I have a bushy ivy plant named Sheila. I was worried that Sheila would have a hard time surviving the move. I made sure she wouldn't be squished in the car on our two day journey, to the point of making the boys take less stuff with us and put more things on the truck. I haven't had Sheila for a long time - less than a year. She was already pretty good sized when I bought her.
Why do I call her Sheila? My boys ask me that from time to time. I tell them about working at Delta Lake as a counselor when I was in college. The first week we were asked to volunteer our time because the campers were mentally handicapped children from poor families who could not afford to pay for a week of camp. We had one counselor per camper, and the first year, I had a young girl named Sheila. Sheila was mildly retarded, and understood most things. Concrete stuff like time and money gave her a hard time. And she couldn't be left alone. But she had a delicious curiosity about everything, and loved to explore, not easy for her since her eyes were crossed and I think she had double vision.
It was all I could do to keep up with her. She would be standing right next to me, and I would turn my head for an instant, just long enough for a butterfly to flutter by and off she would go, laughing and chasing until something else caught her attention and took her in another direction. If you called her name, trying to get her attention, her only response was to say the word Shelia over and over, but not look at you or stop her running away or even stand still!
The other counselors thought it was funny to pretend to be Sheila, and they would run around waving their arms crying Sheila, Sheila, Sheila. Sheila thought that was funny and would clap and laugh. She was so full of life and love and energy and joy. Though she wore me out, I liked her and learned a lot about appreciating life from her.
One of the things a cancer compatriot told me was that when you can keep a plant alive, its a good sign that you are recovering emotionally. I had tried a couple of times to have plants in Illinois after the cancer was behind me, but invariably after some length of time, the stupid thing would die (of course, it was because I had forgotten to water it - too depressed, too distracted, too tired - all the too reasons you have nothing left over to nurture others).
It wasn't until I bought the ivy plant that I found I was ready to nurture something and actually had the energy, interest, and vitality to maintain care for a plant. And what better name for a new addition to my family for whom I care than the name of someone so filled with the joy of life, someone whose name conjures up happy summer days and good friends! Granted, I got a plant that was pretty robust yet low maintenance to begin with, but I was so pleased that even when I had to be out of town for conferences and graduate work, I remembered to make sure Sheila got the care she needed. She has flourished, timidly sending out little shoots. I even snipped a cutting from her and started a daughter plant named Cinderella (out of the ashes. . . ) whom I gave to one of the girls in the complex office when she moved into a new house.
This morning I slipped Sheila a bit of water and noticed that one short week after settling in, she is beginning to grow lots of new leaves! In fact she seems to be doing better in Rochester than she did in Connecticut. I am hoping its a sign that the boys will also prosper here and show new growth - and indeed, I think they are beginning to already.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Hamlin Beach
I am determined to keep up my program of getting into shape and improving my fitness. Part of my strategy is to find places to walk on the weekends, especially while the weather is good. So after church on Sunday, I had told the boys we would go to a state park on Lake Ontario called Hamlin Beach and rediscover their hiking trails and nature center.
My sister invited us to go to lunch with several couples from church after the service, and we decided to do that first. Good thing we did since it started to rain hard when we got to the restaurant and poured the whole time we ate and chatted.
Fortunately, as soon as we were ready to leave it stopped raining, and off we went to explore the beach. Part of the trails are in a marshy area with lots of overhanging trees, and we started there. We found the little tower where you used to be able to gaze out over the marsh and watch the birds flit about. Now the trees are grown and block the view. We will have to wait for fall to be able to see anything there.
We walked back to the beach area, sauntering out onto the pier and put a quarter in the binoculars to see if we could see the other side (which would be Canada actually). Of course, the lake is way too gigantic for that, but we watched boats too far out to see with the naked eye. There were people fishing - or at least throwing their lines out into the water. I suspect it was too hot and too late in the afternoon for any decent self respecting fish to be thinking of food.
When we got to the designated swimming areas, we took off our sneakers and walked along the edge of the shore, feeling the ocean tide sink us into the murky sand, the cold refreshing water caress our ankles, ducking the yacking sea gulls, tiptoeing past clumps of seaweed, edging around kids plopped down on the water's edge building sand castles, avoiding the splash of boys running pell-mell down the sand into the water, watching fat old men bob up and down with the water's wake, feeling the warm wind against our cheeks, smelling the sizzle of hamburgs grilling, hearing the laughter of volleyball players diving for the just-out-of-reach serves.
It was glorious! We wandered about for several hours, finally working our way beyond the beach and away from the massive expanse of blue to the campground on the other side where the tents and RVs, leftover from the crowded Fourth of July, held the line against the elements while occupants lazed in front of smoky campfires. We paused briefly at the laundromat for a cold drink, then wearily made our way back to the car, ready to go home and rest our weary feet.
