Astor's First Outing

Astor (just two days old) and his Mom (Cara) are venturing out into the World for the first time. (Notice the patience with which Cara introduces Astor to the new, somewhat confusing, phenomenon of Fences and Gates. [smile])

My heartfelt "Thank You!" to Steven and Mary (my sweet Brother and his wonderful Wife) for sharing this magical moment with me. I love youse guys!

Being ... not ... Doing

He would never be measured by the accumulated credits for what he would do in life. His would not be an achievement quantified path. Those who were to take note of him would not speak of the Stuff he had done; the Creditentials he garnered; the Degrees, Titles, or Ranks he had tallied up. No, my son’s life was to be recognized for one … only one … thing. Who he was to be … not what … as that individual Person that he was created to be. This was to be my focus and the core of my parenting efforts for as long as I had the opportunity to influence him. And it was to become my life’s mantra. It is who we be … not what we do … that matters in life. (I know … the grammar stinks … but you get the point!) If we be the best that we can be … no one on the face of this planet can ever be better. This is the path that Matthew and I set out on together. Setting aside all of the cerebral palsy baggage … we would set our sights on being our best … us.

So when the young man came up to me in the coffee shop and said “I noticed that Matt really likes to read the newspaper every morning. So I gave him the novel that I finished reading last night. I told him that he will probably finish it more quickly than I did, because he reads so much. I hope that he enjoys it as much as I did.” I smiled and took silent note of the beautiful way that Matt had disregarded the fact that he couldn’t read. He pushed aside that potential barrier to social interaction … by creating the illusion that he was an ardent reader. Thus he fine-tuned his performance of all of the subtle gestures and mannerisms that he had gleaned from observing the behaviors of those who did read the newspaper. And I had, for some time, watched his beautifully played-out role as he “thoughtfully” turned the thoroughly considered pages. He artfully picked out comic strips and used them as props to share with others … pointing; throwing his head back in laughter; and enjoying the ensuing comradeship with the Strangers he met as he sat at the al fresco tables outside the shop that I sat inside of. (Please note that Matt’s mental challenges do not permit his grasping of the humor in those comics strips … even when read and explained to him.)

This was but one of the daily exercises that I devised for him (without making any note of it … just treating it as a routine, customary, and altogether normal happening.) He sat outside … at a table of his choosing, and enjoying his choice of beverage and pastry … and introduced himself to whatever level of social interplay he was comfortable with. I observed; took mental notes for discussion with his speech therapist (as we developed our understanding of the particular limitations manifested by Matt’s cerebral palsy affected brain), and devised “coaching” tips to share with Matt.

You see, my Friend, Matthew did not want to be recognized as someone who was challenged by the retardation of his mental functions. He did not want to have his physical impairments noted or accommodated. He wanted to be … Matthew; just another guy; a friend; one of “the gang.”

At our neighborhood YMCA … where I weaned Matt from my accompaniment by pointing to the “Members Only Beyond This Point” sign at the entrance to the gym, and told him that he was the Member. I was just his driver and escort. And I had no privileges there … he was the entitled one … none of the many folks, that Matthew established himself with, discussed, or even took notice of, the fact that he had never experienced homework assignments from school … when he discussed, with them, their children’s struggles with homework. He had honed his listening skills to such a lovely degree of empathetic listening that anyone would comfortably believe the illusion that he was in complete understanding of every element of the subject at hand. He simply pushed aside that potential barrier to social intercourse, by focusing on the finer goal of the desired relationship. He was marvelous. He was allowing himself to be! And he became a very self-assured young man. Content in himself, and comfortable with others.

So why, you, my Darling Reader, may well ask, do I tell you all of this? Because, Dear One, I hear so many lamenting their frustrations and disappointments at not achieving what they had expected themselves to achieve. So much moaning and groaning about perceived “failures!” And it is all about stuff that they feel that they “should” (by some mysterious standard either imposed by others [who have no God-given right to either impose; or certainly not to judge], or by some inner demons that inflict demands based on nothing more than self-generated unreasonableness.)

To these I say “How is that human Being coming along? That’s right! You are not a “human doing.” Even machines and devices can do stuff. But only a Being given the marvelous Gift of choice and election can be.” So I ask you to consider following Matthew’s lead. Set aside those impediments to your realization of who you … and only you … can be. And permit your Self to be … that uniquely equipped, individually gifted, and singly able person who has this one-time opportunity to offer our world … You.

I humbly thank you for your patient indulgence with me. Please know that my speaking to you, in this way, is born only of one thing … my genuine and respectful love of … You.

I remain your steadfast Friend and always willing Servant.

Thanksgiving Prayer

My favorite day of the year. Without qualification, Thanksgiving was always the day that I looked forward to. It represented the pinnacle of familial unity and intimacy. The Norman Rockwell image of Family around the dinner table was my ideal. (And, as an avowed Idealist, this was, for me, no small matter.) [smile]

Hence, when I purchased dining room furnishings, I selected the most accommodating dining table offered by the good folk at Ethan Allen. Substantial English oak and an ability to be expanded to a size that would welcome the entire family was my goal.

And on that annual day of feasting and celebrating, I happily assumed the role of turkey baker/carver, and Host. Then, as we all sat around that grand table laden with magnificent treats and culinary treasures, we would hold hands … bow our heads … and one by one, offer each of our individual statements of prayerful gratitude for our blessings.

Thus it was on that particular Thanksgiving when we were additionally blessed with Matthew … sitting there, between myself and his mother … in his high-chair, and filled with wonder at the presence of an altogether unusual energy and spirit in his home.

His mother followed my reading of a scripture appropriate to the occasion with her start to our Thanksgiving Prayer. Then her Dad, Mother, Brother-in-Law, Sister, and back to me for my benedictory closing. But then, after my “Amen,” there filled the reverent silence, another voice … “M-i-c” … I lifted my head and looked. We all looked. Save Matthew, whose head was still bowed … hands folded in prayer … “k-e-y”. I looked at the others; shrugged; nodded; and we all joined him in his “M-o-u-s-e.” Then Matt lifted his head in complete solemnity and quietude … having offered his contribution of the most reverential and worshipful expression that his darling little soul knew.

And, My Dear Friend and Reader, I fully believe to this day that all of Heaven was stilled and blessed by that dear young Soul’s fervent prayer that day. For I remembered then … and still do … the verse of scripture that teaches us that “Unless you come in the innocent spirit of a little child, you will never know the kingdom of Heaven.”

I lovingly bid you … each and every beautiful One of you … a day of sweet, harmonious joy in the bosom of those with whom you share Love.

Happy Thanksgiving Day Dear One. I do, indeed, love you.



A Post-Script Note: In response to inquiries by some who are not familiar with the Mickey Mouse Club 'Alma Mater' (that Matthew was singing on that far-removed Thanksgiving Day) ... Here 'tis ...



(I will never tire of the many memories stirred by that song ... And I think that you can readily sense the reverent spirit that Matt felt appropriate to our prayerful moment. I hope that you enjoyed it!)

Re-visiting An Interview

Almost two years ago, I was interviewed by a Contributor, to a Web site that provides "timely, in-depth, trusted medical information, personalized tools and resources, and connections to a vast community of leading experts and patients for people seeking to manage and improve their health."

I looked over the completed interview, and considered the possibility that some, of what was shared there, might be of some benefit to Readers of this site. So, with the blessings of the Contributor, I am posting the complete interview here.

I do hope that You, My Dear Reader, will find some idea or thought to be of use to you as an encouragement, consideration, or, perhaps, a provocation to further thought. I have deleted the name of the medical information site as well as that of the individual mentioned in the Contributor's introduction to the interview. The interview is, otherwise, unedited.

