Ripe Tomatoes and Blackberry Jelly?

Today held great promise when I jumped out of bed around 5 am. I waited for daylight, so that I could work in my garden and get some things done outside. When it was light enough to get a move on, I sprang into action with my loppers and basket to work on my blackberry bushes. They’re spent for the season, but still working hard to produce a few last plump and ripe berries. 

The western sky bore a dark backdrop with the sunrise in the front creating a really cool looking sky. I went to work fast cutting old branches to make way for next year’s foliage. The raindrops were slow at first but came on quick. And I hastily retreated inside. 

My middle son was headed out the door to work while I was looking out front eyeing some ripe tomatoes I’d planned to pick. On impulse, I grabbed his vintage umbrella and a basket and followed him out the door. By then it was pouring, but he snapped a pic of me standing in the rain from his car and I stepped over my fence and into the garden. I managed to snip about a dozen tomatoes filling my basket and was so glad the ac was off in the house and I came back inside to a room full of warm air. 

Of course I needed to scramble some eggs and cut up a fresh tomato slice for breakfast. And showing my age, I posted a couple of pictures on Facebook. Which is the reason for my blog today.

I started thinking about my Mary Poppins-ish posts of every day ordinary life and how I feel compelled to share just how extraordinary it all is. It occurred to me I might be presenting some kind of life that seems too idyllic. And am I really suggesting that there isn’t anything that can’t be solved by ripe tomatoes or blackberry jelly? I’m not a Facebook Fantasy post kind of girl. So I need to set the record straight.

My life is anything but perfect. I’m kinda over the whole death and dying chapters of late (having lost a brother last year and my mom last month). I get that for everything there is a season. I’m just ready for some of the more favorable headwinds and calmer weather. 

I make sugar cookies out of shit balls (an observation made by someone later in my life). It’s true. I’ve spent my life coloring things with more brightness and warmth than what was actually transpiring. And as with everything, I think it requires balance lest we don a pair of rose colored glasses that permanently cast shade on reality. Balance for everything in life. Good and bad, light and dark…even life and death.

That’s a more challenging task when reality feels like being in a batting cage and the auto loader is lobbing said shit balls at 90 mph in 5 second intervals. 

I wake up anxious most days. I feel lost at times. If I believed there was a “normal” for anyone, I’d be looking for what my new one looked like. 

It’d be easy to give in and fall into a rabbit hole, lost with inner turmoil and no direction. I won’t. I refocus every day. 

I look around at my beautiful life and instead of looking at what’s missing, I am just so fucking thankful for everyone who shows up every day…not just the humans. My cats, my dog. My blackberry bushes that when I take a picture just right, there is a quintessential rural barn in the distance.  It’s not mine. Not sure there’s anything in this life we really own save our own self and identity. And arguably, we sometimes perform like shape shifters and chameleons mirroring people and settings we move in and out of. I find myself with less patience or inclination to change colors for anyone or anything these days. Showing my age...again.

I borrow that image of the barn for my picture (can you see it?). It instantly brings to mind a moment in July when the berries are ripe, the sky is a stunning blue and the sun is so brilliantly shining I have to shield my eyes to take it all in. The heat of the sun sinks into my skin so deep and heavy I can feel it all the way down to my soul and it makes my heart sing like no other experience can. In that moment, my imperfect life is miles away. And like that Tibetan saying goes, I am taking care of my minutes because I know the years will take care of themselves. 

I like to play the part of the Wizard sometimes. I'm behind the curtain pulling a few strings or rather transforming a few shit balls again. If you see my magical tunnel filled with dangling gourds, mini pumpkins, and tomatoes, delicately hung like ornaments on a Christmas tree, the reality is actually two cattle panels and a few T posts held together by some heavy duty zip ties. Hell, that describes my life most of the time! I'm what you'd call unskilled labor and yes, a late bloomer of sorts (that keeps blooming I hope). I try...fail...try again...and learn. I'm more than happy to admit ignorance if someone else has a better idea or can teach me something I don't already know (especially if it adds sparkle and more magic to my already purpose filled life).

The plants I’ve been gifted or started as cuttings have been transplanted countless times because they keep outgrowing their pots. I have returning “volunteer” squash covering my backyard that I am turning into a sort of living art scene with big cushaw squash growing up on my deck boards and around my table and railings. 

I find that when big life things happen, it cracks you wide open. Sometimes you wallow, sometimes you throw yourself into something new…and sometimes you admit that despite your best efforts, you are still not okay and sit with that for a minute. I’m better because I let myself be not okay. I ask for help if I need it. I know this is a sliver of time when my defenses are down. I’m more vulnerable on the outside than what is my comfort zone. I’m sharing today in a gush of emotions because it’s been a long time since I’ve wanted to. 

