So many months have slipped by trailing so much news. For a writer, it seems that each day was crammed with so many storylines. Spoilt for choice, too lethargic to make a decision on the theme for the day, months slipped by.  There were so many stories in my head.

My house search all year was such hard work emotionally as well as physically taking up all my free time.  Each new listing raised expectations but the fall-out from frustrated hopes made it harder to keep the sense of adventure and hope.  Eventually I found the house of my dreams .I invested much time in shopping for the new place. I felt that after a year of being without my own home, I could be rooted again.  Two weeks before moving in, my second expert advised against it.  Despite the cost, I felt that the only prudent action was to withdraw but I’ve left a bit of my heart on the hill side.

Somehow, I made room for the extra stuff I had bought in preparation for the move and unpacked my crockery that was in packing cases for over seven years.  I know that when I do find a house, I can never pack it all up as the professional packers who transported it so safely across the seas. Yet the convenience of having it all packed up could not compare to the comfort of having it displayed now. I changed the dominant color of my furnishings to red and lifted my mood with a spirit of thankfulness. I have shelter and space. Life is good.

The process of becoming a citizen ended in a somber ceremony in the Federal courthouse. Ladies from Charleston provided refreshment and civic groups very thoughtfully provided us with the US flag, a description of how it should be used, the pledge, a summary of the amendments. There was also a letter from the President. Of course, my fellow citizens and I had passed the Civic test but to be given these in such an accessible way was truly thoughtful. The guest speaker’s passion made me tearful. True, I had not come on a dangerous journey to escape persecution or for religious or economic freedom.  I love the country of my nationality, its culture, its institutions, its health service and its peoples. So why leave?  Because home is where the heart is. For me it became unsustainable to live so far away from those I truly love.

I had agonized over the oath of allegiance. To me, it is not a form of words but a God-given pledge to be loyal to the flag above all else.  I played with different scenarios when I might have to choose. Yet my choice will never be in doubt because as painful as it might be my availability to family remains my greatest motivation. After all love of family, love of country is fundamental values. We are expected to treat foreigners well but there is also a divine directive for the alien to pray for the welfare of his “city”. God bless our state. God bless every state of our precious Union.

 So many months have slipped by trailing so much news. For a writer, it seems that each day was crammed with so many storylines. Spoilt for choice, too lethargic to make a decision on the theme for the day, months slipped by.  There were so many stories in my head.

My house search all year was such hard work emotionally as well as physically taking up all my free time.  Each new listing raised expectations but the fall-out from frustrated hopes made it harder to keep the sense of adventure and hope.  Eventually I found the house of my dreams .I invested much time in shopping for the new place. I felt that after a year of being without my own home, I could be rooted again.  Two weeks before moving in, my second expert advised against it.  Despite the cost, I felt that the only prudent action was to withdraw but I’ve left a bit of my heart on the hill side.

Somehow, I made room for the extra stuff I had bought in preparation for the move and unpacked my crockery that was in packing cases for over seven years.  I know that when I do find a house, I can never pack it all up as the professional packers who transported it so safely across the seas. Yet the convenience of having it all packed up could not compare to the comfort of having it displayed now. I changed the dominant color of my furnishings to red and lifted my mood with a spirit of thankfulness. I have shelter and space. Life is good.

The process of becoming a citizen ended in a somber ceremony in the Federal courthouse. Ladies from Charleston provided refreshment and civic groups very thoughtfully provided us with the US flag, a description of how it should be used, the pledge, a summary of the amendments. There was also a letter from the President. Of course, my fellow citizens and I had passed the Civic test but to be given these in such an accessible way was truly thoughtful. The guest speaker’s passion made me tearful. True, I had not come on a dangerous journey to escape persecution or for religious or economic freedom.  I love the country of my nationality, its culture, its institutions, its health service and its peoples. So why leave?  Because home is where the heart is. For me it became unsustainable to live so far away from those I truly love.

I had agonized over the oath of allegiance. To me, it is not a form of words but a God-given pledge to be loyal to the flag above all else.  I played with different scenarios when I might have to choose. Yet my choice will never be in doubt because as painful as it might be my availability to family remains my greatest motivation. After all love of family, love of country is fundamental values. We are expected to treat foreigners well but there is also a divine directive for the alien to pray for the welfare of his “city”. God bless our state. God bless every state of our precious Union.

 So many months have slipped by trailing so much news. For a writer, it seems that each day was crammed with so many storylines. Spoilt for choice, too lethargic to make a decision on the theme for the day, months slipped by.  There were so many stories in my head.