One adventure down and countless more to embrace before the hoary breath of winter forces us inside to huddle restlessly before our fireplaces.
My sister invited us to go to lunch with several couples from church after the service, and we decided to do that first. Good thing we did since it started to rain hard when we got to the restaurant and poured the whole time we ate and chatted.
Fortunately, as soon as we were ready to leave it stopped raining, and off we went to explore the beach. Part of the trails are in a marshy area with lots of overhanging trees, and we started there. We found the little tower where you used to be able to gaze out over the marsh and watch the birds flit about. Now the trees are grown and block the view. We will have to wait for fall to be able to see anything there.
We walked back to the beach area, sauntering out onto the pier and put a quarter in the binoculars to see if we could see the other side (which would be Canada actually). Of course, the lake is way too gigantic for that, but we watched boats too far out to see with the naked eye. There were people fishing - or at least throwing their lines out into the water. I suspect it was too hot and too late in the afternoon for any decent self respecting fish to be thinking of food.
When we got to the designated swimming areas, we took off our sneakers and walked along the edge of the shore, feeling the ocean tide sink us into the murky sand, the cold refreshing water caress our ankles, ducking the yacking sea gulls, tiptoeing past clumps of seaweed, edging around kids plopped down on the water's edge building sand castles, avoiding the splash of boys running pell-mell down the sand into the water, watching fat old men bob up and down with the water's wake, feeling the warm wind against our cheeks, smelling the sizzle of hamburgs grilling, hearing the laughter of volleyball players diving for the just-out-of-reach serves.
It was glorious! We wandered about for several hours, finally working our way beyond the beach and away from the massive expanse of blue to the campground on the other side where the tents and RVs, leftover from the crowded Fourth of July, held the line against the elements while occupants lazed in front of smoky campfires. We paused briefly at the laundromat for a cold drink, then wearily made our way back to the car, ready to go home and rest our weary feet.
One adventure down and countless more to embrace before the hoary breath of winter forces us inside to huddle restlessly before our fireplaces.
Friday, July 6, 2007
A Voice Crying
Can you believe that Roberts Wesleyan College closes at 3:30 on Fridays and everyone gets to go home early?! Its true! Every Friday all summer long! I finally had time to shop for all those elusive little things you suddenly find yourself in need of when you move into a new place - you know, shower curtains, towel racks, waste baskets, aluminum foil. . .
The boys and I gleefully headed out, stopping first at the credit union so I could reopen an account there, then the boys begged to shop at Wegmans, their absolute favorite grocery store in the world. Invariably wherever I am, from Illinois to Wisconsin to Connecticut, if I happen to mention Wegmans, there will be someone who will sigh, "O, Wegmans! I love Wegmans!" What fun we had gazing at all the wonderful things you could buy if you could afford them. How tired the boys got hearing me say, "Not today. Later when I have more money."
Afterward, we headed for Marketplace Mall, wandering about locating shelf liner here, a shower curtain there, remarking over some little gadget, speculating about whether that color curtain would look good in the living room. After lots of wandering, it was getting late, and we decided to head out. We had parked near JC Penneys, and I needed to make a trip to the bathroom before leaving. I entered the Ladies Room foyer, thinking about what a good day it had been and how nice it was to be able to settle in. I no sooner got into a stall than I suddenly heard someone burst into tears and start crying HARD.
"What in the world!" I thought. "Did someone get hurt?" Before I could say anything, someone else came in the Ladies Room, and immediately asked what was wrong. The young lady answered, "Nothing, really. I'll be OK. Really. I'm Fine."
"Are you sure? Do you want to talk about it?" the other voice asked.
"No. No. I'm fine." Crying voice answered. After a few minutes, the other voice left, and crying voice resumed bawling with such passion, I was worried. Now she was talking to herself. Or to God. Or to someone, I'm not sure who.
"It's not like I'm ungrateful. I've just never been to a funeral before. And of all people, this one. Pull yourself together. Get a grip. Stop this. You can do it." She began breathing frantically in and out so fast I was sure she would pass out. More conversation. "Stop crying." Loud bawling pursued. "Stop. Stop. Stop. Get a grip. You can do it. You can do it." More frantic crying. I wondered who had died. Her mother? Her closest friend?
I felt guilty standing there in a stall obviously unbeknownst to her. But I didn't want to intrude on her time of grief either. So I just stayed still, waiting for the storm to pass, or the opportunity to speak without frightening her. I had no idea what she even looked like. For about twenty minutes, she carried on trying to will herself to quit and utterly unable to stop.
