Wearing My Diadem

To someone facing surgery in her head, today’s Old Testament lesson is a true blessing: “Take off the garment of your sorrow and affliction, O Jerusalem, and put on forever the beauty of the glory from God . . . put on your head the diadem of the glory of the Everlasting, for God will show your splendor everywhere under heaven.”

Kevin, Walt, and I discussed the word diadem walking home from St. Mary’s this morning. We decided it had to do with jewels, and indeed, a diadem is a crown. Baruch (a companion of Jeremiah the Prophet) who wrote these words in exile, has no doubt about our status as God’s beloved, each worthy of a diadem.

I, who have never aspired to a diadem, now claim that as my inheritance, too. A diadem, which is worn on the head, seems like just the thing. And I just happen to have two (see photo), sent to me by my Sarah in a care package that also included music, candy, and an angel.

Baruch makes another promise on God’s behalf. “For God has ordered that every high mountain and the everlasting hills be made low and valleys filled up, to make level ground, so that Israel may walk safely in the glory of God.”

Tomorrow I meet with my neuro-surgeon for the first time. I have heard he is bright, a good surgeon, and that he has nimble fingers. I believe that he, the others who will care for me, and all your prayers, dear friends, will make my way level and safe.

And by the way, if you see me around town in the next few days, you’ll see that I am wearing my diadem.

Our Sarah

I took out my beloved Christmas snow globes last night and put one on the table during dinner. Just now, I wound it up and there was, “O, Holy Night.” The years fell away and I remembered when our Sarah was born.

She was Kevin’s and my second child, born in December, 1974. Kevin reminded me that her due date – December 7 – was Pearl Harbor Day. But she was not like her eager sister, Jennie, who came early. No, Sarah took her own sweet time and arrived a full week late.

It was hard waiting for her. Not so much still being pregnant, but I was yearning to see her, to meet her, to hold her. To pass the time one day, I went to have lunch with Kevin in Monterey while two-year-old Jennie stayed at her friend Alex’s house. Kevin and I walked to Fisherman’s Wharf, which was a bit of a walk for a woman at nine months, but we did it. Then we stopped in a music store and bought two Christmas records.

I spent part of the afternoon listening to them, lying in the recliner which was the only place I felt comfortable. I remember particularly “O, Holy Night” and the “Carol of the Bells.” I was dreamy, dreamy. It was almost Christmas, and I was filled with peace and expectation and love for this child who would soon come into our lives and our hearts.

That night, as soon as I lay down, I felt the first signs of labor. Our friend Steve came to take care of Jennie, while Nancy stayed home with their girls. Was it really peanut butter and pickles he gave her for breakfast?

Sarah was born at 8:31 in the morning – 7lbs. 2oz.. She was so pink and so pretty, and because I had practiced on her sister, Jennifer, I was so ready to fall in love with her. So I did. And we brought her home and had a wonderful Christmas, awash with baby glow and wonder at her perfection and her sister’s absolute surprise at having a little sister. Sarah was my most cuddly baby, a delight to this mother’s ardent heart.

Then the years went by, and Sarah became her own amazing self – full of energy and fun and talent and intuition and compassion. To name just of few of her attributes. Her young years were filled with dressing up and horses and violins and friends. Eventually, into her world there came Jesse, a wedding, and now a good life together in Portland. A bunny, a dog, a wonderful old house. . . Sometimes there comes disappointment, but she and Jesse know how to weather a storm with grace and optimism. Who knows what will happen next, but if Sarah is there, it will be exciting and fun!

In a few days Sarah will turn 35. She is still full of energy and fun and talent and intuition and compassion – and a lot more. Sarah, if you happen to read this – I am so happy that you were born!

16,572 Steps

It was the pedometer that started this whole thing. Jennie and I went to REI to get her a handy dandy pedometer like mine, and we left with my little pink Cruiser. Because of the Cruiser, I started this blog, Cruising at 65.

A lot has changed since then. Summer has turned to fall. Two grandchildren and a son-in-law have had birthdays. So have I, actually. The days have gotten shorter. People I love have suffered sad losses. I’ve signed up for Medicare. Pentecost has given way to Advent. RIP pink Cruiser and hello pending surgery.

There’s one thing that’s been constant, though, and that is my little pedometer friend. I carry it everywhere I go, and if I don’t have a pocket, I slip it into the right leg of my stockings. That is not a foolproof way to carry a pedometer. Not if you inadvertently flush it down the toilet at a fancy restaurant overlooking Plymouth Bay. Pedometer II works just like its late twin, so I continued tracking my steps with hardly a pause.

A pedometer is a great encourager. When you’re feeling slothful, its chirpy little voice says, “Let’s take a walk.” When you’re hanging out reading, it interrupts, “We haven’t done anything fun today.” Fun, to a pedometer, means exactly one thing: walking.

The other day it complained, “We only have 5,000 steps so far.” So off I went – to Asilomar with Walt, all along the great boardwalk into Pebble Beach. Later we walked to town. Turns out to have been my best day ever for steps – 16,572. That’s 6.1 miles on these short legs of mine. But the pedometer never rests. Just now it demanded to know, “How many steps today?” Shhhhh. Don’t tell it only 8,725 or it’ll be after me again.

Some people walk their dog. I just walk my pedometer!

For English, Press 1

Lately I have spent an inordinate amount of time in hell – of the automated phone system variety. It started several weeks ago when my Comcast internet service “went down,” as they say, causing me to make repeated calls to an 800 number, all of which resulted in a recorded message stating that Comcast was experiencing “issues” (I kid you not) and suggesting that I would get quicker results by using my internet!

