Paths

The definition of a “path”, according to my somewhat old American Heritage Dictionary, circa 1977, is a “route or course”; “a trodden track or way”; “a course of action”.   I’ve been reflecting lately about life, its journey and how it takes us down certain paths.  I try not to over analyze life.  I tend to “go with the flow.” I have been reminded recently how experiences on this path can be exhausting and renewing yet constantly changing. 

For example, Vince and I have been blessed with an amazing summer.  There has been plenty of evening rain showers, lots of green grass to mow, mild temperatures and many sun filled days. The flowers, trees and wildlife have all had full life cycles.  The beauty surrounding us has been unbelievable and almost perfect. 

In contrast, the past few months have also been hard.  Sometimes it was difficult to breathe and often our minds wouldn’t let our bodies rest.  Our path was dark when we grieved the loss of loved ones.  It’s a part of life that is challenging and its affects linger.  Of course death is a part of this human journey.  We aren’t the first to have lost loved ones and it’s certain we’ll have to say goodbye to so many others down the road. 

Any “path” can be as bland as its definition.   It is neither alive nor colorful without God, loving people and prayer which all lift us up. A fulfilling life also includes past memories, current experiences and new life on the horizon.  As for the latter, a new grandchild is joining us within days.  I am grateful for this life.  I believe that both sadness and joy must be embraced and witnessed as we move along life’s path. 

My Sister Tish

Some called her Trish, my Aunt Sue called her "an original", my brother called her Grace, mom called her Tishy, dad called her Tish.  Many have given her other nicknames over the years but when I called her I would just say "Hello my sister".  She was my only sister.  Older by 3 years, I know she loved me even though a little sister can be a real pain.

I can remember being in my crib as a small child and Tish and her friend Cindy frightened me in the dark with flashlights under their faces.  Of course she had the best teacher in town.  Our brother Barry was a classic scare master.  We always knew he was standing at the bottom of the staircase hidden and he still managed to scare us which thrilled him to no end!

Tish was the North White Viking mascot in high school.  It required her to be in front of hundreds of people and her purpose was to get everyone fired up.  She was a perfect Viking.  She made her own sword and shield in shop class.  I think she was the first girl to be in shop class. Also in high school, one day she got on the intercom system and gave her opinion of the school's male atheletes.  She called them "Jocks."  That term wasn't intended to be complimentary and it caused quite a stir.  Tish was always stirring things up.  

She once told Uncle Jack that she almost becamse Prom Queen.  The only reason she wasn't was because she was never nominated.  A phrase she used often was "Not a problem" even though you knew quite well that it was a problem.  She would call and ask for advice on something and sure enough she never followed any of it.  She marched to the beat of her own drum.  She was a free spirit.  She was someone who loved to color her hair: frosted, red or violet.

Tish had a flair for the dramatic.  Her arms would sweep the air when she talked.  And when she sang she held nothing back.  She would swing and move and clap and dance.  You could always tell that she loved life when she was singing.

Tish also wore her personality well.  When she was little she would wear her PJs under her church clothes.  Once she went downtown to the King the Clotheir store in Monon and purchased a pair of boy's boots.  Mom made her take them back.  Later in honor of Tish I bought a pair of boy's boots at K-Mart and wore them everyday.  She had patience for sewing and made many dresses.  The clothing combinations she would throw together was something I idolized.

She was also accident prone.  One of many was when we went on vacation in 1972. She twisted her ankle while wearing those "damn clogs" and we had to take her to the hospital in Munich.  After that we all got sick of smelling the dressing the hospital put on her ankle.  It stunk!  But while we moved from place to place on the train she taught us the words to the song "One Tin Solder" from the movie "Billy Jack" and we sang it for days.  

One year she entered the state speech contest and read a poem she found in a book on one of Grandma Hughes' bookshelves.  At that contest she read "Rex the Piddling Pup."  When I looked it up on the internet recently I could see why Tish was drawn to it.  It was in a book titled "Bawdy Ballads and Lusty Lyrics:  A Curious Collection of Somewhat Salty Classics Seldom Sung in Sunday Schools."  No, Tish didn't go for the dry or uneventful she was an actress at heart.

