Why Blog?

I haven't posted in a while and I am not entirely sure why. When I made the last two posts about my garden, I had a third in that series in mind. What happened after the second of those posts was completely baffling to me. After never receiving any comments about my blog, suddenly I got several, some made to me personally and others posted on this site. One of those comments, which was innocently made by a good friend, really took me back and made me wonder about why I choose to write the way I do.

What is the purpose of this blog? Originally, this blog was intended to be an introspective look at how every day occurances in my life affect me. It was initially something that I would write only for myself. However, I decided to share this blog with some of my friends and acquaintances. Perhaps that was a mistake because I was not prepared to accept criticism, constructive or otherwise.

Some times things we say or do are not always percieved in the same light that we intended them to be. Is it just miscommunication or it is because we are human, that we often delude ourselves into thinking that others see us the way we wish to see ourselves?

Weeding out the Debris

My husband and I are not the neatest people in the world. We have lived in the same house for over twenty years and it is filled with stuff we have collected over the years, but now do not use. Still, we continue to accumulate stuff. I always joked that I did not know whether first we would implode from all the junk in the attic or explode from all the stuff in our closets. Lately, all this extraneous debris has been dragging me down. I have begun to feel very burdened by my possessions.

Yesterday was another beautiful, false spring day, so I went back out to work in my flower beds. The previous day I had started by cleaning up the weeds that had sprung up in the beds because I had failed to maintain them. After having weeded the beds, I realized that they needed some neatening. The largest bed is separated from the rest of the yard by a row of border grass that my husband had planted years ago. I am not a big fan of border grass, but he loves the stuff because it makes it easier fo him to mow our rather large back yard.

With all the weeds gone and the dead tops of the plants cleared out, I noticed that the border grass had substantially invaded my flower beds. Areas that had held irises and daffodils were intertwined with runners and shoots of border grass. The only way to remedy the situation was to dig everything up and weed out the debris. I spent several hours digging up a large part of the border grass and discarding it. Then I had to dig up the other plants to rid the area of where the border grass had sent its runners and was choking out my irises and daffodils. It was a lot of work, but I was giddy with having rid my flower beds of useless debris.

Coming back into my house, the excess physical debris in my life suddenly appeared magnified. All the extraneous junk we have lying around seemed to be begging me to get rid of it. We all carry excess debris in our lives, both in the form of possessions we no longer need and emotional baggage we should have never allowed to burden us. Cleaning out the border grass from my flower beds will allow my plants to be healthier and produce more flowers for our enjoyment. Perhaps, I need to look at weeding the debris out of my life too.

Gardens and Neglect

It was a beautiful springlike day outside today with temperatures in the 70's, so I decided to do a little gardening. I have three small flower beds located right outside the back door. They were poorly maintained during the growing season last year and were left to go completely wild over the winter. Even though we do get some cold weather here in north Florida, it only comes in very short spurts and rarely does much damage. This year, our winter has been very mild, so the weeds and grasses have completely invaded my flower beds.

When the gardening genes were handed out, I was not exactly at the head of the line, but that has not stopped me from trying. Instead of planting flowers that require a lot of maintenance such as roses, I stick to the easy perennials that grow well in our area. The majority of the beds are planted in irises, day lilies, coneflowers, and perennial salvia. I usually fill in with a few annuals like marigolds or pentas. Last year, I let the beds go and did not even bother to plant the annuals. Now I am faced with an enormous amount of work before I can even replenish what was lost to neglect.

As I worked to clean out the weeds and debris in the pleasant warmth of the day, I thought about how much effort in the past that I had put into maintaining my flower beds and how they had rewarded me with beautiful color right outside my back door. For some reason last year, I failed to spend the required time cultivating them. In one short season, the weeds had taken over the beds and were choking the few hardy plants that remained. Just to get my beds back to equilibrium was going to require much more work than if I had maintained them all along. In order to successfully grow, a garden needs a lot of attention and care.

So it is in life. Relationships must also be cultivated. As I cleaned the weeds from the garden, I was reminded how I cannot allow neglect to erode my personal relationships either.

The Faucet of Friendship

I belong to an internet message board for sports. Through that board, I have made a number of friends and have even met some of them for sporting events. Others I call friends even though we will never meet. The number of people who post on this board is rather large, and yet the board has a warm family atmosphere.

