Miss My Mornings

 In this Other World I’m living in

Coffee is not really a thing

At home, I would concoct delicious coffee combinations

Based on a variety of flavors and styles

I would sip that coffee while writing in my journal

Praying, reading, thinking about the upcoming day

But here in this Other World

I wake to the dark and it just seems dark

I feel surrounded, misplaced

It’s when the blues start to set in

But I still do some reading

And I still pray, of course

And my prayer today is that I’m closer to getting out 

of this Other World

Hospital Day 10

 I am going crazy here without my journal.  I had considered having my neighbor bring it in, but didn’t feel like there was anywhere good to keep it. I had her bring me pads of papers and pens, but have yet to try them. Since she did bring my iPad, I thought I’d come straight here.

The point here is not to rehash everything. All of this is beyond my mind to even comprehend. I am forced into the moment because these previous days have been tough, and the future is terrifying in so many ways, I dare not go there.

Jim and I feel like we are hanging on by a string together. I told him last night I just know we will have a chance to hold each others’ hands again. Could God have brought us all this way together just to drop us in a lonely sea? I think not.

A chaplain who saw Jim came to see me. He didn’t have much to say, but he did recite my favorite quote:

All will be well

And all will be well

In all manner of things will be well

I colored these bright flowers today. Sunflowers have been a guiding light to me for many years. They remind me that joy is always at hand. That when we are together we are more powerful. That we can stand tall and strong. And turning our face to the sun, our beautiful source, is a necessary spiritual ritual every day.

Stabilizing

Journal entry 8.27.24

Yesterday while I was waiting for Gina Wells to pick me up for my doctor appointment, I saw a huge eagle fly over our lake. It was followed by a smaller, younger one.

I consider eagle sightings auspicious, so was encouraged by this sign.

[for the readers: Gina is the wife of the guy who is subbing my classes while I’m out. I had never met her before. This is how strong my CLMS support network is. I am grateful.]

When I got in the car, meeting Gina for the first time, I told her of the eagle sighting. I told her in Native American mythology, it represented Spirit, and I felt it was telling me Spirit is with me.

While in my doctor appointment, Gina looked up online. When I came out, she read me this:

Find stability in yourself.

When I looked it up today, I found some additional words that can be stabilizing. 

STRENGTH. POWER. WISDOM. FREEDOM. DIVINE PROTECTION. SPIRITUAL GUIDANCE.

I’m feeling the strength to do what I need to do.

I will keep the power on my side —enough hopelessness and flying around at the whims of things.

I’m wise enough to know what’s happening here.

The only freedom I will feel is if I don’t get caught in anxiety about imagined future events.

Stabilizing is to feel the strength, power, wisdom and freedom of this important moment.

Each important moment.

ADDENDUM: I went to the hospital early today and met with the palliative care manager.

Jim signed a DNR.

Hospice care has been discussed, but his pulmonologist said to wait and see how he does the next couple of days.

Here is the moment.

Where I Am Now

 It’s just after 2:30 p.m and I finally got to quiet down, listen to music, and write.

On May 28th, I wrote about how important it is to love where we are at, based on an Allen Stone song.

Do I love where I’m at? Injured with a long healing? The future of everything from my teaching life to Jim’s life, all up in the air?

I guess I’m missing my own point here. So, I ask again…

Do I love where I’m at?

In this very moment (the only moment there is), I have to say yes.

I have music, a clean house, a husband who helps me maintain what I need for healing, plenty of food, neighbors and friends to help, and time to rest.

I am also enjoying two beautiful flower bouquets sent to me from my friends Stacy and Natalie. Who can not love being surrounded with yellow, white, and purple?

Breathe it in!

PS. And a while after I posted this, more flowers arrived, adding color to the mix. I love my colorful life!

Another Day, Another Retelling

 I have two long time favorite columnists from Cleveland. They are Connie Schultz and Regina Brett. They are both inspiring to me as women, as writers, and as people who deeply plumb their experiences and put them in words.

