Celebrate Life

Recently I've been having some conversations with a friend about end of life issues. Mainly about what's on the other side. This isn't an academic issue with him. He'll by leaving us soon - and he's hungry to have conversation about where he's going.

Theological concepts he's never questioned before are now paramount and somewhat troubling.

I'm honored that he talks to me. I know what it's like to question your faith with the wrong person.

Next week our church is having a healing service. I recently heard a person telling about how somebody she knew (or knew of) was instantly healed of ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease) after attending a healing service.

To me, that's not what healing is necessarily about. Because here's an absolute fact.

We're all gonna die.

Isn't healing about accepting that fact and celebrating life anyway - with the assurance that the next life will be even better?

I hope my friend comes to this celebrating and assurance. But, whatever he does, I'm honored to be his friend to the end.





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Leadership Styles

When I was doing consulting work one of the things we did was train mangers. For many years we've known that the way to be successful in most any endeavor is to treat your customers and your employees well.

This isn't rocket science (although I did work at the Cape.) It's common sense.

But we continue to glorify mean bosses even in these hard times.

A new movie (documentary) came out today called "The September Issue." It's about Vogue editor Anna Wintour, the same woman who was glorified in the movie "The Devil Wears Prada."

Since we're no longer in indulgent, extravagant times, it'll be interesting to see how this new movie does. I, frankly, don't understand why we put up with tyrants, especially ones that rule the fashion and gourmet food industries.

That's partly because I don't understand the importance of these industries. Anna Wintour has been quoted as saying that people "mock" fashion because they're afraid of it.

Yes, I admit it. Some of those outfits in Vogue really scare me.

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Should I Get a Tattoo?

I'm just kidding. I wouldn't get a tattoo. But a person whom I love and admire above most others has a little butterfly tattoo on her ankle. And it wasn't a youthful indiscretion. It's relatively recent. It's one of the things I love and respect about her.

Since coming home the only way I can get my daily two-mile-fast-walk in is to go to the mall. In Minnesota Dave and I were outside every day because the summer was cool and dry. Here the hot, wet air slaps me on the cheeks when I go out for the paper at 7 A.M.

It's only fair that Floridians occasionally envy Minnesota weather.

Anyway, I was happy to see that there aren't many empty spaces in my mall. In fact there are a couple of interesting new stores.

The first is a Tattoo Parlor called "Avenue Ink." It's sleek and upscale with red leather couches and catalogues on black lacquered tables. (At first I thought it was a Chinese restaurant.) The tattooing booths are in the back.

How do I feel about this? Like it or not, tattoos are now mainstream. It's a personal choice. Remember when only "bad" girls got their ears pierced? I understand that "Avenue Ink" is doing well.

The other interesting new store is large and sells only flip flops.


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Do You Want to Get Well?

I know, this question seems like a no-brainer but it's among my favorite Jesus quotes.

Today a woman called to tell me her husband died. She was sobbing so much that I could barely understand her. I immediately offered to go right over to her house but she said she'd come to mine.

As it turns out her husband died five months ago. Her grief is as fresh as the first day. She stayed with me for two hours and never stopped talking about herself and her feelings. The couple of times I tried to distract her or tell her something of myself she had no interest.

Nor did she have any interest in counseling or medical help for her depression.

I realize the above makes me seem horribly insensitive.

But here's the thing. The last time I talked with her was about a year after my husband died. I happened to see her in a store and she spent half an hour crying and telling me how much she missed my husband. I finally had to take her into a little tea shop to get her calmed.

I know she's ill. Help is available. But she doesn't want to get well.


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Coping Capacities

Yesterday's sermon was about learning to be content.

My minister talked about the Apostle Paul who famously said, "I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am."

That's saying a lot because he was in a pickle a good bit of the time.

My minister also quoted Victor Frankel who came to some amazing conclusions when he was a prisoner in a concentration camp in World War II.

What he basically came to was that other people couldn't change who he was - no matter what they did to him.

I believe this as well - but I don't always feel it. Sometimes I feel like "This person's driving me crazy."


Back in the years when I was writing poetry, (and this is probably no surprise to you) I wrote one about this very subject.



HELP STOP CRIME
by Cecily Crossman - 1972


I accused you of a felony,
I thought you broke my heart,
And ruined my life.
But,
After thoroughly investigating the crime,
I will concede,
It could have been an inside job.