I love the idea that like plants, we can keep growing so long as we don’t restrict growth in pots that become too small for our roots to expand. We’ve got the whole fucking universe to work with here…any constraints you find yourself bound in are self-inflicted and easily remedied. 

So coming back to where I started…do ripe tomatoes and blackberry jelly fix everything? No, but they will fill your belly and feed your soul. And they're an excellent start. Happy gardening in life or whatever interest makes your heart sing!

#Facebookfantasydebunked #thisisliving

I Owe You

My mom passed last week after a long struggle with dementia. A few people asked that I post this online. I’m not sure how much it will resonate because it is so specific to my relationship with my mom, but sharing in case helpful to anyone else: I’ve been going through mom’s pictures this week. You can see them around the room here. I think maybe I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did. For as much as she confided in me and shared secrets no one else knew, all these pictures tell a much bigger story than just my part as her daughter. 

She raised kids over the span of four decades. I have memories of mom when we were all a family and lived together…mom and dad and my three brothers at the time. Mom and Dad used to take us to Madison Bowl and we would be turned loose to play in the arcades and throw mostly gutter balls when it was our turn. We didn’t have a lot of traditions, but bowling was one I remember. And of course, weekend trips to the farm to pretend we weren’t city kids and fish and run and play in the creek beds. 

There were no timeouts for bad behavior. If we stepped out of line, mom could effortlessly take a drag from a cigarette with one hand and smack the back of our head with the other and never miss a beat. With those same two hands, she wrangled four kids in crowded stores, piled us into a station wagon, and anywhere else the Niehaus clan had to be. Mom chose to be a Niehaus for fifteen years. Later in life, she often talked about wishing she had finished her lifetime with a single marriage. She even thought of herself as a widow when our dad passed in 1995. And you better believe we laughed about that. I’m not rewriting history now, but I’m just sentimental enough to want to remember her dream even if it was a complete departure from reality. 

Mom was always an extrovert. She loved to be the center of attention. I think that might run in the family, but I’m not going to mention any names. She loved dressing up and long before there was something called a “selfie,” she was striking poses for random pics every chance she got. I was kind of an awkward teen and the contrast between my Harper Valley PTA, tight jeans and big boobed momma and me as a flat chested bean pole was comical. She was a tough act to follow. And even though at the time I was mortified when she would march into junior high for an open house in her cowboy boots and platinum blonde hair, I can see now that she was just living life and enjoying her youth. I remember the guys in my class hanging out the window whistling at her. Just as clearly as I can see that smile on her face looking up briefly in acknowledgement because we all want to feel beautiful and appreciated. And we sometimes see that self-worth and where that beauty is derived from differently when we’re still growing into the person we want to be. 

We didn’t have a typical mother daughter relationship. Does anyone? We didn’t have a parent child relationship either. Especially after mom and dad divorced. We moved around a few times and I became her best friend and trusted confidant. There are things she told me that I wish I could forget and there were things that changed my life forever in knowing. My sister, Cindy, was probably the biggest and best secret she told me about when I was 12 years old. And then again, finding out that I was going to be a big sister as a sophomore in high school. At 15, I witnessed the birth of my brother, Mike. 

When mom went into labor with him, it was the first time I’d ever been around someone giving birth. We have this nervous laughter thing in our family. When something is uncomfortable, if something hurts or someone is hurting, or when we simply refuse to feel anything, we freaking laugh until we cry. Big belly laughs that leave our sides cramping and tears running down our faces. Nothing calls for that kind of laughter like seeing your mom’s vajaja sprawled out in stirrups, with your future baby brother’s redhead pushing out! 

Mom never was someone who cried very much. So when she had these waves of emotion every two minutes, I didn’t know what to do. One minute she’s apologizing for yelling and then the next she would break back out with, “Nurse! Nurse!” There really was only one choice for me. I laughed hysterically on and off until he was born hours later. Especially when I had to help with her bedpan. I was trying to walk it into the bathroom to empty it, but I was shaking and nervous. And it ended up all over the wall instead of flushed down the toilet. Mom and me laughed about this for years. All I’d have to do is say, “Nurse…Nurse” and we’d immediately start laughing. 