A bit over a week ago, Connie quoted musician Nick Cave in something she put on Facebook. She now writes for Substack and teaches writing at a university in Ohio.When she quoted Cave, she mentioned that she had been told about his book Faith, Hope and Carnage from sister writer Regina Brett.

So, of course, I had to check out the book for myself. 

To be clear, I've never listened to Nick Cave's music. I guess he's from Australia and was kind of post-punk? I don't know. All I know is that what Connie posted got my curiosity up.

The local library had the book, and I've been working my way through it. It is a conversation, not a memoir. And it is full of beauty and awareness and the power of writing music and being a human being who grieves. (Cave's 15-year-old son died falling off a cliff.)

There are many things I want to share about what I've been reading, because some stuff is really sticking with me. I plan to just take one at a time. Today, it is this quote that begins on page 68. 

We should never underestimate that sense of being in the groove of life, of moving from one situation to another with the wind at your back, of being purposeful and valuable, of life having some semblance of order. It's really something, that feeling, made all the more profound because you know how transitory and easily broken it is. It seems to me, life is mostly spent putting ourselves back together. But hopefully in new and interesting ways. For me that is what the creative process is, for sure. It is the act of retelling the story of our lives so that it makes sense.

This week has been one of trying to get my bearings in what feels like a different life in many aspects. What “I am” has appeared to change. But yesterday, after a text conversation with my friend Kate, I realized who I am is not different. It’s the things I’m feeling that are different—feeling I haven’t had before that grow, change, and take me by surprise.

As a caretaker now, I realize that naming my feelings is essential to staying in a loving mode. I did that yesterday, and hope to do so going forward. Doing that helped me make a few decisions yesterday that needed to be made, and set me on a path forward to accomplish some things around here. I had been blocked. There is some relief now.

I kept thinking to be creative I needed to find a way to do something different. But right now, I’m creating a new life seemingly every day depending on the needs around here. As usual, it comes back to the present moment and knowing that in that place, all is well.

I was trying to figure out how to wrap this all up, and came upon this. I will let George have the last word.

It’s being here now that is most important. There’s no past and there’s no future. Time is a very misleading thing. All there is ever is the now. We can gain experience from the past, but we can’t relive it; and we can hope for the future, but we don’t know if there is one.

 

 

Poking Things With Sticks

 Notes on a Sunday

Yesterday I fell in the Target parking lot, cutting and bruising my knees and my foot.

Sadly, I know when I hurt myself, it is usually with a reason. In this case, I was mulling over the fact that Jim was at home trying to fix the garbage disposal, and I needed to get home to finish cleaning up for company that was coming from out of town.

In essence, of course, it was much more than that.

All week, I had prided myself on speaking my truth and staying balanced and getting done what needed to be done. It wasn’t all perfect, but I honestly thought I was doing pretty well. In reality, my mind was poking around, creating scary scenarios, and keeping real joy at bay. I didn’t realize it, of course.

This morning I cried…a lot. I admitted I’m scared. I read a lot of inspirational things and listened to songs with messages I need. Here is the list:

“Poking Things With Stick” and “You Found that Thing You Lost” by David Kirby

Medicine Cards: The Discovery of Power Through the Ways of the Animals — in this case, Contrary Possum (that really hit home!)

“Bubbles Up” — Jimmy Buffett

“His Strength is Perfect” — CeCe Winans

“What Good Am I” —Bob Dylan

“Mull of Kintyre” — Paul McCartney and Wings

“Miracle” — Whitney Houston

Still, I stewed a bit. What do I write this day? Do I really want to detail all my grief and agony? Is it necessary?

Then across my Facebook feed came this from my friend Melody Wright:

I laughed out loud. If this didn’t say it all!

I had concluded that I had allowed myself to lose some faith and trust. I had failed to look for joy — and part of me knew it. I had allowed the stress of company coming to unhinge me in some ways, because frankly, I am a terrible housekeeper and I was pushing myself to do what I should have done ages ago.

