Saying Goodbye to 2020

Saying good-bye to 2020 seems like an easy thing to do.  So much has been lost.  But as I pause to reflect there has also been many gifts.

While I have missed my family of children and grandchildren to the point of physical pain, I have also learned how deeply important each of them is to me.  They are my life.  I look forward to the day when not only we can be together again - something I took for granted - but for the day that I will live in their midst again.  No one can say what that will look like today but I know that it will happen again.  A year ago, I might have thought that I would stay in Florida until my kids had to move me out but now my heart begs to be with them again in the everyday of life.  I miss being a part of the ordinary - the walks to schools, the "let's get coffee,"  the stop by to visit that is simply impossible now.  I miss being with, being together, being part of a bigger thing. 

The gift of being with my parents in 2020 has been like nothing I could have imagined.  I learned to protect myself for their sake.  I gave up what I knew to be my life in order to be assured that I had kept them safe from the Corona virus.  The sacrifice of me as their child has not been unlike the sacrifices I made for my own children.  The child has now become the caretaker. 

I have missed church and being in community with other believers.  I joined the church in January and the last service I attended was in March.  Here it is 9 months later.  Church has become a spectator sport on a video screen.  This is a dichotomy for me because I have certainly learned to lived without it and go on.  There are so many options on-line that have kept my spiritual live growing deeper and deeper.  I'm not sure what this means going forward.  Maybe it's not church but the gathering.

Gathering has been the word for this year.  It is what I have missed the most.  Gathering for holidays and celebrations, gathering for meetings, gathering for church.  The inability to come together has been the missing piece, the piece I don't want to go on without.  I am not a people person but I am a person person.  I want to be together with my someone, look him/her in the eye and talk and share.  It is what grounds me, what makes me remember the important stuff, the stuff that I am about.

So as I look toward 2021, I look forward to being together again.  Eye contact.  Touching.  Holding.  Hugging.  I will be patient.  I will wait.  And when it is safe, I will drive, I will fly, I will gather.  

Memories of Thanksgiving: A Note to My Children

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday and by always, I mean my entire lifetime. I don’t remember a year when I didn’t look forward to the fourth Thursday of November. Now as I look back through the Thanksgivings of my life, they unroll like a beautiful scroll before me. Beginning in Iowa, the child that was me is wide eyed and mesmerized by the sights and smells of my Grandma’s little kitchen. I am surrounded by the embodiment of love and family and all that is good. Growing up, Thanksgiving took on more and more importance; I looked forward to it more than Christmas or my birthday. It was a holiday that filled all of my senses and never ever disappointed me. Once I was married, I kept trying to recreate that bigger than life event for the two of you but never quite fulfilled the goal.  But today, as I look back, and think about the happiness that surrounds this day, the vision that lingers for me is in my kitchen on College Ave. the year I insisted that we were not going to the Ryans; we would stay home for Thanksgiving.  This was a meal that I couldn’t wait to cook for my family.  It was two days of preparations - tart cranberry sauce the way Dave like it, Grandma’s sage stuffing, and pumpkin pie on Wednesday and all the rest on Thursday morning - turkey in the oven by 6 AM, vegetable sides - yams, green beans, and mashed potatoes - finishing up with gravy in that giant black polkadot roasting pan.  But this memory is not so much about the food as it is what’s going on in the background.  My two kids running around the house playing and laughing and reminding me of what is important.  It is deep abiding love.  It is family.  It is being together.  

Through the years, Thanksgiving has become less about the food and more about the thanks.  I have come to understand and appreciate the importance of taking a day for a  long pause to reflect on all that has been given and to be deeply grateful.  Today as I take that pause for gratitude, there is no doubt that my greatest gift has been the two of you.  Because of you, I have learned a love that leaves one searching and lacking the words to say all that is in your heart.  Because of you I understand the true meaning of giving and receiving love.  Because of you I know the value of time well spent in the presence of those we cherish.  This, above all, is something that I will never take for granted.  This year, my heart aches to touch and hold and hug you; those long and deep hugs that go on and on because you just can’t let go. In your place, I can only replay the Thanksgivings that we  have shared together through the years; the Thanksgivings with Grandma and Grandpa Ryan, the Thanksgivings that became Maria’s birthday parties, and even the Thanksgiving that we shared on the floor of the duplex on Highland Ave with food from The Good Earth. You see, no matter where we have been, it’s always been about the gathering, the bringing together of people who love each other. And there is no one I love and cherish more than the two of you.  

Love,

Mom

Giving Thanks

Dear Mom and Dad,

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday and by always, I mean my entire lifetime.  I don’t remember a year when I didn’t look forward to the fourth Thursday of November.  To me, it was what it meant to be an Allen, a Christian, a good person.  It was one day set aside to say thank you, to pause and just recognize all that we have been given.  This year, as I take that pause, my mind is on you, my parents, and this gift that we have been given, this gift of being together.

We have been given the gift of time.  Time to be able to enjoy one another’s company; time to get to know each other, once and for all; time to laugh and cry together.

We have been given the gift of support.  You have helped me financially, physically, and academically.  With your assistance I have bought 2 houses, I have removed citrus trees, and built a sunset patio.  There isn’t a time when I see you that I don’t learn something new.  It might be a new recipe, a Florida plant, or the many purposes of a good set of pliers.  

We have been given the gift of understanding.  Conversations around the table have led me to a deeper level of comprehending your life together - your life as a young couple, as parents, and through the years to your 71st year as husband and wife.    Through many of these conversations I have learned that our views of the world are not that different.  We all believe in the importance of doing what’s right, working hard, and helping one another.

Each of these gift is priceless.  But the greatest gift of this year, greater than all of these, has been the opportunity of giving back.  An adult child’s greatest reward is being given the opportunity to help his or her parents.  And that is exactly where I have found myself this year.  The gift of life that you gave to me 66 years ago, complete with food, diapers, loving lectures, and wings to fly cannot be repaid.  But a few months ago, I was presented with the chance to put a couple dings in that debt.  There are no words that can explain how honored I have been to give back to you all that was freely given to me.  It may have been driving to Publix or the doctor, pulling weeds or mulching, making the bed or helping with the dishes; but it all mattered.  It was all the embodiment of love, it was and is saying thank you Mom and Dad; thank you for all that you gave to me.  May these few gifts of repayment say to you everything my words cannot.  Thank you.  I love you.  

My Dad

Don Allen was my dad.  No one could look at the two of us together and not see the

resemblance.  I have his nose and probably his stubborn streak as well.  But he was

also one of my most important mentors. I looked up to him from my earliest days

and never stopped.  Now, as I remember his life, I am deeply aware of the indelible

gifts that he has left with me.  

