At least that as how the ride started.  As the five of us, Kira, two other Students (one 19 years old and one 9 years old) and Kira’s Brother rode along fences, through trees, down and up the sides of a small creek, into and out of a dry creek bed, Sophie began to cooperate a little more.

When we moved to the bottom of a hill, and Kira suggested that we either trot or canter up the hill, things changed.  Sophie did respond, and if I am reading butt movement (mine and Sophie’s) correctly, we actually made third gear for a moment and there was a full canter.  After that, Sophie seemed to respond pretty well to my intentions for her. 

I have to admit that it was humbling to ride with a nine year old who had no fear sitting on a full-sized horse, riding this way and that.  She used an English saddle (no horn) and could ride both Western style and English style (if I remember correctly).  While I can still use my “but I’m 67 years old excuse,” I have lost my “but my legs are too short” excuse when things don’t go the way they should when I am riding. 

The weather was great, temperature above normal for December 20th in this part of Kansas.  Kira’s ranch/stable is a number of miles out into some beautiful territory.  There are thirteen horses, four cats, soon to be three dogs, and one pet pig (I think she also mentioned a goat, which I don’t remember seeing). 

As to swimming, it seems to me that I am moving laterally rather than forward in progress.  The plan is to keep mixing up the content of the lessons, building enough muscle memory so that I can concentrate on one part of my body (arms or legs or trunk) while the others just do what they need to do without my having to think about it.  Instructor Emily keeps reminding me how far I have come from the first time I got in the water a few months ago. 

While I did not try hiking yet this morning, at the moment, my intention is to hike tomorrow morning.  I am hoping that the sore spot from the fall off the horse is far enough along in healing that it I can return to the hiking and the full exercise program with Trainer Phil tomorrow. 

The Choral Eucharist went very well last evening.  It continues to be a marvel to see so many talented musicians clustered in one congregation.  I suppose there around forty or so people in the choir.  There was a small orchestra, there was a bell choir, some who are skilled at the keyboard.  It was very satisfying to sing with so many volunteers who make such good music.  My skills are very rusty after so many decades of little use, but the rest of the group was solid and knew the music well.  Our Director, Linda, has an uncanny ability to bring out the best in a group of volunteer singers and instrumentalists.   

Yesterday, I carved out enough time to write another sermon (almost done).  It is helpful to me to have written the New Year’s Eve sermon last week, helping me process the last year’s experiences while, hopefully, helping others do the same.  This sermon is the one for Sunday, January 2nd.  It is also one that I needed to write for my own sake, if not for others.  Again, I hope that what I seem to need (provided by the Scripture Readings for the Day) to be able to move into a new time in my life will be helpful to others moving into 2011. 

As I look back on the last week, there have been some ups and downs.  The grieving has been prominent more often than not.  It is hard to know how much of that is due to the holiday season dynamics and how much is due to having a week long break from the daily hiking.  I feel better today after the swimming and horseback riding.  My experience continues to demonstrate to me how much the emotional and mental side of existence is intertwined with the physical side of existence, each dramatically influencing the other.

I have few defenses that protect my insides when music, good music, well sung or played, is in the air.  It is so especially when that music touches the core of my faith life.  I know that all is well because of what happened that first Christmas and the events that followed, healing the broken relationship between us and our Creator.  While things don’t feel very well at the moment, they will be well precisely because of the One about Whom we are singing. 

I was, of course, very aware that today would have been Mary Ann’s and my 45th Wedding Anniversary.  As I mentioned in last night’s post, my Son Micah came over to spend much of the day with me.  He stopped by the Gravesite and left some flowers on his way over.  We got the tree from the basement and put it up.  I brought up the lights so that we could get that part done.  All but two of the strings of lights are the kind that go out completely if one bulb is out.  We put the two new ones on the tree and discovered that all but one of the old strings would not light.  The easiest thing to do was get two more new strings of lights and finish the tree using them.  It looks pretty good.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to mess with decorating this year, but I am glad to have the tree up.  I am now looking forward to decorating the tree and the house with Granddaughters’ help on Christmas Eve.

Micah and I went to lunch at a local Irish Restaurant and had a sandwich and a beer.  It is such a new experience to have the time and freedom to just talk and listen and connect with one another.  I simply didn’t realize how much the Parkinson’s had filled Mary Ann’s and my lives to the brim, leaving room and attention for little else. 

We returned to the house and spent a couple more hours just talking.  I chose not to go to the party for Kira’s horseback riding Students and their families so that we could continue our time together.  The conversation helped me get through the day in a way that was healing.  I hope it was helpful to Micah too.   

One day at a time.

The performers were all from Church of the Resurrection in Leawood, Kansas, volunteering their time and talents to create a powerful experience.  The performance we attended today was one of five.  Cathy phoned, she and John invited me to come along with them since they had a ticket her Mom couldn’t use.  As expected, even though it was an hour away from home, we saw two couples we knew.  The trip was enjoyable, the conversation was fun — John has an entertaining sense of humor that spares no one.  There was a very special treat afterward — Jack’s Stack!  Having lived in Kansas City for fifteen years, Mary Ann and I became very aware of the qualities of various BBQ restaurants.  Smokehouse in Martin City was our favorite.  Jack’s Stack is the name of the new locations.  The baked beans are the best on the planet!  Each batch is cooked with a full sized beef brisket.  So much for my diet. 

This morning I was at the Attorney’s office to continue the process of getting Mary Ann’s Will placed in the file at the courthouse.  I need to go in on Monday to sign the forms when they are prepared and the attorney will get it over to the courthouse by the end of the day.  The Will was not needed to determine the disposition of anything, so by getting it filed will change nothing.  It is a precaution to put it in the file.  It is just another reminder of the reality that has come to be.

Mary Ann is an almost constant presence in my mind as I go about the various activities that are filling the days.  There are so many reminders.  I did a major trip to the grocery between the morning appointment and the trip to the concert.  It had been weeks since I was at the grocery, so I spent about four times the usual amount.  One person, who also happens to be on a diet, who still has some containers of food from the time of the funeral in the freezer, just does not need much from the grocery.  Most of what I got was vegetables, fresh or frozen.  The grocery was pretty much Mary Ann’s favorite place.  It provided a place to go just to get out of the house. 

There were lots of folks with walkers and wheel chairs and canes today.  In the conversation with the attorney this morning, I mentioned what I have said numerous times in this blog.  It seems almost impossible at the moment to even imagine finding something to do that would measure up to the importance of taking care of another human being, in my case, Mary Ann.  I was able to make a difference in her life, as she has made a difference in mine.   

I would be concerned that thoughts of her still come so often to mind were it not for the fact that she was in the center of my thoughts for forty-eight years.  What would be foolish would be to expect those thoughts to just disappear after weeks or months or even years.  They are to me a sign of the depth of our relationship.  There was nothing shallow about that relationship.  We were honest with one another.  We could be angry with one another, we could be loving, we could laugh together, we could be sad together.  Sometimes we understood each other, sometimes we had no clue.  Sometimes we liked each other, sometimes not so much — but we never stopped loving one another.  We had enough years together to get to experience the love that comes with longevity in a relationship.  There are no words to describe it.  There is a peace, a depth, a security, that is the well from which come romantic feelings far exceeding those that come with the first years in a relationship.  That depth allows the freedom to be irritated with each other without threat to the relationship.  That depth is a gift that comes when what is promised at the wedding is lived out day by day and week by week for the years that follow.  Have I mentioned yet how much I miss her?

Tonight included another musical treat.  An a cappella men’s quartet called New York Polyphony sang some early music and some contemporary music that had the character of ancient chant.  The Episcopal Cathedral has a perfect setting for the chant.  It is a large Gothic building made of stone.  The sound reverberates for about 3.5 seconds after whatever was making the sound has stopped.  Early church music (as well as later periods of church music) had to be written in a way that would take into account that the notes, the chords that were sung a few seconds before would still be ringing when the next notes and chords were being sung. 

On the choir tour of a number of countries in Europe in 1966, we sang in one chapel that reverberated a full 5 seconds after we stopped singing.  It has to be experienced to understand the wonderful complexity of simple music written to take that reverberation into account.  At one point, when three of the four sang a particular piece, the combination of the layers of reverberation and the overtones bouncing around, seemed to create harmonious sounds that added up to more than just three. 

At one point in the concert, one of the singers was singing from the back in an antiphonal piece and an usher knocked a stand over.  Other than the sound of the stand hitting the floor, there was no interference with the singing.  One of my most embarrassing moments involved a music stand.  I was standing in the front as the student conductor, waiting to give the men’s choir the downbeat for the beginning of their first chant during a Choral Vespers in college.  There were about 800 people who had come to hear the organ, the men’s choir, the mixed Cantata Choir.  I was leading the men’s choir in the Chancel, the front portion of the worship space, and the Music Professor was leading the Cantata Choir.  As the quiet chant introduction was being done on the organ, I pulled up the stand to the right heighth preparation for giving the downbeat.  The large top of the metal stand, flew up into the air, my music fluttered to the floor, the metal part that holds the music finally landed on the bare cement floor (the interior of the building was completely made of exposed cement).  Just as a coin will do if it is dropped just right, the top part of the stand wobbled for an eternity, making loud sounds all the while.  After it finally settled and stopped, I picked up the music, put the stand back together, smiled at the choir and gave the downbeat.  The rest of the Choral Vespers went very well. 

I have to admit that wasn’t as embarrassing as the time at the Christmas Formal Dance in high school, throwing up in the middle of the dancefloor at the after party.  I am surprised that Pam ever went out with me again. 

Had a good lunch with Friend Charlie who cared for his wife until she died about three weeks ago.  She had a very slowly progressing form of ALS that had been diagnosed about eleven years earlier.  She, Charlie and a two other couples have been like family to us for almost four decades.  Charlie and I certainly have much in common as we deal with our respective losses.  It was helpful to talk.

It is getting late again, since the concert was this evening.  Tomorrow is another full day.

Once, when I was moving forward on my stomach with the flippers, I barely stopped in time.  When I returned to kicking without them, I still was not very successful at keeping my lead legs and butt from sinking.  Emily is great at coming up with things to focus on that seem to provide some improvement.  She affirms my progress enough to keep me coming back and trying again.  She may be lying, but it works.  I am still not ready to give up on the Front Crawl (with breathing).  I bought some goggles this morning at her suggestion.  I think they helped a little — not sure yet.

Casey, the new horse I rode today seemed to have only a very low, low gear.  He is a lazy Gelding (castrated male — hurts just to say it).  Instructor Kira (who is also a Clinical Psychologist) made some sort of transparent observation about the lazy male and energetic female horses.  We often have interesting conversations about human behavior compared to animal behavior. 

With great difficulty and lots of aggressive non-verbal communication, I managed to get Casey to walk faster, then even trot.  Just before the lesson ended, at Kira’s suggestion, I signaled Casey to Canter, and he did.  If walking is first gear and trotting is second gear, the canter is third gear.  A canter is a three beat gait that is faster than a trot, but slower than a gallop (four beats).  It is the smoothest for the rider of the first three gears.  I am still a little unstable in the saddle with the Canter, but I have only done it a few times during the lessons.  There was some galloping on the fifteen mile ride a few weeks ago, but then I was just hanging on for dear life.   