I will skip over the fact that we then had to wait an entire week for a technician to come out, and move on to the other opportunities I had to experience the full array and variety of automated phone systems. Among those I sampled were:

Medicare – trying to sign up for Part B.
Church Pension Fund – trying to get Medicare Supplemental Insurance.
V.A. – to say that $7,711 was probably not the correct amount for Kevin’s May visit.
McClatchy Company – to ask why they notified me that a bank we don’t use will no longer accept direct deposit of a payment we don’t get.

Other technological challenges came when the necessary forms from Church Pension Fund failed to arrive via either FAX or the internet (when it was fixed) and not being able to open the attachments from the Herald for Kevin’s health insurance.

I am not alone in these challenges, I know. Every one faces them. What I am thinking about is my own response to them.

My first reaction is, of course, annoyance. That something isn’t working right and that I have to deal with it.

My second is frustration. That the system doesn’t make much sense to me and that I can’t just get a person to talk to.

My third is the one that I wonder about. Someplace there is a little voice that says (not literally), “You’ll never be able to fix this.” I’m embarrassed to admit it, but it’s true.

I think that is the voice of a very little child, who really can’t take care of very much, not my grown-up 65 year-old voice. But why do I hear it, and what can I do differently? Well, experience tells me I can handle things – many things, complicated and difficult things. Maybe I can piggyback on that, and make a plan for the next time.

I’ll say to myself:
1. I really hate dealing with this kind of detail and I resent that I have to do it.
2. But these kinds of things occur in everybody’s life and need to be dealt with.
3. I have done this successfully in the past, and I will now calmly do what needs to be done.

As I re-read the above, the rebellious part of me objects, but the mature part says, “Yes, that’s what grown-ups do.” I guess anyone who wants to be Cruisin’ at 65 ought to just cruise on through and be grown up.

Getting Ready

My approach to this pending surgery on my head is to trust that the operation will be straightforward and totally successful, and also to leave a few things noted and organized.

For example:

• The flowers in pots around the yard need deep watering at least once a week.
• So does the indoor hibiscus.
• The wax for the kitchen butcher block counter is mostly mineral oil, with a little paraffin melted in.
• The reason I have so many unopened pairs of stockings is that I foolishly signed on with one of those companies that automatically sends you several pairs every few months
• There are some delicious chocolates (thanks, Sarah!) that I’ve hoarded away. Hint: some people think behind the plates is a fine hiding place.

Oh, and incidentally - because I am the one who keeps track of these things:

• My Really Important Papers are in the top drawer, front, of my little file cabinet.
• The cost basis of a house in California is recalculated when one spouse dies, in a way that is of significant tax advantage to the survivor when s/he sells.
• My church pension pays the same amount to Kevin, if he survives me, as it pays to me now.

What else? Just to say that I love the life Kevin and I have made, and I expect to continue living it. I am deeply thankful for my life companions - my friends and siblings. I cherish my children as distinct, gifted individuals and amusing companions, as well as creative and wise resources for the challenges of life. I have the most adorable, interesting, and fun grandchildren anyone could have. And, I thank God for giving me meaningful work that I love.

Okay, I’m done. Time to go outside and enjoy the beauty of this new day! Oh, and water the pots around the yard instead of writing about them.

Sleeping With Ray

Ray spent the night with me last night. Ray Charles, that is. So did Elvis Presley, Enya, the Cowboy Junkies, Mary Chapin Carpenter, and even Lars H.U.G., all the way from Denmark. To name just a few.

With the increasing vibrating and thrumming sensations caused by the growth in my head, it’s been difficult to sleep. I turn this way and that, but still the thrumming continues. I don’t fuss really – I just lie there. It’s boring and uncomfortable after awhile, and it means I’m not at my best in the morning.

I had an inspiration yesterday – the thought that it’s hard to fully experience two kinds of sensory input simultaneously. My theory was that listening to music on my iPod might allow me to focus on the tunes and not on the vibrating. I’d like to report that I slept eight hours non-stop, but I didn’t. I did, however, sleep a lot more than in previous nights. The bonus was that when I was awake, I had the music to sooth and amuse me. I could still feel the thrumming, of course, but I was able to choose the music most of the time.

Thanks Ray and fellow crooners! Tonight once again I will have Georgia on My Mind, and all sorts of other pleasant thoughts.

Easier Said Than Done

I love what I call the Preaching Life. Monday mornings I hurry to my lectionary book, eager to see what the Bible lessons are for the next Sunday. Maybe the seed of an idea sprouts right away, but always, I carry the words around in my head and heart all week, waiting to see what will turn up that fits. Of course, I also pay attention to the historical and theological contexts. But my real question is “How do these lessons relate to the lives of the people who will hear my sermon, and where is God in it all?”

The funny thing is, even though the words I preach are mine, in the middle of saying them, I often realize that I need to pay attention, too. That the things I’m laying out as possibilities for others are possibilities for me, too.

I preached and celebrated Communion at the local Episcopal Senior Community today – Thanksgiving Day. The deacon read these words from the Gospel of Matthew:
Jesus said, "I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?

And I said to the people, “Easier said than done, isn’t it?” They laughed. I did, too. Because it’s true. It’s hard not to worry when you are in pain or having trouble breathing. It’s hard not to worry when your beloved has died or is in early stages of Alzheimer’s. When you have something that’s keeping you awake at night, it’s even hard to pray – no matter how good your intentions or how sturdy your faith.

But I also said this morning:

• We can try to set trust in God alongside fear of the unknown.
• We can remind ourselves, as Matthew says, “. . .indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things.”
• We can breathe in God, breathe out doubt.
• We can cling to God’s promises, such as, “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name; you are mine.”

And, on this Thanksgiving Day, we can thank God for all the sweet blessings of our lives.