While I was working on finding the perfect dress for mom this week, I thought about the time she thought she was dying when I was in middle school…I can’t remember what the health scare was that time, but she told me it was imminent. Over a grilled cheese sandwich and soup at the lunch counter at Woolworth’s, we began planning her funeral. It really was a WTF moment…one of many. We spent the next couple of hours walking around the dime store, picking out gawdy earrings and hats for her funeral. And we laughed until we cried again and again. Just so you know. I went against my mother’s wishes and decided to forego the red boa she requested back then. 

 We don’t have time to swap all the stories that cover an entire lifetime. So it is without malintent if I’ve missed or slighted anyone. Mom really was one of a kind. And love her or hate her, if she was your mom, you still loved her.

She could do anything with a pair of sunglasses, a pack of cigarettes, and a head full of curlers tucked under a scarf. Whether it was lottery tickets, yard sales, or a Lucy-like scheme, she went all in every time. There was a running joke when she’d start in on her latest get rich scheme. I’d be like “Lucy…you’ve got some ‘splaining to do.” It was dysfunctional as all get out. But somehow it was exactly as it was supposed to be. I wouldn’t be who I am today if she hadn’t been who she was raising me. 

A lot of people don’t know I almost didn’t graduate high school let alone college. We moved four times in five years, changing schools four times. My junior year, I started Simon Kenton when we moved back to the farm…again. I decided one morning I was done trying. I did not share my mom’s outgoing extroverted personality. When it was time to get ready for school and get on the bus, I stayed in bed. I expected no resistance when I told her I was quitting school. I was mistaken because the next thing I knew, the mattress was upside down and I was in it. She told me I was not quitting school and that her kid was going to graduate high school. She morphed into a drill sergeant and yelled at me for twenty minutes straight. An hour later, with little Mikey on her hip, she drove m to school and waited to make sure I went inside. I can’t say where I’d be today if not for that single act of bad ass-ness on her part that day.

As far as Mom’s timing went, it wasn’t the best even on a good day. The best laid plans always seemed to go a little haywire for her. I finished my degree in Journalism in 1997. I skipped the walk and ceremony…and my mom gave me a card and an “I Owe You” for a gift. Insert hysterical laughter here. I had more than one legitimately written piece of paper that said “I owe you.” 

Months later, I was out at the farm and she had a surprise waiting. I sat down at the kitchen table and she showered me with graduation confetti over my head. Then she handed me a black jewelry case with a pearl necklace and matching earrings. I’m wearing them today and I know what it cost my mom to get them. She’d put them in layaway and paid on them once a week for months. Mom lived for immediate gratification and rarely waited on anything. So I know just how much determination it took for her to wait. She was so happy to bestow them upon me with great ceremony. And the sentiment held more meaning than a walk in cap and gown ever could.

Fast forward to 13 grandchildren, 3 great grandchildren and another on the way and new generations who changed her name from Mom to Grandma and Me Maw. Mom loved babies. Not to say she didn’t love and appreciate her grandchildren as they got older, but like kittens and puppies, babies were her favorites. She might not have been the grandma that showed up all the time and you might have even felt disappointed at times. One thing was for certain. When she did show up, the crowd parted and there was only one Wanda Jo Grandma. Her all in personality kicked in and she filled the room.

I think Christmases may be one of my favorite memories when it comes to family and mom. She was never well off financially, but she loved gift giving at Christmastime. She used to shop her favorite thrift stores and yard sales to buy dozens of gifts for all of us. It made her heart sing. Full stop. I loved that about her. So I feel comfortable laughing too about this annual tradition. There was always at least one or two gems in the gifts I received. And I’d never hurt her feelings and tell her a lot was recycled back to Goodwill. The kids loved having tons of presents to open and again, she always managed to find at least one thing that the kids grabbed onto and loved. Forget that a beautiful musical porcelain figure had the arm missing off of it or you got a girl’s shirt and you were a little boy. Every gift was a treasure…not the ones you save and put away as a family heirloom. But a memory of someone that loved you and spent likely money she didn’t have to give you something you wouldn’t need. And in some cases something that was once yours. One year, she gave the boys’ dad a shirt and tie that he’d gotten rid of and I’d given her for her yard sale. Now that was priceless. I can appreciate that now.

I’m the basket lady and I don’t know if my goodies are all well received. But you all accept them, and if my last batch of jelly was like tar because I overcooked it, no one ever complains because it’s coming from a place of love. Seriously, was the jelly okay last year?

When mom found out she had dementia, it used to drive me nuts when she’d say, “I have dementia.” I was like, “mom, how would you know?” You have to remember that she had been telling me she was dying since I was 12 years old. Trust, but verify man. The humor left me there, though, because this disease was in fact legitimate. And I watched it steal memories from my mom until it ripped away even her very faith.