Among those whom I call friends from the board, there are probably about 8-10 that I consider "good friends." These 8-10 people are those whom I always try to be supportive of when they have a problem or need someone to talk to. Likewise, I had thought that I could count on the group as being there for me if I need someone too. My internet friends are another group of people that I care about just like my friends here at home. The only difference is that they are my long distance friends.

Friendship is not something I take very lightly. It is more than just an acquaintanceship and more than just turning the friendship faucet on and off. In the past, it has usually been me who was there for others, but recently, I needed some emotional support and sought it from my group of close friends.

Lately, there has been a lot of stress in my life culminating two weeks ago with the funerals of two people I knew occurring in the same week. What surprised me was that the very internet friends in whom I had invested the most energy and support in the past were not nearly as supportive as I expected them to be. I got plenty of support from other friends and acquaintances, but not from the three people I thought I was closest to. It was so disappointing and it hurt me deeply.

Since then, at least one of those friends has had some problems and I reached out again to them. I truly was worried about the situation and let them know how much I cared. They seemed to appreciate me when they needed someone to talk to. However, when I recently asked that friend as to how things were going, they first ignored me and then blew me off. I was completely dumbfounded. I do not understand how someone can turn friendship on and off like a faucet with no apparent rhyme or reason for the friend left standing in the cold.

I really care for people. It is a basic part of my generation. However, nowadays I am learning that most people really do not give a damn about others. The internet has created a safe haven that gives them a degree of anonimity. This anonimity allows them to be rude and callous, by turning the faucet of friendship on and off to suit their own needs while ignoring those of the person who thought they were a friend. They don't even seem to realize that they are hurting others in this way.

Friendship is a two way street. When it is only one way, the giver gets emotionally depleted and the relationship dies. Right now I feel very emotionally depleted. It hurts so deeply!

Growing Old and Growing Up - part 3

Today I met with five former co-workers for a lunch. We had a great time together. It was wonderful to see them, but it also reminded me that we are getting old. Five of us are retired and four of us no longer work at all.

Growing old and growing up are not one and the same. I am growing old, but still cannot accept growing up. When will it happen? Maybe never for me.

Reality of Life

Saturday was a very tough and emotional day for me. I attended the memorial for a former co-worker and friend who had died suddenly in December. He was three years younger than me. This was my second service in a three day period for someone who had died. Now that I am in middle years, I have come to realize that events like this will be happening more and more often.

The memorial was held at a beautiful new home of a couple that my deceased friend knew. Many of our former co-workers were also in attendance, so in some way, it was also a reunion. One of my closest friends drove two and a hours from another city to come to the memorial. A former high school friend of deceased travelled all the way from Colorado.

The reality of my own mortality and that of friends and family is now all too real.

A Loony Old Lady

Yesterday was my friend's father's funeral. Because he was so old, I was surprised that over 200 people attended the service. The church bells tolled 89 times, one for each year of his life. Immediately following the service, we all gathered in one of the church halls so that my friend's family could greet all the people who had taken the time to attend the funeral. My friend's 85 year old mother stood for over an hour and a half greeting each attendee personally.

As we were talking to some of the people there, an elderly woman came up and started talking with my husband and my friend's younger brother and sister. This lady (Miss H) had been their kindergarten teacher. When my husband mentioned that he had gone to kindergarten at that school, the woman asked what was his name. After he told her, she remarked that she remembered him and made several specific comments about him. He looked completely surprised by what she said.

As we walking to the car, he turned to me and said, "That woman was a loony. She had to be blowing smoke. I don't remember her." I asked him if Miss H was his kindergarten teacher or not. He replied that he did not remember who was his teacher, but said that no one could remember their students from 50 years ago. I commented that the woman seemed very sharp.

My husband dropped me off at my friend's mother's house while he went to visit his own mother who was home sick with the flu. While there, he told her about Miss H and the comments she had made about him. His mother then said, Miss H was right and she WAS your kindergarten teacher!

Being Connected

Today I spent most of the afternoon with my friend of nearly 40 years and her family making arrangements for her father's funeral service tomorrow. This wonderful family has always treated me like their daughter or sister, and I desperately wanted to help them in any way that I could.

