my life,  not  my world,  not the people in the world around me.   Because of what happened to my body in Florida,  I now have to see a doctor — that is an earthquake of a change for me,  one that keeps me up at night.  But enough of that.

Our dear young Friend (in Son’s life),  our dear young Friend M.,  must undergo surgery for a rather serious cancer.   This week.    We just found out.     Her health is no longer “firm ground” to be counted on, though she is so very young.

“Fissures”  and incisions:

 

Son is on his way to Florida to close out family business after my sister’s death.  We are her only surviving family.     Sorrow that he just missed seeing her alive.   Uncertainty, as he closes out her house,  makes thousands of little decisions,  meets new people,   perhaps attends a memorial service among people he doesn’t know — oh, yes, and all this in the extreme heat and unusual traffic patterns in that crowded little city, hopefully being able to afford a somewhat unplanned-for trip.

And worst of all —

—  worst of all, he’s not driving.

I didn’t know it would happen,  but when you become a mother of a son,  every thought and action of that son,  every event,  every experience, good and bad,   squirms around in the mother’s heart.       What happens to him happens to me. *

Because I have a son,   I now understand the relationship between Our Lady,  the Virgin Mary,  and her son,  Jesus.     Even more  “better,”  I understand the Gospel  —   the Annunciation, Birth,  Passion, and Death,  Resurrection,  Ascension, etc.  of Jesus,  (almost) through the eyes and heart of His mother.

Both men and women who experience the prayers and meditations in the Rosary have been moved deeply,   broken,  during prayer;  broken,  fractured in their spirits,  cracked apart by the actions of the Holy Spirit,  in the process of being shown new insights,  and growing.     The rosary  can move you to a meltdown,   in today’s  vocabulary.

So —  sister,  son,  young friend,  and me:   my whole world cracks apart around me.   I’m standing on . . .  what?   What to trust?  What to count on?

In the last post I promised you I’d copy down the Last Words that my sister Nancy heard on this planet earth.   I have the permission of the speaker of those words now – with the condition that I do not give him credit for the words,  but that he was only speaking words from heaven that came through him..

Therefore,  these are God’s loving, comforting, encouraging  words to a dying person:

The . . . hospice nurse had the curtain closed, the lights dimmed and a soft, sweet, relaxing aroma in the air.  From Nancy’s ragged breathing and posture, we knew she was close to her journey.  I calmly reassured her that she has no unfinished business here.  (I)  am . . . good, (My Son)   is good, M.    is getting her treatments, Dusty has a home, it is only up to her.  It is okay to stop fighting, to go and join Jesus.  I know she could hear me, she just couldn’t respond.  So I read Psalm 122 to her.  Talked to her and stroked her forehead a bit, then read Psalm 23.   I prayed private prayers of encouragement to her, assuring her that everything she had learned as a faithful servant is true.  Jesus is waiting for you.  He won’t grab you and pull you, He will wait for you to reach out to Him.  There is no need to fight or be in fear of leaving the pain to go to the joy and peace Jesus promises us.  He is God and God keeps all his promises.  The only fear we have as Christians is that of leaving what we know and have lived, for something we cannot touch or even understand.  This, Nancy, is the ultimate display of your faith.  One day you will see all of us again.  And you will see all your friends and relatives who passed before you.

 

Oh, my.    Deep fissures and cracking apart again as I reread that.    Amidst all the uncertainties and during all the “bad” events in our lives,   the Good God does break in and show us that He is there, waiting for us to turn to Him.

Like the Prodigal Son,  there comes a time when we must  “come to our senses.”

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Please.  You have a soul that is everlasting.   You   ( your soul, your whole you)  are on a journey from this life to the next.    Read the words again . . .  that is the pathway that is Solid Ground.   It won’t crack apart and disappoint.

.*   Son is quite capable.  He is strong and intelligent and has resourcefulness and equanimity that will see him through.    I’ve no doubt.     But —  he’s still . . .  vulnerable.

 

WELL . . .

The day has come.

 

My sister Nancy passed away this afternoon, July 29, 2018, at about 2:10 p.m.

Well,  just a few hours ago.      Still feel a little numb;  nothing much to say.

. . .

Well,  I have the last words that were spoken to her.    I’ll get that copied down later.    You need to know what she heard during her last hour.   We all wonder what will be happening to us during that last hour, that last half hour, that last minute or so before we die.

That separating point between this world and the next world.

The soul is mostly up and leaving,  the memory of earth is mostly fading.

………………….

Well,  something like that.

 

“FLORIDA” UPDATE

Events in Florida very much on my mind:

 

That picture is not far from what my younger sister described to me about a vision that she had quite a while ago.

As you may know, or remember from being here in The Spruce Tunnel in June,   I drove down to Florida to be with my younger sister after her sudden and surprising  terminal diagnosis.   She was not given much time.

I spent time with her,  did what I could for her,  but eventually I had to return home, leaving her safely in the care of Hospice.     I then ended up in the hospital with pulmonary embolisms, partly from “too much driving”  and told not to drive like that anytime soon.  I cannot be with my sister during her last days.

My sister believes in Jesus,  she is what a Protestant would call Born Again, what a Catholic would call Born From Above.   Her vision was of a private audience with Jesus, Who told her that “everything will be all right,”  among other things.