And to what end? Scott’s flight was canceled and now the trip has been canceled, so it was all for nought.

When will I realize I just need to stay in the moment? When will I notice I’m not before I lose it? Fall in a parking lot? Have a meltdown?

When will I stop being a dumbass? 😂😂😂

Prayer Trail

 This morning I decided it was time to make a trip to Six Mile Cypress Slough. I honestly cannot recall the last time I was there. I had an idea to take a small journal with me and stop along the walk and write short prayers. But once I got there, I decided I didn’t want to carry the notebook, so I decided to use voice memo on my phone. Each stop I recorded something and took a photo. Very often it was the photo I wanted to take that motivated the prayer. Other times, it was the location.

I didn’t get there as early as I usually do, and the place was already busy with many bird-watchers and 0photographers. Still, I managed to have some quiet moments to reflect and record.

Enjoy my little prayer trail, each word as I recorded it.

Morning at the slough.

I just took a picture of the sun reflecting on the water,

The trees are reflecting

It’s right at the entryway

Absolutely beautiful.

My prayer here is that I may mirror love in the world.

I’m at the lake now…tall grasses all around here, very tall.

I can’t even say I remember the grasses being so tall here.

The dry season hasn’t been all that dry, so I think that’s why.

There’s a cormorant, but I don’t see a lot else.

The breeze is coming at me…now it’s a wind.

I just feel like everything is wide open.

For a while it felt like things were closing in on me, but they’re not.

I’m as wide open as this lake, a breeze blowing across me. 

That’s prayer wind.

Walking on the boardwalk

I’m just realizing

I really needed this.

Period.

Everything feels so green.

Well, it is green…

Anyway, absolutely gorgeous morning,

Cool, humid, and wonderful.

Criss-cross

The way this tree looked when I came around the bend

Criss-crossing and wrapping around things and bumping into things

It’s exactly how I’ve been feeling lately.

Very representative!

Maybe I don’t always feel wide open and green!

Looking up.

Looking for God.

Reaching for God.

What is the slough without the sounds?

I liked the call this bird was making and how off in the distance, 

another bird was answering.

That is a certain kind of prayer.

Alone.

I arrived at the Pop Ash Pond, and I get be here by myself,

Without a bunch of bird-watchers and photographers.

Feels nice to breathe and be alone here.

Breathing in contemplation with nature is the best kind of prayer.

Spiral

 A lone white pelican

visited our lake yesterday

catching the attention of 

snowbirds gathered around

the water, watching it dip

for fish, its orange beak

glinting in the sun

and I considered this a 

good sign as I’ve

always thought of these

birds as angels because

of the way they spread

their wings and spiral

around and around.

2023 Year In Review Photos

 2023 had some very special moments. For the fourth year in a row, I have gathered my year in review. It always proves to be a worthwhile activity, and this year is no different. It was particularly hard this time to just stick with one photo, but honestly, this isn’t about tyranny. I can make my own rules, right?

Feeling Connected

I love my time spent with friends. There were wonderful meals and conversations spent with friends like Annmarie, Laurie, Pam, and Angela which have no photo representation. No matter. I feel connected anyway.

Many fun events with Kara. Always!

A long overdue dinner with Susan and Natalie

Picking up where I left off with Bobbi Jo

Make Me Smile

A visit to Ohio is never complete with a meal at my favorite Colombian restaurant with the world’s best grilled shrimp arepas. This time Margie and I were joined by Scott, Brenda, Braydon and other family members. It was a wonderful evening. I also had an enjoyable lunch at Fatheads with John, Gail, Martin, Nettie, Cheryl, and Brandon — but somehow we failed to get a photo.

Feeling Relieved

In March I was able to return to Bunche Beach, my favorite walking spot, which had been closed since the hurricane in October. It felt like a special kind of grace to be there again after so much trauma.

Meaningful Moments

Wayne and Kim were able to visit in April, and given the state of Wayne’s health, it was the most meaningful event of the year. We enjoyed our time together, which included a trip to Ding Darling Wildlife Refuge on Sanibel Island.