When I arrived at their home, my friend and her younger sister asked me to put together a photo collage to honor their father. He was a very accomplished man who had been honored in his profession at the highest levels for scientific innovation and achievement. That part, along with the obligatory family portraits, was the easy part of putting together the collage. However, most of us are not just defined by our achievements in our careers or our families. What really defines us and deferentiates us from one another is our personal lives.

Keeping that in mind, I took various photos and placed them in what I saw as a pleasing artistical arrangement, but one that emphasized this gentle giant of a man as a human being. I found old photos of him as a young military officer in India during World War II, playing tennis as a younger man, gardening in his middle ages, and bird watching and hand raising a fledgling mocking bird in his later years. When I was done, I had placed a picture of him as a four year old along side that of an elderly man holding a young mocking bird perched on his finger as the centerpieces of the photo collage.

While the collage had been arranged, none of the pieces had been secured until I got a sign off from my friend's mother. I waited until she returned home from having her hair done for the funeral. My friend's mother is a very vibrant and still very beautiful 85 year old lady with a mind as sharp as an ice pick. I asked her if she had any requests or changes to the photo collage before I attached the pictures to the backing. She looked at the collage and commented on every picture. Then she said that she was so thrilled that I had truly captured the man she had fallen in love with and married, not just his accomplishments.

For years I have always said that I am very connected to my friend in a way that is almost like a sister. Today, I realized that I am also very connected to this wonderful family as if they were truly my own flesh and blood.

Two Friends.

Two of my three closest female friends have the same first name. These two women have never met each other. Recently, both of them have been dealing with heartache and hard times.

My first friend and I have been friends for nearly forty years. We met when we both first came to college. She was extremely intelligent and had skipped two grades in school, so she was barely 16 when she started college. Her family lived in town and they always treated me like their fourth daughter. Because my friend now lives in a distant part of the state, we do not see each other except when she comes to visit her family. This week she is in town because her father died and his service is tomorrow. He had been very ill for several years, so his death was a relief from his suffering. Nevertheless, his passing has left a tremendous void for all of us in my other family.

My second friend and I have been close for nearly twenty years. We first met through running and used to run together nearly every weekday morning at 5 am. We would talk and talk about nearly everything. During those runs, we have shared our heartaches and disappointments. She knows more about me than nearly anyone else and was always there for me when I needed someone. She and her husband were married on the same date as my husband and I, only ten years later. They had their three children late in life. Unfortunately, they are now in the process of being divorced and it has become nasty. My heart aches for her because she had tried everything to salvage the marriage for the sake of their children.

Recent events with these two friends reminds me that even though the road of life goes on, it can be very bumpy at times. Friendship is what helps even out those bumps.

Hurricanes and Resilience

My elderly parents live in central Florida. By central Florida, I mean smack dab in the center of the state, equidistant from both the east and west coasts. This past year (2004) was the worst year in memory for hurricanes in Florida with four major hurricanes hitting one part or another of the state. My parents' home is located near ground zero for centers for three of those four hurricanes.

The first hurricane to hit them was Charley, which came up through central Florida after entering the state on the southwest coast. It had winds that were estimated to be 100 mph winds when it came through my parents' area. Although my parents' home fared well and damage to the rest of their property was minimal, they were among the few fortunate people in their neighborhood.

Much of central Florida has a very high water table. When the heavy winds struck, many trees toppled easily due to their root systems being so shallow. Nearly every mature tree in parents' neighborhood was downed and about half of the homes had significant roof damage. In addition, the electrical systems were destroyed throughout the area. Since my parents lived in an unincorporated area, they were among the last of those to have power restored.

Consequently, my 82 year old parents camped out in their house for three days while waiting for an available hotel room. My mother, who was a former girl scout in her youth, cooked breakfast for two days on an open fire in the fireplace and made coffee over a candle. Even though it was the middle of summer and they had no air conditioning, they made the best of things by living in bathing suits and sitting outside in the shade as much as possible. They were bound and determined to stick it out. Finally after three days of misery, they were able to get a hotel room for the remaining five days that the power was off.

The next hurricane to hit them was Frances, which did not have too bad an impact on their area. But when the third hurricane, Jeannie, came and stalled with hours of heavy, heavy rain, their neighborhood took another devastating hit. Much of the area where their neighborhood is located is low and the water table was already high. With the huge amounts of rain that came with Jeannie, many of the homes in their neighborhood flooded. As recent as the beginning of 2005,three houses on my parents' street were still condemned due to the extensive flood damage that they had sustained.