My house search all year was such hard work emotionally as well as physically taking up all my free time.  Each new listing raised expectations but the fall-out from frustrated hopes made it harder to keep the sense of adventure and hope.  Eventually I found the house of my dreams .I invested much time in shopping for the new place. I felt that after a year of being without my own home, I could be rooted again.  Two weeks before moving in, my second expert advised against it.  Despite the cost, I felt that the only prudent action was to withdraw but I’ve left a bit of my heart on the hill side.

Somehow, I made room for the extra stuff I had bought in preparation for the move and unpacked my crockery that was in packing cases for over seven years.  I know that when I do find a house, I can never pack it all up as the professional packers who transported it so safely across the seas. Yet the convenience of having it all packed up could not compare to the comfort of having it displayed now. I changed the dominant color of my furnishings to red and lifted my mood with a spirit of thankfulness. I have shelter and space. Life is good.

The process of becoming a citizen ended in a somber ceremony in the Federal courthouse. Ladies from Charleston provided refreshment and civic groups very thoughtfully provided us with the US flag, a description of how it should be used, the pledge, a summary of the amendments. There was also a letter from the President. Of course, my fellow citizens and I had passed the Civic test but to be given these in such an accessible way was truly thoughtful. The guest speaker’s passion made me tearful. True, I had not come on a dangerous journey to escape persecution or for religious or economic freedom.  I love the country of my nationality, its culture, its institutions, its health service and its peoples. So why leave?  Because home is where the heart is. For me it became unsustainable to live so far away from those I truly love.

I had agonized over the oath of allegiance. To me, it is not a form of words but a God-given pledge to be loyal to the flag above all else.  I played with different scenarios when I might have to choose. Yet my choice will never be in doubt because as painful as it might be my availability to family remains my greatest motivation. After all love of family, love of country is fundamental values. We are expected to treat foreigners well but there is also a divine directive for the alien to pray for the welfare of his “city”. God bless our state. God bless every state of our precious Union.

Defining Minutes

A minute can make such a difference. We can miss a flight, have an accident, break a leg, have a diagnosis that changes our life forever. After two months, I’m adjusting to such a defining minute that haschanged the trajectory of my five year plan. Now, the future is laden with possibilities and ripe with choice. After my early morning dash to the hospital fearing the worst, I feel that I’ve been incredibly blessed to have emerged without serious complications or disability. It is a gift from God and I’m truly grateful. When folks close to my heart are living with hope while watching the shadows of death, I feel an urgency to redeem the precious gift of time. Some people are so highly organized that listening to the details of their day makes me breathless and envious. However, I want to spend time meaningfully whether at play or at work. As I prepare for the last decade of work, it is imperative that time is prioritized as there are many diversions. Some, I intend to enjoy to brighten the journey but I can so easily get distracted from my primary goals. For me, getting ready for heaven does not mean winding down on earth. Living life fully is part of the preparation of the journey. The only certainty that humans have is that life will end eventually. Although, all ages die; statistically, those over sixty are closer to life’s end than those in their thirties. So at this stage, it is helpful to be dealing with greater certainty. Someone gave me estimates for wooden and aluminum steps. I wanted a structure that was maintenance free. As I was about to choose the aluminum one, I was told that the wooden step would last thirty years. Both the salesman and I laughed as we realized it’s hardly likely that I’ll be around. I think that I’ve bought the last piece of Royal Grafton china. It is beautiful but I’m undecided. Do the years of enjoyment merit the investment? After all, my family may not care for it. My Cuisinart food processor should outlive me but I enjoy kitchen gadgets so will replace whatever happens, I can see much clearer as the years have past. Distant peaks of the final mountain range can be glimpsed as time has provided me with “eterno-focal” lenses through which to view the world. Through these lenses, I can forgive human frailties, recognizing the human desire for self-preservation. Maya Angelou identified courage as the most important attribute. Recent events have convinced me that her choice reflected her wisdom. Without courage, we cannot be loyal to our convictions, our values or our friends. Without courage, we cannot seize the opportunities we are offered or anticipate and enjoy the closing decades of our lives. I plan to enjoy this journey and to learn even more along the way.

Conditional Love?

February 22nd is Ash Wednesday, 2012, the start of Lent which would culminate in the beautiful ritual of Easter amidst the fragrant lilies and vibrant spring flowers competing for attention as winter slowly retreats. I’ve enjoyed this winter. It has been thoughtful never snowing me in. My car has always started and my plans have not been frustrated by icy conditions or poor visibility. Today, I’m not wearied by the season, however long it lasts, longer, brighter days beckon.