How to Cope
When Your Adult Child has a Physical Disability

I was looking over the questions asked here at [medical information site] and I began to smile as I re-discovered a question from a lady named "[DELETED]." She was worried about her adult son who had been diagnosed with MS. And although the title of her question was: "Can MS affect the ability to match clothing (plaids with stripes) and colors?" the true intent of her question was to be found in reading between the lines.

This was a mom who was worried about her son's disease and how he would manage the potential physical and mental challenges that Multiple Sclerosis could bring. I began to think about this disease from a parent's perspective. No matter how young or old your child is...they are always still your child. How does a parent cope when their child faces the daunting challenge of a physical disability? What is the best way to be of help?

In order to delve more deeply into these questions I have enlisted the help of fellow blogger and self help writer, John Michael. John Michael's extraordinary way of writing stems from having to face his own unique challenges including parenting a son who has cerebral palsy. You may find more of John Michael's insights by visiting his blog authentically entitled, "Just being John Michael." http://justbeingjohnmichael.blogspot.com/

Based upon your life experience, what comfort would you give to a parent who has an adult child who is facing physical challenges?

To begin with, please know that I do not, in even the most remote way, hold my opinions or ideas up as any kind of standard of measure or (God forbid) sort of rule to go by. They are, quite simply, my own perspective and individualized inclinations. That said, I can tell you (and any Parent reading) that my comfort with what Matthew (my son) and I share, in our partnership in life’s challenges, began with my acceptance of, the reality that we all … every living, breathing, struggling one of us, live with our own set of ‘disabilities’ and ‘handicaps.’

While Matt’s are more obvious and clearly pronounced than others’, I have accepted the fact of my responsibility to confront and manage my own … and to help him identify (in the most gentle and tenderly ways possible), and deal with his. I have, simultaneously, allowed my Self to be open to, and receptive to, the difficulties and frustrations in the lives of those whose life-paths intersect mine. And I discuss, with Matt, these obstacles, to ease-of-living, so that he can share, with me, an active appreciation, of the hurdles that beset others. We discuss possible ways that we can compliment and make easier the lives of Friends. And we have conversations centered around our responsibilities, as Human Beings, to the world around us. This has given him a sense of participation and worth, in caring for people along the way … and has (while not spelling out or focusing on his own set of Complications) allowed him to gain a sense of worth as a Care-Giver for others. It, also, takes the intensity of focus off of all of the daily irritations that his cerebral palsy unrelentingly visits upon him.

This “Mechanism” (if you will) has proven to be a ‘tool’ of some considerable worth in my set of ‘coping implements’ … for us both.

How emotionally difficult is it for a parent to see their son or daughter unable to do things that others may take for granted?

The “emotional difficulty” is compounded by the reality that (in Matt’s life) he does not possess the mental acuity to enable him to thoroughly process the complexities of his handicaps. While he is at a high level of what would be labeled as “trainable” (God! How I do hate those labels!) he is obviously vexed by his awareness of the areas of life and living that are part of the experiences of those around him … and his inability to participate or be included in them.

I then, accept the responsibility (inasmuch as I am able) to “feel” and “sense” these vexations for and with him … then translate them into means of communicating to his level of comprehension and appreciation of them … to him. All the while wanting (at my emotional core) to curl up in a corner and weep for him. Emotional exhaustion and an ever-present sense of being emotionally spent has, consequently, been my life-companion.

How does a parent express concern for their child's well being without coming across as overly intrusive or pushy?

In a word … you can’t! Yep! That’s about it. My experience has been that if I am willing to let Individuals or Organizations … whose role or mission in life is to ’administer’ the programs or services (I use the word advisedly) that are intended, by well-meaning Initiators, to reach out to the needs of those who find themselves less than optimally functional … operate at their own discretion or with their own set of priorities … my son will suffer neglect and even some measure of abuse.

Yes, I know that that sounds harsh. And I do wish that it was not the fact. But it has proven, over and over, to be the Reality. But … when I take the active, involved, persistent, and (in the view of some) “overly intrusive or pushy”, I have found that I can cut through the layers of superficial and uncaring individuals and programs … and mine the nuggets of wonderfully committed and professionally devoted gems who give of themselves willingly and thoroughly, for the benefit of those to whom they have dedicated their lives and careers.

So, I make Matt the “Good Guy”, and take the mantle of “Enforcer” upon myself, for his benefit. This has worked out to be most successful and beneficial for all concerned. It gets past the layers of incompetence and wasted time and efforts quite quickly. And gets us to the “good stuff” with a minimum of wasted energy and emotion (which, by virtue of living with this situation, are already in short supply.)

What is the best way for a parent to offer help?

I think that this is most effectively accomplished by becoming a living and breathing part of my son. I have permitted my Self … nay, demanded of my Self … to be … actually and legitimately become an element of my son’s Being. I feel what he is unable to feel. I think what he hasn’t the capacity to think. I sense what he wants to sense, but can not get through the haze, of his brain’s unwillingness to cooperate, to sense. I offer tears when appropriate … whilst not giving in to self-pity. I offer determination … where he is not equipped to be determined for himself … whilst guarding against insensitivity or lack of empathy. All the while recognizing that this commitment to Matt is made at the expense of other life-demands that must be sacrificed (willingly … even happily … and without remorse of bitter regret) for his ultimate benefit.

All too often, I have known parents who let it be known that they are some figure of “Noble Sacrifice” and are ’giving up’ something for their child. Horse hockey! (That’s about as ’cleaned up’ as I can make that. [smile]) Firstly, their child is constantly aware of this added burden upon their shoulders. They hear and sense their parent’s bemoaning of their ’plight’ in life. And that child has this ’gift’ to deal with, in addition to all of the garbage that is incumbent with whatever life has given them.

No! My son’s handicap is something that I accepted, at the very outset (when he was diagnosed, at less than one year old), as Life’s enabling me to grow and develop into far more than I ever would have, otherwise. I had to become more of whatever a man can be … to be what my son needs his father to be. I accepted Life’s challenge to develop Character and Strength that I would never have known without the demands and needs of my son’s circumstances. Matthew has only sensed and known the reality that I am indebted to him for my life’s flourishing. And he has a comfortable and calm assurance that I appreciate him … far beyond his cognitive abilities to reason out those truths.

These are my own perceptions of the best ways that I can be of help to my son … and simultaneously, my Self. Best summed up in ... give. (Which, I suppose, is the best way to benefit any relationship.)

Can you give any advice to the parent who has been seemingly pushed away after offering help to their adult child?

This question stings.

Three years ago, Matthew phoned me and asked me to cease phoning him, and/or seeing him. “When you call or we are together, it upsets Mom. And that makes me nervous. And I can’t deal with it.” he said. Understanding his Mom’s temperament and personality (which I have [Thank Goodness] taken a good deal of time and invested a considerable amount of effort in studying), I understood what he was saying. So, I agreed. And said, “Goodbye.”

Because I have an absolute certainty that Matt’s ability to make that phone call to me was born of all that we accomplished over the thirty two years prior to the call … and I know the stresses and tensions that he was referencing (after twenty years of marriage to his Mom) … and my certainty that I can look Life full in ’the face’ and give an honest account of my Self, and my having given absolutely all of all that I had of Me, to him … I have accepted, and respect, his choice.

For me to demand some form or sort of “Parental Rights” in maintaining contact with Matt, would be an exercise in selfishness. It would be at the expense of his comfort and tranquility. And it would serve no purpose other than negative ones, including putting him in the center of a tug-of-war that would render no possible benefit of value. So, I have had no contact with the Son who I spent every week-day, of every year, after he ’graduated’ from school (9 years) … for nearly three years now. Hence the “sting.”

