Category Archives: Soul Care

Watershed Wonders

25 Saturday Dec 2010

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“Say after me:  It’s no better to be safe than sorry.”  –  a-ha

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Watershed years defy tidy summary.  But as a nod to Dad and his passion for movies, I’ll begin by calling ours, “Two Funerals and a Wedding,” but then focus on these other in-between moments: Two college graduations; a wedding announcement by Bryan and Amy; and soon — anytime now — the birth of a new grandchild, Kara and Joe’s first.  Next year’s sequel waits to answer our family cliffhanger: Is it a girl or boy?

Amid these transitions, Don’s travel schedule was lighter than usual, with just a few short trips to Houston and overseas.  And while his annual backpacking trip fell by the wayside, we headed off into the western sunset together to enjoy the beauty growing wild in Alaska. It was our first taste of life on the retiree’s travel circuit – and while we may not have made the cut, we didn’t leave the ship without booking next year’s trip.

Closer to home, our family enjoyed a different sort of travel as we again took turns hosting a monthly moveable feast.  Most months we kept it simple by gathering at a local restaurant, where we played our assigned roles.  Don’s regular part is the manager who keeps us anchored in reality while moving clockwise, Kyle and Kara are our two creative souls, who talk someday of writing a children’s book together.  Then Kara’s husband Joe is the consummate sports fan, who is always strategically positioned to watch whatever sport happens to be airing on television.  Next are resident lovebirds Amy and Bryan — just glad to be together again, with Amy having just returned from a month-long family visit.  Finally there’s Glen and Kate, who keep us in stitches with their repartee — with Kate rolling her eyes, Glen’s been talking about how he knows how to fix their broken toilet — but that he’s just not worked up to it yet.

And then there’s me — the one who could write the book on not yet working up to doing “this” or “that.”  So how fitting it was for my watershed moments to pry me out of my contemplative comfort zone:  From leading my father’s funeral service in April to spending ten days at the Iowa Writer’s Workshop in July, you may be surprised to learn I’ve continued to set aside my introverted nature to make cold calls on Dad’s family back East.  While the calls began with hope of picking up the missing and puzzling pieces of Dad’s sad childhood story, my restored family connections have evolved into something more – especially my regular visits with Aunt Carol, Dad’s only sister – but exactly what the ‘more’ is I’m not ready to name.  Yet I can report how downright comical it’s been to listen to my own introductory spiel — telling unknown cousins how we really are related — before they hang up the phone, thinking I’m some sort of strange solicitation call.

I don’t know where the changes will lead.  But I know mine began during Lent, listening every morning to this ‘song-bite’ – “Say after me:  It’s no better to be safe than sorry” – performed by a band fittingly named a-ha. In a year punctuated by my father’s and aunt’s deaths – as well as the upcoming marriage of my brother Jon – I can’t help but wonder how lives would differ if we were to live everyday believing this song-bite true.  And on this dangling question I’ll close – for in this Season born of watershed wonders and professions of faith, who could want a tidy ending?  Like some movies, tidiness can be overrated.

Making Right Turns

22 Wednesday Dec 2010

Posted by in Life at Home, Soul Care

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I like it when what comes next doesn’t depend upon me.

Maybe that’s why I’d rather be a passenger instead of the driver.  When I’m not in the driver’s seat, I’m free to look at scenery.  Or rest.  Or read.  Or daydream and think.

I rest easier knowing I’ve done right by others.  But sometimes, when I’m merrily riding along some past indiscretion will catch up with me.  And whether or not I’ve done my best is not always relevant.

There are many times my best had me coming up short while trying to do the right thing.  Like last week for instance.  I did my best to offer comfort.  Yet I fear I did the opposite.  And I was absolutely undone for a few days, by the mere possibility that I might have caused another unintended harm.

Then there are those other times when I have intentionally done something wrong.  Sometimes it’s unvarnished no-two-ways-about-it  ugliness.   But other times it’s more subtle than that — like when I have wronged others by talking myself out of doing the right thing.  Two  times that I can count — countless others of which I remain blissfully unaware — which out of the clear blue, came back to keep me company a few days ago.