Most people think of hurricanes as only impacting coastal areas. However, in 2004, we saw that even inland areas can be greatly affected by the tremendous power of these storms. My parents showed enormous resilience in the aftermath of these storms. Not bad for a pair of 82 years olds.

A Room with a View

We are spending the weekend at the coast. Yesterday I went to visit a friend who lives here full time. They have a beautiful home on a little spit of land jutting out into the Bay. Everywhere you look from their home, there is an incredible view. Only the laundry room does not have a view. Until recently, theirs was the only home on their street. Now a new house is being constructed next door. My friend suggested that I go next door and look at the house, then come back to visit with her. She said that she was particularly curious about what I thought of the house.

I went in the front door. There were no handles on the doors, but front door opened easily and I proceeded to check out the place. As I made my way through tiny room after tiny room, I wondered why anyone would build such a rat maze of rooms, none of which took advantage of the incredible views afforded by the location. My impression was one of claustrophobia as I explored the house. When I decided to leave, I found that I could not open any of the doors to get back outside. Running from room to room, it seemed as if this very unwelcome place had made me its prisoner. Finally, I found one window which I was able to open and reach an outside deck from it.

Grateful to escape the house, I went back to visit with my friend. Telling her of my panicky experience of being locked in the unwelcome house, I asked if she would have been able to hear me yell for help. She said that she doubted that, but was just getting ready to check on me because I had been gone for so long. Then she said that the very same thing happened to her the previous week and she was force to jump from a window onto the heating and cooling equipment on the ground below.

Just as we were standing in her kitchen talking about our similar miserable experiences, we noticed an eagle diving toward the shallow water in the Bay. He struggled with something in the water and was forced to settle in the water floating like a seagull. After several aborted attempts, he was finally able to fly away carrying a huge fish in his talons. Scenes like this are what my friend sees every day because she has rooms with a view. Everyone needs a room with a view in life, both literally and figuratively.

Tile Trauma

It has been over a week since I came down with the flu. Yesterday on the afternoon of the eighth day of my flu, I finally felt well enough to go out. I was desperate just to be out in the real world after having been cooped up in my house for the last week while I shivered, sneezed, coughed, sniffled, and sneezed some more. Giddy with my freedom from constantly sneezing, I decided to go to the tile store to look at replacement tile for our guest bathroom which sorely needs remodelling.

For someone who really knows what she likes in cars, clothing, furniture, or food, choosing a wallpaper or tile is nearly an impossible task for me. The choices are overwhelming and after a while, they all start to look alike. The added pressure of choosing tile is the extreme permanence of the material. As anyone who has ever tried it knows, removing old tile is a difficult and dusty job. Therefore, the selection of the right tile is something that must be done with great care since we are going to have to live with it for a long time.

My husband has refused to accompany me on these trips to the stores to look at potential choices for our remodelling projects. Instead, he tells me that he trusts my judgement and taste. Translation: "you do the leg work." The problem is that I don't know what my taste is in tile. I do know what is in style at the moment. Keeping that in mind, I attempt to select a few possibilities. However, when when I bring home the samples, they are invariably "not right." How can something so simple end up being so difficult?

Sometimes, I just wish that a fairy godmother of decorating would come in and waive her magic wand on my house to make it right.

The Flu Sucks

It is now January 11 and I have been sick with the flu for a whole week. The flu shots were not available, so I missed mine this year. Now I am paying for that omission for the second time this flu season. Other than taking my dogs out in the yard, I have been housebound the entire week with all the classic symptoms of the flu.

It must be getting better because now I have contracted cabin fever. At least that is a much healthier disease to have.

The Ugliness of Divorce

A very good friend of mine is in the process of getting a divorce. What started last April when her husband blindsided her is still in process and is getting nastier by the day. It tears me up to see my friend so sad and demoralized by what is happening to her and her children in this process.

How can two people who once really loved each other enough to take vows "until death due us part" end up with so little civility in the divorce process? My friend and her husband have three young children who have become the battleground of this divorce. People get divorced every day. However, most people make the emotional welfare of their children their first priority. Not so in this case. It is so sad.