In your experience of parenting your own child who has a physical disability, what was the hardest aspect for you?

The loneliness.

What gave you the greatest joy in parenting your son?

The day that he looked at me and said “My brain doesn’t cooperate sometimes.” It was a bitter-sweet moment in which he attained the level of acknowledging his challenges. This represented a heartbreak in our joining of awareness … and the joy of his readiness to deal with some of his own frustrations.

Last thoughts?

Life is … ultimately and beautifully .. GOOD!

One Word

It may be that I am vastly different from others. I really do not know how the putting away of feelings and impressions is accomplished by those around me. But I do know that I have a need to place the stuff of my life in order, with something akin to the systems that we employed in my 5th and 6th grade classroom. Our class was housed in the school library. Each day was begun by the checking in and shelving of the library books returned by the school’s student body.

Hence, we had to know the classification and sequencing system of each book in order to shelve it properly. So it is with my thoughts and feelings. I must identify, with an appropriate ‘label,’ each experienced emotional happening, in order to ‘file it away’ comfortably. So, you can see why those ‘labels’ are important to me.

Thus it is that I have been vexed for a number of years by my inability to affix a word to a couple of significant happenings in my life. I have long-known that the process of thought ... the management of impression, emotion, ideas, and the like ... is made possible by the ‘tools’ of thinking. Namely, words. Without those words … those tools … no processing of ideas, feelings, or emotions, is possible.

This awareness is what motivated me to devote every possible moment to the enriching of my son’s linguistic abilities. I would converse with him about totally inane subjects … matters of meaning and import … concepts of vague or abstract impression … specific linkages and/or sequencing of elements of life ...anything that would enable him to better engage in, his own private and personal, experiences of thinking, and sorting out, his mind and spirit’s workings.

I am pleased that I can rest in my knowledge that his abilities, in those areas, developed far beyond the most optimistic of projections, offered by specialists, in disciplines devoted to the treatment, and development, of persons with disabilities. He excelled over any projections presented in estimations of the long-range effects of his cerebral palsy. So, you see, I have a keen understanding of the import of those critical tools of language.

So a word … just the right word … is vitally important to me. And I never relent in my quest for that particular word … as I seek to define, and better understand, and respond to, my life experiences. That one word … that will enable me to place that experience in its proper place on the shelves of my experiential library.

Now, that’s a hell of a lot to say as a prelude to today’s happening. The light-bulb over the head moment when the perfect word presented itself to me. The word that identified, with absolute exactitude, that look that was in my daughter’s eyes when I last saw her. The word that explained all of the depth of meaning being transmitted by her words, demeanor, and spirit, as she dismissed me from her presence. The word that speaks of the volumes of understanding that was present when I was similarly dismissed from my mother’s presence as I, at age 20, left home. One word that I have not for all of these years, been able to find … that I might be able to affix an understanding that would satisfy (and bring resting comfort to my groping for closure.) At last I have been given the wonderful gift of that specific word … it is 'contempt.'

Now, at long last, I can rest in an understanding of what was being conveyed by those two individuals, in those happenings of five years ago (in the instance of my daughter’s presentation) and over forty years ago (with my mother’s indelible look.) I had not encountered that sensation outside of those two experiences … until last week. It was then that I was revisited with the flash-back recall of all of the feelings and emotions associated with a confrontation with contempt. In that instant, the clock of history was spun back … and I, again, saw that look in my mother’s eyes. I relived all that was still fresh from the archives of my recollection. I, afresh and anew, saw utter contempt in the face of my mother.

But now, unlike the previous time, I can simply, and quietly, label it for what it is … and shelve it … with determination to never check that volume out again.


Oxford English Dictionary

contempt
noun
The feeling that someone or something is worthless or beneath consideration.

"Your Song" ... Elton John ft. Alessandro Safina

I pass along, to You, Darling Friend, all of the Love and Goodness that accompanied it when I received it from my Darling Brother, Steven.

Breakfast

Mom and I shared a Pizza, last Saturday night, as we enjoyed the Winter Olympics together. She lives less than 10 minutes from Dav and Heather's home in Land-O-Lakes (14 miles North of my cottage.) Thanks to the lovely generosity of D&H, I have the use of their sweet little Honda Civic whilst I am Home/Pet sitting for them. Hence the nightly visits with Mom over the past 4 nights.

"So," you may ask, "what has any of this to do with 'Breakfast'?" Well, my Dear Friend, here 'tis. Let your mind conjure an image of a skillet warming on the stove at 'medium-high' heat ... a nice splash of extra-virgin olive oil and a pat of unsalted butter getting to know each other, on an intimate basis, therein ... the toppings (Italian sausage, pepperoni, onion, mushroom, tomato sauce, cheeses, and peppers) from a slice of the aforementioned pizza scraped from their pizza crust ... into the now-sizzling pan ... and 2 lovely eggs broken over the entirety.

All, of this, heating, blending, and emitting aromas that would enchant the Angels on high ... whilst the eggs cook to a nice soft-scramble. Then, from the toaster-oven, the now-crispy pizza crust is placed on a plate and has its topping-companions reintroduced to it. Taa-Daa! Breakfast. [happy grin]

PS: How is this for a View? (from D&H's back yard ... over which I look as I enjoy Breakfast on the patio shown in earlier photos.) Ahhhh!



I bid You, My Darling Reader, the very best of days ('cause I am thinking about how much I love You ... Yes I Am!)

We Cavorted

“Cavorting!” … This is the word that proclaimed itself to my mind in the instant of my awakening. That is what Dad and I had just been doing. Then I awoke … and had the immediate realization ... “Dad is gone!” (for this is, in truth, the sad fact.) Yet I was stilled for a moment by the suddenness of my recollection. What I had just been enjoying was a memory of something that had never been a common reality for Dad and me … “cavorting together” (though he and I had a long-running, tacit understanding that we would have loved to.)

The closest that we ever came was on that Thanksgiving Day, some years ago, when I showed up, at the home that he and Mom shared, with the promised Thanksgiving feast purchased from a restaurant. All of the side dishes were prepared and ready. All that was required (as I now recall) was the baking of the turkey, made ready, by the restaurant, in a pan.

Given the fact that a span of a few hours was needed for the roasting of “the bird”, Dad and I obtained the reluctant approval, from Mom (who did not like the idea of joining us, in our excursion, "just for the fun of it") for the two of us to set out on an exploratory drive ... in my new Jeep Cherokee.

So … off we went. And I do not remember having ever seen Dad letting himself enjoy such a child-like delight in an adventure. Lighthearted laughter and freedom of spirit were our comfortable companions. Me and my Dad. My Daddy and I. Us! Father and Son. It was glorious!

We drove to a spot that had a view over the Bay to the flashing light of, what remains of, the Egmont Key Lighthouse, where his Dad (my Grandfather), had served as Assistant Lighthouse Keeper, in Dad’s youth. We read the inscription on the memorial to the sailors lost in the sinking of a Coast Guard ship … whilst savoring the distinct aromas of the head-waters of the Bay.

We treated ourselves to some silly snacks from vending machines (something that Dad had always considered an expense far beyond rational reason.) I showed him new avenues of travel made possible by the construction of bridges and roadways that he had no idea existed. And we arrived back home later than Mom had allowed was considerate of her.

As I spoke with Dad through the open window of the Jeep, upon taking my leave, and subsequent to a very miserable evening, of strained submission, to an air of guilt and reproof, Dad said only “I’ll never do that again!” Which proved (unfortunately) to be quite prophetic, on his part.