I wish I could explain why these memories are talking to me now, after so many years of playing dumb.  But all I can say is that they have sent me soul-searching for answers.  And so far, all I’ve come up with is this:  Rationalizing away what’s right and turning it into a wrong is easy to do in situations where there is no legal obligation to do anything different  — or, as in my case, where there is no personal accountability for a different outcome by the wronged party’s expectations or petitions.

But perhaps there’s still time to make restitution for these two wrongs.  Not because it will make things right, because I’m not sure  it’s ever possible to set wrongs right — a right can never erase a wrong, though it may lessen its sting.

And strange as it is, I’m not sure I would wish to erase anything.  Because in some mystical way, those weighty wrongs have shaped me into a person who strives hard to do right by others — even when it comes at personal cost — and these wrongs work to keep me grounded, from thinking myself better than I really am.

So this time, it looks like I’m in that uncomfortable driver’s seat with two ghosts taking up my favorite space in the front passenger seat.   And whether I make a right turn or end up somewhere in left field depends entirely upon me and my own internal compass.

You Who

30 Tuesday Nov 2010

Posted by in Life at Home, Soul Care

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Women do not like to share little-known facts about themselves.

I learned this while helping host Kara’s baby shower last Sunday.   And two days after the shower, I still can’t name the reasons for the reticence.

What I CAN say is that what seemed a good idea a month ago when invitations were mailed seemed foul by Sunday.  And to my way of thinking, it wouldn’t have been at all out of place — especially as our baby shower was themed around a Christmas tree at Who-Ville —  for me to yell these famous half-crazed Clark W. Griswold lines:

“Where do you think you’re going? Nobody’s leaving. Nobody’s walking out on this fun, old-fashioned family Christmas. No, no. We’re all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here. We’re gonna press on, and we’re gonna have the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny f—ing Kaye. And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he’s gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse.” — National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation

A mere month ago I was thinking how good it would be to have a get-acquainted parlor game to help members of Kara’s five families get to know each other a little better.  So I invited everyone to send me a a fun, little-known fact about themselves.

Here’s my accounting: Of the 25 guests attending, three sent their facts in on time without complaint — a dozen arrived by hook, crook and gnashing of teeth over Thanksgiving weekend — once I sent out Grinch cavalry, who looked an awful lot like me and my two daughters.  Of the remaining 10, five were turned in at the shower while five didn’t participate — two guests “lost” their cards somewhere in Kara’s house and the other three — well, let’s just say I “lost” the desire for treasure hunting.

Funny thing is that by all appearances, the game appeared to be a rousing success — even the five hold-outs seemed entertained.  Everyone enjoyed guessing who said what  — stumping the crowd with their fun facts — and then finding out whether they were right or wrong.

And after all the prizes were handed out, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only one to marvel at what had been revealed — and at WHO had been revealed.  All the females crowded together in Kara’s living room were wonderfully unique and special.  Kara was still talking about it this morning when I arrived at her house to paint.  And knowing how much I’ve thought of each fact and the woman who revealed it, I’d be surprised to learn the revelations hadn’t lingered in other minds too.

After all, how many times do we go to a party and walk away knowing something real about a person?  That this one had always wanted to be a nun, or that this one likes to travel so much she studies maps in anticipation of the places she will go.  And how about this one who won a poetry contest in middle school or that one who played in the Austin Symphony or how about the one who once learned how to roll her father’s cigarettes so that he wouldn’t have to stop driving while on a family vacation.

We don’t share ourselves enough  —  our real and true and best selves  anyway.  The stakes must be too high.  Maybe we play it safe to avoid being sorry.  So we end up sharing forgettable things that don’t really matter, that don’t go more than skin-deep, in words that roll off of our lips on automatic-pilot, words like “Oh, I’m fine — how are you?”  Here’s my confession: Sometimes after I’ve asked, I forget to listen to the answer.  So maybe we need to ask risky questions to get a memorable answer.

And as I ponder it more, maybe that’s what all that moaning and groaning before hand was about — folks we’re just plain rusty at revealing a piece of their truth.  We had to pry it out of them.  Or maybe — and I hope I’m wrong — maybe some mistakenly believed they didn’t have anything interesting or fun about themselves to reveal.  And if so, I hope they left believing something a little different  about themselves.  Even something little like this:

“A person’s a person no matter how small.”