It was terribly hard to get up and going this morning after the alarm went off.  Thinking about the frigid weather and the press of so much to do almost stopped me in my tracks.  I forced myself to get going, realizing that I would never get it all done if I didn’t get up and doing the exercise backpack hike.  I also hate more the feelings I have when I don’t get moving than the discomfort of getting moving and heading out into the cold (fourteen degrees this morning).  As the swimming lesson approached, I had to do battle with the apprehensions about swimming, and the disincentive of the cold shower room at the Y.  Gratefully, this time, I won the battle. 

Tonight was the first of the many events that are filling this week.  The Shawnee Choral Society performed some very entertaining Christmas pieces, from Classical to Popular.  There were people there that I recognized from different parts of my current life.  There were lots of folks in the audience and in the choir from the congregation from which I retired.  There were also folks from the Hospice Grief Support Group and the Prairie Packers outdoor activity group, a Couple I know from another congregation, and a fellow who is also a regular at PT’s Coffee Shop. 

I have made the observation before, but even those situational connections that don’t include a presence in each other’s lives other than periodic interactions seem to help secure the new life that is trying to emerge at this point in my journey.

The last few days contained three concerts in which Granddaughter Chloe’s choir sang.  Each one was an hour’s drive away.  Each one was a major treat.  Yesterday’s concert included the Kansas City Philharmonia, a full orchestra of people from the community who tried out and volunteer their services.  There were three World Premiers of pieces by an Emmy nominated composer who now works in Los Angeles.  The composer was present, Nathanael Pangrazio.  Chloe’s choir did very well, as they had last Tuesday evening with the huge gathering of college age singers and instrumentalists. 

Today, Chloe’s Choir was the only group on the program.  They sang three pieces that I had not heard them sing before.   They were better than ever.  I enjoyed every minute of it.  There was a moment again of realization that Mary Ann would have loved being there.  We had been to that same venue two or three times before, negotiating the entrance and trips to the bathroom in the wheel chair each time. 

This evening, I added a trip to Grace Episcopal Cathedral for their Choral Evensong.  The quiet music, peaceful tone, incense, children’s choir, beautiful liturgy, and skilled organists playing a huge organ in that wonderful Gothic Setting provided some nourishing devotional food.  The morning church service at the congregation I served before I retired had provided a powerful worship experience. 

The last two days began with a very chilly morning backpack hike (mid-teens).  Yesterday’s walk included a minor disaster when one of the walking poles collapsed.  I took it in to the place where I bought it.  A somewhat snippy young lady fixed it for me.  Apparently the kind of poles I have, while very good (and expensive) occasionally will collapse, demanding pulling the pole apart, then doing some jiggling and twisting to re-engage the locking mechanism. 

When I returned from Chloe’s concert this afternoon, before going to Evensong, the garage door broke.  It appears that a gear to which the chain was attached shattered.  It is too cold to leave the car out, so I am just lifting the door up and down by hand until I can get it repaired.  After Evensong, I just needed a Turtle Sundae from G’s Frozen Custard.  It is still hard to go out by myself and come home by myself.  Hopefully, one Sundae won’t impact my weight loss project too much.  The last few days I have weighed in at between 17.5 and 19.5 pounds lower than when I started working on losing weight in July. 

Next week has scheduled attending four major Christmas Concerts, a Christmas Brunch, a Christmas Potluck, and lunch with Friend Charlie who lost his wife Marlene just a couple of weeks ago.  There is a Midweek Advent Worship Service (f0llowed by a meal), Choir Rehearsal, two sessions with Trainer Phil, two swimming lessons, two horseback riding lessons, the Nutrition Class, Spiritual Formation Group, a Dentist appointment, maybe participating in the Hanging of the Greens on Saturday afternoon, backpack hiking for an hour most mornings, the Hospice Grief Support Group meeting, and a routine blood test. 

It’s worth a try!  Maybe all that will allow less time for intensely felt bouts of grief.  The harsh reality is that no matter how much I cram into the week, the grief is not going to go away.  I have no illusions about that.  The grief needs to run its course.  All the activity is just a way to travel through this especially challenging section of the run.  We will see how it goes.

You might be asking, “And what were you doing out there in the cold?”  I was testing the million dollar layers of clothing I have gotten in the last few weeks.  They worked!  Between the two base layers, the shirt, the fleece layer, the shell, the head covering, thermal hat over that, gloves with liners, base layer bottom (essentially, thin long underwear), the Columbia hiking pants, I was toasty.  Actually, the warmth doesn’t really kick in until the top of the long steep hill, when my internal furnace has heated up.  By that time I have to start opening layers to keep from sweating. 

I was surprised to see three people out walking their dogs, a shaven headed jogger zipping by, a couple of fellows getting their bikes out of the car to ride, and a couple more apparent joggers arriving as I left Cedarcrest.  The cold seemed not to discourage folks from coming out. 

I plan to walk again tomorrow even though it is supposed to be colder still.  It may have been yesterday’s grieving that helped some, but I think the strenuous walk with the backpack served its medicinal function.  The endorphins released are likely to be part of the reason today was a better day than yesterday.

The morning walk lifted my spirits, but mostly it was the great company and the good food that made this a good day.  Son Micah, Daughter-in-Law Becky and Granddaughter Chloe invited me to their place for Thanksgiving.  I brought the cranberry/fruit salad I mentioned in a former post.  Micah and Becky made beef and veggies in the crock pot, mashed potatoes and gravy, rolls, as well as getting a giant pumpkin pie for dessert. 

It was a relaxing day that included Skyping Daughter Lisa, Son-in-Law Denis, Granddaughters Abigail and Ashlyn.   They live in Louisville, Kentucky.  It was fun to visit with them using that new-fangled technology.  Then there was a game of Scrabble.  Mary Ann loved to play.  She would innocently invite the Volunteers to play a game and then more often than not win the game decidedly.  My many years learning to read Latin and Greek in preparation for the Ministry help when playing Scrabble.  I enjoyed the day.

On the way home, PBS was beginning a two hour Thanksgiving Special of music, interspersed with readings of prose and poetry, thoughtful comments by a number of people, all arranged to produce a very effective essay on Thanksgiving.  On arriving at home, I turned the radio on and listened to the rest of the Special.  There were some pensive moments as I listened, but it was a satisfying experience. 

I am grateful this Thanksgiving Day for all the years Mary Ann and I had together, a good marriage, two very remarkable children, three beautiful, talented, intelligent, sweet (shall I go on) Granddaughters.  I am grateful for Becky and Denis, people with great strength of character who have brought some height into the family when they married Micah and Lisa.  I am sorry for what Mary Ann went through but grateful for the quality of life we had together and the freedom she has now won from the ravages of the Parkinson’s.  I am grateful for what the grief is teaching me especially about myself, grateful for the love and concern and help of so many wonderful people. 

This list could go on for many paragraphs.  Maybe it would be better for those of you who read this post to make your own list.  Happy Thanksgiving!

I don’t know if there was just a need to do some grieving, but that is what the day seemed to be about.  I looked through some of the unread magazines that have been piling up, but much of the time was spent thinking about Mary Ann.  I struggle with the images of what she went through.  Selfishly, I still wish she was here.  We were not into hugging that much over the years, but as things got more challenging, there was more hugging.  Today, I just wanted to hold her again. 

People in the Hospice Grief Support Group have often mentioned that the anticipation of anniversaries, birthdays, holidays is often worse than the day itself.  Sister-in-Law JoAnn emailed today that she and her family were thinking of me and mentioned that she, too, found that anticipation was sometimes worse than the event itself.  Maybe today’s grieving will take the pressure off tomorrow, Thanksgiving Day. 

I suspect that some who read this might be wondering if it would be better not to put on the CD’s and allow the grief to bubble up to the surface.  My choices of what to do today seemed to encourage feeling sorry for myself and sad for what Mary Ann went through.  It has been over five months now.  Shouldn’t I let go of the grief and just get on with life? 

I don’t know.  Maybe I should.  I am not sure I have that choice at the moment.  Would I be done with the grieving if I were stronger, had more faith?  If someone else said to me about their grief process what I just said in these last few sentences, here is how I would respond:

You are getting on with your life and grieving at the same time.  That is a good thing, painful, but healthy.  To somehow let go of the grief is not a sign of strength.  It takes more strength to walk through the grief than to run away from it.  Taking time to let the grief run its course, to reflect on it, to feel the sadness is a way for the grief to find a safe place to reside as a part of who you are becoming.  It will always be there.  By facing that openly it is less likely that the grief will produce unhealthy side effects, expressing itself in harmful ways.

Most of the time, I feel healthy emotionally, mentally, physically and Spiritually.  I think being healthy includes the capacity to have down time, relapses, reflective times, painful times without the fear that they are some sort of sign of trouble. 

Tonight was the Thanksgiving worship service.  The message was powerful, the ritual meaningful.  It is always good to see people that I know and care about.  There were some young people back from school.  That is a special treat for me, since I especially enjoy those relationships.  It has also been meaningful to me that so many folks have cared enough to invite me to their place for Thanksgiving. 

I do wonder if people in circumstances like mine ever get used to coming home to an empty house.  The contrast is more striking when coming from a time and place where warm and meaningful relationships have been enjoyed.   I am just grateful for the relationships.

I hesitated.  The day belonged to Marlene’s family.  Pastor Alix was their Pastor.  I had been their Pastor twenty years ago, their friend also, then and now.  Words came out of my mouth, “Yes, I would be honored to do so.”  I am not completely sure what I said in the prayer, but the emotions I felt when doing so were intense.  The pain of missing Mary Ann was the place from which the words were drawn, but the words themselves were not about my pain.  They were about Marlene, the gift of life out of death.  They were about Charlie’s, Dana’s, Steven’s challenge of living meaningfully without her.  At least, I hope they were since I am not sure exactly what words actually came out of my mouth.  It is at those times I trust the One who is the ultimate Source of the words. 

Not long before that time we gathered in the chapel, Charlie had asked me if I would process with the family and sit with them for the Funeral Service.  That was an honor that touched me deeply.  The other two couples from the group of four couples who have hung out together for so long were also added to the family.  As I have mentioned in an earlier post, Mary Ann and I were late-comers to the group.  The three couples have been together at least since they went to the University of Missouri together.  Among the pictures on display today as a memorial were a couple of the eight of us.  I had begun to think of those people as family many years ago.  Today confirmed that perception. 

There were so many others at the Visitation yesterday and the Funeral today whom I have known for many years.  It is a marvel to me how strong the relationships from decades ago remain.  I had been a Pastor to a number of those who attended.  Coleman and Trudy who run what I now call the Grand Lake Center for Healing (their home), were there. 

My Son Micah took off work to come to the Funeral.  His presence beside me made a difference.  I felt his love and concern especially when my emotions were close to the surface.  Charlie and Marlene’s experience so paralleled Mary Ann’s and mine that there were times when the Pastor’s words were about us as well as Charlie and Marlene. 