But we did, just that once, cavort! And it was enough for me to have a recollection, upon my awakening, of how wonderful it was.

I miss you Dad. (And I miss all of the cavorting that we would have loved to have done ... but never did.)

[Definition: “Cavort”/ To act or behave in a jovial and exuberant fashion. ]

Thoughts of Daddy

I don’t remember ever calling him “Daddy” in my younger, and even ‘middle,’ years. But it was always what my Soul called him. He and I were not comfortable with each other. We were not comfortable with the world around us.

I was his first child … and he repeatedly made it clear that I was an inconvenient intrusion on his honeymoon. The termination of my presence was something looked forward to … and I got the message (loud and clear) that when the time necessary for my raising was exhausted … there was no place for me under his roof. Sitting around his dinner table (after divorce had removed the Element of conflict from between my mother and me) there was some discussion about all of those years between my leaving home, and rekindling contact. Mom wanted some help in understanding (or, better yet … wanted me to suffer through an attempt at justification for) the twenty-plus years that we did not speak. The wedding that I chose to not invite them (any of my immediate family) to; the children who did not know that they had grandparents (on my side) or an aunt, uncles, cousins, and on and on. “How could you live like that without it bothering you?” I was asked.

“It was really quite simple” I replied. “I had lived so many years hearing the house, that I lived in, referred to, by my parents, in phrases like “as long as you live in my house …” that I had no difficulty in understanding that it was not OUR house. I was living, out of a temporary necessity, in YOUR house. So, first … it was never ‘home,’ and secondly … it was, quite clearly, not MY home. When you are raised to understand that you are an unwelcome intruder into someone else’s world … leaving, and then dismissing, that world, is to rid oneself of the burden of being constantly reminded, of your ‘unwelcome alien’ status.” And, at that point, I recall looking around the table … and seeing looks (on all faces present there) that showed the light of an awareness that silently said “Oh! I remember saying those things. Oops! Didn’t know that they would be taken so literally.” And, in Daddy’s eyes … I saw the “oh shit!” look. A well-recognized look of having failed … yet again. That look that, certainly not for the first time in our pilgrimage, gave me cause to feel oh-so-badly for him.

For, you see, Dear Reader Friend, I have always sensed that Daddy wanted to experience a tender and yes, intimate, relationship with me (in fact, with All in his world.) But, alas, he never had a clue how to allow that to happen. Raised by a man who knew only military discipline (my granddad served in the U S Coast Guard [after the dismantling of the Lighthouse Service] as a civilian Keeper of navigational aids in and around the manatee River and outer Tampa Bay. He bore the total responsibility for raising his three sons, after his wife [Daddy’s Mom] passed away, early in their lives.)

There was NO affection, nurturing, tenderness, encouragement, praise, or even remote validation in that home. Only discipline. Orders, and punishment, for orders not perfectly followed. So … poor Daddy … he had all of his feelings, yearnings, desires, and emotions … all stored, pent up, confined, and compartmentalized … and for the first time in his life he had a window of opportunity for releasing them all … and having them eagerly accepted, embraced, and appreciated. He had his wife. Bliss! Then ... he became a father. And the full weight of parenthood landed on his unprepared shoulders. And the only script that he had for that role … was the one given him by his father. And he hated that script. But it was all that he had. Hence, the Conflict, that my presence, visited upon him. And no more, the freedom to explore all of those neglected, suppressed, and denied inner workings of his most passionate and caring Self. Responsibility and duty were, once again, his masters.

( My suspicions of the presence of a complex, of hidden aspects of his inner Self, were confirmed with Mom’s sharing, with me [fairly recently], his letters written whilst they were courting [and he was away in the service of the U S Navy.] She stumbled upon the letters [long forgotten] as she delved into the bowels of ‘The Cedar Chest.’ That vessel of ancient Treasures holding all of her life’s artifacts and mementos. She phoned me, in excitement and with an urgent need to share these resurrected Intimacies. It was with an obvious sense of wonder, and even surprise, that she read Daddy’s words of endearment. He was open, unguarded, romantic, insightful, empathetic, and yes … even poetic, in his messages to the first person who he had ever been able to expose those beautiful aspects, of his inner Self, to. As I listened, I heard (in the background of recollection) a lifetime of Mom’s chiding and belittling remarks about what she deemed to be “the inherited inability of the Brown boys to have any sense of romance, tender affection, or regard for the feelings of, anyone.” I had heard such declarations so frequently, and openly, made, for so many years, that their echo was deafening. And then, here she was … over the phone, reading words that reminded her … and informed me … that my Dad was, in fact, a gentle and caring Romantic. Further confirmation, to my predisposed and sensitized mind, that my birth had confused and discouraged Daddy’s sensibilities and capabilities. No wonder, indeed, that he felt so threatened and resentful of the circumstance of Parenthood interrupting his first chance to live out all that had been denied him before falling in love with Mom.)

Equipped as I am with the Temperament and Nature that is mine, I had been keenly conscious (throughout all of those years of his rigidity and frustrated anger) of an unidentified current that flowed beneath Daddy’s well-rehearsed surface. So, as I said earlier, I knew … but had no definition for … another Being that was him. For many years he and I battled that unspoken, invisible, and troublesome ghost relationship. Prior to my leaving home (at age twenty-one) … and then after our reuniting (at age forty-three) we had both struggled with what we sensed that we wanted to realize … but had no facility for claiming.

And then, Life gave me the Gift of understanding and appreciating the beauties of freed and enjoyed thoughts and feelings. Thankfully, I was (in Daddy’s final few years) able to celebrate telling him that I love him … at my parting, after every visit. And to tell him with the tag of “Daddy.” “I sure do love you Dad,“ I would say. His discomfort and unease lessened noticeably over time. Even more wonderful is the way that he accepted my Heart’s message … embraced it … and learned to share it between us. Unfortunately, I am the only one of his children, in whom he found that sweet Place. But I am so delighted that I was given the lovely opportunity to invest those few years that were required to nurture it into reality, for us.


I tell you, Precious One, these things … so that you can grant yourself (and perhaps some specific Others) some measure of patience and maybe even forgiveness. I give this to you, to offer real and tangible Hope, for what can be … now that you know that good stuff can be born out of yucky stuff. Daddy and I want you to know that. [smile]

I do love You … really!

Life's Tears

I return, today, to a thought shared three years ago, and, again, early last year. For, this afternoon, I sense (after some phone calls, this week, fraught with fears and sorrows) a ready and wanting Soul looking and listening for what lies in this reflection.

“Dad …Why do you always cry? You cry when you are happy and you cry when you are sad. Why?”

I knew that this was one of those rare moments when my concrete-thinking daughter was open to an insight that could have long-lasting consequences in the development of her ability to relate to her feelings. I had best be brief, succinct, and accurate. “Please God” I silently prayed.

“I cry because I allow myself to feel … and tears are an important part of the feeling system. You see, Sweetheart, we were created with our hearts capable of feeling both joy and sadness. But our hearts can’t contain too much of either. So … we have a safety system that keeps our hearts from breaking if we feel too much of either sadness or joy. The extra comes out as tears. They can be happy tears or sad tears. But they both come out so that our hearts don’t have too much of either to hold. Because I permit myself to feel a lot … I have a lot of extra.”

Those with whom I have shared the first part of my emerging book 'Why I Am Here and You Are There', will know that I live my life in response to the leading of “The Master Gardener” as my “still, small” inner voice speaks to my heart. Today I awoke with the recollection of the dialog (with my daughter) that I just shared with you and an acute sense that there is someone, some “plant” in the “Master Gardener’s” care that is in need of the nurturing benefit of this little message of encouragement. In my capacity of “Minister of Manure” I am compelled, by previous commitment to the Master, to spread some of the “compost” of my past experience where preparation has been made and a receptive Heart is readied. So, My Friend, whoever and wherever you are, here is the answer to your petition.