I feel that this unusually mild winter is God’s gift to me this year.
Valentine ‘s Day celebrations still reverberate. We think of love, past and present. Whatever our status, we hope to be loved in the future for to be loved by parent, sibling, friend or lover is to have a life immeasurably rich.

I couldn’t help but remember the Bodyguard, and the poignancy of the promise as Whitney vowed “Ill always love you” That refrain is echoed in many hearts as distance and circumstances dictate that mere loving is not enough. The heart loves, the mind rules. Yes loving is a great start but we need so much more like common values, shared beliefs or equal commitment.

In the wake of Whitney’s death, this song is a constant refrain in my mind. The beautiful lyrics haunt. I loved Whitney. I’ll always love her voice but one day I may forget. Yet, I know that even if I do, the Christ who died because He loved me will continue to do so, no matter what.. From His resurrection on that spring morning He has controlled time. He has promised to be with me always, to life’s very end.
Now that is a promise, a divine contract and I know whatever the circumstance “He will always love me.’

Holiday Clips

The year is a month old. It has been a fabulous winter unless you are addicted to snow. Festivities of Christmas and New Year have long been added to our memory bank. There were many memorable moments clamoring to be captured in print. Tiredness provided a constant excuse for neglecting to journal. Now, my need to write has overcome my ambivalence about what to write about. So I’ll start with Christmas. My cousin spent Christmas with her sister in Illinois with my family, We last met more than forty years ago. The girl has morphed into a confident, vivacious grandmother. I was really surprised when my cousins’ picture of my mother was so fun-loving, funny, teasing and playful. Her eyes lit up as they recalled their stories of her so I think that mom missed that part of herself too. Children sometimes forget that their parents play other roles, showing different parts of themselves to others. My father’s absence (his second christmas away) was not paralyzing. No one cried but there was no forced hilarity either. We found happiness in being together creating new rituals in the process
On New Year’s Day, my brothers, except Wilt in Atlanta, and their spouses came to dinner in West Virginia. We had a long very pleasant evening with digestible food and great company.
On Saturday, January 28th, I returned to Illinois with my brother Emanuel, who was so very ill last year, for our father’s memorial service two days before his ninety fifth birthday. It was Emanuel’s longest ride and he drove for almost four hours of the journey. God protected us and kept us safe through the detours in heavy rain to mom’s house in Illinois. I am in awe of my sister, Esther who cares for my mother. The youngest of nine, and daddy’s princess, she is indeed living up to her name. Although sick, she remains patient and uncomplaining as she runs the home and organizes mom’s care. To welcome us, she managed to find time and energy to create a feast.

On Sunday, after the main service, we lunched with my oldest sister, Verna before the cemetery visit. As if on cue, the preachers amongst us started “in the sweet Bye and Bye”. I wished they hadn’t. However, I had my own special tribute as I poured on dad’s grave the rosemary leaves taken from my herb pot in remembrance. The service that followed was very evocative of his life. As the little church filled up, with folk who knew him, I thought what a life, what a legacy to leave something positive of yourself in the hearts of people. I have been so blessed with two unselfish and warm parents. They loved people and tried to help. These were the witnesses that they were there for the dispossessed and the marginalized. My ailing mother who rarely speaks enjoyed the service too. Despite the effort she insisted on standing with the congregation and there were many such moments. Later, at Ruth’s house where we were having dinner, we asked about the service. She said that she enjoyed the singing but insisted that she enjoyed the sermon best. Of course, the preacher was her son and despite her eighty seven years, he still had her support.

Thousands of miles away, across the sea, Dad’s forbears lay buried. He sleeps alone for now in a quiet corner of St Joseph’s garden: yet in a foreign land, he made a difference and the world is better and smaller because of him.

Junctions in the Journey

Over the last six weeks, my mind chased countless stories like a greedy child bewildered by many choices. I know that some stories would remain to warm my heart for some time yet. The glow of Thanksgiving cheer lingers amidst the hustle of Christmas preparations. The shock of seeing my mother looking aged has left me with a hunger for more visits with her. I watched my youngest sister, Esther, as she cared for Mom with tenderness, kindness and firm encouragement underlined by a passionate love and commitment. I worry about my sister exchanging her career to join so many millions of middle-aged women in care-giving but she has applied the same attention to detail in her new role and ensures that my mother’s physical, environmental, social and emotional needs are addressed. I am in awe of her quick grasp of all the issues of elderly care as it relates to mom and her approach to problem solving. As I visited, I realized that the family baby so sheltered and cushioned has been transformed into a skilful, unselfish and confident carer.