Life can be painful, especially if you have no one to turn to in your time of grief, especially if you are young and this is your first deep wound. I began praying for her, whatever the problem might be, that God would minister to her peace and strength. She finally told herself that she just had to get her hair finished (the salon has a private door into the ladies room) or she wouldn't be presentable, did about a hundred more deep breaths, and exited.
A second later, she re-entered before I had time to move, cried for another five minutes and exited again. I waited. Sure enough, once more she came back in, cried, told herself to stop a dozen times, then went out again. Slowly I came out of the stall.
Whew! Poor woman. I hoped she would find peace and be able to get through whatever it was she was facing. I realized how fortunate I have been to have gone more gently through life's hard things. Twice I have experienced the inexplicable peace of God in the midst of a terrible situation - once the night my son died, and once the day of my cancer surgery. It is curious to be in the midst of a crisis, yet find yourself calm without the intervention of any drugs.
It is not something you do yourself. Often people tell me I am strong. Truth is, I am just like everyone else. Inside, I have the same fears, the same feelings as everyone else. But God touches you, and you find the fear is gone. And with the fear, the sting and the pain. I've tried to think of how to describe it, but I cannot. I only know I am fortunate to have been touched by God's strength in those horrible moments when life tears you apart. I only wish I could have told the voice crying in the bathroom. I hope she finds God's peace, whatever her difficulty.
The boys and I gleefully headed out, stopping first at the credit union so I could reopen an account there, then the boys begged to shop at Wegmans, their absolute favorite grocery store in the world. Invariably wherever I am, from Illinois to Wisconsin to Connecticut, if I happen to mention Wegmans, there will be someone who will sigh, "O, Wegmans! I love Wegmans!" What fun we had gazing at all the wonderful things you could buy if you could afford them. How tired the boys got hearing me say, "Not today. Later when I have more money."
Afterward, we headed for Marketplace Mall, wandering about locating shelf liner here, a shower curtain there, remarking over some little gadget, speculating about whether that color curtain would look good in the living room. After lots of wandering, it was getting late, and we decided to head out. We had parked near JC Penneys, and I needed to make a trip to the bathroom before leaving. I entered the Ladies Room foyer, thinking about what a good day it had been and how nice it was to be able to settle in. I no sooner got into a stall than I suddenly heard someone burst into tears and start crying HARD.
"What in the world!" I thought. "Did someone get hurt?" Before I could say anything, someone else came in the Ladies Room, and immediately asked what was wrong. The young lady answered, "Nothing, really. I'll be OK. Really. I'm Fine."
"Are you sure? Do you want to talk about it?" the other voice asked.
"No. No. I'm fine." Crying voice answered. After a few minutes, the other voice left, and crying voice resumed bawling with such passion, I was worried. Now she was talking to herself. Or to God. Or to someone, I'm not sure who.
"It's not like I'm ungrateful. I've just never been to a funeral before. And of all people, this one. Pull yourself together. Get a grip. Stop this. You can do it." She began breathing frantically in and out so fast I was sure she would pass out. More conversation. "Stop crying." Loud bawling pursued. "Stop. Stop. Stop. Get a grip. You can do it. You can do it." More frantic crying. I wondered who had died. Her mother? Her closest friend?
I felt guilty standing there in a stall obviously unbeknownst to her. But I didn't want to intrude on her time of grief either. So I just stayed still, waiting for the storm to pass, or the opportunity to speak without frightening her. I had no idea what she even looked like. For about twenty minutes, she carried on trying to will herself to quit and utterly unable to stop.
Life can be painful, especially if you have no one to turn to in your time of grief, especially if you are young and this is your first deep wound. I began praying for her, whatever the problem might be, that God would minister to her peace and strength. She finally told herself that she just had to get her hair finished (the salon has a private door into the ladies room) or she wouldn't be presentable, did about a hundred more deep breaths, and exited.
A second later, she re-entered before I had time to move, cried for another five minutes and exited again. I waited. Sure enough, once more she came back in, cried, told herself to stop a dozen times, then went out again. Slowly I came out of the stall.
Whew! Poor woman. I hoped she would find peace and be able to get through whatever it was she was facing. I realized how fortunate I have been to have gone more gently through life's hard things. Twice I have experienced the inexplicable peace of God in the midst of a terrible situation - once the night my son died, and once the day of my cancer surgery. It is curious to be in the midst of a crisis, yet find yourself calm without the intervention of any drugs.
It is not something you do yourself. Often people tell me I am strong. Truth is, I am just like everyone else. Inside, I have the same fears, the same feelings as everyone else. But God touches you, and you find the fear is gone. And with the fear, the sting and the pain. I've tried to think of how to describe it, but I cannot. I only know I am fortunate to have been touched by God's strength in those horrible moments when life tears you apart. I only wish I could have told the voice crying in the bathroom. I hope she finds God's peace, whatever her difficulty.
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