Saturday, January 12, 2019

Nostalgia time

January 2019

Why is it that I feel a compulsion to go through files, notebooks and journals at the beginning of each year? I’m bad at throwing things away, so this effort is really quite ineffective. I just finished reading through a pile of letters my husband-to-be wrote to me in the months before we married in 1958. Qui
And now I’ve come across a piece I wrote in 1996, five years after he died. I find that it rings true to this day. This is what I said:

Dear Dave,

As the fifth anniversary of your death approaches, there are so many things I wish I could share with you.
Well. I can’t.
But I can hope that somewhere, wherever you are, you know these things.
I hope you know that it has been an endless five years and also, the time has flown.
It has been painfully lonely, and it has been filled with friends and family and lots of love, and people who care.
I have learned to live alone and like it.
I have learned to figure out my own taxes, and I still don’t like doing it.
I hate buying liquor for a party.
I’m not good at opening wine bottles.
Most of all, I hate putting the silverware away after a party. I’ve taken to just throwing it into the chest, instead of putting it carefully into the little slots.
Those things are your job, damn it!

But I’m doing okay.
I don’t sleep so well alone.
And sometimes I don’t think so well alone.
I miss chewing the fat with the neighbors. I just can’t do it the way you did.
I miss your unreasonable optimism, your point of view on things, your help in problem-solving.
Whatever you did or did not do, you always supported my spirit, and I miss that.

I hope you know about these kids of ours.
They get A-plus reproducing in the last five years. Two grandchildren have become seven, soon to be eight.
They have all moved into new houses or to new places.
They all have jobs that please and excite them.
You should also know that most everyone is sick of hearing me talk about them.
I credit you with so much of their success.
There never was a better dad.
I’m grateful.



Thursday, January 3, 2019

Words of Wisdom by John Kerry

It took John Kerry nearly 600 pages to write his memoir, Every Day Is Extra, published in 2018.  I picked it up because I was intensely interested in knowing his thoughts and attitude about the current administration. It took me quite a while to get from the dedication page—to his wife, children and grandchildren—and to the future, to the moving conclusion.

Those “to the future” words should have been a clue. Despite a lifetime of struggles, debating, cajoling, reasoning--standing up for strongly-held beliefs during difficult times, through devastating losses and exhilarating victories, John Kerry has never lost faith.

When he arrives at the present, after describing stints in the military, as a senator,  as a candidate for president, and as secretary of state, he doesn’t bad mouth anyone. He still believes in America’s capacity for greatness. His words remind us that, “Good people believed the world—at home and abroad—could be different and better. Citizens organized. People fought for something. We marched. We voted. We got knocked down and we got back up.”

He has observed hard-to imagine change and people who have bent history. He says the fight at home has always been a struggle and that is what makes him optimistic about today. He insists that America is good at confronting daunting challenges.

“I’m an optimist because America has a pretty good 242-year record of turning difficult passages into landmark progress. I’m an optimist because of the people I’ve met and what life has taught me,” he says.

In the moving paragraph below, he explains:

That’s why I wrote the book: to share with you that the abiding truth I’ve learned in my journey is you can change your country and you can change the world. You may fail at first, but you can’t give in. You have to get up and fight the fight again, but you can get there. The big steps and the small steps all add up. History is cumulative. We all can contribute to change if we’re willing to enter the contest for the future, often against the odds.

Thank you to John Kerry, who at age 75, continues to fight the good fight.

Wednesday, January 2, 2019

Turkey Day race

Timberline Timing Systems does not lie.

Nine members of the Arndt, James, and Lee families participated in the four-mile Thanksgiving Day race in Fort Collins this year.

Nothing unusual about that. We’ve been doing this family-friendly run for many years prior to chowing down big time later in the day. We’ve been cruising around this course for so long in fact, that some of the grandkids had their first race experience in a stroller. And rumor has it that over time, a participant or two has faded away around the three-mile mark which happens to be right by my house. Just too tempting to call it good right there.

I could give you a rundown on just how long it took each family member to complete the course, but it might get boring. Suffice it to say that grandkids Mason Arndt, age 20 did it in 25 minutes and his sister Abby, 25 was not far behind with a 31-minute run.

Most interesting to me though, were a couple of race times I’ve been anticipating, waiting, even hoping for. This year my daughters, Kristin, 59 and Jeni, 54, arrived at the finish line before I did. It was about time.

Please note: It was close. Our times were 33, 34, and 35 minutes.

It was a Happy Thanksgiving and I am grateful.

As time goes by

I just ran across this in the process of cleaning out some files. Since the author is a 17th century anonymous nun, I figured she wouldn’t mind if I shared it.

Prayer for the Chronologically Gifted

Lord, you know better than I know myself that I am growing older and will someday be old. Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion. Relieve me from craving to straighten out everybody’s affairs. Make me thoughtful but not moody; helpful but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom it seems a pity not to use it at all, but you know that I want a few friends at the end.

Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details, give me wings to get to the point. Seal my lips on my aches and pains. They are increasing and love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by. I dare not ask for enough grace to enjoy the tales of others’ pain, but help me to endure them with patience. I dare not ask for an improved memory that seems to clash with the memories of others.

Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken. Keep me reasonably sweet. I do not want to be a saint. Some of them are so hard to live with but a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the devil. Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places and talents in unexpected people, and give me, Lord, the grace to tell them so.