In her final months, I would pray with and for her. I’m not particularly religious, but I consider myself deeply spiritual and believe that a person’s faith is an incredibly powerful tool for overcoming even the toughest situations in life. It bothered me that the one thing in this life she relied on was stripped away from her. So I picked back up on things she’d said to me growing up. And would pray out loud with her calling upon God to keep his promise to her and bring her comfort and peace to ease the anxiety and fear that she struggled with every waking moment. I reminded her that even though her memory had failed her that her spirit remembered and that she was not forgotten.

She became a child again, with renewed innocence. It was hard to lose the person she had been, but it gave me a chance to love her without the encumbrance of a challenging mother daughter relationship. She was a very sweet little girl and it didn’t take much to bring her joy in her final days. I picked flowers from my garden and took them to her in mason jar vases. I’d do her hair every week and she’d tell me how she wanted it. And at the end of our visit, I’d take a picture with my phone of the back of her hair so she could see. And every time, she’d smile and look surprised. She’d say it looked beautiful and couldn’t believe it was hers. 

Mom’s hair was a thing for her. She always loved it and I think the old school term used by those of us over 50 was that it was her crowning glory. There’s a poster in the room. I had prints made of some of the styles on the days when we shared a role reversal as mother and daughter. One I would add that was a choice I made in the end versus the one made for me years ago. 

Today what I’ve shared comes from a place of love too. And mom, I don’t have any of the hand scribbled “I Owe Yous” because those debts were forgiven long ago. But here’s mine for you…I owe you for the woman I am today.

Offer Up?

No, no. Not the app that lets you sell anything and everything.  I’m talking about the hard core Catholic dogma where you offer up all your suffering…only difference is no one is interested in buying it! I have to laugh remembering a conversation with my nephew’s then fiancé (now wife) last summer after my brother died. We were floating down the river on a kayak talking about how my dad and her mom offered up

Kayaking Summer 2021

everything. Then the play on words with the app…and a random moment where grief was a little lighter shared. It’s been a mixed bag in the year that has followed. Sometimes laughing and sometimes crying…together and completely alone. Learned a few things along the way, but don’t get me started on the whole “everything happens for a reason.”

This past year, experiencing grief, loss, and disappointment, I think I’ve sought refuge and comfort as much as I’ve given it. I’ve channeled the feelings of many as an empath, often bewildered and broken sifting through to find the emotions that were uniquely mine to own. As I’ve looked for ways to “self sooth” for lack of better words, I’ll offer up a few thoughts in the hopes they may help others.

Okay, the play on words is still making me smile. For nearly three years, my dad sincerely repeated this to me at any talk of his suffering and during his life in general. He’d suggest I do the same when giving advice or solace. Just a simple phrase in the form of a prayer. I think it’s just one more numbing anecdote we tell ourselves to get through things that don’t make sense. We all have some belief system or platitude or coping mechanism that helps us find order in the face of chaos. Because seriously, there is no easy out.

Let’s start with the whole reason and purpose for everything…okay I got myself started on this. I don’t necessarily subscribe to this school of thought any longer. I grew up to become a spin doctor of sorts, working in public relations and crisis management. It’s not so different if you think about it. Tell people what they need to hear. Ease the anxiety. Restore calm. Not really solving anything in the process…simply making the process less chaotic. I used to build entire toolkits of messages to restore order and avoid damage to a company or brand. So it should be no surprise that we all have our own toolbox of resources we call upon in time of need to shield and protect ourselves.

There’s a myriad of resources to pick from. Whether it be spirituality in the religious sense, in the common sense of the universe, or any other fundamental belief brought forward by those who came before us…we greedily consume it to avoid facing a greater and more difficult truth.

Loss is loss. I think we all started grieving ahead of time when my brother was diagnosed with cancer. Having lost my dad to cancer decades before, I remain uncertain as to whether or not knowing ahead of time was of any real benefit at all. Because in the literal sense, if we lived in the true zone of humanity, we’d have already acknowledged and accepted this stark reality. No one gets out alive. A joke that helps lighten the mood on a topic that is best avoided lest we all go too dark and twisty.

Getting back to that greater and more difficult truth. All the platitudes and words we use to try and comfort one another fall short at times. For me, the most impactful thing has been to simply abandon all attempts to put up a brave front and admit that sometimes despite our best efforts, we are still not okay.