One of the things that struck Charlie, Dana and Steven was just how many people’s lives Marlene had touched.  The church was packed.  There had been a constant line for well over two hours at the Visitation yesterday.  There have been phone calls and contacts from so many giving support to the family, speaking fondly of Marlene. 

It is hard to imagine just how many people with whom each of us has connected in a lifetime.  The church was full for Mary Ann’s funeral, the chapel in Northern, Illinois was full when we did the Memorial Service there.  Reconnecting with folks from the parish in the Kansas City area, in Oklahoma City, added to the folks at the congregation from which I retired and still attend, provides a glimpse of layer after layer of relationships.  There are Youth from other congregations to which I related, Youth from the high school at which I taught, with whom there has been a connection.  There are classmates and neighbors with whom we all have connected in some way or other over the years. 

No matter how hard we tried none of us could begin to count all the people who have been a part of our lives in one way or another.   The last couple of days, I have had the privilege in the midst of painful circumstances to celebrate many of those relationships.  The quality of life now seems to me to be about the quality of the relationships along the way.   In spite of the challenges that have come, maybe because of them, it is clear that Mary Ann and I had a very good quality of life.  I wonder what it would be like for any of us to try make a list of all the people or groups of people to whom we have been connected in some way in our lifetime.  It might be very eye-opening.  It also might motivate us to work harder at building those connections and making a difference for good in others’ lives.

I don’t think I have the option any longer of returning to former ways.  Returning to sitting in the house, watching television programs, eating large portions of rich foods, being involved in as little as possible, no longer seems possible.  When I was caring for Mary Ann, the activity was constant, going out was getting more and more difficult.  There was a valuable purpose to each moment of each day at home.  Now that she is gone, that life is gone also. 

The new pattern of activities is beginning to seem necessary if I actually intend to choose life.  By this afternoon (Sunday) I finally had to head over to Cedarcrest, put on the backpack and start walking.  Then I went over to the YMCA to see if I could make a little progress on the challenge of learning to breathe while doing the front crawl. 

It was actually a major victory that I headed over to the YMCA, changed into the swim suit and got into a lane at the pool.  I tried to do it last Friday but could not bring myself to actually do it.  There is an underlying panic that seems to kick in when I am trying to swim the length of the pool doing the front crawl.  Some conversations with Horse riding Instructor Kira have helped crystalize my thinking on the difficulty I am having with the swimming.  The only way to deal with that panic is to name it, face it, get in the water and do the rythmic breathing to the extent I am able often enough to desensitize my panic muscles and habituate to the task.  The days I did not do the backpack walk, I found myself unable to face that challenge.  I guess the endorphins that come with the exercise have come to be a necessary motivator.

All this may seem very trivial in the grand scheme of things.  For me it is not trivial.  Dealing with those fears is a metaphor for the larger issue of the need to choose life as I negotiate this transition from life with Mary Ann to life without Mary Ann. 

This morning was revelatory for me.  First of all, singing in the choir in worship today was profoundly satisfying.  The piece of music was meaningful and easy enough to sing that I could sing out with a degree of confidence.  There certainly is no doubt that singing in some form or another needs to be a part of the new life that is emerging.  As the years go by, the control needed to sing well diminishes.  The singing needs to be done sooner rather than later. 

Another revelation is just how important the community at the church is to my negotiating this new reality.  I spent a good portion of the morning, through two service times and the fellowship time in between interacting with all sorts of people.  Those relationships are not just a pleasant diversion.  I feel valued and accepted. The connections fill a portion of the empty space created by Mary Ann’s departure.  There seems to be a level of substance to the relationships that takes them beyond the casual. 

One of the challenges that comes with the role of “Former Pastor” is the need to avoid anything that might draw attention away from the current Pastor.  In many denominations when a Pastor retires, he/she is not allowed to remain at the parish from which he/she has retired.  Our branch encourages leaving the congregation but does not require it.  In the last two parishes, I followed a Pastor who retired and stayed in the congregation.  In both cases, the Pastor I followed gave me room to become the Pastor functionally.  By doing so they each gave me a valuable gift.  I now understand how hard it was for them.  I now need to do the same for the current Pastor.  The two years of full time care of Mary Ann moved me completely out of the picture at the church.  All we could do was attend, and sometimes that wasn’t even possible.  Now that the new Pastor is established, my hope is that the strong relationships continuing for me will not have any negative impact on his ministry. 

“Take it easy.”  There is nothing easy about this.  Letting go completely of a career, then losing the central human relationship, the one that has given meaning and purpose to each day (and night), in need of constant attention, moving into a completely new reality, is even harder than I imagined it could be.  With that said, there are blessings upon blessings that have accrued to me as this transition has gone on.  I am humbled by people’s concern and willingness to do whatever they can to help.

The Physical Therapist yesterday morning has concluded that I need a month of therapy, beginning with work on abdominal muscles that are splitting, causing the tightness that is irritating the band down the side of my right leg, causing the bursitis.  It is all very complicated.  I will do what I need to do to be sure nothing interferes with the preparations for the big trip in the spring.

For yesterday’s swimming lesson, I decided to change from a medium to a small float belt to see if I can begin to make the transition to swimming without a belt at all.  I could tell the difference when I was trying to tread water and then float on my back.  Again, one step at a time.

There was a dinner last night that included folks from a variety of area churches.  It was a very pleasant evening, just talking with folks I have known for many years.  That sort of social interaction helps normalize a world that had for me lost any sense of normality.

Today has included about eleven hours in the car to come visit Daughter Lisa, Denis and Granddaughters Abigail and Ashlyn in Kentucky.  Abigail will have her 8th birthday in a couple of weeks.  We will have an early celebration.  I have brought along some gifts.

On the way here, there were again moments of missing Mary Ann very much.  I listened to music CD’s.  Music always penetrates my defenses.  It is still hard to get my mind and heart and gut around the fact that she is gone from here.  I still don’t like it.

At the same time, I was able to enjoy the music.  When I was listening to the Taizé music, I remembered that at one point I fantasized going to France to spend a few days in that community.  It no longer seems to be such an unrealistic fantasy.  Maybe if I head to Cornwall England to check out my Grandfather’s roots, and County Cork Ireland to check my Grandmother’s roots, I could head over to France to the Taizé community.  I suspect after the major trip this spring, the personal resources may be too depleted to do such a trip any time soon.  By the same token, dreams can’t become a reality if there are no dreams.

On the way here the sky was very entertaining.  There were wonderful combinations of clouds, patches of sun, rain showers beneath some of the clouds.  The combination produced the most complete and vivid rainbow I have ever seen.  It was so intense that it even showed clearly when there was bright, clear blue sky behind it in breaks in the clouds.  There was also a very visible second rainbow above it.

Traveling in the car for long periods of time is certainly more painful as I get older.  Ibuprofen and many stops to get out and walk got me through it.  I am hoping that therapy and exercise will ultimately help slow the impact of the aging process on these bones and joints and muscles.  Responding to the Call to Live can take a toll on the body that is animated by the breath of life.  At the moment, the toll is worth paying.  We will see what the future brings.

I was 11 years old when we got the television.  I loved watching boxing and wrestling with Dad during the mid-1950′s especially.  Rocky Marciano in Boxing and Gorgeous George in Wrestling were at the top of their respective games.  Then, after the Boxing and the Wrestling, by which time Dad was usually asleep in his chair and snoring very loudly, I turned on the Chicago Symphony with Fritz Reiner as the conductor.  I was not only fascinated with the sound of the orchestra, but I also loved watching them play the instruments. 

Last evening, I had the joy of attending our local symphony orchestra’s performance.  The first piece was a section of an absolute favorite of mine, Respighi’s “Ancient Airs and Dances.”  Just about the only thing Respighi and I have in common is that we both became enthralled with Rennaisance Dance Music.  I listen to it, he arranged it for modern orchestra in the 1930′s.  The next piece was one of the most powerful pieces of music I have ever heard.  “Cantus in Memory of Benjamin Britten” by Arvo Part.  It is only the playing of a downward scale, ultimately three octaves for the First Violins, with each section of strings participating at a different speed.  By the time the orchestra reaches the last note, octaves of the same pitch, the strings resonate to the very depth of the listeners being.  Last evening, the long silence when the sound stopped was deeply moving.  Then there was a fun light, very entertaining piece next, “St. Paul’s Suite” by Gustav Holst of “The Planets” fame.  It also incorporated dances and folk strings, just sort of lifting our spirits.

The large piece after the Intermission was a ballet version (instruments only) of the Opera “Carmen.”  Conductor Strickland had short explanations of the story line at intervals during the piece.  I found myself caught up in the music and the story to the degree that it was a bit emotional for me.  It is a tragic tale of love lost.  It was hard to disassociate thoughts of Mary Ann with feelings generated by the music.  There is a certain vulnerability to gut stirrings when well-written and performed serious music fills my ears and wends its way into the depths of my psyche. 

This is becoming a season of sadness for me as in the church year we are now approaching All Saints’ Sunday.  One of the traditions in most Liturgical Churches is the remembering of those who have died since the last All Saint’s Sunday.  The names are read slowly, sometimes with a bell to punctuate each name.  I would not want to miss that reading, but the thought of hearing her name in that context brings internal stirrings of grief. 

The evening’s concert was clearly meaningful for me.  I am very grateful that a member of the orchestra gave me the brochure when I ran into him at the YMCA a few days ago.  My seat was in the very middle of a lower section of the concert hall.  It turned out to be right next to a former parishioner, who introduced me to some of the people sitting nearby.  One in particular is an engaging fellow with whom I had a very enjoyable conversation, a Federal Judge who has served on the bench for many years.  He and his wife had enjoyed horseback riding in earlier years.  He seemed interested in my spring adventure plans. 

When the day began Saturday, I headed over to the Kansas City area to watch Sixth Grade Granddaughter Chloe play in a Volleyball Tournament.  While they did not win, she and the rest of the team played well.   I enjoyed hanging out with Son Micah, Becky and Chloe for a while after the game.  Becky is doing a Susan G. Komen walk to raise money for fighting Breast Cancer.  The walk is in Dallas, so Becky had some good information on packing to travel as well as the care of blisters when walking.  Micah helped me pick out a new digital camera for the spring trip.  It needs to be small and powerful at the same time.  With the help of a friend who does photography we found the one that seems to fit best the needs.  It is now ordered and, hopefully, will be delivered soon. 

After the early walk with backpack, this morning I went directly to a place from where a Birder was heading out to spot some Sparrows.  I spent about an hour and a half with the Birder, learning lots about how to identify birds.  We saw some interesting ones, especially a Peregrine Falcon and a Yellow-Crowned Kinglet.  The Marsh Wren was fun to spot.  I left the Birding early to get to the Reformation Sunday worship service with Organ and Choir and powerful congregational hymns. 

This afternoon was an especially good one in the swimming pool.  Instructor Emily needed to move tomorrow’s lesson to today due to a conflict.  We were in a swimming lane rather than the shallow area with lots of young swimmers playing.  I can only barely touch bottom in the outside lanes in the larger area containing four lanes for those who actually know how to swim.  The inside lanes are deeper. 