First and above all else, he taught me to take pride in everything you do.  I tried

hard to make him proud.  Anyone who knew him, knows what a difficult goal that was. 

He pushed me to be the best I could be in all aspects of my life and was never afraid

to let me know when I had missed the mark.  So as the third child when my turn came

to leave the nest, I knew that somehow I had to get my college degree.  There would be

no plausible explanation for failing.  HIs happiness at my graduation made it worth all of

the work and time. He was never one for many words of pride in his children but as he got older, they came more freely. So on round two, when I returned to school to get my master’s degree, he was once again sitting in the audience as my biggest cheerleader.

One of the simplest things he taught me was, be responsible.  When you got in trouble with Dad, it was never a good idea to try to cover it up or lie about it.  If he caught you in a lie, the punishment just went from 0 to 60.  This I know from years of experience.  He taught me that an Allen’s word was your bond so if you said something, you had better be ready to stand behind it.  It was a lesson that has guided my life in innumerable ways. 

Dad also left me with the gift or curse of perfectionism and an eye for symmetry.  No one ever enjoyed being a part of any of his projects that involved placement or centering.  He may need a measuring tape and level but you can be darn sure that when he was done, it would be perfectly positioned.  He had the incredible knack of being able to look at a task and know immediately how to go about completing it.  Had he been born at another time, he would surely have been an engineer.  
Patience however, was not his forte, so when working as his assistant you had to pick up on things quickly.  His expectations were high so I learned fast that I had better figure out how to anticipate what was coming next.  If not, you can be sure that his volume would be going up and the criticism would be harsh.  One of my favorite memories of my dad was when we had planned on putting in a deck at my house and I finally had the courage to tell him that I could only help him if he promised not to call me names. He agreed to my conditions and remained good to his word.

   
My dad also had many strengths of which I never acquired.  He had a great memory and as a result was a good storyteller.  Even if you had just met him, he had a story to tell you.  Work was his purpose in life.  He never enjoyed puzzles or games but if something needed to get done, he was your guy.  His goals were always clear.  If he set out to do something, you can be sure that it was going to happen one way or the other.  There was no obstacle big enough to keep him from achieving it.  He lived life on his own terms.  As a contractor in Iowa, he worked through frigid cold winters and horribly hot summers.  So the move to Florida in 1973 made it possible to work and earn a living in much more pleasant conditions.  With the help of a few contacts and simply his inner drive to succeed, he was able to make the transition from owning a construction company with his brother to a much bigger field of play.  

I was the lucky kid who got to share time with him at the end of his life journey. 

In this past year, I have witnessed so much.  I have seen the deep love he had

for my mom, the woman who for 70 plus years he called his girlfriend.  I have

seen how a man of strength comes to terms with his own humanity as gracefully

as possible. I have also seen the spiritual side of my father take precedence over

anything here on earth.  We have had some great conversations about some very

deep subjects and I will be forever grateful for our time together.  As his child, I never

stopped learning from him and I will miss him terribly.  I will miss his stories, his

loving arms, his strong opinions about politics, and his advice for my DIY projects.  

Thanks, Dad.  Your work is done here.  Now it’s time to rest.  I love you.  

Don's Declaration of Love

Don’s Declaration of Love to his Wife, Nadine

 

I was not quite 18 years of age on December 20, 1948, when I started on this lifelong trip

of love with my girlfriend/wife.  After spending the evening together and holding her body

close to mine followed by a goodnight kiss, I knew that I wanted more of that good

warm feeling I was experiencing.  And here we are 70 plus years later and the feeling

is still there.  I did and do love that girl.

 

This wonderful young girl, my life partner, bore the burden of all the logistics, management,

and labor of running a household, bearing and rearing children and even providing extra

income when possible.  Those tasks have too many components to mention each item. 

In addition, there were all the ancillary jobs of health care, nursing, sewing, chauffeuring,

making things, gardening, and yard care to mention a few - as well as being an attentive wife.

 

Our life together had its challenges and disappointments large and small like ever other

marriage.  When things got too heavy, we would stop, hold each other close, talk, and pray. 

Somehow, we made it work.  I am so grateful. Our deep honest love has conquered all.

 

If I had do-overs, I would arrange my priorities to always make her first.  I would work very

hard at giving her more of my time and attention, understanding her needs and wants,

acknowledging her efforts, council with her, and let her know that I truly do appreciate

all she does.

 

Nadine, you were truly God’s blessing to me.  I ask your forgiveness for my shortcomings

and the times I disappointed you.  I love you, my beautiful soulmate.

 

With Love, Don.

Father's Day From One Year to the Next

Father's Day 2019

I had only been living in Florida for 2 weeks.  I couldn't wait to spend the day with my dad.  This is something that I hadn't done for more than 40 years.  My dad thought it was kind of silly but he put up with my picture taking and noting the importance of this day.  As I look at that picture now I see a still vital albeit aging man.  His eyes are shining back at me, his laugh is visible almost audible.  As father and daughter there appears to be so much ahead for us -  so many home projects, so many dinners and stories together, so many memories to share.  

Father's Day 2020

He is tired.  He is worn down from surgeries, attempts at pain management, and an impending hernia surgery.  He is on oxygen voluntarily with no one suggesting it.  He once again puts up with my enthusiasm at spending the day together but this one is very different.  In the air hovers the feeling that this will most likely be one of our last.  There is no photo this time.  This is a look I would rather not memorialize.  We enjoy dinner together and I do what I can to ease the burdens of their daily life, always trying to look forward but knowing that the road into the future is a short one.  

Take aways from Austin Channing Brown's conversation with Brene Brown

I am a "good" person but I can be a better one.

I'm here to get it right, not be right.

The work of antiracism is becoming a better human to other humans.

We all mess up.  We all get shit wrong.  But have you built the capacity to care more about others than you care about your own ego?

Proximity to a Black person (relational argument) puts the burden of teaching on Black people.  It makes the person of color responsible to change your heart and mind.  

Grown White people are adults who can think critically on their own... and look at the world and say something's not right here, let me...  change the way I vote, give to an organization that is trying to change this, let me go do.

Marching beside Black people is still for the self.  What are you giving?

Every White friend that I have, perceives racial justice, would still be doing the work if I was no longer there.  Being friends with me is not the work.    

White people like rules, not to do the work the right way, but so we can protect ourselves.  The rules are the fence around the ego.  