Go ahead … it is OK … allow yourself to feel … to embrace … to experience … to savor life as it is being presented to you at this very moment. Your heart will not break … tears will protect it from the hazard of too much (and the garden all around you will benefit from the watering of the excess of your courageous participation in the adventure at hand.) Live life … all of it … saving it is not an option. Invest YOURSELF in living. And if tears are the result … let All (your children, your family, your friends) know that the tears are from a heart overflowing with the excess of living life.

Sisterhood Award

I am blessed, by Kimberly Drever, in her post at http://thejourneyofpassion.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-got-award-and-get-to-pass-it-on.html , with a singular honor that, at first blush, would seem a bit outside of the “Norm.” But I beg to linger with Kim’s sweet and altogether kind Gift to me … and let You, My darling Reader, know just how very meaningful this lovely Award is to me.



You see, the Award is one of a declared “Sisterhood.” And in her including me in the group to whom she gave this recognition, Kim said, “Now, the award is 'Sisterhood'... but these are a few 'token sisters' that I just couldn't leave out:” Then, she made some very kind remarks and sent it my way. And I am quite moved!

For, don’t you see, “Sisterhood” is a form of Kinship … an intimacy of Relationship, not born of genetic predisposition … but of election and exercise of Personal Will. That makes Kim (to my individual sense of comprehension), someone who has chosen to indicate a desire to be Kin with Me in a Spiritual Bond of familial choice. “Oh, John-Michael, you are making all too much of all of this!” you might feel yourself wanting to declare. But no! I say that we miss out on far too many opportunities to see … know … acknowledge … connect … and find Kinship with our Fellow Beings … when we allow invitations to Kinship, to slip by … unheeded, or unrecognized.

All of this surrounds the “Sisterhood Award” on its surface. But I have, earlier, heard Kimberly Drever’s Voice through her messages in comments and on her blog, “The Journey of Passion.” And that is why I chose to respond by making what she has to say, a regular part of my daily life. I began “following” her blog when I first became aware of her. And now, I smile in my acceptance of this lovely Award from her Spirit to Mine.

I am, however, departing from the prescribed set of “rules” attendant to the Award. Instead of posting the details of those whom I am “nominating” for the Award … I am sending an Email to Each, and will amend this post with only the names and details incumbent to those who elect to embrace the Award. I trust that the Guardians of the Award will be amenable to this deviation from the guidelines. (I am just too hesitant to put anyone “on the spot.”)

All of that said … I simply MUST add, “Thank You Kim!”

Be Mindful ... The "Peaches"

Grand-Daddy had a way of cutting off a conversation that irritates, long past his passing, to this day. He had a stored arsenal of maxims and adages designed to state a point, and deliver a truism … while disallowing any response, and negating any discussion. I always found it a practice that struck me as disrespectful of whomever was the target of his comment. And, I am convinced, even now, that this was his, perhaps unconscious (but nonetheless insensitive), intent. He did enjoy having the “last word.” Unfortunately … those damn quips still linger on in my memory. And I was reminded of one of them when I asked Mom a question, some while back.

I had been curious (a mild but persisting curiosity that had lingered and pestered for many years) about the source of my name. Mindful that my younger brother (both my brothers, and my sister, are, in fact, all younger) was named for two biblical characters of some note … I wondered how my middle name was elected. It seemed reasonable to draw the conclusion that my first name was in honor of my Dad’s having John as his first name. But I knew of no ‘Michael’ for whom I might have been labeled. So, with all of the explanation that I just recounted to you, I asked Mom.

I was intrigued by her little snicker in response to my interrogatory. Having the understanding that she has always been something of a “Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes” with a background of extreme conservative religious piety and “proper” upbringing … I could not imagine why a snicker would be generated by a question that, I assumed, would produce some noble, and/or righteous, response. “Well … before you ‘came along,’ I read one of those drug-store romance novels that you never want anyone to know that you read.” she began. (I began to feel that this was NOT going in any direction that I either intended … or welcomed!) She continued, “The ‘Leading Character’ was a romantic and dashing man whose name was ‘Juan Miguel.’” (I became very uncomfortable!) “I decided that when I had a son, I would name him John Michael, after that dashing and passionate character.” she concluded. I was aghast!

“I always thought that because Dad’s first name was John, you named me after him.” She smiled … “That worked out well … and I never had to tell him or anyone else the truth.” she confessed. “OK! … if this Character was of such an impressive consequence that you named your First-Born Son after him … what is the name of the Book … so that I can get it from the library and see what the heritage of my name is?” I followed. “Oh, no!” she responded. “I have no idea what the book was! It was some cheap throw-away thing that I forgot about long ago.”

“So … you are telling me that I was named after some sleazy, paper-back romance-novel, Gigolo, who you found in a completely forgettable piece of literary Trash ... that you can’t even remember!”

“Well … I had never thought about it THAT way. But yes! … I guess that’s so.”

So, My Dear Reader, I found myself recalling one of Grand-Daddy’s lousy sayings …

“If you don’t want my peaches … don’t shake my tree!”

Serves me right for asking the question!

What a Bummer!!

[great BIG ol' silly grin]




IMAGE: “August Peach Tree” Moise Paintings

The Green, Green Grass ... of Home

Consider this U. S. Army Soldier, in Iraq, with his tiny 'plot' of grass in front of his tent. I find it quietly heartwarming! Here is a Soldier in Iraq. Stationed in what can, at times seem to be the equivalent of a big ‘sand box.’

He asked his wife to send him dirt ( U.S. Soil), fertilizer, and some grass seed, so that he can have the sweet aroma, and feel the grass of Home, growing beneath his feet.

When the men of his squadron (his brothers and sisters in his family of kinship in commitment) have a mission that they are going on, they take turns walking through the grass and the Home Soil -- to bring them reassurance and hope.

If you notice, he is even cutting the grass with a pair of a scissors. Sometimes we are in such a hurry that we don't stop and think about the little things that we take for granted.

How about we each offer whatever form of prayer as is our own … for this, and all of our Sons and Daughters, who nobly and humbly give and give (and give up so much) so unselfishly for us. I think that we can manage that. And I hope that you agree.

IMAGE and STORY, an Email Gift from Carole (A Dear Friend of many decades. Thank you, Carole

My Favorite Inaugural Image

The One who is not in this photo ... his WIFE and her MOM ... is (in my estimation) the One who makes what we see illustrated there, before us, possible. Michele Obama is the Element that enables and empowers the magic of the rest of this Family's potential ... to be complete in its beautiful fulfillment. What I see here is a powerful and enchanting demonstration of what a Family living in an environment of supportive and validating, respectful, Love can, at its ultimate, be. I can only say ...
"Amen, and Amen!"

Sharing An Interview

Having been interviewed by a Contributor to a Web site that provides "timely, in-depth, trusted medical information, personalized tools and resources, and connections to a vast community of leading experts and patients for people seeking to manage and improve their health" ... I looked over the completed interview, and considered the possibility that some, of what was shared there, might be of some benefit to Readers of this site. So, with the blessings of the Interviewer, I am posting the complete interview here. I do hope that You, My Dear Reader, will find some idea or thought to be of use to you as an encouragement, consideration, or, perhaps, a provocation to further thought. I have deleted the name of the medical information site as well as that of the individual mentioned in the Interviewer's introduction to the interview. The interview is, otherwise, unedited.