This time, after some preparation swimming the backstroke, then spending some time practicing breathing at the side of the pool, I tried swimming the front crawl, breathing in the  proper way.  There was some sputtering and hesitance at first, but before we were done, I had gone the length of the pool four times doing the front crawl, twice making it the entire distance, breathing on every third stroke.  It wasn’t pretty, and I still have a long way to go to become proficient,  it was exhausting, but I did it and I am alive to talk about it.  Actually, Emily was very affirming as she observed how far I have come in a relatively short amount of time.  At the first lesson only a few weeks ago, I was apprehensive just doing the bobs, putting my head under the water as I stood in three or four feet of water.  One of the next issues will be trying to swim without the float belt.  One step at a time.  Today was a good day in the challenge of trying to learn to swim. 

The journey goes on.

This time it was barely two hours of riding –  no galloping, very little trotting, just relaxed walking.  My boney butt and aging hip joints may just not be constructed for riding a horse.  Then there are the knees!  As soon as I got off the horse, it was clear.  It hit like a bolt of lightning.  I was frozen in place. 

I am running out of parts of my body that haven’t been in pain.  I have parts I didn’t know I had.  Frankly, I am not sure I needed to know about them. 

Now that I got that off my chest, it was actually a good experience today.  It only took a few minutes and mobility returned.  The pain in my knees diminished quickly and pretty much disappeared.  While my boney butt hurt some while I was riding, it was not too bad.  I was able to relax more.  The few times there was some trotting, I was able to move better with the horse (her name is Spirit).  I felt pretty good afterward.  I will ask Instructor Kira on Monday if there is something that could mitigate the knee pain when riding.  I don’t remember experiencing that on the long ride last week. 

Then all the great stuff that can come with a ride in the country was there.  It was a crisp, cool, crystal clear fall day in Kansas.  The air was pure and fresh. The Tall Grass prairie we were on much of the time has a calm and a strength about it that puts everything into perspective.  The sky went on forever in all directions.  It was a time for relaxed conversation with Larry and Son Cliff, mostly talking about the various elements of the environment.  We flushed a Prairie Chicken with its unmistakable way of holding its wings in flight.  Gratefully, the chicken flew up quite a distance from us, sparing us startled horses. 

Then after we were done, I came home with bags of produce from their garden.  There were green peppers and banana peppers and tomatoes and sweet potatoes. 

For a single guy who doesn’t know much about cooking, I am eating pretty well.  Those vegetables triggered a great idea for supper.  I had recently cooked up a package of six Bratwurst to have, one at a time, for suppers.  I had cooked up a huge pan of onions in the drippings from the Bratwurst.  I had also cooked some cabbage, but that was already gone.  I decided to cut up the green (some were red) peppers, banana peppers and tomatoes and saute them in olive oil.  Then, after that was done, I sliced three of the leftover Bratwurst and added in the container of cooked onions to heat up with the veggie mixture.  On top of that I poured six extra large eggs I had gotten at the Farmer’s Market.  I ate a little over a cup of that mixture and filled a 1.5 quart corning wear bowl with the leftovers to use for three or four more meals. 

I have been making fruit smoothies pretty regularly to have on occasion in between meals.  The frozen Wild Maine Blueberries plus some frozen strawberries, orange juice, wheat germ, lowfat Vanilla Yogurt, a frozen ripe banana and a couple of teaspoons of vanilla mixed in the blender provide  a couple of days (sometimes three) worth of smoothies.    

Lunch was a cup of leftover six bean salad from the Saturday evening bonfire potluck.  I love beans.  (It is a good thing I live alone!) Today I got to add to the bean salad meal the special treat of a half stick of sausage from the bag of sausages Doug gave me this morning after he cut my hair.  He and Marikay (former parishioners and friends) just got back from a vacation that included a three day hunt.  Doug got a large mule deer (trophy size) and a large antelope.  The sausage was made of antelope meat mixed with pork.  They saw some breathtaking country in Wyoming and South Dakota. 

As long as I am talking food, I will mention again the breakfast I eat almost every day.  It begins with at least 2/3 cup of frozen blueberries thawed in the microwave, topped with some Special K cereal with almonds, some 57% Fiber One cereal, a tablespoon or so of local honey, a sprinkle of hazelnuts, a few english walnuts and a cup of Lite Vanilla Soymilk. 

The challenge for me is to keep the serving sizes small.  While the weight is coming off painfully slowly, this morning I was thirteen pounds below the starting point in July.  Another thirteen or so will bring me to the place that seems appropriate for my height and bone structure.  We’ll see how that goes.  All the physical activity seems to be helping the weight reduction project. 

Since I had nothing to say about what happened more than four months ago, and I have no power to control the grief pain, I am just doing things that seem to have the potential for keeping me healthy in body, mind and spirit.  I have nothing to say about what happens around me, I can’t predict what will happen in the future, I have something to say about what I do, what choices I make. 

I enjoyed a conversation with a former parishioner, now friend, about Quantum Physics/Mechanics (nothing very technical) and Theology.  Mental exercise is as important as physical exercise.  I got tickets to the Symphony to feed my love of music.  I continue to enjoy the visual arts, taking advantage of opportunities to grow in understanding and appreciation.  I have taken only the tiniest step in trying to get going on learning Spanish.  I am continuing one Grief Support Group meeting a month to satisfy the need to talk with others who understand.  Getting out with other people has allowed me to talk with and become acquainted with lots of people in other arenas than I have been in up to this point in my life.  The Spiritual Formation Group, Sunday church services, the devotions with Psalms, some devotional reading are feeding my Spirit. 

I cannot change anything that has happened in the past.  I cannot control the future and make it what I want it to be (not even sure yet what that would be).  Those things are beyond my power.  I can do what I can do at each moment of the life I am living as it comes.  I can do no more than that.

I made the offhand comment to Jeff, one of the owners of PT’s Coffee.  He spends much time with at the coffee Fincas in Central and South America (as well as visiting coffee growers in Africa).  The comment was, “Maybe some time when you are in South America I can come and visit there.”  He said, “Great, but you will need to learn Spanish.”  Well, what about it?  Why not?

In the 8 years of college and Seminary in preparation for becoming a Pastor, we had to learn Hebrew, Greek, Latin and German.  The trouble is, three of those languages in the form we learned them are no longer spoken.  They were the classical forms used in ancient times.  We learned to read the languages using reference books.  The fourth, German, was taught by someone who could speak a little German but could not teach.  I only had two years.  I never learned more that a few words and phrases. 

It is an intriguing idea — Spanish.  I need to find some learning tools (that I can afford) and some folks with whom to practice speaking.  We will see. 

I was pleasantly surprised that after 8 days of being gone, no hiking with backpack or exercising with trainer, I was able to get up and walk the day after returning from the trip.  The time with Trainer Phil was demanding, but I was able to do it.  I was encouraged that I had not lost ground.  I have been up and walking the 2.5 miles with the backpack every day since I returned.  In fact, I did the ALS three mile walk with the Kansas City Crew, bringing that day’s total to 15,717 steps – about 6.5 miles.  Those are the folks with whom Mary Ann and I hung out at various times during the last 38 years.  They became family to us.  Marlene has had a form of ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease) for many years.  She rolled in her motorized chair as we walked.  I have to admit that the hip joints were pretty sore afterward.  This morning’s walk seemed to go reasonably well, in spite of yesterday’s pain. 

By the way, Marlene’s Daughter Dana and husband Larry shared that they had done some walks in the South of Cornwall in the UK.  My last name is Cornish.  The name dates back to and maybe even before 1066AD when the Normans entered England (Battle of Hastings).  Guess where I am hoping to go some time after the trip to New Zealand/Australia?  I know!! One thing at a time.  I suspect there will be a let down after such a major trip — which, of course has yet to be realized.  Then there is the question of the resources to accomplish it.  That all is for another day, but the dreams have to start somewhere. 

Saturday afternoon included a treat, since there was time to stop by to see Micah, Becky and Chloe.  It is scary to see Granddaughter Chloe growing so fast into a young lady.  She is already just shy of 5′ 1″ tall.  She is likely to be passing her Grandpa (5’6″) in the next year or two.

I talked with Joe for a while this morning.  Joe is 72 years old, five years older than am I.  Joe runs every morning where I walk.  He runs a couple of times around the one mile path in the open area just to warm up and give the sun a little time to come up.  He starts at 5:45am every morning but Sunday when he gets to sleep in and start running around 6:45am.  After warming up he does many more miles, including the steep hill in the woods.  More than that, he runs up a hill that has been referred to as the Lung-buster — he goes up twice.  I can barely walk it once, don’t even try in my morning hikes.  He has been running there since 1968.  I often see him on the bench by the path in the woods — doing sit-ups.  I feel like a wimp in the face of Joe’s daily regimen. 

I have to say that seeing the sunrises each morning has been a real treat.  The deer are active at Cedarcrest also.  A couple of days ago there was a cluster of five that seemed fairly tolerant of my presence as I headed their way. 

Church this morning was a positive experience, the content of the service, the message, the music, all meaningful.  I am settling in as a regular member versus the former Pastor.  There are new folks who were not here two years ago when I retired.  They don’t know me and I don’t know them.  While I sometimes long for the attention that came with the role of the Pastor, it is nice to find that folks are becoming friends without the role as the primary element in those relationships.   

I found very comforting a CD of chanted Psalms sent to me by some valued friends from years past.  It provided a continuation of the Sabbath experience into the afternoon.  The individual Psalms from the CD will become a part of meditative times during the weeks to come. 

This evening included another treat.  A choral ensemble (three men and two women plus the conductor) from Estonia performed at the Episcopal Cathedral.  They are called Ensemble Heinavanker. (www.heinavanker.ee)  They sing a cappella (no instrumental accompaniment).  Before each song starts, one of the singers uses a tuning fork to get the correct pitch.  He hits it the tuning fork on his shaved head and then puts it to his ear.  That part was comical in such a serious setting. 

They alternated the parts of a Fifteenth Century Mass with Estonian folk music.  Having a fondness for early music, the Mass was a special treat for me.  I was surprised at the warmth of the music and more polyphony than I expected from that period.  The Mass was sung in Latin, but the folk songs in (I assume) Estonian. 

The group is masterful with perfect intonation and unisons that sound as if only one voice was singing.  The Estonian Folk Music was very striking — lively, with complex harmonies, never trite.  The language is very expressive with some sounds unfamiliar to a North American ear.  The last folk song was a pre-Christian runic song called Loomiselaul (The Creation).  It had a very unusual structure and rhythm that made us all want to sway.  In fact the Ensemble began to do just that, moving into a line, one hand on the shoulder of the person in front, snaking around the front of the Nave as they sang, stepping with the beats of the music until the song ended as they moved into a tight circle.  After a standing ovation, they added another folk song.  It was a very satisfying experience.  I have missed going to concerts. 

This particular part of the journey that began after Mary Ann’s death (still hard to say/write), the days I am in right now, seem to be a time of noticeable transition.  As the days fill with activity, as the plan for the spring continues to occupy my attenion, as other future possibilities emerge, I am beginning to appreciate more the freedom to do what I have not been able to do for about as long as I can remember.  I enjoy the freedom but miss Mary Ann.  I think that is the way it will be for a long time to come, probably as long as I hang around on the planet.