The American Dream

When the other side pushes back you know that you have hit a nerve.  The airways are currently full of rich black men blaming the individual and contending that there is no racism in America.  Yes, you the actors, and rappers, and a few lawyers and politicians made it.  But, did you take anyone else up with you?  This new voice now says, if you didn't have the opportunity, it's your fault for not going out to get it.  The blame is back on the family and the individual. Where are their parents, where is his drive to succeed?  The American slogan of pulling yourself up by your bootstraps just doesn't apply when you are raised in the projects surrounded by poverty which walks hand in hand with violence and drugs.  We emulate what we see and what we know.  If this is all we see and know, this becomes our reality.  The only way a poor child can reach for opportunity or dig down deep to succeed is if she knows there's something different out there.  

As a middle class white teen, I knew because I was told over and over again that I would go to college.  I had that voice in my head.  I had no idea why or what would be accomplished in doing so but I knew that it was going to happen.  Fast forward 20 years and I became that voice in my students' heads.  One thing that we now know as educators is that first generation college graduates only need one adult that becomes that voice, one adult that intervenes in a student's current reality and says, you can do this.  You can go to college, you can have a career, you can move out of poverty.  

Social media has succeeded in showing poor children and adults what the rest of society has but not how to get there themselves.  It is up to us to now create that.  Defunding/abolishing police and prisons will leave a giant gap.  In my view, we cannot jump from a militarized police department to nothing.  As we have said many times in the coronavirus pandemic, "Hope is not a plan."  So let's make a plan.  Let's plan for a social structure that will take the place of police.  Let's look at protection in terms of guardians instead of warriors.  Let's look at domestic disputes being handled by counselors.  Let's look at slashing the public safety budget and starting with its unions.  Let's look at gun control, seriously look at gun control.  

This is no longer a travesty.  It is an opportunity.  This is a once in a million chance of remaking American society into being the dream that we have all wished for.  Langston Hughes said it better than I can.  

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed-

Let it be that great strong land of love

Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme

That any man be crushed by one above

(America never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty

Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,

But opportunity is real and life is free

Equality is in the air we breathe.  

Let's Begin the Work

I am watching and participating in marches that claim Black Lives Matter and call for peace and for justice.  As lovely as it is to see, I'm sorry to say, America, this is not even the starting block.  You see, we have been here before on this very road.  We have marched arm in arm, we have sung the songs that called for peace and justice and thought that would do it.  That was a head change not one of the heart.  We thought everyone agreed with the simple truth that all are equal.  But the culture of hatred and the tight grasp of White power remained in place.  It took on a new look but if you were Black in America, you didn't notice a thing.  Until we can acknowledge that we have been complicit in systemic racism, nothing will change.  Until we can say mea culpa, I'm sorry, and mean it, nothing will change.  Until we can look in the mirror at our own power, advantages, and privileges and willingly give them away to those upon we have trodden, nothing will change.  March.  Sing.  Hold hands.  Continue to post videos of police harming instead of helping until everyone understands what we really mean when we say Black Lives Matter.  Then apologize.  Be political.  Open your heart and head to the idea of shared power and what that might look like in our hospital maternity wards, preschools, educational institutions, residential communities, and work places. 

Finding the Right Question to Ask

Living in the upheaval of today means finding the right question to ask that will bring us to a different outcome.  We, as a nation, have been in this time and place before.  As we look back, we reflect on when and where are the times and places that each of us has turned away and became complicit in the mistreatment and death of others?  Did we refuse to look or was it just more comfortable not seeing?  That can no longer be.  Now, we again come face to face with the rage and protest of racism followed by White America's admission that there is an advantage to being born white.  This time, let the next step be different.  Words feel inadequate.  What new is there to say?  We enter in with a sense of helplessness in uttering once again the words "Black Lives Matter."  Of course they matter; they are essential, and of deep value to us as a people.  And so we come with silence.  We set our minds on bold visioning and this time are determined to discover who we are going to be together.  How do we become the us that has not yet been and finally give birth to a united America?  In the words of Langston Hughes: "Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed-"  It is time for the hard work to begin.  

Taking the Life of the Other

At the age of 65, I saw the "race riots" of the 60s and now am seeing them lived out again in the 2020 version.  This version is much more difficult to watch.  The look of anger on the faces is familiar like  old friends that I haven't seen in a while but they still look exactly the same.  The police continue to fight to retain white power at any cost and the blacks just want the world for an instant to acknowledge that systematic racism exists.  They are worlds apart - still.  In the 50 year interval I have seen the killing of black men and women with a variety of  methods.  I have always been stunned by the horrific violence of it.  Black men were snatched by the KKK in the dead of night, their faces illuminated by burning torches and strung from trees to be "Strange Fruit."  Then the police moved to clubs and on to guns.  The violent beating of Rodney King in 1991 is still a visceral scene in my mind's eye.  The men and women that I have seen killed with guns or choke holds on the eventing news by our public servants is too many to list.  And the result has always been the same.  Death by racism and the white officers walk away unscathed.  Few go to trial and those that do are never convicted.  And so it continues unabated.  But this killing of George Floyd is something new.  No violence.  No gun, or club, or rope.  No look of anger or distain.  Hands in pockets, completely relaxed, with only one knee as the weapon of choice.  But the question remains the same, how is it that you are able to snuff out a life so easily?  You took away this human's existence like I would step on a bug.  There was no thought of his being a man, a son, a brother, a father.  

White America turned blacks into the other many generations ago.  No law or politician or even a black president has been able to change the status quo.  Slaves were lazy.  Freed African descendants were illiterate and unable to be taught.  Arrests and criminal behavior was proof that we should be protected from them.  Government housing and poverty during a time of affirmative action was the "See, I told you so." nail in the coffin.  Any blacks that were able to lift themselves out of poverty were seen as the exceptions to the rule.  And I have witnessed all of these manifestations of prejudice in one solitary lifetime.  So we have remained in this place hovering between the academic belief that all are created equal but living the palpable fear of releasing, even for a moment, our hold on white power.  We have been here in this very spot that we were in 50 years ago, 100 years ago, 400 years ago.  Nothing has changed beyond the mode and extreme ease of murder.