My sister loved mom and dad.  Her face would light up when they walked in her hospital room.  She loved her husband Scotty; her boys, Charlie and Andy; her step-children, Korina, Donnie, Andrea and Sheila; and her grandchildren, Little Charlie, Karen Lee and Chloe.  She also loved her friends, Cindy, Paula, Jill, Suzy, Mary, Lori, Linda and Starla.  She collected friends and friendships everywhere she went like a shore collects sand.

Tish cared for the underdog.  She took care of stray cats.  She loved to plant flowers.  She hated to clean house (I almost broke her vacume cleaner once and was scolded - I don't know why because she never used it.)  And she regularly paid the price for following her heart rather than following the rules.

For quite some time now, when I see sunflowers I always think of Tish.  They were prominently displayed on her kitchen walls.  Also in that kitchen was her radio which was always turned on to the oldies.  Because she introduced me to the song Moondance by Van Morrison, at her apartment in Bloomington, that song frequently plays in my mind.  

Tish sang in high school, in church, in musicals, in Trinity with her girlfriends Jill and Susie, and she sang in the hospital.  The first week she was singing "Little Boxes" by Malvena Reynolds, (which was later a Pete Seeger hit.)  My husband thought that was a great way to marginalize the effect cancer had on her body.  At the nursing home she was singing at 2:30 a.m. before she passed away around 5:30 a.m. on Monday, July 29th.  I asked for the song she was singing.

You know with Tish it could have been anything.  It could have been something scary like "Frankenstein" by Edgar Winter.  Or it could have been something more descriptive of Tish like "Walk on the Wild Side" by Lou Reed.  Or something sad like "It's Too Late" by Carole King.  No it wasn't any of those.

It was a happy song.  A song from the musical Annie with words "tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow, you're only a day away."  Isn't that something?  Her middle name is Anne and she loved red hair!

My sister, faith in God tells me I will see you on some future tomorrow.  It gives me peace to know that your last song was a happy one.  You will always be with me through sunflowers, moon dances and your many loved ones.  And it has been an honor to be your sister!

I Think About Food

I think about food…a lot.  Perhaps it has something to do with growing up in a family that tended gardens, most dishes were made from scratch, and many loved ones simply enjoyed cooking.

When I was younger I had an Easy Bake Oven and usually I ate the batter before it was ever cooked.  Homemade ice cream was a constant at Aunt Opal’s gatherings.  What a delight it was to feel real cream sticking to the roof of my mouth.  Mom made pot roast every Sunday with carrots and potatoes and then I covered it all with her delicious gravy.  Grandpa Hughes’ flaky pie crusts filled with Aunt Opal’s fresh cherries or apples were always anticipated. Fresh eggs gathered that morning from Grandma Scott’s hens then cooked over-easy made my morning.  On many mid summer days I was armed with a salt shaker in one hand and warm tomato in the other.  I would sit on our front steps and enjoy every bite.

Present day I have my hutch covered with cookbooks already open and ready to assist me with a peach and blueberry pie. There are stacks of onions and garlic curing on my kitchen table and my mind is considering how I can use every portion of the plant in some future dish.  When I visit any grocery store, specialty or otherwise, (almost daily) I forget all there is in the world as I roam aisle after aisle considering what I can create with all these options combined with what I have on hand at home.  I have folders and boxes of recipes.   I have an ongoing project of organizing them.  Some are already in my computer and so many more need to be added.

My thoughts also linger today over the way chefs describe food.  A chef friend described a step in one of our Feast meals, “sauté the garlic and onion in olive oil until it sings.”    A book I’m reading “My Berlin Kitchen, A Love Story with Recipes” by Luisa Weiss calls recipes family heirlooms.   Both statements are clever and make me happy. 

At the end of the day, after I’ve decided on a menu, gathered the ingredients, constructed everything and bathed in its aroma, I eat with gusto.  While cleaning up the kitchen I start thinking about that next meal.  You may be thinking that I am obsessed with food.  However, I would prefer to categorize it as simply one of my many passions.  Bon Appétit (I wish you a hearty appetite). 

Where Am I?