My mother stays in the kitchen when we cook or hangs out in the living room and when she goes to bed, she watches television with company. Sometimes, she will straighten a table-cloth or a cushion. She may even take a glass to the kitchen. Although she hardly speaks, she remains the center of life at home. As I fumble to find meaningful words to thank Esther, I could not help wishing that all the elderly folk could enjoy the care my mother enjoys in her own home around the familiar if only for this Season. That I have peace despite my mom’s obvious failing is largely due to Esther, lovingly supported by my two other sisters as well as a pair of helpers.

Last Saturday, while celebrating a couple’s 50th anniversary, I could not shake off the memories of my mom's 50th anniversary celebration. The joy of this occasion evoked vivid memories of another time when my parents were vibrant and death was in a far off country. We were all so young in mind and body. It was for my family a defining moment. I still have my bridesmaid dress and remembered the helium balloons floating skywards, their golden ribbons reluctant trailers. I remembered the cars honking through the streets. I remembered and in the midst of so much joy, cried; knowing things will never be the same. Dad, so handsome on that day is dead| As I chatted with the youngest daughter, I encouraged her to make the most of every minute, savor it and hold on to the joy. It is such a precious celebration in an age when long marriages cannot be taken for granted.

I am still house hunting and am about to make an offer but have an open mind. While I will never have a 50th anniversary, I want to live with passionate enjoyment and I’m looking at a place that frees me up to do that: minimum house-keeping, affordable rates and utilities. I’m from the “life is too short to stuff a mushroom” school and I want to make time to smell the roses for ever. Buying a house in late life can raise all sorts of existential questions e.g what is my real purpose in living? How do I want to spend the rest of my life? It’s even a value thing? What type of neighborhood to choose and what does it say about me? Well, you get the drift. So prayers are needed for patience and strength. Waking up at 4.30am to talk to British officialdom before their lunch requires lots of both. Hopefully, a few more calls should do it.

Truths color Lives

Modernism worshipped at the altar of science. Long held beliefs were discarded like soiled clothes as emerging facts revealed their nakedness of truth. But after a while, the pendulum swung again as we realized that even science can have a bias or an agenda. Then on the heels of swinging sixties, constructionists ushered in the postmodern age where plurality of truths was enthroned. This is in contrast to the ancient Greeks who supported different truths in relationship to each other. Today, everyone, everything has its own truth and societal norms struggle to keep up. These new truths that color our landscape do not necessarily discolor the picture of our moral certitudes. Indeed, they often illuminate some dark corners. However, landscapes devoid of all markers are like empty deserts and we risk the dangers of being lost in their tractless lands.

Today, I found myself confronted by the pain of two teenagers whose romantic life is marred by violence, disrespect and legal sanctions. I couldn’t help thinking that I was not dating at their age although I was curious about love and relationships. I day-dreamed a lot hoping that Prince Charming would ride by. Of course, there were always admirers and they gave me chocolates and candy but I was not dating and it would not have crossed my mind to live with any one of them. So I ended my teen age years leading a group of young people in their activities, planning parties, going to the theatre and always listening to older folk telling their stories. I also found lots of stories from books and I developed my passion for politics and mythology. I played pranks, kept my curfew for the most part and found a job. I emerged from the teen years with lots of growing-up to do; I'm still working on growing. However, the memories of those years bring a smile as I remain grateful for the choices I made.

Decades later, I think of these teens already weighed down with baggage I'll find intolerable. Try as I can to empathize, I cannot really understand why one should trade this special chapter of life for the derailment of broken hopes and broken bones, housewifery over the excitement of candle-lit suppers, television instead of visiting clubs or restaurants. I longed to say: You are on the brink of living. There will be periods to stay by the fire but now is the time to explore new places, things, ideas and people. Yet that would be my truth. Even after a life-time of being single, I have no regrets for my choices. Although I wished a few outcomes were different, I’m glad that I did not collect the experiences that they are enduring.

Nevertheless, these young folk have their truth and when I look in their faces and hear the excuses and protests, I feel disempowered. Society no longer helps by proclaiming its truth so each must find her own. There are no "Driver under Instruction" stickers for living life.