Author: alwaysbridging

Glad the notion of noticing—stepping aside, ideally in the moment, and just observing—has resurfaced this week. And just in the nick of time for our annual turn to host supper group.

Rob was a bit strung out (it happens when one’s body is under siege), so less helpful than usual…giving me a chance to watch my friends step in. Wow!

Last to leave were Ed and Laurie. Among other things, they had contributed homegrown pickled beets for our Salad Niçoise. Before leaving, we four gathered in the kitchen with the peeled yet lumpy hard-boiled eggs, the ones that hadn’t made the cut for the salad platter. Ed explained how to dunk these eggs in the remaining pickling brine, then to expect a brilliant surprise the next day.

OK, I’ve been watching for visits from my recently-deceased mother. This was one. I remembered her mother, Lola, my grandmother, creating these purple delights. In the very light of day and friendship, I grinned back, as we plopped the eggs in for an overnight bath.

Three short weeks ago I asked nephew Boyd if we could borrow his guitar for Rick to play at my mother’s memorial. Boyd’s 5-year-old was due for her second brain surgery to address epilepsy. Still I dared to ask him. It was something he could do during this epic time in my life; his too.

Now I am on a bus heading to Reykjavik’s airport after circumnavigating this island country on a cruise with my husband Rob. We have lived in luxury with other family members for a week. He, in the middle of cancer treatments, has not fallen or vomited or had any other reason to visit a medic. His fragile skin wounds are healing.

There have been many extra details to manage for this international trip. I did not have a chance to cover them all, including bringing smaller bills for tips or even visiting an ATM here in Iceland. So, anticipating wanting to tip Rob’s wheelchair assistants, I asked my here-to-fore unknown-to-me seatmate if she could change a 20 or a 50, my remaining bills. I now have two 5’s and a 10 (plus that 50). It was something I could ask and she could do. Asking, trusting, receiving.

And I am absolutely flooded with warm gratitude.

One thing I miss these days is hiking. So when I find a short doable trail and I realize I have time to myself and even a walking stick and enough water, I spring for it.

Today, halfway around Iceland on a cruise with Rob and 7 other Reids, my favorite husband ventured off the ship for the first time. It was live music in a tiny town up a fjord that called him. We needed to thumb a ride for the last two blocks to the venue, and beg a ride back to the boat but hey, we finished uninjured. I’ll admit to a wash of tears during the last duet when the couple who had sung here-to-fore in Icelandic, switched to English for Fleetwood Mac’s Songbird. It was beautiful. A few bars in and on beat, Rob’s champagne flute crashed to the concrete floor. What’s a wife to do but weep?

Thanks to Sunna, Nils and Vilji, we returned to our vessel in one piece even in time for a late lunch. And I sprang free for a solo hike to the nearby waterfall muttering a sincere “Tak!” all the way.

We made it. Using a wheelchair for Rob yesterday through Reykjavik airport was magical. TALL Chinese/Icelandic Bjorn, newly graduated from secondary and heading to Uni, narrated our first moments in Iceland as he pushed and we sped through Immigration and luggage-retrieval. No Customs here which was a delightful surprise—first of many, I predict, non-American ways to do things. Our handsome guide delivered us onto the bus that would whisk us to our luxury hotel. There we collapsed in the Executive Lounge overlooking the city while we waited for our room. I found the best way to keep my eyes open was to finally learn to play Mah Jongg online while Rob sipped an espresso and consumed fruit and petite wafer-like cookies.

Gratefully, as I imagine what’s next and weep, I realize we have pulled out all the stops. After all, this could be our last international trip together.

I’d been told of this Hebrew word before; in English it translates as loving kindness or tender mercy. Less than 48 sparkling hours ago, our priest Emily used it in her homily to describe my mother. My sisters and I and the throngs of oh-so-many friends and angels, living and dead, in-person and on zoom, honored Bernie in community on Wednesday at the cathedral, in our humanness and beyond.

Now I am living in soft liminal space in the wake of Mom’s Eucharist and Memorial Celebration. I think I’ll remember the meaning of hesed for the rest of my life; my desire is to notice and be it more often.