Speaking of deer, during rutting season bucks sometimes become vocal.  When I walk the woods and fields of St. Francis at this time of the year, I expect to be snorted at by a deer.  I was not disappointed.  He sounded very much as I imagine an angry bear might sound.  There were at least three different times that I saw deer running away as I lumbered noisily through the weeds and woods. 

The first evening there (Monday), I saw a hawk standing on the ground on the other side of a row of large, round bales of hay.   After I put the binoculars to my eyes, the hawk flew to the top of one of the bales, in clear sight.  Even without any awareness of what a Red Shouldered Hawk looks like, it was immediately obvious that is what it was.  It had very distinctive red patches on the top of its wings, its shoulders.  By the way, it is a very large variety of hawk. 

After the hawk left, I walked through an opening between a couple of bales, surprising Thelma.  Thelma is a juvenile Wild Turkey.  When Tim (staff member at St. Francis) told me that he had named her Thelma, he said that she had lost her mother and had just been hanging out in the area while maturing.  She apparently had managed a couple of times to fly into the fenced area for the chickens.  Thelma flew up to the top of one of the bales, then to the ground, running off into the woods.  Shortly thereafter, I saw a hawk (could have been the same one) standing near the edge of the upper pond, watching a couple of frogs hop to the pond.  His head snapped one way then the other, each time apparently startled by the frog.  It didn’t take the hawk long to figure out that trying to catch one of the frogs would be an exercise in futility. 

Tuesday, as usual, I slept in, then headed out for many hours, just walking and reading and soaking in another spectacularly beautiful day.  Since it has been so warm, I did not have the timing I prefer, after the first hard frost.  The air was filled with dragon flies.  Grasshoppers hopped and flew with every step I took.  The bees were very busy — I gave the hives a wide berth.  The good news about the bugs was that there were lots of butterflies also.  Most of them were a variety that displays the fall colors.  At one point, I just stood and watched for ten or fifteen minutes as they drank nectar from a colorful patch of yellow flowers.  There were so many that some plants had up to five hanging from them at one time.  Periodically, a cluster of them would burst into a dance around one another while they flew. 

When I moved into the mouth of a long patch of weeds with woods on each side, a huge raptor flew up and away from me.  I think it was a Great Horned Owl since it was so much bigger than a hawk and the right color to be an owl. 

Then I spotted it!  It was flying away from me so I did not see its red topknot, but there was no mistaking it — a Pileated Woodpecker.  They are very large, 17″ tall.  The cartoon character Woody the Woodpecker is modeled after a Pileated Woodpecker.  They are not terribly uncommon, but I have only had a few sightings in my life so far and still get excited when I see them.

I found the little secluded corner to which I always go, unfolded the three-legged camp stool I was carrying,  and sat for almost two hours.  I read the rest of the book on Grief written by CS Lewis at the death of his wife.  During that time, another (or the same) Red-Shouldered Hawk started vocalizing loudly on the other side of the field, then flew right over me, still screeching.  A Turkey Vulture in kamakazi mode came bursting over the edge of the trees right over my head.  All I could hear was the sound of his body moving through the air so rapidly.

I sat there long enough that the Pileated Woodpecker that I heard pounding on trees off in the distance finally moved to a tree about a hundred feet from where I was sitting. Their pounding is loud and slow compared to other woodpeckers.  I couldn’t see him at first, then he moved to a tree even closer, and I caught a glimpse of him.  They are certainly spectacular birds to see.

On my way back, after scaring away six or eight deer when I passed through that tree-lined corridor of weeds, I stopped in the shade of a large tree to cool down.  I saw and heard some movement in the weeds nearby.  With the binoculars I could make it out.  It was an Armadillo, rooting around for grubs.  (He was only about 20% the size of what Tim called the Mutant Armadillo that I saw last year.) He was so intent on finding the grubs that he gave me no notice.  Finally, after walking up behind him to within five or six feet, he noticed I was there and scampered off into the weeds. 

I sat for while on the bench at the edge of the lower pond.  There I noticed a commotion at the edge of the water right in front of me.  A big snapping turtle in the water was bumping with his nose a large half-eaten fish trying to flip it around so that he could get a grip on it with his powerful jaws and swim away with it — which he did.  A Great Blue Heron flew off when I later approached the puddle of a pond behind the cabin.  Tim had also named that bird, but I can’t remember what he called it. 

Friend John from who had been a member of the Bethany Parish when I was the Pastor there came out to the cabin for conversation.  I had ministered to his wife Sherrie as she was dying of Cancer.  John and I had spent many hours talking during that time, supporting one another as we dealt with our respective spouse’s illness.

The time at St. Francis Center for Spiritual Renewal was meaningful to me.  I always feel whole there.  When I first arrived, it just didn’t feel the same.  After a few minutes of walking, experiencing the wildlife, the peace returned, the feeling of wholeness.   I had always been there by myself when staying at St. Francis, so the change in my life at home did not have as powerful a presence as it might have otherwise.  I did notice a difference when I was out at my secluded spot.  In recent years I had phoned Mary Ann from that spot each time so that she would know that my longing for solitude did not mean separation from her. 

After reading for a long time as I sat in that secluded spot on Tuesday, I spent some time just asking God for some guidance.  I recognize the Call to Live, and I am seeking to respond, but the question is:  What exactly does it mean for me to respond to that Call?  What does responding to it look like.  What does the “Call to Live” mean — for me – now, career ended, Mary Ann gone.  What am I to be doing?     

There were no answers, just the questions.  I thought more on the drive home.  I wondered if there might not be some sort of convergence of grief and fear of moving on that is happening as I prepare for the quest to New Zealand and Australia.  I wondered if moving through the fear associated with each step in the preparation, and the trip itself, might provide a bit of release when the trip is done. 

There will be a let down once that trip is over, but some thoughts are beginning to come together, some just today, that might provide new challenges when that is done.  I will say more about that in tomorrow’s post.

We watched the sunset coloring a crystal clear sky as vapor trails slowly moved across the sky.  The binoculars revealed three Stealth Bombers, one at the head of each vapor trail.  Jupiter fooled us into thinking for a moment that the bombers were chasing a UFO. 

The next day was spent heading out to a secret and secluded cove surrounded by dense forest.  As we entered the little cove, feeding White Pelicans flew off.  We settled into that quiet spot for two or three hours, just soaking in the spectacular weather.  We had lunch on the boat, watching Turkey Vultures, two Ospreys sailing overhead between the trees. 

Millions (literally) of Shad were swimming around in huge dark clouds.  Many were hitting the surface of the water, sometimes coming completely out of the water.   It looked and sounded as if there was a steady slow rainfall. 

The pelicans’ hunger pains trumped their fear as some of them slowly swam back into the mouth of the cove, keeping a safe distance from us.  Sometimes they circled and scooped up the Shad.  At one point they came all the way in past the boat until the wind moved it enough to send them back toward the safety of the mouth of the cove. 

After returning, the early evening included a very vocal hawk flying over, followed later by the serenade of a Great Horned Owl, who showed himself for a while across the inlet on which their house is located. 

After supper, we had dessert around a newly built fire ring not far from the house.  Coleman is an impressive builder of fire.  There we sat and talked as the darkness came revealing the bounty of stars overhead. 

My love for birds was certainly satisfied as we sat on the screened in porch at various times watching the feeders.  Chickadees, Cardinals, Titmice, Nuthatches, Mourning Doves, Goldfinches (already in winter garb), squawking Great Blue Herons, Cattle Egrets, the almost constant calls of Red-bellied Woodpeckers were added to the Pelicans, Cormorants, Canada Geese, Mallards, Great Egrets, Ospreys, Gulls of all sorts and Turkey Vultures. 

When thinking about the next leg to the trip, I asked about sights between Grand Lake and Oklahoma City.  I remembered someone Trudy and I had known beginning in the early 1970′s.  He bought a camper and lived in it by himself, traveling around the country.  When talking with him once in those early years he reported a find in Oklahoma.  He described it as a gathering of old buildings (1800′s) that the owners of a private business had brought to an area for display.  Nothing came to mind as they tried to determine if the place was still in existence forty-some years later.  I found the name of it in a book they had of Oklahoma sights.  It was located ten minutes from their home.   They had been there and found it to be very well done. 

We spent a couple of hours going through it, able to see only about half of it.  It is called Har-ber Village (www.har-bervillage.com).   It is one of the best-kept secrets in Oklahoma.  The grounds are landscaped with plants and water features and meticulously kept lawns.  It sits on the edge of Grand Lake, one of the most beautiful lakes I have ever seen.  There are 115 buildings and displays.  It is our history as it really was.   The brand new Visitor Center is filled with wood carvings and hand made furniture. 

It seems clear that the entry fees do not cover the cost of maintaining such a large and immaculately kept Village.  Adults are $3.50, Seniors, $2.50, children under 14, free.  There is a clearly stated code of conduct for all entering: “You are welcome as long as you conduct yourselves as ladies and gentlemen.”  It is also, of course, fully handicapped accessible.   What an enjoyable morning it was. 

As to the healing:  Friendship well done is a powerful antitoxin.  One of the struggles for me since Mary Ann died has been trying to figure out how to become a whole person again.  Mary Ann took half of me with her.  A marriage of 44.5 years, 48 years in love, tangled the two of us into a hopelessly knotted clump.  Death cannot untie that knot.  At this Grand Lake Center for Healing, I began to feel like a whole person again.  Trudy was one of Mary Ann’s best friends.  That friendship began in the early 1970′s.  Coleman and Trudy knew and loved her.  As a result, my wholeness did not demand that Mary Ann be absent from me.  The unconditional acceptance and affirmation I felt, included Mary Ann, who has become a part of who I am now, not just a memory of the past.  Mary Ann and I could not help but be shaped by one another as we grew and changed over the years.  Because of that, I don’t feel a need to recapture the past.  I am free to enjoy the memories and at the same time go on with life without apology for doing so. 

We spent time looking at a couple of videos of New Zealand, talked about the quest as I plan and prepare for the Great Walks on the South Island, as well as activities in Australia.  I left, convinced that there are a couple of loving and caring people in my corner as I respond to the Call to Live. 

The grieving isn’t over.  To one degree or another, it will never be over.  The Grand Lake Center for Healing gave me a taste of what it feels like to be a whole person again, grief, joy, Mary Ann, plans, wonder, friendship, awe at the life God breathes into us – all tangled together into a knotted clump – whole again.

I have named the first two stops the Grand Lake Center for Healing and the Bethany Center for Relationship Renewal to parallel St. Francis Center for Spiritual Renewal.  All of them included celebrating the natural environment filled with evidence of God’s Presence and celebrating community with people to whom I am connected through nurturing relationship. 

While the time was not without pangs of missing Mary Ann, wishing we were sharing the journey, moments of sadness at what she went through, it was also a time of emotional and spiritual therapy.  Resurrection to new life is not something that happens the morning of the third day or the third week or the third month or the third year.  With that said, it is happening.  The last 8 days provided evidence.