Highlight of the Year

My friend and classmate Pat Schlosser takes on the awesome task of getting people together. She is responsible for the annual Florida lunch meeting, and she was behind the SJA Class of 1973 Underground Reunion which I cheerfully attended on June 3rd. It was a night of reconnecting with friends, many from the earliest school days. What a night it was! No class can surpass SJA ‘73!

I knew her as Patty from Kindergarten & beyond

Pat—the one who connects us all

My dear friend Laura. Simply the best.

Moments Shared With Loved Ones

It came time to begin putting together my ideas for this year’s review, and lo and behold, I found I had no pictures with Jim. I decided this needed correcting. I suggested a beach trip on Christmas morning, even though the weather was not too promising. We weren’t there long, but it was worth it just for the pictures. Later we would have our waiter at Courtney’s take more photos. It was another very special Christmas together, and I’m grateful for every moment with this guy.

Everywhere I Am

 

I had been having a rather rough Father’s Day. This time of year is always tough, as my father made his transition in May 31, 1998 and his 69th birthday would have been that June 23rd. Father’s Day is always plopped right in between. We get to this time of year and it’s dad reminders everywhere.

The 25th anniversary was noted, but since I was traveling, the day passed without too much thinking about the relevance of it.  My sister and I visited his grave the next day, something I rarely do. His birthday will come again this Friday, and my 68th birthday in August. You can bet I’m thinking about how short his life really was, as I enter the same year that took him away.

Today I cried early on, and then did my best to let it go. Later, my sister Margie texted me her sadness at the moment I was reading the above Facebook comment my friend Kara had reposted. I told Margie I was feeling similar sadness, and perhaps it is the rain and lack of sun that was adding to it for me. I sent her the post, and she loved it as much as I did.

I was glad to have the Sunday yoga and meditation class to rest my mind and body into, and was happy that my favorite teacher, Linda, would be doing the class today. The thing is, Linda forgot the key to the studio at home and so we decided to have a short class outside, right there in the outdoor hallway next to a fountain and under a canopy. The rain had stopped, but it was still overcast and there was a cool breeze, a real blessing in our area in June.

Linda had brought her crystal bowls, and so after some movement we settled into a crystal bowl meditation. The rain began again, pitter-patting on the canopy above us, adding to the ethereal crystal vibrations and the bird sounds and the water fall of the fountain. It was then I remembered the post. I looked at the moment and realized that my father was here. Hadn’t I been the one silently asking for rain all week to cool things down? It was an answered prayer.

 I looked further, and could see him in the yoga and the bowls and the cool breeze. It had all come together in an unusual and spectacular way. Once I looked, really looked into the moment,  I could see he is everywhere I am.

And I knew despite the way it sometimes appears, nothing has ever been lost. 

Post-Ian 10.1.22 "Shine"

While we had no electricity, Jim and I spent many evenings on the lanai, eating dinner, listening to music, talking, watching the sun and clouds and the rising of Jupiter and the outing of the stars. It truly was one of the gifts of this time.

A yummy blackened fish sandwich from RT

Inspired by lines from the poem "Yo Yo Ma at the Inauguration" by Lynn Ungar

This is how we do it,

make the real promise of the day

 

Right now

    feeling that

           promise to

Love deeper, to

        stay in the 

            moment.

 

To be kind.

 

Think.

 

Care.

 

Our community breached

in ways unimaginable.

 

October -- shine on us...please.

 

12:15 pm

10.1.22 

Post-Ian 9.30.22 "Holding the Center"

Our street morning after Ian

 

 Inspired by these words from "At the Teahouse, 6 a.m." by Holly J. Hughes

How long will he hurl himself

against the dusty glass? How long

will we believe we are not free?

 

I'm feeling free today.

I only have to be in the moment.

Let what comes, come.

I'm holding the center

Feeling the power of

wisdom in adversity.

Believing in the best 

yet to come.

We know it is there.

Free to believe it is so!

 

11:22 a.m.