Taking a Knee

It is time for us all to take a knee.  Some background:  I am a 49er fan and agreed wholeheartedly with Colin Kaepernick's 2016 silent protest of our racist criminal justice system.  It was simple, direct and repetitive to serve as a weekly reminder to us that a change was needed.  But maybe it was just too early.  America wasn't ready.  I also was a practicing Catholic for 40 years of my life.  I have no qualms with getting on my knees.  Now in 2020, we have seen how our police choose to get on their knees.  George Floyd died at the knee of Derek Chauvin and other videos have appeared with police officers restraining black men with a knee on their neck.  But we have also seen a myriad of people bowing down to racism, including some police officers.  While that is heartening, the road is long and we have a 400 year history to address.  I'm not sure where we go from here but we can start with Colin's kneel.  We take a knee to remind ourselves that, like Derek Chauvin, we have power over the vulnerable and helpless. Even when it is not intentional, we cause pain and suffering. We take a knee to remind ourselves that we live in a system where some of us are holding others down by the simple place of our birth into our privileged positions.  We continue racism through our ignorance and refusal to change what has always been.   We take a knee in an act of repentance. We apologize for the part we played in this systemic sin. Yes, it is time for us all to get down on our knees, to hold a mirror up to our lives and our society, and confess that we are participants in a structural racism that is as deadly as any virus we could ever encounter. 

Being Raised by Your Sense of Place

Lately in my reading, I have been taken by the role that setting plays in a book or movie.  There are stories where the "place" becomes so important that it becomes another of the supporting characters.  Little Fires Everywhere is one of those stories. Shaker Heights, Ohio was a "perfect" place.  Race didn't matter.  The rules were the rules.  As long as you and everyone else followed them, everything would be fine.  But when the rules were broken, everything became shaky and unpredictable.

It brought me to think about my own life and the different places I have lived especially where I was raised.  I have lived for a significant amount of time in three very different places; Iowa, Florida, and California.  Who I was leaving Iowa and Florida formed who I would become and how I viewed the world in California.  Iowa is exactly what you think it might be.  It is white, it is farmland.  It is a place where as a child, you quickly learn to do the right thing because it's the right thing.  You didn't need another reason.  The world in Iowa in the 60's was simple.  Everything was black and white, right and wrong.  Your word was your bond.  Republicans and Democrats were more closely aligned than they are today.  So you could live alongside of and communicate with those of the other party and not necessarily see the world very differently.  In a word, it was homogenous.  Farmers were conservative but with national subsidies for planting and harvesting in the mix, they could move to the democratic side with very little residue or pushback from their friends or neighbors.  You were still doing the right thing, which was providing for your family.  Success was viewed as feeding and clothing your family.  There were no big houses, no one went out to eat very often - that was considered wasteful.  So this view of the world was what raised me.  Live simply.  Don't waste your money; you might need it next year.  Help your neighbor.  There was also a general feeling of sameness.  Life didn't change much from year to year.  We all expected things to be the same.  It helped to define who we were and who we would always be.  I was an Allen, an Iowan, I was raised and lived most of my childhood in one town.  While we lived in several houses. they were all in a very close radius to each other and to my other family members - grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins.  Church was church and school was school.  There wasn't much else to life.  The world was very small. 

This very small view of the world opened up immensely with a move to Florida.  But Florida in 1972 was very different from Florida today.  I lived in central and northern Florida which was still very "country."  My view of the world didn't change much.  It was still about doing the right thing and being sure that what you said was what you did.  The expansion was definitely in the department of race.  Iowa was white and Florida was black.  I was not raced to be colorblind so  this was definitely a new world for me.  All the adages of Iowa that I had heard for 18 years no longer held any weight.  They were not lazy or living in government housing.  There were not good ones and bad ones.  They were working two jobs to get ahead, they were in school to get ahead.  They were first generation college students just like I was and I struggled to see any difference between them and me.

Now you take this new version of Tere and take her to California in 1976.  I will say again, this was not the California of today.  I was able to find my place in this new world because I was married to a conservative version of California.  He also defined success by providing for his family.  But we went out to dinner - all four of us - often.  This new sense of place slowly chipped away at the edges of the Iowa girl.  Helping my neighbors and family became helping those in need.  I was always a democrat but this was a bigger version of being a democrat.  I became Catholic and once again the world opened wider to encompass and redefine those in need.  I never found it difficult to call myself a Californian even though my extended family members challenged me about many things - earthquakes, the homeless, and democratic governors.

Today, at my core, I still believe that success is being able to provide for yourself and your family.  I still believe there is a difference between right and wrong and that my word is my bond.  I value all that Iowa game me for those first 18 years.  But around the edges of that Iowa girl is the influence of 40 years in California.  My view is wider.  I see those in need.  I see the burden that racism has placed on so many Americans.  I can put myself in the shoes. of those who walk a very different path.

Still Home

While much of Florida is "open" I continue to choose my aloneness.  The danger of Covid-19 is still real and the chance of exposing my parents to this is a chance I'm just not willing to take.  My list of things to do is short but I keep making things up as I go along.  I have hired a company to put in a sprinkler system as well as a front lawn.  I have dug up all the weeds between the plantings in the back.  So now it is back to a "what to do" state of being.  I weary quickly of reading day after day but I will gladly listen to podcasts or audible books.  I continue to add to my list on Netflix but still shy away from watching anything during the day.  I know that is a slippery slope for people like me with addictive personalities.  But I have once again developed a love of cooking dinner and baking cookies and breads.  Gardening is #1 on my daily list.  There is always something that can be done and unlike housework, I don't  mind doing it.  It occurred to me this morning that this is the situation that makes people afraid to retire.  It is definitely the "what shall I do today" frame of mind.  I am learning to embrace it but I still need people in my life.  I am thankful for phone calls, texts, emails, and Zoom meetings.  But I definitely look forward to some face to face time in the near future. 

National Day of the Teacher 2020

National Day of the Teacher 2020

The National Day of the Teacher is a day in which I always take time to remember those who have chosen this amazing profession.  I loved being a teacher; every single day of it.  But it was hard work and it never got easier - at least not for me.  It is a job that you simply must love with your whole heart in order to be any good at it.  You give and give and you get back strange and wonderful things from your students and co-workers.  But it is a not a path you take for status or monetary compensation.  It is truly a work of the heart.  