What do you do when you sit with that truth? I’ve been leaning on a Tibetan saying that resonated for me, “Take care of the minutes and the years will take care of themselves.” So what does that mean? TF if I know! Kidding again! This grief stuff is so heavy. I think it means that if we don’t look too far ahead and if we stay in the moments that make up our life and keep doing what we did before, we will see that life goes on, and eventually the awful moments that threatened to destroy us will become a smaller part of the sum total of our lives as a whole.  

Translated into my everyday living, I see it as gratitude for what I have and where I am. 

I was really surprised by something the other day. I went back and looked at all the pictures I took this past year. For anyone who knows me, this took a while because I take pictures of everything. My pets, the sunrise, the sunset, people, places, gardening…As I was clicking through hundreds of “moments” over a period of undeniable loss and sadness, all I saw were beautiful images. There was the road trip I took Pete on for his graduation (just a week after my brother’s funeral).

 

Prescott House

I remember trying to put up a brave front because I was struggling with so much at the time. The moments told a different story. From the Frank Lloyd Wright house we toured to all our stops along the way searching for antiques and treasures, we’d logged more time and memories. More moments passed over the summer as I looked through my wine making attempt. I couldn’t help but smile at the pictures where we were syphoning wine from a tube thinking if we stood higher on a stool it would work better…no fake smiles. Genuine happiness in that moment. More sunsets and sunrises. Birds and pets. Beautiful holiday moments shared with family. Where was the grief? I know for certain it is still with me and a heaviness I lay down with each night as I go to sleep and a fuzzy cotton candy-like weight I shake off each morning to start my day.

Blackberry Wine 2021

I continue to reclaim all things that make my heart sing…even if it’s only started back up with a gentle stirring and not a thunderous and deafening symphony of joy. 

I think taking care of the moments is more than just living day to day. It’s finding true meaning and purpose. It’s approaching everything you do with absolute intent and taking nothing for granted. That’s what I’m doing.

Inflation is something everyone has felt this year. Prices for everything are going up. We complain about politics and external forces. It’s so easy to get caught up in the negativity. One of the things I’ve noticed in my own life and in trying to just focus on one thing at a time is that I am super thankful for what I have. When I order groceries online from Sam’s Club, I wince a little at the total. But when I start putting the groceries away and look at a well-stocked pantry and fridge, I stop and feel the deepest sense of gratitude. From having fresh ice on tap because I replaced my fridge with a new one to grabbing a bottle of the more expensive Ginger beer…I’m glad that I get to enjoy it. 

I’m learning how to make stuff with new mediums like wood. I suck at math, so it’s been a challenge. 

I’ve taken dozens of pictures of my barnwood shelves I made for the kitchen. And a Victorian oil lamp has been re-wired and is now hanging over my kitchen table waiting for finishing touches … wires still hanging in some of the wrong places.

The funny thing is all I see is the warm glow of light in the evening and a soothing feeling as I look in from the living room as it spreads its light across my kitchen table and chairs, also another found treasure that came complete with decades of moments and experiences from someone else’s family. Life is so freaking awesome when you can break it down into the tiniest of moments. There might not be a reason for everything, but I love being able to appreciate and find meaning where I can genuinely appreciate something.

Other thoughts on how to take care of minutes for me have manifested in some basic and mundane ways. I’ve never been much of a housekeeper. I could spin that a couple of ways. Nature versus nurture or a busy lifestyle. Not every one of my days start with a focus on a beautiful sunrise. And there are nights I don’t take a minute to step outside and watch the sun go down over the horizon. I started working on the basics. Dishes are a constant and never ending story having two sons (though nearly grown and grown) still at home. I started cleaning up the kitchen in the evening and leaving the overhead light by the sink and stove on. I liked being able to see the counter and sink and ground myself in a routine. I added more frequent vacuuming into the mix and with a gently used, but new to me Dyson, I like seeing the pattern in the carpet that comes from a really good cleaning (lots of pet hair around here). Having a kitchen table without clutter goes back to my high school days when I lived with my grandparents. My granny used the kitchen table as her desk and it was always stacked with papers and magazines … It made my pop nuts and I guess that rubbed off on me a little because even if the rest of the house is a wreck, I like a vase and a tablecloth, with a deck of cards tucked in the antique wood slaw cutter I use as a centerpiece. It’s those little creature comforts of what feels like home that can sometimes offer unexpected benefits without even realizing where the comfort is coming from.

I’m basic and simple. By now, anyone reading this has figured that out. I appreciate the moments when I go to bed between flannel sheets and an electric blanket. And even when I feel restless and wake up in the

middle of the night, I remind myself that there will not be another moment in my day where I am this safe and secure as being tucked into my own bed.