Today I spent some time trying to organize the itinerary for the Great Walks on the South Island of New Zealand.  The complexity seems a little overwhelming.  I laid out just that portion of the trip on a sheet of ruled paper.  I don’t want to end up not able to get some place I need to be by the time I need to be there.  What bus or boat I take and when will determine if I am where I should be.  Larry’s spread sheet from his trip in 2007 is a tremendous help.  It has hyperlinks to the web pages of the places he stayed, as well as the schedule of each part of the trip.  That spread sheet is what instigated my registering for tonight’s class.  There will be another class next week that is supposed to show how to do lists, the ability I need to plan this trip. 

Today I lunched with two of Mary Ann’s friends here, who were among those who helped us so much these last years.  There were memories to be shared about Mary Ann.  It continues to be helpful to reclaim the good memories that were clouded by the more recent unsettling ones.  There was also conversation about the trip, bringing to mind some of the various things yet to be dealt with, appropriate clothing that wicks moisture away to guard against hypothermia, obtaining health insurance since Medicare will not pay for costs incurred out of the US, getting mail taken care of and bills paid while gone, keeping my children informed about how I am doing with international cell phone service.  It was helpful chance to review some of those things. 

Wednesday morning’s Spiritual Formation Group was its usual great place to make discoveries about how to catch sight of God’s presence in the people and the physical environment we encounter on a daily basis.  A time of minor intestinal issues (too much information) resulted in a day of minimal activity.  Bailing on the horseback riding lesson and the swimming lesson gave me a bit of a break.  It has all seemed a bit overwhelming.  They will both resume on Monday. 

Having missed yesterday, it felt good to resume the hiking with backpack this morning.  Trainer Phil is really pushing the limits of my ability.  Appropriately, he is increasing weight and numbers of repetitions incrementally.  I feel as if there is progress being made.  One side effect of the exercise and care in food choices and serving sizes is that I now do not own any slacks that fit.  When we cleaned out the closets after Mary Ann died, I got ride of all the old slacks that were too small for me.  I have lost a few pounds and apparently changed a little of the fat into muscle, so the waist on my pants bunch up when I tighten the belt.  I am not complaining about that side effect of all this activity.  I will be glad to head over to Penney’s or Kohl’s and get some better fitting slacks. 

Today’s Hospice Grief Support Group meeting was again a rather intense one.  Most of what we discussed seems to fit better in a post on The Caregiver Calling blog.  It is very helpful to have that place to process the feelings and experiences that come with the work of incorporating the loss of Mary Ann into the new life that is emerging.  I continue to be convinced that trying to go on without doing the grief work would in the long term do more harm than good.  For me the Call to Live is a call to authenticity and meaning and healthy growth.  My hope is that doing the hard work of facing Mary Ann’s death full on is helping nurture a healthy response to the Call to Live.  I guess I won’t know for sure if that is true until many months, maybe years from now.

I had my first lesson in western riding today.  Her name is Sara.  That is, the horse.  The Instructor is Kira.  I brushed Sara.  She certainly is large and strong.  She was not always pleased with my ministrations.  She kept swatting me with her tail.  It was not just an aimless reflex.  I was swatted when I was on her left side and I was swatted when I was on her right side.  I cleaned her hooves.  I walked very thoughtfully around the front, learning that there is a blind spot right in front of the nose of a horse.  The goal is not to startle her.  I walked around the back, another blind spot, keeping my hand on her, walking very close to her and talking with her all the while. 

I discovered that there is a very complex language associated with horses and riding.  I had an immersion in the information today, and will, of course, need to hear all of it again spread over the weeks.  There are now four more sessions scheduled. 

It actually seemed to go fairly well — at least according to Kira.  Sara was not always as pleased with my attempts at directing her.  She would often sidle back to Kira with what I am sure was a “help me, this guy has no idea what he is doing” look.  I managed to at least begin to get the hang of first gear, the walk.  Maybe “get the hang of” is a little too strong.  Next came second gear, a trot (not sure I am remembering the term correctly, there are two or three terms for that speed).  Second gear is profoundly hard on the butt.  At one point, Sara slipped into third gear.  While easier on the butt, I chose to decline working on third gear until another time. 

Now that I am back home, I seem to be getting an occasional whiff of an aroma to which I am unaccustomed.  I suspect I had better get accustomed to it or plan on more showers and more loads of wash (jeans, not shorts).  For the sake of any other people I might be around, the showers and laundry are probably the better way to go.  The large Cinnamon Chai diffuser in the living room seems not to be adequate to the task of keeping the air refreshingly scented.  (I got it originally to keep the house from getting the smell I remember when visiting my Grandparents.)

Today’s activity will provide balance to the visit to the Quilt Museum in Paducah, Kentucky at the end of the month.  You catch my drift.  Western riding and backpacking and (soon to come) learning to swim provide what seem to me to be healthy complements to the love of music, budding interest in Art, and fascination (with very little understanding) with quantum physics. 

The last few days have been spent moving in and out of the grief pain.  The good thing is that the pain never reached the levels experienced in the first ten weeks after Mary Ann died.  It was the sort of pain that seems to me to be appropriate to this point in the process of learning to live with what has happened. 

Sunday morning included singing with the choir at two of the three morning services.  As always it was thoroughly satisfying and uplifting to sing.  It was a challenge for me to sing bass, since tenor is the norm for me, but I tried to produce enough sound in the lower ranges to help fill out the chords.  Gratefully another tenor (who has a wonder voice with a very pleasing timbre) joined us in the lower regions of the scale. 

One of the songs we sang brought some deep feelings.  The song is titled “Well Done.”  It comes from a Biblical passage in which God is declaring that the service performed has been a job done faithfully.   We sang it to Young, the Director of Worship who is leaving to serve at a church in Minnesota.   The feelings were deep since that is the song the choir sang when I finished my ministry at that church two years ago.  To sing those words and reflect on them brought many feelings to the surface.  Ending a career certainly also produces grief. 

Daughter Lisa, Denis and the girls, Abigail and Ashlyn came to stay for a couple of days.  Son Micah and Granddaughter Chloe joined us for a day.  This was the weekend to celebrate a couple of birthdays.  Daughter-in-Law, Becky couldn’t be with us because of the demands of an out of town trip to a high school reunion.  Nonetheless, we celebrated hers and Micah’s birthdays with a Baskin & Robbins ice cream pie.  Oddly, anticipating getting the pie was a trigger for some fairly strong feelings of grief.  The tradition has been to get a Grasshopper (Mint Chocolate) Ice Cream pie every time we celebrated a family birthday.  The only food Mary Ann would eat before she stopped eating and drinking entirely was Baskin & Robbins Grasshopper pie.  Just thinking about getting it triggered the feelings.  Then, of course, there has been the falling out with the new Owners of the B&R.  Walking it to get it was not easy.  They did not have a Grasshopper pie, so I got one of the flavors that they did have (gratefully, a chocolate flavor). 

It was meaningful to me to be able to show the Kids all the New Zealand maps and pictures and videos so that they would have a sense of what I am planning to do.  That gave us a positive focus to engage our attention for the time we were together. 

I hiked with backpack this morning and, when I returned, it was time for Lisa and family to head back home.  It is strange to be alone on a Labor Day, but anticipating and then getting the lesson in western riding provided something positive to fill the day. 

Last evening and this morning provided some entertaining encounters with the wildlife in the back yard.  There are three very hungry Hummingbirds filling the airspace over the deck.  The adult male comes and goes at will to the feeder.  There are what I assume to be a couple juveniles who argue about who has rights to the feeder and the space around it when that space is available.  They also seem to have feelings about the presence of other living beings, especially large mammals sitting in deck chairs.  Last evening one routinely hovered at eye level barely out of my reach, staring me down.  It hung a little to my left for a time, then directly in front of me, then a little to my right before leaving.  It happened often enough that it was clear there was some intention there.  Since I was sitting in the general area of the feeder, I can only infer that the intention was that I vacate the space.  I didn’t.  The bird returned often.  On occasion when the two were chasing one another, they came within inches of the top of my head.  Son-in-Law Denis was witness to some of the antics.  I think I will head out this evening for a time to see if there will be another display. 

When the Kids left this morning, I knew there would be some feelings that emerged.  I don’t like being alone, but I need to become accustomed to it.  It is hard to feel as if it is enough just to be a single someone here.  It is, of course.  There are millions of folks who are single and live alone.  I have a new respect for them.  They have learned how to be secure with who they are.  They have learned to have fulfilling lives without needing someone else to give meaning to their days.  Whatever the future brings, for now, the Call to Live is a call to be alone and still be fully alive.

There has now been time for the full significance of what has happened to sink in.  Another first is coming this weekend.  Son Micah and Daughter-in-Law Becky have birthdays four days apart the first week in September.  Most often we have gotten together to celebrate those birthdays some time on Labor Day weekend, always sharing a Baskin & Robbins Grasshopper Pie (made with Mint Chocolate ice cream). 

Lisa, Denis and the girls are coming in tomorrow.  They will leave Monday morning.  There are tentative plans for all of us to get together on Sunday afternoon to celebrate the birthdays.  It is not a sure thing due to a scheduling conflict. 

The subject of firsts came up at yesterday’s Grief Support Group meeting when a relatively new member of the group asked what others did when the one of the firsts came (in her case it was her husband’s birthday).  The answers varied greatly.   The general wisdom was to spend time with others, but over the years I have heard some say they just wanted to spend the day by themselves. 

It was near the end of that discussion that it dawned on me that this weekend would be one of those firsts.  It certainly would have hit me at some point in the weekend.  The experience of so many who had lost loved ones suggests that there is some sort of mechanism that triggers the release of grief at anniversaries of any sort, especially the first year, but commonly for many years afterward.  There is no knowing, nor does there need to be, the exact process that brings the grief to the surface.  It just happens for most.  Some folks commented that they had become irritable or sad or anxious or temperamental and only afterward realized that an anniversary was approaching.   

While such times can be very unpleasant, they are a part of the healing process.  Trying to ignore them is an exercise in futility.  I have often told people who asked me, to go ahead and send a card or make the phone call or email or do something that lets a friend or family member know that you realize they are going through an anniversary without their Loved One for the first time.  The bad news is that it is not unusual for those feelings to come for many, many years. 

Other than Wednesday, I have walked at Cedarcrest, carrying the backpack, every morning.  Yesterday, Phil provided another series of activities that stretched my limits.  For the first time, I didn’t make it through the second rep of one of the exercises.   It included some major twisting with the medicine ball in hand.  The twinge in a vulnerable spot in my lower back brought that series to a halt.  I did all the rest, and so far there has been no continuing discomfort other than the normal soreness. 

This morning, when I was walking along a section of the path at Cedarcrest, I had one of those revelations of something so obvious it is embarrassing that I could have missed it.  It is remarkable to me how this mind of mine can be so slow sometimes in seeing what would be obvious to anyone else in immediately.  An example:  It was probably eight or nine years into my endless praise of PT’s coffee, when someone mentioned it as if it was obvious (of course it was to everyone but me) that my initials are also PT.  No I am not making that up.  It just never dawned on me before then. 