He is calling her home now – soon.

She is less and less responsive.  Her food has been untouched for days.    Today her visitor from her church texted me to say she did not open her eyes.

I have some serious health issues too, and I may be following my sister sooner than I thought, although not too soon.   If  I get through them, I will tell you how I did it.   But  all of you, dear readers,  all of us, will also follow my sister,  in God’s good time.

I’ve said many times before,   this Earth was never meant to be our permanent home.   If we want,  we all can have the saints and angels accompany us, teach us,  guide us,  comfort us.  Here are the words of one:

She died at 24 years old — but, oh,  how much she learned while she was here. *

We were all created for God, and by His love he wants to lead us into “the very life of God.”

My sister can’t have that until she leaves this Earth.

I should feel  okay about that.

 

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.*    St. Therese of Lesieux.

NOT SO BEAUTIFUL SUNSETS

 

A couple posts ago I showed you this little pink cloud in the  evening above my hotel down here in Florida . . . .

It caught my attention.    A sunset is attractive.  It’s  pretty.    It could turn us to thinking of higher things.    But it could also get us thinking about  “the sunset of a person’s life.”  The closing of a day/the closing of a life.

You could write poems about  a person’s life “drawing to a close.”   There are sweet songs,   some  bluegrass songs that I know,  about a man knowing his life is ending . . .   and looking back on his life.

Another song about an older man’s acknowledgment that he will be leaving this world soon,  you know?   And how he wishes his son would come to know Jesus so that they will be together when both die . . .  It’s called   “Father’s Table Grace, ” something like that.  His son was at the table and heard his father’s prayer –  and he changed his life around.  A happy ending.

But I am here in Florida, 1,500 miles from home because my very own young sister has apparently reached the end of her life.  It’s been a kind of difficult day.  I helped her move into a nursing home for hospice care.   We were optimistic and very grateful for the space.

But the reality is . . .  no,  the end of a life has some very ugly, painful,  terrible sensations to endure.

The surroundings can be nice,  but the person’s body is failing.

Not all sunsets are pretty.

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In Catholic evening prayers,  your nightly prayers,  you pray for “those who are dying today” and that God will be with them somehow in their last agony.    It used to be something I  “included”  in  my prayers.    I meant it,  but I didn’t understand it.

Up to now.

THINKING HIGHER

cloud formation above a Florida parking lot

 

Well, it helps to look up,  look above;  have your head in the clouds . . .   really,  above  the clouds,  beyond the clouds . . . .

I didn’t drive this far south for my own entertainment.  My sister who lives here is ill and will not get better.    She’s way too young for that . . . .  but that’s what’s been on my mind during these last few days of absence from The Spruce Tunnel.

There are a lot of things to consider, decisions to make,  conversations to have, comfort and companionship to give, actual physical help to give . . . .  And all  because a young women has a destination,  “above” those clouds.

Your perspective changes drastically when a lifespan is spoken of in terms of “weeks”  by a doctor who can’t help any more.   It will come to all of us some day, because most of us won’t die suddenly and instantly somehow,  we’ll die with time to think about the certainty of what’s coming.

All of us live here:

I don’t mean on that blue-marble earth,  I mean — well, see that very thin blue outline in this NASA photo around the planet?  A very, very thin, solid blue line.

That thin blue line is a photo of our atmosphere.  That’s the whole extent of  all the miles of air we must live in to breathe.    That’s where we live our lives,  between the earth and the bottom part of that thin blue line.

That’s all we’ve got.   A thin blue line around the earth and one short lifespan is all we’re given.   It seems a little precarious.

It just does really  matter that we live with our “heads in the clouds.”  Above the clouds.  Beyond the clouds — all the way to the Creator of clouds, of earth, of us.

a random pink cloud floating above my hotel

God thought each of us up,  loved the idea of us, then put us here for a very  short time to watch and see if we are making our way back to Him.    Today I can see for sure what I always suspected:   when you have only months or weeks to live,  your body is too busy working at staying alive and feeling miserable for your mind to be able to think about where you might be going,  and doing something about it.

My sister didn’t wait till the last minute –  that is a comfort to her and to me.    Comfort is going to be sorely needed . . . .

We’re all right now, together.   My sister is just going on ahead of me.

“Up above,”  as we commonly say.

 

 

 

TODAY – I’M NOT A WOMAN

.

Because of the latest ad campaign from Madison Avenue on  this beautiful island  —

—  I am reminded that I choose today to NOT be a “woman”!

At least not this kind!

I’m not celebrating the Leftist, Global Socialist, Agenda-Driven Exclusive International Women’s Day.

And neither are these women:

 

And neither are the 22 MILLION women who were chopped to pieces,  swirled around by a vacuum extractor until they died,   or painfully burned to death by a strong saline solution  — before they got a chance to get out of the womb.  (Let’s deal in facts.) —

 

But I do respectfully remind the international women to remember these,  their sisters.

They, and I, are not like you.

 

Some of us have a higher calling –  our homes!

 

Wife.  Mother.   Homemaker.   Helper.  Counselor.    Wise and Intelligent family manager.    Maker of refinement and beauty in the home.  

And religious anchor of the family:

Without family,  society cannot hold together.

.