A Wise Man

I used to be a competitive runner and was fairly successful at it before becoming injured. Even though I did not start running until my late 30's, I had always wanted to give it a try. Finally I got up the courage to shuffle around on my own until I was good enough to run with other runners. Eventually, I started entering races and had some success. When I was 41, I had a year of running and racing that one can only dream of.

Our local track club conducts a Grand Prix each year consisting of ten events for which points are awarded based upon overall and age group finishes. The Masters age groups (age 40 and above) have always been among the most competitive for both men and women here in our town. When I was in the 40-44 age group, we had several good runners, but there was only one that I had never beaten. One year, I made it my mission to try to win the Grand Prix for my age group. My strategy was to finish 2nd to my main rival in the shorter races (5 and 10 Kilometers), but win all the longer distances since she had never even entered a race beyond 10K. I was not even sure she could run the longer distances. I told my plan to a running friend, a local judge who had been a great mentor to many runners including myself. He said that he had heard that my rival was planning on running all the races that year and opined that there was no way I could beat her. I looked him straight in the eye and said, "I show you!" With that he just grinned.

I trained really hard that year and ended up winning all the Grand Prix races and the Championship for my age group. By the end of that year, my rival was no longer entering races. When the awards were handed out, I turned to my friend and said, "I thought you said that there was no way I could beat her. I showed you, didn't I?" He smiled and said, "Why do you think I said that to you?"

My friend, the judge, was a very wise man.

The Gift

My husband and I went out of town for the Christmas holidays. As is the case whenever we travel, our dogs must be boarded. This year we waited until six weeks before we were to leave to try to make arrangements for three of our four dogs. My husband's mother had offered to keep Missy, the toy poodle. The place we particularly like for boarding our dogs had been booked for months, and we were unable to find another place in town.

As a last resort, we called the veterinary hospital in a town at the coast where we spend some time. The vet there is a friend of ours and was able to arrange for us to board our dogs with him. His is the only veterinary hospital for several counties, and is located in a small and very poor fishing town on the mainland. On the opposite side of the bay there is an island with many large homes owned by wealthy folks from Georgia and Alabama. Most of the people in the fishing town are extremely poor and on public assistance. The contrast between the poverty of the town and the wealth of the nearby island is enormous.

It was nearly closing time when we went to pick up our dogs. I sat in the truck with Missy while my husband went in to pick up the other three dogs. Soon after my husband went inside the animal hospital, a local couple came out with their dog and got into an old beat up pick up truck parked next to ours. They were obviously fishermen. Immediately, the woman noticed Missy and waved to me. I held Missy up and the man held up their little dog to see her. The woman then said something to the man, but I could not tell what she said. She then got out of the truck and came over to me holding a brand new doggy tug toy in her hand. She handed it to me as I opened the door and said in a deep whiskey voice that they wanted Missy to have it. Then she wished me a Merry Christmas.

I was overcome by such a generous gesture from someone who obviously did not have a lot of material things. I thanked her several times and wished her a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year too. She gave me such a wonderful gift. Her real gift was not the toy, but the true spirit of Christmas by giving to another for the sake of giving. What a beautiful lady!

Apology

In today's world, we are forever seeing a well known figure issuing a blanket public apology for a personal misdeed. Often, the apology is accompanied by a statement intended to mitigate the issuer's responsibility. Unfortunately, this is increasingly the case even on the personal level. No one really seems to want to accept responsibility for his or her own actions anymore.

Recently, a poster on a message board made untrue statements about me and another poster. Shortly thereafter, this person chose that same public forum to issue an apology to us. But the damage had already been done. The public airing of the apology struck me as hollow and insincere, especially when that same forum has a personal message system that would have allowed the that person to apologize to each of us directly. This experience got me to thinking about what constitutes an honest apology.

Of course, the degree of the transgression usually dictates the degree of the apology. For example, if one accidentally steps on another person's toe or bumps into an individual in public, a simple "I'm sorry" usually suffices. If the transgression is more severe such as spilling a cup of coffee or a glass of wine on another person, the verbal apology should be accompanied by a follow up action to rectify the resulting damage.

So what should happen when someone purposefully says harmful things to or about another? Is saying "I'm sorry" enough? Or is it only one of many actions needed for a sincere apology? Those were the questions I asked myself in writing this.

