Tomorrow would have been my 55th wedding anniversary had my Annie not moved to the other side. Her spirit still thrives. Only her body died. She passed over three years ago from Cancer. I miss her but know she is onto new awarenesses in the benevolent comfort of unconditional love.
Thinking about our many years together and the institution of marriage I've concluded that marriage is an ever-changing contract. It’s never the same for it changes every moment you commit to the well-being of your partner.
Love, as it is perceived through the union of marriage, is ever expanding provided it is nurtured with courtesy, communication, and kindness. How many of us, whether we are one day married or 50 years married, remember to say thank you for even the very simple courtesies of life. Cooking dinner, looking nice, taking out the garbage, struggling to make it better.
Marriage can be, should be, the constant exponential appreciation of the other, if we see our partner through the eyes of wonder.
And wonder becomes radiant and lasting when we give rather than demand and when we appreciate rather than expect.
Thursday, January 3, 2019
Wednesday, January 2, 2019
Reminders
Every so often we each need to be reminded of something greater than ourselves. The benevolence of All That Is constantly nudges us to see and then be the grace of the subtleties that come our way each day.
We, however, have to choose to be sensitive enough to notice.
It’s always in the little things that the reminders come to us. A song on the radio that conjures a memory. A fledging birds first encounter with flight. A baby’s infectious laugh. A pet’s greeting when you finally get home, the blast of a fragrant aroma when you first open the door to a flower shop, the lingering descent of snow on a windless winter day, the first taste of a fine wine and the harmonic drift of choir practice as you walk by a church.
It’s the little things that slam into our hearts.
Appreciation is the only response.
We, however, have to choose to be sensitive enough to notice.
It’s always in the little things that the reminders come to us. A song on the radio that conjures a memory. A fledging birds first encounter with flight. A baby’s infectious laugh. A pet’s greeting when you finally get home, the blast of a fragrant aroma when you first open the door to a flower shop, the lingering descent of snow on a windless winter day, the first taste of a fine wine and the harmonic drift of choir practice as you walk by a church.
It’s the little things that slam into our hearts.
Appreciation is the only response.
Tuesday, January 1, 2019
2019
We did it! We said goodbye to the old year and welcomed in the new. We've been celebrating endings and beginnings since ancient times.
The tradition of New Years Eve celebrations also stems from old beliefs and superstitions. Noise making goes back to the ancient custom of using loud noises to drive evil spirits from a house during the times of festive celebration.
Many nationalities and cultures still use noise to celebrate. America has her ratchet rattles and noisemakers and fireworks.
Denmark smashes in the New year. People go to friends' houses and throw bits of broken pottery that they have collected throughout the year at the homes. They also bang on the doors to make noise.
The Dutch love to celebrate New Years. It was one of their favorite holidays when they settled New Amsterdam in the mid-17th century. When the English took over the city in 1674 and called it New York, the authorities were going to keep to the British custom at the time which called for celebrating the New Year on the Vernal Equinox, March 25th. The Dutch populace so loved the holiday on January 1st. They convinced the British to move their New Year celebration.
Traditions have to start somewhere. The ball dropping tradition at New York's Times Square began in 1904 when the Times tower was constructed. At the time it was New York City's 2nd tallest building, rising to a height of 375 feet.
Adolph Ochs, the then young publisher of the New York Times, moved his paper into the new building on New Year's weekend and decided to celebrate the event with a New Year's eve rooftop fireworks display.
It was spectacular, but it was dangerous. The following year the fireworks were replaced by the descending brightly-lit ball.
A tradition begun.
The tradition of New Years Eve celebrations also stems from old beliefs and superstitions. Noise making goes back to the ancient custom of using loud noises to drive evil spirits from a house during the times of festive celebration.
Many nationalities and cultures still use noise to celebrate. America has her ratchet rattles and noisemakers and fireworks.
Denmark smashes in the New year. People go to friends' houses and throw bits of broken pottery that they have collected throughout the year at the homes. They also bang on the doors to make noise.