But this year is different.  The observance of this year's National Day of the Teacher is like no other.  This year we stop and take a moment, just a moment to think about what you have been asked to do.  Two months ago our country shut down and just like that your job and the relationship you have with your students was completely changed. You went from doing what you knew how to do - teaching with your own tool bag of materials and strategies - to a whole new world.  You have truly been asked to do the impossible.  Teach, but you'll have no classroom.  You'll need to create that in a closet or your bedroom or living room with no whiteboard or extra storage.  Without any time for training you and your students went on-line.  Your students were given devices with which they had had no training from you or anyone else.  Your class of desks or tables became a flat screen of boxed faces. Then you had to figure out how you could teach in selfie mode with one device and manage your lesson plan on another or continuously flip between screens.  Mute, microphone, chat, and video became your new class directives.  Your teacher demonstrations were suddenly completely dependent on a video of you.   Some of you were given guidance by your administrators and others were told to "use whatever platform you like."  The mothers out there also balanced your own children's education.  You suddenly became an expert in one or more additional grade levels and subjects.  Just like that.  And you did it.  You took it all in stride while the world watched and few realized what had gone on behind the scenes.  I am stuck here for adjectives that adequately describe this transition from the classroom to distance learning - amazing, phenomenal, unbelievable.  

I am absolutely in awe of all of you.  I know the work that goes into lesson preparation but this is a whole new level.  This is every day, I am planning for the what and the how of my lesson(s) that I will teach tomorrow.  This is how can I evaluate the level and comprehension of my early readers?  How do I ascertain where my middle schoolers are emotionally?  What happens when a student falls behind or doesn't turn in the work?  What do office hours look like?  Or faculty meetings?  

My hat and everything else is off to our teachers and administrators in 2020 and this new world of virtual education that you were all thrown into.  You did it and you made it look good.  More than that, you made it look easy.  That's what teachers have always done.  Whatever comes your way, you take it on and you manage the pieces so they somehow fit together.  Your only purpose is the education of children and you will do whatever it takes to make that happen.  You don't teach reading or writing, you teach kids the joy of reading and writing.  You are in the people business.  You are co-creating humans who think deep thoughts and care about one another.  During this time of Covid-19, those two things must go together in the minds and hearts of our kids.  

Thank you to all of you who have taken on the challenge of teaching.  May these last few weeks of the 2019/2020 school year be good ones.  Take care of yourselves so you can finish strong.   May you know that those of us who watch from the sidelines deeply appreciate your work and are amazed at what you have pulled off.  Congratulations on a job well done.   

Staying In

Covid-19 continues to maintain its strangle hold on American life as it was once known.  We are currently on the brink of some states beginning to move toward a re-opening.  But as for me I feel safer here at home.  I'm putting my money and my health on science and data.  I will wait for the resurgence that I know will come.  I will continue to Shelter in Place for two weeks at a time and then watch and decide.

Most of my days are good but time no longer has any meaning.  When it seems like hours must have gone by, it is only 45 minutes.  Nothing feels normal.  It is a struggle for me to read and that was once part of my daily routine.  Every morning when I arise, I see the shower that needs to be cleaned but I can't seem to sense the importance of it once I have left the bathroom.  So I will see it again tomorrow.  Perhaps there is solace in that. 

I miss so much.  I miss seeing people on my regular schedule.  I miss impulsivity.  I have the thought that I should go grab a cup of coffee and remember.  I think about going to the nursery for a plant or mulch and then remember.  I miss my old life.  I had been here long enough to put things in place and now it all feels lost and forgotten. 

But I am grateful for so much.  I am grateful for technology; for FaceTime, for Zoom that keep our love ones alive for us.  I am grateful that I finished updating my kitchen before Coronavirus.  I would not have wanted to look at that burnt orange wall every day.  I am grateful for the view out of the back of my house where I can watch the birds and squirrels and bunnies.  I am grateful for flowers that are blooming and remind me that the universe is still in order.  I am grateful for everyone that reaches out to me and says, "I was wondering how you are."  That feels like the greatest I love you there can be.  I am grateful that my friends and family are well and pray that they will stay that way.

And so we continue to stay in and wait.  We continue to remind each other to stay home and stay safe.  We wonder what this new life will be as it begins to unfurl and reveal itself while we watch from a place by the window inside. 

The Look of Love

I am currently a witness to a love that is deep and true.  It is a love that i honor and revere.  It is not mine, it is the love between my mother and father.  They have been married for 70 years and that love has always been present.  But like all things in life, it has changed through the years.  My father has always affectionately referred to Mom as “my girlfriend.”  As the youngest of their three children, it never stopped being humorous to me, but it gradually became funnier while the years passed and the hair thinned and the walking pace slowed.  Now as their life together nears its end, anyone in the room can see and feel the power of their love.  It is a look.  It must certainly be the same look that brought them together as teenagers in high school.  It is that look where two pairs of eyes lock onto each other and within seconds they are lost in one another as the rest of the world fades away.  It is the look that made that teenage girl who is my mom, swoon over her young lover.  As she looked into his eyes the love she had for him was reflected back to her and she knew that this was the one.  This was the love that would carry her through all the hard times that lay ahead.  But it would also be the love that stood happily beside her in their travels and adventures together that even they wouldn’t guess could be possible.  And it is the look that no matter how many times I witness, I find myself looking away because it can only belong to them.  It is private and intimate.  And at this age this is what intimacy looks like.  It is the shared glances, the holding of hands as the one with a walker passes the one with a cane, and it is the declarative said in unison, “Eat your supper.” Love at this age is the reminder to call the doctor, to take your pills, and to eat.  It is the negotiating of who feels up to driving and who will fetch the nightly ice cream treat.  Yes,  it has a different look to it but it is clear that this is a love that anyone would wish for and die for.  This is a love that will last into eternity.  

Much Has Been Revealed

We continue along this path of Shelter in Place, Stay at Home; depending on the state in which you live.  For the most part, it has all been bearable but there are definitely days that the feeling of wandering takes hold.  I am aimless and without purpose.  There are always things that could be done but the aimlessness takes hold and I wander.  I wander around the house, around the yard, around the neighborhood.  And my thoughts begin to wander as well.  They quickly go to those who do not have what I have.  There are those who must work, who must stay home with their children, who must take care of the sick and elderly.  This pause in our country has been a giant revelation.  It has laid bare those who work for minimal pay, those who are not given the option to stay home.  It has exposed those who have health care and those who have the financial means to take a pause.  It has revealed those who actually can do their job from home in a spare room or a closet the size of a room in another's house or apartment.  The Greek definition of apocalypse is to reveal.  There are times when this feels like an ending of life as we know it, our small apocalypse.  The differences in class and society have been stripped bare for all to behold.  Look at me who has the time to take an hour walk every morning.  And then look at the migrant workers or landscapers who don their gloves and masks and pray that this virus does not attach itself to them during their shift and that they don't take it home to their families after a long day.  Then look at our millionaire politicians who make decisions about how much money is enough money for all the millions who are living hand to mouth but now the hand has nothing to show for it.  And then look at our small business owners who are trying desperately to redefine what they do and how they do it and to just hold on until it's over.  When it is over, will this revelation have changed anything?  Or will this knowledge that we now hold about the haves and have nots once again be swept under the rug.  Our leaders tell us this is the way our country was designed, this is how it was meant to be.  But yet, this is not how it has to be.  What if?  What if all workers had health care and were paid a living wage?  What if people could choose to leave their cars in the driveway and work from home?  What if people could respect a virus and be willing to protect their fellow humans just because it is the right thing to do?  What if our health care and retail workers were respected for being on the front lines not just today, but every day?  How would the world change if science and data led the way in place of money and profit?  Yes, the wandering mind goes from what is to what could be.  May we spend some time in this revelational apocalypse and think deeply about who we are as a people and who we could be.  What if?