***

Time Travelers

On Saturday two girlfriends and I saw the movie "The Time Traveler's Wife." It's a love story about this girl who falls in love with this guy but the problem is that he keeps disappearing.

Sometimes when he returns he's older - sometimes younger - and always in need of clean clothes.

In some ways this describes your everyday male/female relationship problem.

Oh, and I forgot. She tricks him into getting her pregnant.

This movie kept my interest but I was frustrated by the ending. No problems are solved. I thought when the guy was diagnosed by the genetic specialist (he had Chrono Impairment) we'd find the secret of this impromptu and inconvenient time traveling and get in corrected.

Another frustration: They get rich by cheating on the lottery i.e., getting the numbers in the future, then going back to buy a ticket. Does it seem right to you that this swell, handsome guy should use his powers for stealing?

And finally, there's the laundry factor.

In all of these ooy gooey romantic movies they never seem to have to deal with real life. The ooy gooiest one that comes to mind is "Bridges Of Madison County."

At some point you have to run the sweeper, do some laundry and buy groceries.

That's when lots of guys disappear.


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Hard Times and Feeding the Homeless

I went with some friends to serve lunch to the homeless today.

It looks like an easy job because all you have to do is dish up the food and smile.

But looks are deceiving. First, there were way, way more hungry people there than last time I volunteered. Several agencies that do this work have gone bankrupt, leaving these people with fewer options.

They line up outside. Women, children and handicapped first. The first man I saw looked a lot like Nick Nolte. For a second I wondered if it was Nick Nolte.

As I've shared with you before, the food is served for one hour - period. So we want to do it as fast as possible in order to feed everybody in line.

We failed today.

My assignment was to serve the salad. Easy, right? It was in a huge bin. I'd already decided that I could go faster if I filled the compartment in the paper plate with my plastic-gloved hand, and, because the guy knows me, I'd already had the big lecture about not putting too much on the plates.

But at the last minute, instead of salad dressing, the guy came along and poured about two gallons of guacamole dip into the salad and mixed it up. (This food is all donated so they just do the best they can.)

Guacamole dip is like glue. After losing a couple of gloves in the salad and having to stop and fish them out, I switched to tongs. My thumb is still sore from one solid hour of squeezing tongs.

The man standing next to me, the one handing me the plates, told me he volunteers there every day. I can understand why. It's such an honor to do this.


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A Good Mom

When my kids were growing up I'm sure they thought I was sometimes hard on them. I ran a tight ship. They would accasionally ask:

"Did you say 'No' because you don't want me to do this or because we don't have the money?"

I occasionally replied, "Both. But I hope even if we had the money I'd still be a good mom and say 'No.'"

Less than a week ago the president spoke to several million school children. Hard to believe because he's been in so much hot water since then.

I thought what he said was moving, insightful and inspirational Following is my favorite part.

...some of you are probably wishing it were still summer and you could've stayed in bed just a little longer this morning.

I know that feeling. When I was young, my family lived in Indonesia for a few years, and my mother didn't have the money to send me where all the American kids went to school. So she decided to teach me extra lessons herself, Monday through Friday - at 4:30 in the morning.

Now I wasn't too happy about getting up that early. A lot of times I'd fall asleep right there at the kitchen table. But whenever I'd complain, my mother would just give me one of those looks and say, "This is no picnic for me either, buster."

That's my idea of a good mom.


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Why I Love Dave

Last week. when Dave was getting ready for an estate sale. he ran across a special pair of earrings that he'd given his wife years ago.

But he didn't sell them in the estate sale. What should he do with them?

In the meantime his good friend - for the past 30 years - died . The day after the death the man's widow, fresh with grief, also a close friend of Dave and his late wife, came by to see Dave.

She's a beautiful woman with a beautiful spirit.

They had a good and tearful visit. He gave her some information on memorial services because this is something with which we both have some expertise.

Then, just as she was leaving, he said:

"Wait a minute, I have a gift for you."





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More About Memory

I started teaching a Bible study last night. One of the participants, an elderly person I've known and respected for a very long time, told me privately that he'd never read the book of Acts before so when he started reading it this past week he was disturbed at times.

Now, normally, I love having people tell me they're disturbed or excited or any other emotion they've experienced after reading a portion of the Bible.

Sometimes I get a little freaked out myself.

But here's what I know about this man. He knows the Bible. He's been in church and study classes his whole life. He's been in my church for almost as long as I've been alive.

Here's what I think: He's forgotten.