How to Cope
When Your Adult Child has a Physical Disability

I was looking over the questions asked here at [DELETED] and I began to smile as I re-discovered a question from a lady named "[DELETED]." And just by the sweet nature of how she posed her question, there was no doubt in my mind that her moniker was quite accurate. She was worried about her adult son who had been diagnosed with MS. And although the title of her question was: "Can MS affect the ability to match clothing (plaids with stripes) and colors?" the true intent of her question was to be found in reading between the lines.

This was a mom who was worried about her son's disease and how he would manage the potential physical and mental challenges that Multiple Sclerosis could bring. I began to think about this disease from a parent's perspective. No matter how young or old your child is...they are always still your child. How does a parent cope when their child faces the daunting challenge of a physical disability? What is the best way to be of help?

In order to delve more deeply into these questions I have enlisted the help of fellow blogger and self help writer, John Michael. John Michael's extraordinary way of writing stems from having to face his own unique challenges including parenting a son who has cerebral palsy. You may find more of John Michael's insights by visiting his blog authentically entitled, "Just being John Michael." http://justbeingjohnmichael.blogspot.com/

Based upon your life experience, what comfort would you give to a parent who has an adult child who is facing physical challenges?

To begin with, please know that I do not, in even the most remote way, hold my opinions or ideas up as any kind of standard of measure or (God forbid) sort of rule to go by. They are, quite simply, my own perspective and individualized inclinations. That said, I can tell you (and any Parent reading) that my comfort with what Matthew (my son) and I share, in our partnership in life’s challenges, began with my acceptance of, the reality that we all … every living, breathing, struggling one of us, live with our own set of ‘disabilities’ and ‘handicaps.’

While Matt’s are more obvious and clearly pronounced than others’, I have accepted the fact of my responsibility to confront and manage my own … and to help him identify (in the most gentle and tenderly ways possible), and deal with his. I have, simultaneously, allowed my Self to be open to, and receptive to, the difficulties and frustrations in the lives of those whose life-paths intersect mine. And I discuss, with Matt, these obstacles, to ease-of-living, so that he can share, with me, an active appreciation, of the hurdles that beset others. We discuss possible ways that we can compliment and make easier the lives of Friends. And we have conversations centered around our responsibilities, as Human Beings, to the world around us. This has given him a sense of participation and worth, in caring for people along the way … and has (while not spelling out or focusing on his own set of Complications) allowed him to gain a sense of worth as a Care-Giver for others. It, also, takes the intensity of focus off of all of the daily irritations that his cerebral palsy unrelentingly visits upon him.

This “Mechanism” (if you will) has proven to be a ‘tool’ of some considerable worth in my set of ‘coping implements’ … for us both.

How emotionally difficult is it for a parent to see their son or daughter unable to do things that others may take for granted?

The “emotional difficulty” is compounded by the reality that (in Matt’s life) he does not possess the mental acuity to enable him to thoroughly process the complexities of his handicaps. While he is at a high level of what would be labeled as “trainable” (God! How I do hate those labels!) he is obviously vexed by his awareness of the areas of life and living that are part of the experiences of those around him … and his inability to participate or be included in them.

I then, accept the responsibility (inasmuch as I am able) to “feel” and “sense” these vexations for and with him … then translate them into means of communicating to his level of comprehension and appreciation of them … to him. All the while wanting (at my emotional core) to curl up in a corner and weep for him. Emotional exhaustion and an ever-present sense of being emotionally spent has, consequently, been my life-companion.

How does a parent express concern for their child's well being without coming across as overly intrusive or pushy?

In a word … you can’t! Yep! That’s about it. My experience has been that if I am willing to let Individuals or Organizations … whose role or mission in life is to ’administer’ the programs or services (I use the word advisedly) that are intended, by well-meaning Initiators, to reach out to the needs of those who find themselves less than optimally functional … operate at their own discretion or with their own set of priorities … my son will suffer neglect and even some measure of abuse.

Yes, I know that that sounds harsh. And I do wish that it was not the fact. But it has proven, over and over, to be the Reality. But … when I take the active, involved, persistent, and (in the view of some) “overly intrusive or pushy”, I have found that I can cut through the layers of superficial and uncaring individuals and programs … and mine the nuggets of wonderfully committed and professionally devoted gems who give of themselves willingly and thoroughly, for the benefit of those to whom they have dedicated their lives and careers.

So, I make Matt the “Good Guy”, and take the mantle of “Enforcer” upon myself, for his benefit. This has worked out to be most successful and beneficial for all concerned. It gets past the layers of incompetence and wasted time and efforts quite quickly. And gets us to the “good stuff” with a minimum of wasted energy and emotion (which, by virtue of living with this situation, are already in short supply.)

What is the best way for a parent to offer help?

I think that this is most effectively accomplished by becoming a living and breathing part of my son. I have permitted my Self … nay, demanded of my Self … to be … actually and legitimately become an element of my son’s Being. I feel what he is unable to feel. I think what he hasn’t the capacity to think. I sense what he wants to sense, but can not get through the haze, of his brain’s unwillingness to cooperate, to sense. I offer tears when appropriate … whilst not giving in to self-pity. I offer determination … where he is not equipped to be determined for himself … whilst guarding against insensitivity or lack of empathy. All the while recognizing that this commitment to Matt is made at the expense of other life-demands that must be sacrificed (willingly … even happily … and without remorse of bitter regret) for his ultimate benefit.

All too often, I have known parents who let it be known that they are some figure of “Noble Sacrifice” and are ’giving up’ something for their child. Horse hockey! (That’s about as ’cleaned up’ as I can make that. [smile]) Firstly, their child is constantly aware of this added burden upon their shoulders. They hear and sense their parent’s bemoaning of their ’plight’ in life. And that child has this ’gift’ to deal with, in addition to all of the garbage that is incumbent with whatever life has given them.

No! My son’s handicap is something that I accepted, at the very outset (when he was diagnosed, at less than one year old), as Life’s enabling me to grow and develop into far more than I ever would have, otherwise. I had to become more of whatever a man can be … to be what my son needs his father to be. I accepted Life’s challenge to develop Character and Strength that I would never have known without the demands and needs of my son’s circumstances. Matthew has only sensed and known the reality that I am indebted to him for my life’s flourishing. And he has a comfortable and calm assurance that I appreciate him … far beyond his cognitive abilities to reason out those truths.

These are my own perceptions of the best ways that I can be of help to my son … and simultaneously, my Self. Best summed up in ... give. (Which, I suppose, is the best way to benefit any relationship.)

Can you give any advice to the parent who has been seemingly pushed away after offering help to their adult child?

This question stings.

Three years ago, Matthew phoned me and asked me to cease phoning him, and/or seeing him. “When you call or we are together, it upsets Mom. And that makes me nervous. And I can’t deal with it.” he said. Understanding his Mom’s temperament and personality (which I have [Thank Goodness] taken a good deal of time and invested a considerable amount of effort in studying), I understood what he was saying. So, I agreed. And said, “Goodbye.”

Because I have an absolute certainty that Matt’s ability to make that phone call to me was born of all that we accomplished over the thirty two years prior to the call … and I know the stresses and tensions that he was referencing (after twenty years of marriage to his Mom) … and my certainty that I can look Life full in ’the face’ and give an honest account of my Self, and my having given absolutely all of all that I had of Me, to him … I have accepted, and respect, his choice.

For me to demand some form or sort of “Parental Rights” in maintaining contact with Matt, would be an exercise in selfishness. It would be at the expense of his comfort and tranquility. And it would serve no purpose other than negative ones, including putting him in the center of a tug-of-war that would render no possible benefit of value. So, I have had no contact with the Son who I spent every week-day, of every year, after he ’graduated’ from school (9 years) … for nearly three years now. Hence the “sting.”