The Dutch love to celebrate New Years. It was one of their favorite holidays when they settled New Amsterdam in the mid-17th century. When the English took over the city in 1674 and called it New York, the authorities were going to keep to the British custom at the time which called for celebrating the New Year on the Vernal Equinox, March 25th. The Dutch populace so loved the holiday on January 1st. They convinced the British to move their New Year celebration.
Traditions have to start somewhere. The ball dropping tradition at New York's Times Square began in 1904 when the Times tower was constructed. At the time it was New York City's 2nd tallest building, rising to a height of 375 feet.
Adolph Ochs, the then young publisher of the New York Times, moved his paper into the new building on New Year's weekend and decided to celebrate the event with a New Year's eve rooftop fireworks display.
It was spectacular, but it was dangerous. The following year the fireworks were replaced by the descending brightly-lit ball.
A tradition begun.
Friday, December 28, 2018
The New Year
Some thoughts on this New Year.
Beginnings always have an expectation. Where do we go from here? What happens next?
In 2019 there is hope that tough times for those that have them will end.
The teen decade of the new century is at its end, and we are still searching for global sanity. There are still too many regional wars infecting the planet, and it's people as we struggle with the belief that security is having more.
There is always hope that the litany of Pandora troubles in our politics will transcend into the common good, but let us not forget that hope without action is arrogance. We each have to work at finding harmony in chaos.
Harmony is there; we can feel it when we give from empathy and not reward; when we resolve not to be discouraged, not to speak in anger, not to blame, and not to judge without the truth of looking within first.
Maybe this is the year that unconditional love and appreciation will guide the hearts and wills of humankind.
Maybe!
Beginnings always have an expectation. Where do we go from here? What happens next?
In 2019 there is hope that tough times for those that have them will end.
The teen decade of the new century is at its end, and we are still searching for global sanity. There are still too many regional wars infecting the planet, and it's people as we struggle with the belief that security is having more.
There is always hope that the litany of Pandora troubles in our politics will transcend into the common good, but let us not forget that hope without action is arrogance. We each have to work at finding harmony in chaos.
Harmony is there; we can feel it when we give from empathy and not reward; when we resolve not to be discouraged, not to speak in anger, not to blame, and not to judge without the truth of looking within first.
Maybe this is the year that unconditional love and appreciation will guide the hearts and wills of humankind.
Maybe!
Wednesday, December 19, 2018
A Memory
On December 21st, 1988, Pan Am Flight 103 was blown out of the sky over Lockerbie, Scotland. A terrorist bomb murdered two hundred seventy people.
The plane originated in Frankfort, Germany and had one stop in London before heading out across the North Atlantic taking many home for the holidays.
In the many years since this tragedy most people have forgotten it for new disasters, new pain, new terrors, have replaced the Lockerbie incident.
I remember it vividly, not only because I reported on the crash during the nightly news for weeks, but because of one act of sympathy that will always stand out in my heart.
Shortly after the crash, there was a large bouquet of red roses sent to Lockerbie officials. There was a note pinned to the flowers. It said, “To the little girl in the red dress who made my life so enjoyable from Frankfort to London. You didn’t deserve this”.
The plane originated in Frankfort, Germany and had one stop in London before heading out across the North Atlantic taking many home for the holidays.
In the many years since this tragedy most people have forgotten it for new disasters, new pain, new terrors, have replaced the Lockerbie incident.
I remember it vividly, not only because I reported on the crash during the nightly news for weeks, but because of one act of sympathy that will always stand out in my heart.
Shortly after the crash, there was a large bouquet of red roses sent to Lockerbie officials. There was a note pinned to the flowers. It said, “To the little girl in the red dress who made my life so enjoyable from Frankfort to London. You didn’t deserve this”.
Tuesday, December 18, 2018
My Road
I live in a small rural community. My road is what you would call a “dead end.” I’ve always disliked that term and would prefer “no outlet,” but preferences and rules always have a conflict with rules winning out. Anyway, my “dead end” is a microcosm of age and culture.
At the start of my road is a home for transient women who come and go as needed.
As you move up my road, the ten or so houses become more individualized, single family and distinct. There are one-story homes with a couple of bedrooms. The maximum abode would be two stories, and that would also include a utilized or finished basement.
