We were invited to a wonderful 40th anniversary party last weekend. Our friend, Marc, has been practicing Buddhism for four decades. He decided to gather his family and friends from childhood on, from Chicago, Los Angeles, and Seattle, to chant and feast in celebration. We were happy to be among the lucky revelers.
Even though dinner was generously catered, we didn’t want to arrive empty-handed. What could we bring to an auspicious event like this one?
Years ago, Chef Carolina gave me a set of pastry bags and tips to be used for decorating. She never gives up on my potential cooking prowess, that daughter of mine. Finally, just hours before the party she instructed me. What a fun project! We assembled the most delicious and gorgeous deviled eggs. Complete with truffle powder and fresh chive garnish.
Indeed, Marc is encouraging in the faith department. And he had no idea the edible delicacy he had inspired.
I saw this post yesterday shortly after learning Trump had been shot. It helped. This is an example of the reason we have common prayers; for use when we don’t know how to pray, the Holy Spirit intercedes.
Today as I reread it, I’m tearing. What a rough time in history this is. I hope it brings you some peace this Sabbath day too. Please call me if you like. Phone tag could be just the degree of gaming I seek on this lazy day at the beach.
I had barely finished putting the pork into the crock pot when the caregiver at Mom’s adult family home called to say she had fallen. She needed to be seen by a doctor for the injury to her head. Yes, of course, I could drop everything and transport her.
After all, my immediate chores for celebrating my sister Susan’s birthday were complete. She and her wife CrisMarie had a layover in Seattle and were stopping by for the evening. Our son Clarke had already arrived for a week’s visit. The chance to see Grandma and be together for a little party was brewing. Wonder what lacerations on a 96-year-old would add to the anticipation?
But first, six straight hours of being very present. Watching the nurse set an IV just in case. And the EMT clean and bandage the skin flap wound on her leg. Oh yeah, and witnessing the physician staple the cut behind her ear. All while I caressed her hand and sang, “You are my Sunshine.” During the long waits between procedures, we listened to beeps from the machine about her vital signs while I read magazine stories out loud.
When Dr. Stephanie gave me the tool for removing staples, I gasped first, thinking she wanted me to do the deed myself in 5 to 7 days. Then I realized that the doctor was graciously supplying the equipment to make things easier for me. I could take the clippers to the closer outpatient clinic and have the removal done by someone else when the time came. I tell you; I was so touched by her kindness especially when I realized we were starting to talk about stability and discharge. Great words to hear in an ER. I felt relieved.
Once we were in the car, my mind shifted. How might we finagle a family visit for this beloved matriarch and her dear ones who had assembled from afar? Maybe it could still happen? If I spun by our house to pick them up, we could go for the proverbial ice cream cones en route to Mom’s house. Believe me, this is a family meme from way back.
Instead, we arrived at our house at 6, exactly when the food was ready and the others were assembling from three different places. We had a lovely dinner together before it was time to take Mom home.
When the two of us settled into the car, as par for the course, Mom exclaimed, “What a wonderful weekend. Best Christmas ever!” And CrisMarie—bless her!—even remembered to take a photo.
The sun is barreling in on me as never before. That’s because the Sitka spruce that sheltered our yard for 50+ years had to come down yesterday. It was struck by lightning earlier in the week.
We had slipped away to the beach hours before the act of Nature that crippled this beauty. I realize now our quieter-than-usual retreat was a vigil of sorts as we texted back and forth with our dear neighbors. With the arborists, they decided the tree’s fate as she was technically on their property. Borders are an odd thing; we were losing a member of the family too.
Meanwhile, between the texts, I finally finished reading TheCross and the Lynching Tree by James H. Cone. That sad recollecting of history has taken me a while. My tears didn’t flow though until I read The Giving Tree to Rob on the drive home. To think of the times of grief and loss that I have read that book with a child. This was the first time I’d read it for a sacred tree though after having read Cone’s recounting of one precious story after another about how trees and their branches and their lumber have been used. Um, um.
The powerful metaphors are piling up along with the sunshine. I am a mere melted pool in the paradox of gratitude and sorrow.
Always Bridging 