In your experience of parenting your own child who has a physical disability, what was the hardest aspect for you?

The loneliness.

What gave you the greatest joy in parenting your son?

The day that he looked at me and said “My brain doesn’t cooperate sometimes.” It was a bitter-sweet moment in which he attained the level of acknowledging his challenges. This represented a heartbreak in our joining of awareness … and the joy of his readiness to deal with some of his own frustrations.

Last thoughts?

Life is … ultimately and beautifully .. GOOD!

Integrated and Segrated Relationships

I am most fortunate. My choice to BE a Parent, was encouraged by a Son who could not play the role of a child. My son was born with cerebral palsy. Hence, his options were, from the get-go, limited. He would never have, at his disposal, the usual ‘tools’ and devices made readily available to most children. His mind would never process all of life’s data as other children’s minds do. I, therefore, had my early-on choices made clearer for me by the immediate demands of a Person whose opportunities in life rested more distinctly on my shoulders than would be the case for most new fathers.

I did not have the ‘luxury’ of taking the business of fatherhood on a day-by-day, develop-as-you-go proposition. My son needed someone who would agree to become One with him. Where he was not equipped with the usual capacities to develop chains of sequential thought … he needed someone to slowly, methodically, and repeatedly make distinct those elements of sequential thinking that the unimpaired brain has the customary capacity to develop … every day of every week, of every month, of every year, of his growth and development. His ability to come to a knowledge of, and develop a healthy appreciation for, Who he is, was not going to be functional.

So, he needed a surrogate participant to integrate into him … and (without his conscious awareness of it happening … or feeling of discomfort or embarrassment at having it happen) guide his growth of self-imagery and satisfaction. And, My Dear Reader, none of these considerations had even the foggy clarity or distinction of a thick morning mist as I heard that Neurologist say “Your son has cerebral palsy.” I just knew that this tiny child who looked at his Daddy with eyes of complete faith, trust, and confidence, was going to need an extraordinary man as his Dad. And I was the only candidate for the job. And I was an insecure, confused, irresponsible, totally ill-equipped specimen of a screwed-up (though consummately delightful, entertaining, caring, and loving) young man.

So, I had the choice to either grow up, become someone who I did not have a model for, an example of to study, or image to emulate … or … run (as I later learned, many choose to do.) There was only one choice for me. And I began a terrifying, challenging, scary, demanding, discouraging, daunting, and hilariously wonderful journey into becoming a Dad. Not, mind you, fulfilling a Role as a Dad figure. Oh, no! I willed my Self to take every aspect of my son, each element of my Self, and weave them together into a fabric of relationship that made us one continuous, seamless, and tightly woven tapestry of Father/Son-ism. I elected to freely reveal my fears and hesitations to him … to insure that he would know no boundaries to his freely expressing his to me. I opted to change my pace and rhythm of functioning to function in stride with his. I became Him that he could become a Me that I was (simultaneously) developing “on the wing.”

I tell you, Dear One, of this, because my Lovely Lady Muse has recently drawn me into a reflection on my relationships with my own children, while pointing out, in dramatic and distinct ways, the dichotomy between those who go through their parenting experience fulfilling the duties and responsibilities of a Parent, and those who find a way to become the Being of a Parent. And I am compelled to make an attempt to draw the distinction between the two. One functions and operates across a gap of separate individualism, whilst the other is integrated into the personhood of their child. One follows a set of dogma, doctrine, and expectations visited upon them by society, familial experience and example, and cultural dictate. While the Other joins their Self to their child in a unity of definition of Oneness. They Become one parent/child unit. And for that Unit, that parent/child identity, there is no “good for You/good for Me” debate. There is, instead, a “good for Us” understanding. There is no “As long as You are under My roof, it will be thus and so …” dictate. But, instead, there prevails a “We are made better, and can enjoy more, if we do thus and so, in our Home.” The desegregation of Parents and Children in favour of an integrated Family produces a life-long dividend of shared life-joys, as well as burdens and pain. This I have been blessed to witness, and marvel in, in the lives of Friends and Loved Ones in my little world. And the distinction and resultant loss/benefit outcomes require me to reflect on my own personal experience … and present this opportunity for you, My darling Friend, to reflect on yours.

I do hope, with every fibre of my crusty old Being, that you will allow these considerations to dwell with you for a brief moment. And apply whatever insight or idea, that your own Muse might whisper into your consciousness, toward your relationships … be they Spouse, Child, Parent, Sibling, Colleague, Lover, or Friend. I encourage you to do some Soul-Weaving with the threads and yarns of those individual characteristics, quirks, and idiosyncrasies that define those with whom you would desire a tighter, richer, more beautiful, and more satisfying relationship. You have my earnest prayer for your fuller enjoyment of every aspect of your relational life. I love you, ya know! [a loving smile]

Alecia

Several years ago, I came to the realization that the relationship between my Self and that of Alecia, (who had become a loved Friend [as we shared the community of folks and services at our neighborhood YMCA]), was mirroring that of a Dad and Daughter. So, one day, I said “You have wanted a Dad for your whole life-time … I love you; I have a place in my heart, and life, for a daughter; and I feel that I am fitting that place in your life now … so, how would you like to establish a permanent and genuine Dad/Daughter relationship between us? I know that I can never be your Father … that is a genetic and natural gift … but I can be a Dad … for that is a relationship of commitment, choice of behaviors and devotion, and willing giving of Self. I am willing.” Happily she accepted my proposal. And this magnificent young woman has been … in the eyes of Heaven, and all who will look upon us here, Dad and Daughter.

Alecia’s birthday was last Saturday. I want to celebrate that anniversary, of her birth, by celebrating the renewal of the birth of our relationship. And, inasmuch as I intend to make that relationship concrete in the eyes of the law as soon as we can work out the legal snags, I want also to make it known to all of you lovely and caring Friends and Readers who have endured my various forms of expressions for over two years now.

Therefore, Dear Ones, I introduce, to you;
My Daughter … Alecia …

Happy Birthday, to You, My Darling Joy, and Heart-Song,
Your Adoring Dad

An Alternative View

In the course of the past week, I have had two, of the dearest people in my life, ask me heart-felt questions borne of similar circumstances in their respective lives. I have, separately, and individually, responded to each as my Lovely Muse has directed and encouraged me to. But, as we know all too well from past experience, She does not allow any matter of Life and living to pass away without lingering consideration and lessons. So, my Dear (and persevering) Reader, I share what continues to inhabit my mind with You.

Both of my lovely Friends are lamenting, and seeking healthy and constructive ways to deal with, the insidious (though quite natural) ravages of time and wear on the health and lives of Parents. It seems that both of these Parental Figures are frustrated and discouraged with their respective health problems. And their Spirits have lost what had been, heretofore, joyous and enthusiastic outlooks and attitudes. My one Friend asked for help in “finding” her Mother. She is seeking a way to recapture and breathe new vigour into the energy levels and perceptual powers of her Mom. She is saddened by the presence of a wearied and dispirited woman who was “only yesterday” a font of liveliness and creative intensity. My second Friend asked that I suggest a way for her to help her Dad (who, as a result of several recent strokes and the onset of Alzheimer’s disease, is not faring well) to find a renewed and invigorated Faith and sense of imminent Wellness.