I'm the oldest now on this road. When I first moved in nearly twenty years ago, I was probably in the middle with all generations in between including babies, toddlers, grade-school children and teenage children.
What is seemingly unique to this neighborhood, based upon my experience of living in many other places is that we each know the other's name and we each look out for the other.
Through the years we had illness and infirmity in homes along the road. We had births and the elderly passing. We have all spectrums of income and all political ideals. We rarely socialize, but we talk to each other, and our commonality is a concern for the other. I’m not sure you can find that in a lot of places, but it flourishes here.
At the start of my road is a home for transient women who come and go as needed.
As you move up my road, the ten or so houses become more individualized, single family and distinct. There are one-story homes with a couple of bedrooms. The maximum abode would be two stories, and that would also include a utilized or finished basement.
I'm the oldest now on this road. When I first moved in nearly twenty years ago, I was probably in the middle with all generations in between including babies, toddlers, grade-school children and teenage children.
What is seemingly unique to this neighborhood, based upon my experience of living in many other places is that we each know the other's name and we each look out for the other.
Through the years we had illness and infirmity in homes along the road. We had births and the elderly passing. We have all spectrums of income and all political ideals. We rarely socialize, but we talk to each other, and our commonality is a concern for the other. I’m not sure you can find that in a lot of places, but it flourishes here.
Friday, December 7, 2018
December 7th, 1941
There was a time, over dinner many years ago, that an older friend of mine, a retired naval officer, a graduate of Annapolis and now a successful businessman wanted to talk to one of my sons about attending Annapolis. My friend had both political and military connections, and my son had grades sufficient for an application and appointment.
My friend was a good man, a survivor of Pearl Harbor, but he had a powerful hatred for the Japanese. He hated them so much that he took every opportunity in business, in public, and in private to say so. He was a successful big-time contractor who built office and factory buildings, but he used no products from Japan.
During our dinner conversation I told him, I hoped he would understand, but he could not talk to my son unless he could let go of his hatred of the Japanese. I didn’t want my son influenced by such a long-festering hate.
Senator Simpson was correct when he said at President George H.W. Bush's funeral, "Hatred corrodes the container that carries it." When you hate you create a bond as powerful as love, and it won’t release you from your pain until you consciously let it go. The great teachings of the world suggest that hatred will eventually destroy the hater.
My friend thought about our discussion for several weeks. One day he called to tell me he was going to visit Pearl Harbor…on his way to Japan.
He asked when he got back could he talk to my son. I said “yes.”
As an afterword, my son was not interested in a naval career and went on to be successful in another venue, and my friend was able to release a constricting hatred that held him in a cocoon of anger for decades.
As it is with so many acquaintances with which we are blessed in life, I have lost track of my friend and hope that if he is still alive, he passes today's anniversary of the attack with a feeling of peace that only forgiveness can engender.
My friend was a good man, a survivor of Pearl Harbor, but he had a powerful hatred for the Japanese. He hated them so much that he took every opportunity in business, in public, and in private to say so. He was a successful big-time contractor who built office and factory buildings, but he used no products from Japan.
During our dinner conversation I told him, I hoped he would understand, but he could not talk to my son unless he could let go of his hatred of the Japanese. I didn’t want my son influenced by such a long-festering hate.
Senator Simpson was correct when he said at President George H.W. Bush's funeral, "Hatred corrodes the container that carries it." When you hate you create a bond as powerful as love, and it won’t release you from your pain until you consciously let it go. The great teachings of the world suggest that hatred will eventually destroy the hater.
My friend thought about our discussion for several weeks. One day he called to tell me he was going to visit Pearl Harbor…on his way to Japan.
He asked when he got back could he talk to my son. I said “yes.”
As an afterword, my son was not interested in a naval career and went on to be successful in another venue, and my friend was able to release a constricting hatred that held him in a cocoon of anger for decades.
As it is with so many acquaintances with which we are blessed in life, I have lost track of my friend and hope that if he is still alive, he passes today's anniversary of the attack with a feeling of peace that only forgiveness can engender.
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