As I started walking a certain section of Cedarcrest, a section I have been walking almost every day for many weeks, I looked up and it hit me.  I looked down the tree lined lane to see an almost exact replication of the picture at the top of this blog.  I will try to get a picture that I can upload to a subsequent post.  The similarity is uncanny. 

As that revelation settled in, I thought about the picture at the top of this blog.  I did not choose that picture.  When I purchased the new blog site name and paid for WordPress to map it to my account here, that is the picture that just came up when the process was complete.  At one point, I looked at other options in their sample pictures and decided to keep the one with the old man walking down the lane. 

It settled in this morning, that I am an old man who has chosen walking as the way he will respond to the Call to Live, at least for the moment.  I marvel at just how long I can see something and not really see it.  While I don’t look for supernatural signs to make decisions for me, and I recognize that it is easy once a decision is made to look for things that support it, the convergence of images that seem to confirm the direction I have chosen is entertaining and reassuring.  For now, walking it is. 

This evening was a poluck dinner for a Staff person from the church of which I was Pastor for a dozen and a half years.  Young is leaving for a position at a church in Minnesota.  The program was well done and meaningful, hopefully leaving Young with a clear message of love, respect for her accomplishments and well wishes for her as she moves to a new chapter in her life. 

My part was to be one of those who shared a few words, to sing bass in the choir as we sang a benediction to her, and to bring some barbecued pork.  The recipe is simple, but smoking remnants in a hot pan triggered the monitored alarm.  It was again a struggle to get the alarm off, since there were many phone numbers listed to call.  It took a while to get to the right one.  Then, as when this happened before, it was determined that while the horn was blasting there was no signal at the monitoring station.  A very expensive repair person will come out on Tuesday. 

On a positive note, the country style pork ribs cooked for seven hours in KC Masterpiece BBQ sauce must have come out all right.  There were only a few tiny bits of meat left in the sauce when I brought the crockpot home. 

It was a good evening of social contact with people about whom I care.  While there remains an underlying sadness that has come with the realization that another first in a year of firsts is coming, on balance, the last two days have been okay, continuing the path of healing.

The Western Riding lesson is scheduled already for Monday afternoon.  The challenge will be figuring out how to get practice.  The lessons are expensive, so I don’t want to lose what I gain in an hour of training. 

I have paid for six swim lessons at the YMCA.  A teacher is supposed to phone me to schedule them.  Again, I will need to work out time to practice so that I can become proficient enough to feel confident about being in the water.  It has been so long since I ventured into the water that I had to buy swim trunks yesterday. 

My modus operandi after an idea emerges is to evaluate quickly, not think too long about the reasons not to do it, and commit to it in a way that makes it difficult or expensive to give up on it.   There was an interesting article my Son-in-Law Denis sent me on some recent studies and observations about the new frugality that the economy is spawning.  One section of the article reflected some sort of study or analysis that indicated that people were reducing expenditures on things to be possessed, since the good feelings produced didn’t last.   The good feelings wore off when the newness wore off.  Money apparently was better spent on things that had a lasting impact on the quality of life.  The things to which I am now committing seem to have potential for offering long term quality of life benefits.  It seems reasonable to expect physical strengthening and a mental lift (endorphins) from the activities that will result if I follow through on what I am beginning.  They also provide the possibility of increased community interaction, relationship building.  My hope is that all of the things in the plan will help keep life stimulating and energizing, avoiding the urge to go hide in a corner disabled by the loss of Mary Ann and a forty year career. 

Yesterday included my mini-Great Walk down and up the hills at Cedarcrest, carrying the backpack.  There was good workout with Trainer Phil, followed by some time on the treadmill.  It always surprises me how good I feel after such a substantial workout. 

The Grief Support group was, as always, a good experience.  We picked a color from a number of bags of colored sand, with the instruction that we pick one connected in some way with how we were feeling, some aspect of or grief.  Almost to a person, folks picked colors that in their minds expressed hope for the future, finding joy.  The tone of the responses surprised the leader.   There were still some tears as folks shared, but the group seemed very hopeful in the face of their loss. 

Writing last evening’s post brought tears to my eyes.  While I felt deeply the pain of loss, it was not as intense as it has been in earlier weeks.  At least for that time, the pain seemed to be at a level that still allowed me to feel as if I will survive. 

This morning’s Spiritual Formation group continued to reinforce the need to be open to God in every way.   The theme of bringing an authenticity to how we live continued to urge honesty and integrity as we look at ourselves and our relationships with others. 

The day ended with a meal at Carol and Eddie’s.  The purpose of the get together, other than lots of enjoyable conversation and good food (especially the buttered pecan food), was to go over some music for the weekend.  The choir will be singing at the farewell for the Director of Worship Ministry at my former congregation.  I was invited and will join the choir for that event.  I had almost forgotten how much joy it brings me to sing.  It has been twenty-four years since I sang regularly in a choir.  It is good that the music we worked on was easy and familiar.  I have been a tenor for most of my life, but will sing bass on these pieces.  It is hard to imagine that the Call to Live will not at some point spur the response of singing in an ensemble or choir. 

For now, the short term plan for this spring continues to take shape as I seek with a Beginner’s Mind to discern the direction that this new life will be heading.

http://www.auctionzip.com/cgi-bin/photopanel.cgi?listingid=899112&category=0&zip=66208&kwd=

Son Micah had emailed me mentioning that he might head up to that auction.  He invited me along.  It was a great day.  The weather was hot, but breezy – comfortable in the shade. There were dragon flies and swallows and butterflies everywhere.  There were people everywhere also, maybe 250 or so.  The Auctioneers had two rings going (a ring is the circle of folks around an Auctioneer and the items being auctioned).  They were both barking out numbers in rapidfire, punctuated by what sounded like jibberish to the untrained ear.  In fact the sound reminded me of a time a group of us on a retreat happened upon a Pentecostal preacher doing a Baptism in the swimming pool, while speaking in tongues. 

The Auctioneer who sold the Steam Tractor was clearly disappointed that his beginning number of $35,000 diminished to $15,000.  We just wandered through the outbuilding filled with ancient pieces of equipment from printing presses and lead type to table saws.  I overheard an older man telling his adult son how the cream separator he found ran.  I couldn’t keep from starting a conversation with the man who turned out to be 87 years old and very familiar with the workings of the mild separator, as was his wife.  The reason I was able to converse intelligibly with him was that I had heard so many older farm folks talk about separating the cream and making butter and/or taking it into town along with the eggs to sell.  They all talked about how much they hated cleaning the slimy cream separator. 

There was an old Model A Ford that looked like the one my Brother Dave fixed up when I was young.  I remember running into it with my bicycle.  David was not pleased. My bike got the worst of it.  Dave is a dozen years older than I.  There was a 1917 automobile there, an Overland Runabout.  There is a certain atmosphere that I suspect is common to such auctions.   Even on a hot day there were plenty of Bib Overhauls to be seen.   I suppose the best thing about the day was that I got to hang out with my Son for so many hours.  He loves going to auctions and knows his way around them.  I learned lots. 

There was a tent full of antique furniture.  A lot of it looked like just furniture to me.  Since I could now qualify as an antique, it all looks very ordinary — just like some of what I still use at home.  Certainly lots of what I saw matched things with which I had grown up. 

On the trip back and forth, Son Micah and I got to talk more than we have in a long time.  He made a comment that was very revealing about the last years that centered so much on his Mom’s illness.  He said he was hoping to reclaim a relationship with his Dad.  I hadn’t really realized just how much of our focus of attention was on dealing with the challenges created by Mary Ann’s Parkinson’s Disease and later Parkinson’s Disease Dementia.  There wasn’t really room to attend to much else. 

Sometimes, when I am talking about the lack of direction and purpose now that Mary Ann is gone, I don’t affirm that I am still the Father of Lisa and Micah, the Grandfather of Chloe, Abigail and Ashlyn, and Father-in-Law to Becky and Denis.  I am Brother to Dick, Dave, Gayle and Tish — Uncle of many.  I both love and respect Lisa and Micah.  Not only that, but I like them too.  I enjoy spending time with them.  With that said, I cannot live my life through them and their families.  They need to live their lives with meaning and joy and fulfillment.   I need to do the same. 

This morning, I hiked the circuit in the woods carrying the backpack.  Unlike two days ago, I was ready to stop after one circuit.  There was mist hanging in the air everywhere.  Sometimes I could see the bottom as well as the top with clear boundaries, sort of like a diaphanous hovering flying saucer.  There were places it was so thick it seemed dangerous just to be on the road.  At one point when I was walking, I saw a hot air balloon moving quietly along just over the cloud that was lying on the ground.  A couple of times when I looked over from a high enough vantage point, the tops of bushes and trees looked like dark rocks popping out of the white surface of the mist. 

After the hike, I got cleaned up for church and attended a later, Contemporary Service.  Going later allowed me to greet lots of folks whom I miss when I go to the Early Service.  It is comforting to see so many people to whom I feel connected.  The worship Service and message were especially meaningful to me today. 

This afternoon, I did something that was odd for me to do.  When last week’s invitation to lunch had taken me to Wamego to see a refurbished theater from the 1893 worlds fair, a couple of folks mentioned that the silly musical that was running at the theater was very well done.  I went to the Matinee this afternoon.  It was a take-off of the television show called Hee Haw that ran from about 1970-1990.  I didn’t watch the television show, since my taste in music was more on the classical side than country.  I knew enough about it that the format of the Musical was familiar. 

What shocked me about the Musical today was the quality of the singing and the instrumental music.  The comedy was tongue in cheek, with some very entertaining sketches revealing some very talented folks.  There was a trio done by three of the four female singers that was impressive.  The keyboardist came out and sang, as professional sounding as the rest.  The four male singers did solos, three of the four sounding very professional.  When the four sang together they were flawless. 

A couple of the songs were done in a very thoughtful way, and, of course, they were songs about man/woman relationships.  Even in the context of a comedy, they caused a twinge of longing.  The finale with the whole cast singing was a song about love of country and respect for the flag, not only as a symbol of national loyalty, but a call to care for the weakest among us and seek justice for all.  I was jostled for a moment by the movements of the man sitting next to me.  While I sometimes forget how old I am, he seemed to me to be at least a few years older than I.  It was apparent that the movement was caused by crying.  I wondered if he had lost a parent or a child or a sibling or a close friend in a military conflict – if he had seen combat himself.  I have no way of knowing, but it was clear how deeply he was touched by the music and its message. 

A former parishioner was also at the musical today.  Her husband has Alzheimer’s and is now in residential care.  It was good to talk with her a bit.  We have covered some common ground in our journeys. 

The day ended with a quick trip to KC (opposite direction from Wamego) to snack on some ribs Micah had smoked today.  I have my priorities clear.  The bonus was that I got to bring home an entire rack of ribs.  I had some more for dessert when I got home. 

This weekend provided some good experiences, especially the time with Micah.  It felt good to stay on course with the backpacking this morning.  The worship time helped reinforce the support of that community and the ultimate Source of strength.  There is no way of knowing what tomorrow will bring.  Yesterday and today, the Call to Live was a little clearer and it seemed to shape the days.