Maybe it's because of the recent death of my father-in-law that I ask this question.  Before that I was basking in a beautiful Spring.  I've been gabbing to the flowers and vegetables and pampering them as they power through their life cycle.  For weeks I've been grilling tender asparagus to place on our dinner plates.  I also have been watching a growing belly with a new grand baby inside.  The other day I talked to her.

I've been sharing the leadership in my Soul Sistas "Love Revolution" Bible Study.  There have been great discussions in our Sunday School class with new Bible books being re-discovered.  I have a big faith community that makes me smile and think.  All of this has certainly helped my faith grow.  

And then there have been thoughts about God's gift of family and friends.  I have an awesome mother and father.  I had a great childhood with incredible memories.  I have siblings, children, a grandchild, friends, neighbors, customers, pets and strangers to keep me entertained and occupied.  I can't imagine any day in this life without these connections and our interaction.

It's a complicated life and it's an adventure.  I am saddened by the loss of my father-in-law.  I won't again hear him laugh or sing Silent Night on Christmas Eve.  However, I know he's in Heaven and surrounded by love and loved ones.  As for me, I too am in God's hands.  I too am surrounded by loved ones, laughter and beautiful voices.  And I am in a happy place.  

Dreaming...

Because I have a cold my dreams last night were a little feverish and more vivid than usual. 

Here's a summary...last night I visited with childhood friends.  We had a picnic out on the old Bess farm.  I sold and bought a new house in a new neighborhood in some unknown city.  I had a disagreement with some woman because she said I didn’t put her knife away after borrowing it.  I had to pick up all these people’s trash after they roamed around town partying on a flatbed trailer. I even decided that the military shouldn’t allow their solders to smoke if they are under 18 (can you even be in the military under 18?)  AND I walked at least 100 miles going from place to place!

 

I love to dream.  I’ve always been fascinated by how the thoughts from the previous day show up in my images at night.  I’m pretty sure I can tie most of these dream segments to something that came to mind yesterday.    

However, after all I did last night while asleep I know that I could use a nap today!

Spring and a Story

I’m in a late Spring rhythm, which includes mowing grass and blowing tree buds, leaves and seeds off greens.  The ample rain, cool mornings, abundant fragrances, blossoms of every color and warm sunshine is why Spring is my favorite season.   One other aspect of this rhythm is the increased interactions with customers.  I love to talk with our customers. The stories I hear perfectly compliment my daily tasks.    

Two weeks ago a husband and wife came to golf right before a rain storm.  They started to golf and eventually quit because it soon poured down rain. The husband returned with his brother-in-law the following day.  Last week the wife returned to golf with her parents.   They eventually shared their story and the purpose of their current Spring rhythm.  

They are from Minnesota.  The wife is receiving treatment at the Midwest Proton Regional Institute (MPRI) in Bloomington.  Her parents, family and friends are here to support her. They have been golfing at our course as a form of relaxation.  MPRI treats certain types of cancers.  This woman’s involves a brain tumor.  MPRI is giving her and her family hope.   Our golf course is giving them a place to relax together.

The father told me on Wednesday they were taking a one day break from golf because his daughter would be using that time to apply for a grant through her employer.  She is searching for ways to buy toys for MPRI’s younger patients needing cancer treatments.  His eyes welled up.  I could see his heart swelling at the thought that his daughter is focusing on gifts to others even though she has every reason to just be thinking about herself.

This has been a beautiful Spring and this family’s story touched my heart!         

Hands

Because I have been working in all our gardens recently my hands this morning were kind of talking to me, if you know what I mean.  I’ve been breaking up dirt clumps, planting seeds and pulling weeds.  It’s logical they would be expressing their desire to be rested.  It’s kind of crazy how the mind works but this also reminded me of the hands of others.

My Grandmother’s for one.  As a little girl I would sit next to her in church and run my fingers over her knuckles and long slender fingers.  They always seemed so big and elegant.  My fascination with her hands always made her smile.  My son’s hands look so much like my dad’s hands.  Vincent doesn’t have any mannerisms that remind me of my dad but when I see Vincent’s hands I think of dad.  And that makes me smile. 

Other than these useful tools I’ve been given and the memories they inspire, right now they could use a good scrubbing.  Whether or not they get it I can say that my hands are happy today and proud of all they have done.  And you never know, maybe they too will be a featured film in someone's memory someday.  I sure hope so.