Finally, I think the order and sorting I apply to all of this is that I try to live in the zone of humanity all the time. The zone of humanity is something that came into my thoughts a few months back. I wrote down a few words in the way of an idea to write later. I was curious if I was using it in the right connotation (ever the Journalism and English person). Humanity has been used to describe the qualities that make us

human…the ability to love, to have compassion, to be creative.  Yes, I believe that is what I meant as well. 

I’m convinced that living in the zone of humanity will take me where I need to be. The ability to love, have compassion and be creative is fairly spot on. I can’t say with any certainty how long it will take to reach my destination, but in a world where there are unexpected endings, maybe that Tibetan belief is more accurate than I could have known. There is no fast forward through grief and loss. Forgiveness is better than anger even if it takes longer to pass through and process the pain. No one has all the answers. But in that zone of humanity, we’re all in this together and I find that somehow comforting. 

MLN

Post 2020 Part II: Recovery

I recently wrote an article about the surprisingly positive aspects of Covid-19 (link at end of article). While it was rewarding and uplifting to hear about how families pulled together and relationships that had been floundering finally thrived, there was this lingering feeling that the case numbers and death tolls were more than statistics and I wanted to have a conversation with friends about this as well…instead of all the media hype. 

From my earlier article, I had asked three questions about what the biggest impact had been, how each person had adapted, and what the biggest learning was.  This time, I simply let the stories unfold. Or rather a few personal stories, representative of so many others that make up the more than 135 million cases worldwide, since this started. 

Christina Dowler, 54, lives in Deltona, Florida with her husband of 25 years and five dogs. Originally from Columbus, Ohio, Chris and I met our freshman year of high school. We’ve remained friends for decades and talked often as the pandemic took hold. As the numbers increased in Florida into the fall, we talked about being careful. Chris is diabetic and has been disabled for several years. She would be considered at risk with underlying conditions that have been associated with Covid complications and the more severe cases.

In January 2021, her husband and a close friend staying with them both took ill. Chris also tested positive. Surprisingly, her symptoms were mild, but her husband, Paul, became progressively worse, spending a night or two in the hospital, was sent home for a few days, only to have to return again with low oxygen levels. He had double pneumonia and his oxygen levels continued to decline. Ultimately, they were forced to put him on a ventilator. 

Her husband’s condition worsened and he was transferred to different hospitals, with facilities better equipped to treat Covid patients. Chris was forced to take over all the finances and bills and running the house. Between taking care of everything at home, keeping up with her insulin, and running to the hospital, it began to wear Chris down. As a 10+ year chronic pain sufferer from fibromyalgia neuropathy, she struggled and felt overwhelmed.

 “One of the hardest things about battling Covid, is that you don’t know what’s going to happen. It was months before we knew if he was going to pull through.”

Dowler’s friends and family began daily calls and posts on Facebook.

“It was exhausting trying to be strong and brave. I prayed and I got by with family and friends supporting me. I couldn’t always take their calls. Sometimes it was all too much. I tried to stay as positive as I could. I looked for the most positive thing. I started noticing the swans in a lake outside the hospital. I’d stop and watch them and take pictures before going into the hospital.”

As days and weeks turned into months, it became clear this was not a sprint and she had to pace herself.

“I started to think about future goals. I would tell Paul this is temporary and tell him where we could go for our 25th anniversary. And I knew that I needed to take care of myself both physically and mentally, so that I could be strong for my family.”

Chris continued, “It was touch and go all the time. I’d look for something positive on Facebook and share quotes and sayings. I swam at night to help relieve my nerve pain and stress. I started writing in my journal and kept my “visitor” stickers from each day I went to see Paul in the hospital. I’d paste them in my book. I had weak moments too. Sometimes I would leave and cry driving home from seeing him. To stay busy, I started working on a handicapped bathroom to prepare for his return home. I kept working on things we’d both started together and I started painting pictures each day to represent my mood and to let out what I was feeling inside. I’ve never painted before in my life, but I found some odd comfort and started “hiding” images and messages in the pictures. It’s been a game of sorts in sharing with my friends on Facebook and it has helped me a lot. I’ve done 15 so far and the first one looks a lot like a preschooler did it. I’ve watched a lot of Youtube vidoes and keep working on getting better.”

Chris has an informal support network as well, with two other friends, who have experienced similar struggles with their husbands contracting Covid and logging many days in ICU. 