Still Here

I'm still here, still at home.  I go to the grocery store with gloves, wipes, and now a mask.  I go to see my parents.  And that is it.  The rest of the time, I am here at home.  My routine is still there but tends to be sliding down a bit.  My  morning coffee is now two cups of coffee.  My 8:00 walk is usually a 9:00 or 9:30 walk.  Time has little meaning any longer because there is just so much of it.  I do my outside stuff in the morning because. like it or  not, spring has sprung and in Florida, that means 80+ degree temperatures in the afternoon.  So walk and garden in the morning, read or write in the afternoons.  But then that late afternoon lag hits and what to do?  Time is for filling, filling between breakfast and lunch and lunch and dinner.  But what if I eat lunch at 11 or 11:30 instead of noon?  What if I eat dinner at 5 instead of 6?  Time is still there and waiting to be filled. 

The little things become big.  Hummingbirds, butterflies, and cardinals flitting by become an event.  The young family that lives near-by on their daily walks are something for your eyes to follow for several minutes and remember when that was you.  The search for grasshopper larvae is now in the daily schedule.  My focus is still external - the darkening of the tree leaves, the little bunny hopping around the yard,  and the buds that are blooming.  I am grateful, deeply grateful for all these things that can occupy my mind and bring me back to the gift of simplicity.  I am here in the now.  I am home.  I am safe. I am well. 

Life in the Time of Social Distancing

Covid-19/Coronavirus is alive and well and making its presence known here and around the world.  I find myself yearning for a governor that overreacts rather than plays down the danger.  Florida is mellow.  Florida is low key.  Florida is in reality, a beach town lived out in 3 million people.  I spent way too much time on the west coast earthquake/fire country not to be overreactive.  So my days are the experience of being non-dualistic.  I'm worried.  I'm hopeful.  I know this has an end date.  And then I return to I'm worried.  I am not scared.  I am not fearful.  But I am worried.  I worry about being too relaxed.  I worried about my elderly and immunocompromised parents.  I worry about all those I love - my kids, my grandkids, my friends (we're also elderly), and everyone I love and hold dear. 

The days are long.  It is finally the end of March but I turned the page of the calendar yesterday because I was simply tired of looking at March.  Now I know that will happen again in April because the nation is on CDC guidelines of social distancing until April 30.  In my heart I know that may be extended to the middle of May.

I try diligently to follow a schedule.  It goes like this.  My regular morning routine remains intact with the addition of a second cup of coffee because I know how long the days are.  A slower start helps me make believe that today will go more quickly than yesterday.  So it is coffee/morning news, breakfast, newspaper/crossword puzzle, morning walk, gardening.  Then it's on to lunch, reading/writing although honestly my mind is in no place to do any writing on Ralph's memorial so that is on hold until who knows when.  Around 3:00 I begin to struggle.  I'm tired of reading, it's too hot to walk again and it's too early for happy hour so sometimes it's another cup of coffee and another trip around the yard.  It's my wandering time until 5:00 finally rolls around again.  THEN! Happy Hour, news, dinner, and my TV time for the evening.  I never struggled with filling my days when I first retired so this feels much more like when I was fired and I felt aimless.  And then the worries return.  Are my parents OK?  Are my kids and grandkids OK? What about my friends and the rest of my family?

I am deeply grateful for my brother in these days.  It started out as a joke but he checks in with me every day.  I love texting my kids and friends, FaceTiming with my loved ones, just staying connected.  Those of us who live alone tend to feel a slight loss of gravity.  There's no one else to ground us.  So it is only meals and routines that keep us bound to the earth. 

I think.  I pray.  I read.  I listen.  May we all come through this alive, healthy, and loving. 

The Natural Rhythm

As I write this, the earth is on the cusp of a new day dawning; Day 7 of America's 15 day social distancing plan to stem the Coronavirus.  As life slows to a crawl across this nation and many others, we find ourselves slowing to the pace of nature.  The birds and insects sing up and down the sun and we finally take note of the beat of the earth.  The light of the stars become part of the evening entertainment in the absence of theaters, and nature calls us to come out and be one with it.  We are more aware, more sentient than we have ever been before.  The heat of the sun on our skin or the gentle breeze moving through our hair forces us to take note of where we are.  We slow to appreciate everything and everyone around us.  Our minds turn to meditation and prayer to reframe this new existence and somehow live within it.  We move inward spiritually and physically and it feels right.  There is peace here.  We allow ourselves the time to think the deep thoughts, the what ifs of our existence.  And we are grateful.  Grateful for those we love and the technology that allows us to connect in new and more personal ways.  The other senses have taken over for touch. Eye contact and voice intonation are in charge now. We take time to reconnect those binds that may have frayed over the years.  In an instant, we call or text those who cross our minds; the mentors, the co-workers, the cousins and distant relatives.  That connection takes precedence over the mundane, the laundry, the dishes.  Today, this day, becomes everyone's reality.  Suddenly we are all mindful of this moment in time.  As we confront this virus in the only way we know how, we separate ourselves physically but support each other generously in love and solidarity.  Through it all, the outside world reminds us of how little we need to bloom and thrive - light, food, water, and our flock.  May we find and hold dear the beauty with which this dilemma has graced us as we listen to the earth, join in its rhythm, and find peace in the beat of its heart.

We, The Elderly

The Coronavirus/Covid 19 is running rampant.

Every day there are press briefings.  I always think that the information will make me feel better but it rarely does.  California, New York, Illinois, and Connecticut are now on "shelter in place."  I can feel it in the Florida air.  It is coming this way.   It is all the reminder of our mortality.  I am  now considered "elderly" as is my sister, brother, and most of my friends.  We are all now at risk, susceptible, and/or compromised.  And so are my parents.  We are looking at two generations that are now in danger or dying. 