Saying "I'm sorry" is a step in an apology, but it is not the first step in an honest apology. Accepting full responsibility within one's own mind for the transgression is imperative as the first step towards a sincere apology. This is often the hardest step. That means confessing to yourself that you were wrong.

Only then, can one begin on the road to an honest apology. In order to be truly sincere, the verbal or written apology should be made directly to the injured party, and must be devoid of trying to mitigate or justfy one's transgression. Without this step, a public apology appears to be just a empty show or a washing of one's hands. As part of the apology, forgiveness may be requested, but should not be expected immediately. Regardless of the reaction of the recipient to the apology, a sincere apology requires additional actions that demonstrate the sincerity of it and ensure that the same transgression is not repeated in the future.

It is a hard lesson to learn. Experience has taught me that. A while back, I was mean and ugly to a friend. As a result of my words, my friend cut me out of his life. It was only after an extended period of apology, humble contriteness, and a sincere effort at mending the broken bridges that we are now once again good friends. I learned from this experience that a truly sincere apology can lead to a beautiful outcome.

Growing Old and Growing Up - Part 2

Aging doesn't necessarily mean growing old. The body ages, but it is the mind that grows old. At fifty seven years of age, my body is becoming high mileage. I do my best to look attractive, but time and gravity are now winning. My mother is eighty two and she is very youthful. It is her forward looking attitude that makes her so youthful. She is youthful and yet mature. She is my blueprint.

Being youthful in outlook is good. Being immature is not. Even in my middle ages, I still need to grow up. My immaturity reared its ugly head again recently when I reacted in a very petty way to a perceived slight. Instead of letting it pass and letting it go, I showed my immaturity and my butt. The lessons of growing up are the most difficult ones to learn. I still have a long way to go in growing up.

Growing Old and Growing Up - Part 1

A little over a week ago, I went with my husband, his mother, and his aunt to the cemetery where my father in law is buried to help light the Christmas lumineries. The cemetery places lumineries on each gravesite and then provides butane lighters so that family members can light the candles within them. Lighting of the lumineries is a positive symbol of celebration for our family. It is something which we very much look forward to each year.

It has been twelve and a half years since my father in law died from a heart attack. He was seventy four at the time. He had suffered his first heart attack at the age of fifty and had undergone a multiple by pass surgery about a year before he died. He had not been well the last year of his life, but no one other than the family knew how really sick he was.

This year's lighting of the lumineries happened to fall on my in-laws wedding anniversary, thus making the trip to the cemetery even more important to my mother in law. Unlike some of the other gravesites there, my father in law's is regularly maintained by the family. My mother in law ensures that the flowers on the marker are red, which was my father in law's favorite color. My father in law loved to play golf and he lived life to the fullest. Because he was such an avid golfer, he was buried with his favorite putter. His marker now always has a golf ball on a tee next to it so that he can play his latest round.

We all still miss him, especially at this time of year. He was a very upbeat and outgoing man who loved the Christmas holidays. I always thought of him as a jolly elf because you rarely ever saw him without a smile on his face or laughing. He had a wonderful sense of humor and loved to tell funny stories. Even though we heard the same ones over and over, they still were funny. When he died, the crowd at his funeral was very large. He was not famous, rich, or influencial, but he was extremely well loved by everyone who ever met him. Throughout his entire life, my father in law always had the wonder and enthusiasm for living like a kid does at Christmas.

Oh Fudge

Today I made two batches of fudge, one chocolate and one peanut butter. Everything about making fudge or any other kind of candy is precise. The timing and the temperature have to be just right or it either ends up too sugary or won't set properly. Working in a household populated by a husband and four dogs does not always lend itself to my being precise at candy making or anything else.

It never fails as I am both timing the sugar syrup and watching the temperature on the candy thermometer, the phone rings. Since my husband was out of the house, there was no one to answer it in the four rings before it goes to the recorder. Four rings is an eternity when the first ring sets off barking by three of our four dogs. Chaos ensued.

The phone stopped ringing after four rings, and the message went to the recorder. However, a strange voice on the recorder simply encouraged more barking. Three dogs barking while I am helplessly tied to the stove and the candy thermometer left me with my teeth gritting. Finally the syrup was finished, my fudge was poured, the dregs were tasted and tasted some more, and I am now on a sugar high for the rest of the night. God rest ye merry little candymaker.