Miraculously, Paul is recovering. It’s a long haul and he will be in rehab for some time. But he has been taken off the vent and continues to make favorable progress. Chris continues with daily visits, which are now “window” view settings at the rehab where they stand outside the window and can talk by cell phone. 

She’s continuing her painting and had some advice for those, who don’t believe this is a real concern:

“We didn’t worry about it either. You need to wear a mask and get the vaccine. He never expected to face a life threatening illness. He was in the middle of enjoying life, and riding his Harley. I would also like to say that in the middle of a global pandemic, no one is to blame for getting sick. We are all in this together and we need to support each other.”

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Cassie Bonz, a Kentucky resident, works in healthcare and aside from reduced hours temporarily, was not impacted greatly from a financial perspective. 

Her boyfriend, Mo, is an independent tattoo artist, who had just opened a new shop, was forced to close for three months.

“It was a tough time and very difficult for him. Tattooing is his life and passion. Shutting down came at the worse possible time. Fortunately, he was able to sell art and designed a few shirts, which helped keep us financially afloat. It was a scary few months, not knowing if or when life would ever return to normal.”

Bonz also had friends, with family members who were severely ill. A common theme was loneliness in maintaining the health care restrictions and the duration of uncertainty in not knowing whether or not their loved ones would pull through.

Shortly after Christmas 2020, Bonz came down with Covid. In her early 30’s, she would not be considered an at risk group.

“As careful as we were, and as diligent as I was with my PPE at work, I still contracted it. Initially, I was more concerned with giving it to my mom, who’s a smoker, or Mo (boyfriend). I was sicker than I have ever been and was off work a full two weeks. It was difficult to do even simple tasks at home and merely going down the flight and a half of stairs at home completely wore me out. It put into perspective for me how many felt when businesses closed those first few months of the pandemic. It definitely weighed upon me mentally and there were days when I would just cry because I was tired of waking up and still feeling so awful. It felt like it would never end. I’m grateful I didn’t end up in the hospital and I know I’m lucky. I was still very afraid I would be a “long hauler” or never return back to 100%. I continued with an elevated heart rate for about a month after.”

“Life felt slower. I look back at last spring and summer and it feels like a dream. We had so much more time to be outside and hike and adventure. We did a lot of cooking and my mom and I even started a garden. Overall, it reminded me that the simple things in life are truly the greatest. Time spent with my family and outside in nature is so important to me.”

Going forward, some of the most helpful tips shared:

-    Do not assign blame. 

-    Reach out to people in need.

-    Be patient. Understand that updates and progress are slow; calls and social media posts will not always       be forthcoming.

-    If you don’t know what to say, send a picture of the sunrise or something else that will lift spirits.

-    Help create informal networks of support. Facebook messenger and social media can be a force for            good.

-    Avoid statistics and politics; focus on people and families.

I’ll add one more…simply be kind. It goes a long way!

To read Part I, go to: https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/employers-advertisers-entrepreneurs-relevancy-post-2020-mary-ralles/?trackingId=10QOABjMH06Kn7t5Svlstg%3D%3D 

Taking Root

I’m not sure there’s room for one more opinion. Like a lot of people, I’m watching things unfold and I struggle to strike the right balance, where I can observe and be aware without becoming consumed and anxious.

I’ve shared pictures of spring, my garden, plants I’m growing…a few funny songs and memes. Pretty much any snapshot moments where I’ve been able to think and feel with a sense of peace and presence, and importantly, a deep appreciation for the life I have right now. And what I've noticed is that it’s exactly the same thing I was doing before any of this began.

Online, I see posts with words of encouragement as well as more extreme, fear mongering images and rumors. Aside from the entertainment value of seeing others go off on a rant over someone being too concerned, not concerned enough, or somewhere in between, it’s not particularly helpful to me. And what I’m saying now is likely equally irrelevant. If it’s helpful, great. If not, feel free to rant. It might be the only decisive action you feel empowered to take control over in your life right now. And I get it…it’s scary to feel powerless.

I’ve been busy sifting through this new landscape and trying to make decisions based upon the information I have available to me at this moment in time. As a parent, we do that all the time. From deciding when a teenager can take the car to letting them stay out late so that they can experience an iconic pop culture event like a midnight showing of Rocky Horror.

As a mom, in many ways I’ve taken an approach that lets my kids learn as they go. Sometimes I can see mistakes before they happen. Sometimes they surprise me and pull something epic off (against all odds). The environment was one where the consequences were not as far reaching as what’s happening now. In this new reality, I can’t leave them to their own devices and let life teach them a lesson. The consequences are too great, impacting more than just my kids…more than just me.