9.30.22

Saying Goodbye

 Inspired by the poem by Joyce Sutphens called "The Last Things I'll Remember."

Sharing a meal of enchiladas, tacos, and arepas.

Appreciating the decor and the local lager beer.

How hard it was getting to find things to talk about, 

which was never a problem before.

How uncertain the future is.

The drive down.

The drive back.

Hugging goodbye in a parking lot.

"Love ya, girl" with a blown kiss.

Trying to pretend my heart isn't breaking.

Our last adventure to St. Pete and the Dali Museum. Amy & I, March 2022

55. Unexpected Moment

 #66Challenge

 

Ever since the pandemic hit in 2020, and my mother's social life came to a grinding halt, I have been hearing her decline over the phone, and saw it for myself last summer. In July 2021, she was officially diagnosed with advanced Alzheimer's. Talking with her on the phone can often be difficult, as she stretches for words, repeats herself constantly, and because of her limited activity, has little of interest to say.

Over the weekend, we celebrated Mother's Day. I watched online as people celebrated their mother as their best friend, someone they cannot live without, sadness over lost mothers, all the usual Mother's Day fare.

The thing is, never in my life have I felt my mother was my best friend. To put it straight -- she was adamant while she raised us that we were to be independent beings. And it worked. All of us are independent beings. She is our mother, and she struggled through some difficult times. We were together through those things, and watched how she powered through (although that wasn't a saying at the time), leaning on faith and activity to keep her going. She's a survivor for sure.

When I called her on Mother's Day she already had a lot of activity, and was doing the usual repeating things a few times. Stretching for something to say, I began to tell her about my intensive reading students, some who are 8th graders reading at a 3rd grade level (she was horrified at that thought!), and how much they accomplished this year. We had done the final reading inventory and nearly all of them had improved. I explained how, even when I offered to help them, they took pride in doing things themselves, whether it was spelling words or working on comprehension activities. 

And that is when something strange happened. My mother got very lucid and clear, as she told me that the reason they succeeded is because I am their teacher. She said it was a testament to what a good teacher I am that they took pride in their success. She reminded me that I had good teacher and bad teachers, and the good teachers make all the difference. She said something to the effect, "You are that good teacher, and I'm proud of you."  

These words still bring tears to my eyes as I retrieve them as best as I can from my memory. The moment was so unexpected, I didn't even think to write down exactly what she said. First, I was shocked at how clearly she was speaking. Second, I was overwhelmed with the fact that she was even saying it. My mother is not one to tell us much about who we are or how she sees us. The moment was so unexpected, I still get tears in my eyes recalling it.

My mother may not be my best friend, but she taught me what was important: faith, activity, and finding ways to survive difficult times. She did her best, and she got the job done. The last two years of teaching has been a survival story for all teachers, and I am one of them. I applied all I know to help get me through this year, which was definitely my roughest ever.

I learned from the best, and I am grateful.

Thank you, mom.

Between the Branches

 [Note: Sunday morning I arrived at Six Mile Cypress Slough, read David Whyte’s poem “The Thicket,” walked and meditated and took photos, wrote this, and then added quotes from Whyte’s poem in italics.]

I took my meditation to the slough…

free and observant

Contemplated the nature of all things being evolutionary and revolutionary…

surveying the tiny stages and the curtained dramas

Such as the Spanish moss hanging from tree branches…

 every further stage of vision leading me back to smaller and smaller worlds

The Pilated Woodpecker busy on his branch, finding breakfast, preening himself…

Always two realities…action or non-action.

never leave the branching world...a kind of enclosed womb-like eternity

What changes things?

Ideas. Curiosity. Faith.

The trees are both able to be touched and observed in a watery mirror.

Is the reflection telling the truth? 

searching between the branches... the knowledge of some immanence

When it was time to leave, the sun in the Cypress pond lit the way…

 

brought clarity to silence, set me to grow

Heart lifted. Exhilarated. A quiet mind.

Taking all the necessary actions

To meet the revolution.