And so what faces me now is the reality of living in Florida close to my parents and thinking of ways to keep us all, all safe.  While I think of them first, my health and general well-being quickly follows that initial thought.  How do I protect them?  How do I take care of them when they know they have already survived so much - polio, small pox, chicken pox, mumps?  I want to be the voice of reason without instilling the fear that I feel in the pit of my stomach.  How do I protect myself?  Hand washing is now part of my daily routine - when I wake up, after my shower (I know how silly that is), before I eat, after I eat...)  There is now no reason too ridiculous not to wash my hands. 

I find little humor in any of the virus or shelter in place jokes.  I do see the positive.  Everyone is inside so our water and air has never been cleaner.  I spend more time in prayer and happy thoughts and that is a very good place to be.  I know and respect the value of being outside for my morning walks or gardening.  Life is slower.  Life is simpler.  My brother checks in with me every day.  I love that.  He is my person.  He is the voice of reason and reassures me that I am right to be afraid.  So now we venture forth in this new reality.  Staying in. staying clean and staying connected. 

Parents and Child Becoming Known to Each Other

Being known has always been a stumbling block for me.  I’m unclear where it started but I’ve always been one to hold back just a little piece of me for the sake of protection.  I struggle to release myself completely, yet it is something that I yearn for.  To be known.  So when it happens I am acutely aware of the letting go.  Strangely enough, this has recently happened with my parents.  

When I moved to Florida i knew that I was going to get to know my parents on a much deeper level.  That is to be a given when you enter into the end of another’s life journey.  But my parents have always been a bit of an open book.  I’ve always known the credo by which my father lived and I have always known that my mom is one whose major purpose is to serve to father.   I welcome the new view I now have of both of them.  

I have been gifted with a view into my dad’s gentle mellowing.  It may not even be noticed by others but knowing him as I have for 65 years, I can see the slight movement off of his opinions and the belief in his rightness.  As he becomes more aware that the end is near, he talks more about the logistics that his absence will bring.  This is definitely a gift to me as the executor.  His love for Mom is much more obvious.  He works diligently  to bring her into the financial decision making process, knowing that in a short time, this is a skill she will need.  He is deeply aware that his opinions have interfered with relationships with his children and grandchildren.  He is not willing to change it but the knowing is gift enough for me.  

My mom has revealed herself to be much more stubborn and opinionated than I knew.  She has her own mind although it still remains difficult to share it when your husband has a tendency to argue you down.  However, that does not keep her from trying.  This is where her stubbornness is a good thing to accompany the opinions.

In some ways, I have seen them at their worst as I have become the silent partner as I become the physical muscle to help them accomplish chores around the house.  Everything is a negotiation of sorts.  I keep out of the arguments and work to read the situation to decide when to make a move.  I can clearly see how they operate, how they fight, how they forgive without saying it aloud and move past the hurdle.  Dad rolls his eyes and Mom shakes her head and know that all is right with the world again.

Slowly, ever so slowly, they have also entered into my world.  They came first as advisors to home management.  They definitely had thoughts and opinions about grading the yard, painting the house, updating the kitchen.  I accepted them all and followed most of them but there came a point where I stopped bringing them into the process and simply shared the result.  It came about naturally and all of us accepted it as a necessary step in our new relationship.  With that we moved  just a step away from the father/mother and child relationship.  I will always be their child but they began to see me as an adult outside of that bond.  Now one of Dad’s first questions when we are together is,”What have you been up to?”  And he really wants to know.  I tell him about my comings and goings and the people that I am meeting.  This is new.  It is new that he asks and new that I feel safe answering.  Living long distances apart from each other, this was just something that never occurred.  It felt like too much work to explain the people and things in my life.  An hour a week phone call just wasn’t time to get through the what and the why.  So much was left unsaid and hence unknown.  We could always laugh and joke about my life but I kept it most of it to myself.  At the crux of that was my fear of being judged.  But timing is everything.  He seems to know that his time is short and that the relationship is something more valuable than his ethics or judgement.  So I talk and they listen.  This is new!  I can ask for advice without him first offering it.  Our political conversations haven’t changed much but they will now from time to time ask what I think or what I predict will happen.  And I can answer without them first telling me that I am wrong and why.  

We are becoming known to each other in new and deeper ways.  Everything about it feels good.  There is a sense of softness that has entered our relationships.  I am relieved that I will be able to say good-bye to each of my parents and what will remain is the love and the memories of this time that we had together.  This is a time when we broke the bonds of the parent/child rules of living.  We talked and listened to each other and truly enjoyed being in each others company.  But with that comes the fear that it will make the good-bye harder than it would have been a year ago when our roles were known and rehearsed.  As we let love in we know that the loss of it will be that much more painful.  As that pain ebbs as it eventually will, I will rejoice at the gift that is left behind.  

A Sociologist's View of Inverness

I am a sociology major college graduate.  I am fascinated by human beings and how we interact with one another.  If there is one thing that consumes my thoughts more than anything else, it is self-reflection.  In the last five years I have lived in 4 cities, and 3 states. Santa Clara, San Jose, Vancouver, Washington, and Inverness, Florida.  Every place was different, every city/town was different, as was every state.  But the move to Inverness has set everything on its head.  

I don’t really recall how I reacted to people who were unknown to me as a child.  Being the 3rd of 4 kids, I tended to follow the crowd.  I did whatever I was told or simply followed the lead of my siblings.  When I went to college, I hung with my group - my roommates, my classmates.  Colleges can be very closed societies so I never thought much about it.  After that I was off to Santa Clara and began the work of creating a new home.  I attributed so much of the challenge of building relationships in this new phase of my life to a west coast/California phenomena.  Now I’m not so sure.  Santa Clara is a bedroom town to San Jose and San Jose is a very large city.  I made friends, never easily, but I had a group to which I clung.  Many times I felt alone, without my family nearby but I carried on.  I made friends as a young mother, as a returning college student, as a teacher and co-worker.  I collected my people along the way and rarely let go of them.  We got together for coffee, for lunch, for dinner, or social events.  But the idea of making friends with strangers that you might meet along your meanderings was foreign to me.  I was fascinated by people who could pull this off.  

Californians, at least in the San Jose area, did not make eye contact and there was no idle conversation in the grocery line, so how was it that you start up that initial interchange?  As the years went by, I stopped assessing and evaluating this oddity because it never seems to change.  When I traveled back to Iowa or Florida, I was always struck by the “friendliness” of other locales. 