When I started to feel overwhelmed and panicked about the future, I started planting seeds for my garden. And over the past several days as my seeds have sprouted and taken root, I realized that I’ve always lived in an environment that had uncertainties. Haven’t we all? Even the best-laid plans are met with life events we cannot anticipate or plan for. What has made all the difference for me is being able to let positive things take root in my own life. Things as simple as watching the sunset or making sure I step outside to watch it come up in the morning. It’s been a little like scheduling my life around the life I want to live.

I think it’s just as important that we not let the negative aspects take root. If we let fear take hold, it will take up permanent residence in our lives and prevent us from moving forward in any direction.
There is still a life to live right now. My future is as uncertain as it was before any of this started. I’m not going to make the best of it…I’m going to make it the best and let it take root.

How Many True Loves Can We Expect to Find in This Lifetime?

Had a chance to put something out there on one of my favorite websites.  Check it out:

https://www.elephantjournal.com/2019/11/how-many-true-loves-can-we-expect-to-find-in-this-lifetime-mary-niehaus-ralles/

Well seasoned and well traveled along the road of life,

A wise person stopped to ponder a question many often ask…

“How many chances do you suppose life has to offer…in matters of the heart?”

Having gone quite a distance, often getting off track, this person walked alone once more…

“How many true loves can a person expect to find?”

Further still, this person pauses again along the side of a road, near a wide river, with the sun beaming down and their reflection staring back from the water.

“How can I know who I am or what value I hold…if I have no one to tell me what I bring or what purpose I serve?  How can I be fulfilled without someone to make me whole?”

The water, deep and still, begins to move in gentle rippling waves in response to a light breeze.  The image of the person is temporarily fuzzy and as it comes back into focus, it is to find a new reflection staring back…and finally an inner voice begins quietly: 

“You hide your gift within.  You are your own truest and first love. There is no magic spell or secret…no other person can make you whole.  You needn’t do anything or be anyone to share the value you possess.  You are a unique and beautiful spirit, gifted with a kind and generous heart.  That you simply exist and breathe is exquisite. Value has less to do with what you can offer and everything to do with simply being who you are. That in itself is the hidden treasure. 

And chances? Have I still a few left to take?

“When the moment is right, you will find that there are exactly enough chances. You needn’t “do” anything at all to find happiness and fulfillment within yourself. Life is too good not to share. Find happiness in your own company first. The rest will follow and you will find it has less to do with right or wrong and more to do with a willingness to take a chance.”

The wise person wept, realizing ignorance once more…

The most beautiful state of being is that tender balance between complete love and acceptance of self and the ability to share that love with someone else…not to complete you, but to complement that which you already hold dear.  Only then, will you truly be able to embrace the love of another and accept them unconditionally as well…knowing that the treasure that you seek was with you all along.  And that any imperfections you find along the way, whether through your own reflection or that of others…well, consider them the finest of character traits …each owned and embraced to make you who you are today. Reinforcements to your core made it possible for you to break without shattering.  You remain intact and whole…and possess the wisdom needed to choose what you share and with whom in the future. 

Spoiler alert:  Some of the most extraordinary gifts come to us disguised in some of the most (seemingly) ordinary people.  Still waters run deep and you will never find a diamond in the rough if you expect everything to shine at first glance. And it’s the absence of polish that makes us real.  

A place to BE

I drift into my secret place

Just shy of sleep, yet not truly awake

Visions of things that may come to be

Lucid dreams and future synchronicity

Silent whispers nearly gone

Just before the morning dawn

Sunrise and sunset are both a welcome sight

A perfect balance for dark and light

I am energy

I feed my spirit with a gentle breeze

I walk barefoot in the garden dirt

There is a spot outside to sit and be

I feel the smallest movement stirring in a field

A single blade of grass…a tall weed…propelled by the wind into a subtle dance

I am lost inside the present state of being

A newly discovered birds nest

Mesmerized by the clouds above

Surrounded by an endless inventory of every day miraculous moments

I am not lost…I am at my most peaceful resting point

Listening intently for the quiet voice

My inner guide whispers how to breathe life into my garden…where to sit…how to feed off that which we all take for granted.

Suspended by tiny slivers of time that shut out absolutely everything else…

 I drift into a state that is powered by pure energy.

My body trembles with excitement as I come into an awareness of knowing.

A trace bit of fear remains as I realize there will never be an unknowing.

This transformation will only move forward with future awakenings …sometimes mourning what I cannot un-see.

Ultimately, I will accept the gift I have been given and continue on a journey that has no end.

M