So here's my question: What does it mean when we forget the source(s) of our value systems? When we forget the foundations of which we've built our integrity as people.

If I should experience serious memory issues will I forget who I am?

Or is that permanently established - a Done Deal?

Maybe this is all the information I'll need:

Jesus loves me, this I know,
For the Bible tells me so,
Little ones to him belong,
They are weak but he is strong.


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Time in a Bottle

If I could save time in a bottle...

But we can't.

Today I went with some granddaughters to see a Disney Princess show. The little ones knew absolutely all of the characters. I didn't know half of the princesses.

On the way there we grown ups had a conversion about Prince (You know, who used to be known as "The Artist Formerly Known as Prince.")

The teenager in the car never heard of him.

The generations keep rolling along and there's nothing we can do about it.

This month the following people are celebrating their 50th birthdays:

• Marie Osmond - remember that sweet little female Osmond?
• Jason Alexander - remember the young, single and angry George Costanza?
• Simon Cowell - how much longer will he be all t-shirts and muscles?

And Bob Newhart will be 80 years old this month.

We obviously can't save time in a bottle.

***

Life Story

Dave and I are apart for a time. Sad, but we both have important things to do where we are. But we'll be together soon because we're well aware that this is not a spring time romance.

It's a late fall love affair. It started in the later chapters of our life stories.

This was made even more clear when I came home a couple of days ago to find his voice mail. His close friend - who is married to his original wife and has a beauitful family - instead of going to rehab after heart surgery, has just been transferred to a hospice.

Just like that!

In 1975, thirty four years ago, I wrote a poem called "Life Story." The first editor I sent it to, sent it back with a note saying "What do you know about a life story" at your age?

It did eventually get published and over the years I've heard from people who (unfortunately) related to it. I reread it after receiving Dave's voice mail.

LIFE STORY (written in 1975)

We met in Chicago in the spring,
And I was wearing a navy coat (remember the
one with the funny buttons and the big loops?)
And we fell in love that day.

We married in the little church in the park,
And the world was bright and warm and clear
And I though,
"There must be a God somewhere looking down on us."

In the years that followed, (there must have been
bad times but I remember only the adventure)
You loved me and you were my strength,
And I began to know,
"Yes, there really is a God."

The children were born - and grew,
And our love took on new meaning - new scope -
new dimensions,
And I wanted to shout to the world,
"There is a God who loves us all!"

Then they were gone, (it seems we had them such a
short time)
And we settled back to living in each other.
And I said,
"God is good."

Then one day you were gone - just like that -
you were gone.
I am alone.
The pain is unbearable and yet there is no alternative.
I am confused.
Is there a God?
Where is he?


***

My Older Brain

Yesterday morning my phone rang. I picked it up and saw on the caller I.D. that my urologist's office was calling. I thought "Why?"

But it wasn't my urologist's office. It was my dentist's receptionist calling to remind me of my appointment today.

Somehow my brain transposed the names.

So she and I had a crazy conversation where she tried to tell me I had an appointment and I told her I didn't. She finally set me straight.

If that happens when you're 40 it's just embarrassing. When it happens at my age I think "Jeezz...is my brain shrinking or something?"

When I saw her in the dentist's office today I, of course, apologized again - and then said "Didn't you want to just come over to my house and slap me?"

She laughed and then told me that she gets calls all the time from the patients of the gastro guy across the street describing symptoms she knows nothing about.

Don't know if she was telling the truth but it made me feel better.


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Saturday Morning Time Warp

This morning I went to Panera's in Winter Park, Florida as I do every Saturday morning. Only it's been 14 weeks since I left for Minnesota for the summer.

My Oldies were happy to see me. I was happy to see them. They've been through so much this summer but they seemed about the same to me as they did in May.

Where have you been? They asked several times even though I wrote them and called them all summer.

Where is ....that man? they asked several times. Each time I explained that he'd be here soon. Luckily they like Dave.

I told them we are getting married. They were both very surprised and happy. Even though I've told them many times before.

Not only were they pretty much the same - but the other Panera's regulars were in their places.

The Comic Driving School Instructor came by. There is no conversation with him. We say hi and he does ten minutes of stand up.

The middle aged sisters sat at their usual table. They still look alike.

The six or seven old men who commander the the big cushy chairs and discuss the problems of the world and how they would solve them were all there doing their jobs.

After breakfast I walked to the Farmer's Market and had several conversations along the way.

The Popcorn Lady was happy to see me. I was happy to see her.

It was a comforting morning.


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