Though I offered completely separate, and seemingly different ideas to these two caring and loving Daughters, I am, now, seeing a harmony in the theme of what I brought to them. To the first, I suggested activities that would engage the Daughter, the Grandchildren, and the Mother in exercises of revisiting and celebrating memories of past moments of enjoyment and accomplishment … while recording them in some tangible forms that would provide an indelible record of and resource for revisiting the memories. To the second Daughter, I brought the thought of bringing her Dad a new and fresh view of his life and circumstance through eyes and perspectives of others (including the Daughter) who have a concrete and realistic awareness of Beauties and Possibilities, stolen (by the pains and disconsolations of his illness) from her Father.

And, I now realize that I have suggested, to both of these exceptional women … the same basic thing. A different way of sensing Life’s elements. See it all differently. Guide your Loved One in discovering the Optional (for it is readily available … at our option) Awareness. Smell the Fragrance that is hidden behind the stench of the Obvious. Feel the Comforts that lie behind the curtain of Pain’s insistence. Engage in all that seems repugnant and worthy of discard. I am suggesting something that runs contrary to all that seems natural and “normal.” Embrace these aspects of Life and Living! For they are natural and worthy of respectful consideration. Just see the beauty that is hidden in their potentials. Do not allow the ultimate Monster of Fear to cripple your steps along this part of Life’s pathway. Know the victory of pushing away Fear’s blinders … to permit Life to illuminate new vistas.

I know that my enthusiastic enjoyment of the fragrance of the pungency of decaying organic matter … would seem to be strange (at the very best … if not, weird) to those who are ‘turned off’ by what they consider the stench of “rot.” But I find encouragement in the magic of Life’s reminder that nothing passes away without offering new life, in the form of composted nourishment, through the “passing away” of what was Before. So, I find genuine enjoyment in walking through bogs and swamplands. And the fragrance of that “passing away” is the nectar of new life and rebirth.

Whilst I listen to others of my generation bemoaning the loss of their former levels of physical and emotional abilities … I relish the wonder of the “fermentation” of my past experiences and circumstances into what I have determined to transform into a “vintage” that will give satisfaction and joys to any who wish to spend a moment savouring my presentation of the elixir of my experiential brew. All of those fresh elements of past happenings have far more worth and merit as they are distilled in vats of time and perspective. And I have chosen to celebrate them not as something lost … but as something turned into the fine wine of new worth. I get a nice buzz off of what my past has created. [grin] Don’t you see, My Dear reader? It is a simple matter of accepting the readily available “eyes” of Life … instead of the popular offering of our world’s more common view … death. I choose Light over Darkness.

So, this is what I suggested to my two remarkable Friends. I was offering the idea that they might find some ways to invite their Loved Ones out onto the balcony of new vistas and views … offer them a glass of a refreshing beverage distilled from lovely memories and delightful experiences … and have an intimate celebration of the wonder that is Life. Life as it is … right now … and right here … built on and made up of all of the magnificent collection of all of those harvested and fermented experiences and circumstances. This is what is available to each of us … if only we choose to make it so.

And it is just that simple … a matter of choice. Energized and brought to bear with a bit of applied effort. For, don’t you know, effort is required. This is not something that is presented on a platter of convenience. We do not hear any frequent voices of encouragement to see and hear Life’s possibilities. For, alas, all the world about us is voicing the same song of discouragement and despair. So, effort and creative energy is required … but more than well worth all that is invested. I promise!

Man Carves Wife a 6,000 Stair Path in Mountain

When Carole (my Dear Friend of 40 years) sent this story to me (she knows quite well where my interests lie), I simply HAD to present it to You. So ... "Thank you Carole."

An incredible love story has come out of China recently and managed to touch the world.

It is a story of a man and an older woman who ran off to live and love each other in peace for over half a century.

The 70-year-old Chinese man who hand-carved over 6,000 stairs up a mountain for his 80-year-old wife has passed away in the cave which has been the couple's home for the last 50 years.

In a twist worthy of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, friends and relatives criticized the relationship because of the age difference and the fact that Xu already had children.

Over 50 years ago, Liu Guojiang a 19 year-old boy, fell in love with a 29 year-old widowed mother named Xu Chaoqin..

At that time, it was unacceptable and immoral for a young man to love an older woman.. To avoid the market gossip and the scorn of their communities, the couple decided to elope and lived in a cave in Jiangjin County in Southern ChongQing Municipality.

In the beginning, life was harsh as they had nothing, no electricity or even food. They had to eat grass and roots they found in the mountain, and Liu made a kerosene lamp that they used to light up their lives.
Xu felt that she had tied Liu down and repeatedly asked him, 'Are you regretful? Liu always replied, 'As long as we are industrious, life will improve.'

In the second year of living in the mountain, Liu began and continued for over 50 years, to hand-carve the steps so that his wife could get down the mountain easily.

Half a century later in 2001, a group of adventurers were exploring the forest and were surprised to find the elderly couple and the over 6,000 hand-carved steps. Liu MingSheng, one of their seven children said, 'My parents loved each other so much, they have lived in seclusion for over 50 years and never been apart a single day. He hand carved more than 6,000 steps over the years for my mother's convenience, although she doesn't go down the mountain that much.'

The couple had lived in peace for over 50 years until last week. Liu, now 72 years, returned from his daily farm work and collapsed. Xu sat and prayed with her husband as he passed away in her arms. So in love with Xu, was Liu, that no one was able to release the grip he had on his wife's hand even after he had passed away.

'You promised me you'll take care of me, you'll always be with me until the day I died, now you left before me, how am I going to live without you?'

Xu spent days softly repeating this sentence and touching her husband's black coffin with tears rolling down her cheeks.

In 2006, their story became one of the top 10 love stories from China , collected by the Chinese Women Weekly. The local government has decided to preserve the love ladder and the place they lived as a museum, so this love story can live forever.

IMAGES and STORY from: Chinese Women Weekly

My "Thank You," to them, as well.

First-Aid Kit

Knowing our innate predispositions, and understanding our natural drives, perspectives, and inclinations, does not … in any way … immunize me against the effects of those characteristics. Oh No! All of the bruises and wounds that my individual nature is naturally susceptible to, I am readily vulnerable to. My preparedness (by virtue of my understanding of our natural temperaments), for our behaviours, neither shields me from, nor inoculates me against, those words and actions that flow from your Nature … and run contrary to mine.

So what good then, all of my knowledge and understanding (would be the expected question) does this awareness serve? Simply that, as I choose to see beyond the complex of our individual sets of fundamental differences … in order to permit Love to flourish between our eternal Spirits … I can prepare myself for those inevitable incidents of wounding and hurt. As I am aware of our disparate Personality traits … I can ready my triage of remedies to heal my anticipated injuries. This … and this alone … is the long-term benefit of knowing our Temperament/Personality types. That I may have my ’first-aid kit’ always in readiness for those instances when you unconsciously, and quite naturally, allow those traits that are quite understandable and normal … to flow freely. And I experience all … that is the natural conflict between your perspectives, and mine … that clashes in (what I feel as) an injurious collision, of malice-free disharmony.

I have learned that my feelings will, rarely, be hurt. I am fairly adept at navigating a course of conflict-free sailing. But when we run afoul of each other … and hurt occurs … too frequently, or is abusive … or if malice is, indeed, the root … I can withdraw from the Source of the clash. But I can NEVER change the natural temperament of any other person. I can only enjoy whatever span of moments we share ‘sailing the seas,’ of harmonious acceptance, together … in the bliss of mutual respect and compromise of desires … and relish that Gift, as the Gift of that moment … only. If that moment should meld into a span of moments flowing into days, years, and more … all the better! But I understand that I must, as a precaution against devastating surprise … keep my little set of understanding Awareness … my ’first-aid kit’ … available.

(Yes! … I was just reminded of this!)