2021 Year in Review in Photos

The year of 2021 seemed rather mild in general, with a few hiccups and a couple of epic trips in the summer. Here is my Year in Review

Something New I Tried--Brew Dogs

When I arrived in Columbus, I knew one of our first stops would be Brew Dogs, a place I had been hearing about for a couple of years. It is an incredible brewery with restaurant, outdoor seating area, a nature walk, and a dog friendly hotel. It was the first of many adventures that week.

 

With Paul and Margie

 

Feeling Connected: Van Gogh Experience and Six Mile Slough

 

The pandemic was still raging with vaccines still not plentiful when I spent a couple of incredible days with friends. In February, it was a Saturday at Six Mile Cypress Slough with Laurie and Annmarie, followed by lunch at Mellow Mushroom. In March it was the Van Gogh Experience (art and music) with friends Amy and Kara. Since the exhibit was at the Dali Museum, we walked through the streets of St. Pete to find a place for lunch. Both of these days lifted my spirits during the trying times of a tough school year and health concerns, by connecting me to all the things I love most: friends, food, music, art, and nature.

 

 

Laurie, Annmarie, and me

With Amy and Kara at Dali Museum

 

 

Makes Me Smile -- Mom and John in Metroparks

This year we received the news that my 89-year-old mother has advanced Alzheimers. So you can imagine my delight when my brother John sent this beautiful picture of my mother at an overlook in the Rocky River Reservation. It is obvious the drive through nature was uplifting to her, since this is the best photo I've seen of her in a while.

Feeling Proud -- Ricky and his JCU Friends

My nephew Ricky headed off to college in the fall with $40 in his pocket I gave him with instructions that when he made friends at John Carroll University, he was to treat them. I was delighted when he texted me this photo of his friends enjoying ice cream on me!

 

 

Highlight of the Year -- Cookout in Westerville

What a wonderful evening at John and Gail's home--great food and the chance to see my niece Emily and her fabulous family. As a bonus I also got to spend time with my cousin Rick from Virginia, and my cousin Mark and his wife Kristen. It was a blast watching the kids play with the toys I got them, catching up with everyone, and just feeling relaxed on a beautiful Ohio evening.

 

With Paxton, Aiden, Lexi, Kaylee, & Margie

With the incredible Emily

John, me, Rick, Margie, & Mark

 

Meaningful Moment -- Ashlynn's First Day Back in My Class

I have long contended that reading a book together in the classroom is one of the most powerful experiences a student can have. More than once I have had students return their memories to me about books we read. I was thrilled and delighted when it happened again this year. Two years ago when I taught advanced 6th graders, we read The Bridge Home. This year, on the first day of class with 8th grade advanced students, Ashlynn walked in and the first words out of her mouth were, "Ms. Sadler, do you remember that book we read in 6th grade? That was so good! It is still my favorite book."  It doesn't get any better than that for a reading teacher!

Moment with Loved One -- Grand Ole Opry July 22

Nashville and the Grand Ole Opry have held great meaning for us since we first visited in 2013. After Jim's stroke, and then the pandemic hitting, I didn't know if we would ever be able to attend the Opry again. Our desire to get back there remain stoked as the Opry broadcasted live, even to an empty house, to keep the circle unbroken (as they say) during the shutdown. It made us long for the day we could return. In May I decided to map out a trip, even though it felt risky. But Jim agreed we should try, and in July we were on our way to Nashville. It was not an easy trip by any means, and our plans to meet John and Gail for dinner before the show got pretty messed up. But Jim had sprung for some of the best seats in the house and let me tell you, it really made a difference. From Connie Smith to Larry Gatlin to Lauren Alaina, we felt part of the music more than ever (and this was our 5th visit.)  When I think of this year, it is truly a night I remember most. Before the show someone sitting near us took this photo, and I'm so glad she did. To me it represents so many moments: making the risky decision to travel, pursuing our dream, and being somewhere I love with someone I love. It made everything that a came beforehand feel small in comparison.