As I made the move to Vancouver, I experienced much of the same social atmosphere as I had in Santa Clara.  People were a little more friendly but there was always something that was held back.  It seemed that you were granted access to the inner circle with someone else’s membership.  I was freely accepted at my sister’s church because I was with my sister.  But the experience was the same in grocery stores in my neighborhood as it had been in California.  In my reflection at the time, I chalked it up to “west coast” behavior.  

Fast forward to Inverness, Florida, a town of 7,000 people.  Compare that to 200,000 in Vancouver and well over a million in San Jose.  The first thing I was struck with during my first visit was how friendly the people were.  People gain and hold eye contact, they smile, they talk to one another  There is an openness that I have never experienced before.  There is also less attachment to individuals.  You no longer need to cling to your friends to feel accepted so there are fewer coffee and lunch dates.  I have met people in the grocery stores (especially at the deli counter), at festivals, and in churches.  We tell each other our stories; where are you from, what brought you here, how did you find Inverness?  I no longer worry about going anywhere alone and having to introduce myself because I know there is a friend waiting for me there.  I have never felt so welcomed or embraced by a town before.  I bring my eye contact and smile wherever I go and in return I am gifted with friendship, camaraderie, and conversation.  Is it small town/big city or east coast/west coast?  The sociologist in me says it’s the small town experience.  It is the necessary dependence on one another to get your needs met.  In the big city you simply buy whatever you need.  But in a smaller community, everything is not available and at your fingertips.  You have to ask for help or recommendations from those who have been around before you got here.  You learn to appreciate the Inverness that is and was and work to keep pieces of it intact before it is also lost to increased population and indifference.

As I reflect on this, I feel walls around me crumbling.  I see and hear myself starting conversations with strangers and it amazes me.  Who is this woman that now, after all these years, has the courage and comfort to say hello and trust that a return hello and a story will come back to me.  I am still me at my core but this is a better, nicer, more welcoming me.  I no longer have the need to protect myself with my family or friends around me.  I am enough.  I am welcome, appreciated, and making a difference in the lives of even strangers in this, my new community.    

Learning to Talk About Death

Kobe Bryant's death has been an incomprehensible tragedy.  I am deeply sorry for his wife and children who have been left behind and will have to forge a new way of living as a family.  He was larger than life and I can't imagine what it is like to take that first step into life after Kobe.  But Kobe was not perfect.  He was accused of rape and it has left an ugly shadow on the legacy that many do not care to remember.  Kobe was not perfect.  No one is perfect.  We all have our shadows. 

In our pain, we want so badly to remember our loved ones as whole, complete, and perfect.  Somehow we have to learn how to incorporate the whole person into our memory of them after they pass.  I have recently said my final good-bye to my ex-husband, my lifelong friend.  There have been and continue to be some tricky moments for me, both public and private where the shadows have appeared.  There were some very real reasons why we divorced after 23 years of marriage.  In my grief, they are often the reality check for me and the reminder that how America mourns is sorely lacking.  He wasn't perfect.  We weren't perfect.  Yet I remember him as my great love.  But I also remember the pain.

I mourned his passing with my family and friends with out hesitation.  It broke me completely to know that he and I would never enjoy one another's company again.  Day after day, I had to tell myself that he was gone.  No more talks, no more dinners, no more laughs together.  But as you continue the journey of reliving that live that is no more, the shadows slowly appear.  The photos bring it all back into focus.  In a picture is everything; the people, the place, how you got there.  You remember it all; the fight you had just before the photo was snapped, the smile that you pasted on your face trying desperately to cover the pain for the benefit of others, or the emptiness when he didn't even show up.  But mourning in America has no place for that, even if you're the ex-wife.  There is no opportunity to say that he wasn't perfect, that I had wanted more.  I wanted to grow old together even if that was only to 2019.  I wanted him to still be here, I wanted to still have our family home filled with kids and grandkids in the backyard and gathered around the table.  No, he wasn't perfect, we weren't perfect.  And now I want us, as a society, to get better at this grieving thing.  I want so badly to be remembered whole.  I want my kids to tell the stupid stories of my life.  Do not sugar coat me .  Keep me human with all my frailties and weaknesses.  Remember me as I am.  Don't leave any of it out.  I have light and I have shadows.  We all do.

Writing!

I am writing.  I haven't done much writing here but I am writing.  Following Ralph's passing I was overcome with the need to be certain that he and his stories live on in the hearts and minds of his grandchildren.  I know in my own life I have had to rehear the stories of my grandparents who passed on during my childhood.  I would prefer that Ralph's stories come to life now rather than 50 years from now when the little ones start asking about him and the things he cared about.  I got started on this project with a general idea in mind of just jotting down a few memories that defined Ralph as a person but then discovered a book to help me through the process; Life's Workbook; How to Write Your Autobiography Through Memoir Writing.  It has been the perfect fit for this project.  The first step was to complete a life chronological calendar.  It is quite a thing to see your entire life in a notebook - where you have lived, the big events, vacations, how your work and educational life supported each other.   It is the perfect starting point Not having many social contacts in town has also helped me immensely as I dive into this full force.  I try to write almost every day like everyone says you should.  I write the draft and then go back to it later to beef it up or smooth out the rough edges.  The writing stays with me.  I think about it before I write, during the process and afterward - what I left out, how to be sure that his being comes through the words in the love and humor that he exuded.  It is an awesome responsibility; to create this person who you loved with only words and to know that he will live on because of this work. 

Things that keep coming up for me:

• I tend to feel emotionally stuck in the event or time period that I'm writing about.  That can be a joyful thing or painful depending on the topic and how much I decide to include for my audience.  Writing about the baby years was definitely exhausting and I had to push myself to get through it quickly.  I smelled those diapers and felt the sleepless nights in my entire body.  The brain is a fascinating thing!
• Save your letters; hearing the voice of your younger self is exactly the voice you want to come through in your memoirs.  I'm not a saver but I was never able to throw away my parents or Ralph's letters from my college years.  My parents also gave me a couple letters that I had written to them during the same time frame.  Those were fascinating!  I told them a lot more than I thought I would have.  
• Reliving the life of our marital relationship through this writing is cathartic.  While it does not help the grieving process at all it does confirm that we were happy together for many many years.  It is the reminder that my grieving is real; I lost a good friend and someone who knew me better than anyone else in the world.  I miss him.
• While my intention was to write Ralph's story, I can already see how this is going to spread into another story; mine.  

And so I am writing.  I am a writer.  It has always been a thing to which I have aspired.  And it's happening.   It was always there waiting to come out; I only needed a purpose, an opportunity and and audience.