It is a man remembering the happy and the sad times.  I just happened upon it when I was looking for some music for a recent post.  Of course, what struck me most powerfully was the remembering of his wife after her death.  When she appeared, expressed the love between them and disappeared, it was almost more than I could handle.  Then as the image settled in my mind/heart, it struck me that while Mary Ann is no longer here, she is hardly gone.  I am not referring to the confidence that she is with the Lord.  That is settled.  She is secure.  She is not here physically.  After 48 years of being connected to one another, we became a part of each other.  As that image of his wife on the piano bench next to him disappeared, in my mind/heart, she became a part of him. 

What I mean by that is not something supernatural or paranormal or mystical.  Mary Ann has become a part of who I am because of all the time we were together, all the things we did together, the love that we shared.  Her presence in my life has helped shape whom I have become.  For some reason that thought helps free me to go on and live life fully without feeling as if I am losing her completely by doing so. 

I resonated to the old man’s memories of troubled times folding into whom he has become.  It was especially meaningful to see the little boy/young man of his youth come to be present with him again.   I am feeling so much like a fledgling spreading his wings for the first time as the adventurous little boy in me stirs a bit.  What is it they say about the old among us living a second childhood? 

Yesterday, I had a special treat.  Jon emailed to say the he and Laura are in town and wondered about our checking out PT’s some time.  We hung out together for almost three hours.  It seems a little odd to have “hung out” with a couple of people who are so young, Jon is a couple of years out and Laura is heading into her last year of college.  Jon has been one of my favorite young folks.  He single-handedly broke all my judgments and prejudices when seeing someone with bizarre colored hair, cut and combed in strange ways, colorfully painted fingernails and pieces of metal in all sorts of places on his face where metal doesn’t belong.  He is one of the best kids I know in every respect.  Laura has now also become one of my favorite young people.  She has a wonderful vibrance and youthful energy.  She is enthusiastic and vivacious, as well as being very talented and intelligent.  They both are people of great character and integrity with their priorities straight.  It was fun to listen as they also have lots unanswered questions about how their lives will unfold in the next few years. 

The Support Group was again helpful.  We talked about how different we were in what we kept the same or what we changed after our Loved Ones died.  Some have kept clothes, some went through them right away.  Some changed the house around, others have kept everything in the same place.  There were tears that flowed for some, as well as moments of laughter.  Later in the day, I spilled some water on the kitchen floor.  I went to the panty to get some rags to clean it up.  As I was doing it, I realized that they were the T-shirts that we had cut up the back so that we could get them on Mary Ann when it hurt her too much to move her in those last few days.  It was tough to handle the images that came to mind. 

I am pretty sore today from the lunges while holding a medicine ball done yesterday morning.  Phil is getting meaner!  I almost didn’t make the return trip to the spot from which I started.  I noticed a difference today when I got the 50lb. bag of sunflower seed for the birds.  It seemed much easier to handle.  This exercise program may actually be working.  I have kept walking each day, outside early and in the Mall later in the day. 

I stopped at the Southwind Gallery today and found out more about the Art Community here in town.  I continue to be intrigued by what I see when I visit the galleries. 

A number of us got to see Glenn get a national award for his leadership in Scouting.   He has been a mainstay for many decades in that program, conferring the Rank of Eagle Scout on more than 400 boys in his lifetime.  He and Margaret have been members of the congregation since its beginning. 

I am continuing to use Sparkpeople.com to help with the weight reduction issue.  I was pleased to discover that that site is recommended by the folks at Rebound, where I am doing my current exercise program.  I got a tape measure today so that I can record the shrinking of my belly (we’ll see). 

There was another treat today.  A storm came through this evening (finally some rain and some cooling).  Afterward, I drove to that favorite spot on a hill.  The sun was blindingly bright near the horizon.  The opposite side of the sky was almost black.  There was a clear rainbow with a faint second rainbow above it.   There were silvery Mamata clouds on the sunny side of the sky, above the setting sun.  The dark side was constantly sparking with cloud to cloud and cloud to ground lightning.  Much of the lighting would come in the form of fingers of streaks spreading out from one wrist.  It was as if a spider who had too much caffeine was creating webs of light.  At one point there were patches of clouds that seemed to be on fire.  It was one of those scenes that had be appreciated in person.  I did take some pictures with my cell phone, but I am technologically challenged enough to have no idea how to go back and look at the pictures, let alone get them from the camera to the computer and uploaded to the Blog or Facebook.  At one point while I was standing outside the car looking at the sky, the train whistle blew on the train moving along the tracks by the river not too far away.  I became aware of the variety of sounds converging on that moment.  There were the loud Cicadas buzzing, the sound of the wind blowing in the trees, the sound of traffic on the nearby Interstate, the almost constant rumbling of the thunder, along with the sound of the train whisle.  

On balance, it has been a reasonably good couple of days. 

I took the Passport Application to the Post Office and paid the money for it today.  I struggled a bit to get myself to do it.  Apparently, I am serious about going on this trip.  It was a more significant moment than I had anticipated.  I guess it is currently taking five or six weeks to process the applications at the moment.  It continues to be a wonder to me that the Call to Live is tugging me in this direction.  Who knows what will come of it.

We talked about new beginnings in our Spiritual Formation Group this morning.  One of the readings used the chirpings of the birds at first light as a metaphor for starting with the simple act of waking up to discover who we are.  Merton writes: “They manifest themselves as birds, beginning to sing.  Presently they will be fully themselves, and will even fly.”  The dawn of a new day, wherever we are, whatever lies before us, calls us to start again and live. 

Yesterday my day began with the morning walk followed by a session with Phil, who again stretched my limits with barbells in my hands and a blue band around my ankles (not at the same time).  The aching muscles have begun to quiet.  (Don’t tell Phil or he will work me harder.)  The pedometer reached a new height – 15,449 steps. 

I received a check for a few dollars in the mail from some fund settlement that remains a mystery.  It was made out to Mary Ann and me.  I was instructed to sign my name and then sign hers followed by the word “deceased.”  Do I even need to tell you how that felt?

Later that afternoon, the Grief Support Group talked about different kinds of pain and the differences in how we feel the pain.  We had different ways of describing the pain from a dull aching to an intense, sharper pain.  Most of us have had the sudden impact, intense pain that comes with some triggering sight or sound or thought, as well as the dull ache that just sits there.  Those who have had a couple of years or more still have access to the pain, just not as frequently or as long in duration. 

In an interaction with someone who went through at least as painful a loss as have I, we discovered that we responded very differently in the first weeks.  The nature of his loss was so intense, that he needed time not to have to confront others trying to console him.  The efforts to console brought the pain back to the surface with too much power.  I, on the other hand, need to talk out loud about the pain.   Somehow the words seem to have the power to diminish the intensity for me.  In that conversation and in the Support Group, it was clear that everyone’s grieving process is unique to that person.  There are no one size fits all templates for grieving.

After the Spiritual Formation Group this morning, the house got its monthly once over by Kristie.  There is something refreshing and renewing about that.  There were a couple of moments today, each only seconds long, when I caught a glimpse of feeling at home as an individual rather than someone missing half of himself. 

Then there was an unexpected bill that brought back the very last day.  When the Bath Aide was there, we thought we had lost Mary Ann.  Mary Ann returned, but only for a very few hours.  Remembering that day is still intolerable to me.  I suspect that will be so for years to come — maybe as long as I live. 

As to preparations for the dream on its way to becoming a reality, the Passport photos are now taken, the birth certificate is out of the Lock Box at the bank.  I have ordered three more certified copies from Kane County, Illinois, where I was born.  Since I have to hand over my only certified copy along with the Passport Application, I do not want to be without one.  

There is another preparation that I am finally giving some attention.  After reading an article about the success of folks who use online programs for weight reduction and, more importantly, maintaining a healthy weight, I logged on to Sparkpeople.com, a free site recommended in the article (there were a number of recommendations).  I have now counted calories and logged them.  So far the site seems to be very user friendly.  It remains to be seen if this approach will be able to deal with my hopeless lack of will power in the area of food consumption.  Handily, I had cooked large quantities of veggies from the Farmer’s Market last evening.  I give this three days! 

There is a song called “This is the New Day.”  I particularly like the version sung by the King Singers.  I have heard them sing it live in concert, as well as on a CD I own.  Whatever the intention of the composer, the song speaks to the core of my being, rooted in my understanding of the Call to Live from the One who gives me each new day. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TH2W7tSGuT0

What I thought I knew has pretty much dissipated with the end of the career in the institutional church, my Children growing up and having lives of their own, and the departure of Mary Ann.  The new landscape of my life is forcing a focused look at whom I have been made to be, outside of my reaction to the needs of others. 

There is a new flavor to relationships with others now that I no longer come packaged in a role.  In some ways there is a new sense of wonder, like a child first discovering the simplest of things in a world new to him/her.  I visited two more art galleries yesterday, eyes open wide.  I had a refreshing conversation with Liz, while also being refreshed by a Turtle Sundae at G’s.  That conversation included mention of an “Impossible Dream” that is continuing to tug at me.  

One of the art galleries was the Sabatini Gallery at the Library.  The Public Library here is a marvel.  It is the place to be — people everywhere.  I rediscovered the music CD and books on CD sections.  Last evening, I listened to music, able to be thrilled by it without the gut pain being stirred by the beauty of the music.  The most moving piece was Ralph Vaughn Williams’ Mass in B Minor by the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra and Chamber Chorus.   It was good be able to listen to music again. 

After walking at Cedarcrest this morning, I went right to Rebound to walk on the treadmill some more and spend an hour being worked hard by Trainer Phil.  I have asked him about the possibility of constructing a program that might prepare me for the Impossible Dream.  Should that dream become a reality, it would simply give me a short term goal while the self-discovery and seeking clarity of purpose continues. 

One of the books on CD that I got from the Library is Stephen Hawking’s The Universe in a Nutshell.  I listened to it in the car as I drove all day today.  I was in way over my head, but I tracked bits and pieces of what he said.  He is a Physicist who functions at a level far beyond the reach of most, including me.  He talked about Einstein’s theories and their impact today, quantum mechanics, singularities, the relationship of time and space and the curvature of time/space that we refer to as gravity.  Are you lost yet?  I am.  The focus of the book was the nature of time.  He sometimes flirted with the place of God in such a picture of reality.  Everything he said (that I understood) simply increased my awe at the One from Whom it has all come to be. 

The Call to Live is beckoning me to new places of discovery and back to old places too long neglected. Tonight I am staying in Franklin, Indiana, a place completely unknown to me before tonight. There is a striking old courthouse and many gracious brick homes, picturesque streets and most importantly, a little frozen custard place with a decent turtle sundae, one of those places with only outdoor seating and lots of local folks out for a family treat. 

As the late afternoon/evening wore on, thoughts of Mary Ann settled in.  The video ran of her last weeks.  Memories of soft kisses while standing in front of the fridge only weeks ago came to mind, memories that brought with them the aching that comes with longing for her.  The grieving and the healing are folded together.   For now, The Call to Live is a call to both.