the Puppy Christmas

It started in November when I caught a glance of a large black and white dog crawling under our shed occasionally. It was cold so I though she might be seeking some warmth.Then in early December, I thought I heard the sound of crying kittens. Eventually one of these "kittens" crawled out and became a puppy. Under the shed I went and handed John a puppy, then another one and then there were 16 with the mother nowhere to be found.

John cleaned out the shed, put a heater in, bought a bag of dried dog food which we mixed with warm milk and we were parents again.
Even had night feedings. YAY!

The puppies were beautiful .Squirming brown, black and white little creatures, new to the world.and in the daytime we kept them in a wired fence area. Soon the neighborhood kids found their way to the puppy farm.They played, laughed and took a few home to beg parents who resisted.

One girl of about 11 came and asked to take a puppy home for a little while.I was hesitant because I was trying to keep track of who ate and who needed feeding but she begged and I said: "O.K., but be back in a half hour."She beamed and then Arlene assured me she would.An hour later I was still wondering where she was when she appeared. I snapped at her maybe from fatigue, maybe because I could and she went home chastened. I have felt bad since.

For 8 years I have known that I need to tell her I am sorry, she who has not had an easy life,Father missing. I have rarely seen her and always while driving by but today there she was.Grown, works at the airport, she was talking to someone in her driveway as I power walked by. I stopped and asked her if she remembered the puppies.She said she did and I told her I was so sorry I had been harsh with her.She said:"That's O.K.I just wanted to keep one."Then I knew that she was so late coming back because she was begging her Mom who said, "No."

You don't have to be in AA to know when amends need to be made.Today, was a good , light day.

An Easter Tale

A  co-incidence?

Every Easter since we moved here,  eggs have been hidden and small children have searched. In the plastic eggs were either coins, bills, candy or a scripture verse.Our two dogs, a huge happy yellow Lab, Sagan, and our smaller much loved older dog, Cooper,  were always part of the hunt. I have a picture of Sagan carrying his own Easter basket through the woods, grinning at the fun..

One year, the bright orange egg with the twenty dollar bill was nowhere to be found despite much searching.When we finally went into the TV room, noticing the door slightly ajar, there he was,Sagan happily  tearing the bill apart and smiling.Yes, dogs do smile.

In November of 2007, I noticed some blood dripping from Sagan's mouth.Off to the vet to find that he had a large tumor in his gum and a decision needed to be made.I called all of my children and after talking to them brought our dear boy home for the holidays.In those few months, I gave him treats, took him often to the park and made a memorable trip to the river where he contentedly sat gazing up at a hawk screeching above.

In January, it was time. My husband, son and I went to the vets.We went in to wait for the doctor to end Saga's life. I sat in a chair as my son stood by Sagan telling him what a good boy he was as he sat on the operating table.At one point he looked over to see if I was there.I got up and hugged him and talked softly.What if I had waited outside like my husband suggested ? He would have looked over and not seen me.

When we got home, weeping uncontrollably, we  went and hung Sagan's collar on a tree overlooking the river our dogs loved so much. I was heartbroken and barely slept that night.The next day, I sadly took our retriever for a walk along the path through the woods that we have walked for years every day. Something to my left caught my eye. It was a yellow plastic egg laying right there in the open..How could I have not seen it since last Easter?.I picked it up wondering if the chocolate was moldy or how many coins were in it.

I doubt you will believe this but on that sad, awful day, out of all the things that egg could have contained, rolled up like a gum wrapper, was the comfort of a small note with my most favorite verse from Scripture.:

"Surely goodness and kindness shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." Psalm 23.  

pay attention to bells.

The monk stands quietly in the shadows of morning. He is going to do something soon that will call his fellows in the monastery high above the clouds in Nepal.The bell will be rung, the men will stir and file sleepily into the round empty room.They will sit, empty themselves and then chant to start their day. They will do this in a quiet so deep that the breathing of birds can be heard.

 Bells have always signaled that something different is about to happen."Pay attention", they say, "look up, this is important." I miss the bells at Mass that rang out when the bread was turned into the Body of Christ.This is not only different but miraculous.When the communists took over Mexico in the 1920s, bells were outlawed. Imagine that. If you were caught ringing bells you could be arrested. Miracles had been outlawed.The Churches were emptied. Do you know how the people learned that the government had fallen?.They heard the bells loud clanging ,like the end of the world, and they knew and wept.

When my granddaughter Maddie was expected, her Mom, Heather had some complications .It was a very tense time and we didn't know if we would ever hold that child and kiss her cheeks. .I recall feeling a sadness so heavy that I just had to get out of the house. I went into the woods, sat on my bench and closed my eyes. My heart was prayerful and then this happened:  a scene unfolded that was so mystifying, so real . I saw Heather sitting in a chair and from her left and right people were streaming towards her in single file. Each would take turns touching her abdomen and then pass on.I knew as if it was written on the trees that these were Maddie's ancestors from all parts of the world, making sure that this child was born and part of the line. Then, as if it had a home in the woods, a bell rang and they were gone.

Maddie came to us on August 15, 2012. Beautiful and perfect.I can see the ancestors smiling..

companions of fear

 Art by Rene Magritte...."Companions of Fear"



"My God, what are they doing ?" exclaimed the woman tourist near me.I heard her words while I was looking at a wildflower, my back to the canyon. When I turned around and followed her gaze, my legs became rubber and tears began to flow.

 We were at the Grand Canyon on a splendid June day, the sun and air perfect for being on the path by the rim. There was a railing a few feet from the edge with a sign warning visitors to keep back. Beyond the edge was a stone column coming from the bottom of the canyon. It was a few feet maybe 5 from the edge and one had to leap to get to the top that was flat and the size of a large round dining table.And there they stood, above the very deep canyon, admiring the view. My husband, middle son in his twenties and my youngest son, in his late teens.I said to the woman," That's my family." She could see that my face was white marble and my hands shook. She said, "Turn your back to the canyon and when they are safe, I will tell you."

I turned and, screaming inside, waited; true to her word, she said,"It's O.K. now." For days, foolishly,  I replayed in my  imagination, what could have happened; the slip on the pebbles on the top, a faulty leap that fell short. That began a crippling fear of heights.

A few years back we went to West Texas to visit my son who teaches at a university there.He had grand plans to take us to his favorite National Park ,Big Bend. We hiked to some of his favorite spots. I got to see the gorgeous Texas blue bonnet and some stunning vistas..Then came a twisting trail up and up with a  rock strewn path  that might have been 3 feet wide. To my left was a sheer drop unto rocks and then the Rio Grande. I stopped, sat down, prayed my rosary and let him go on.  He was mad at me and I felt his disappointment but unless you have this fear of heights you cannot understand.

 There they sit, those 5 Companions of Fear looking at my weakness and I have decided it's time to get over the fright. I will on my next trip to Texas in April. Meanwhile, I will repeat this quote as my mantra until it is true:

"Fear: I recognize and respect that you are part of this family, and so I will never exclude you from our activities, but still-your suggestions will never be followed.You're allowed to have a seat and you're allowed to have a voice but you are not allowed to have a vote.You're not allowed to touch the road maps ;you're not allowed to suggest detours, you're not allowed to fiddle with the temperature. Dude, you're not even allowed to touch the radio. But above all else, my dear old familiar friend, you are absolutely forbidden to drive."
-Elizabeth Gilbert.

we are surrounded by magic.

  Thomas Merton, the hermit monk,  writes often about his visceral need for solitude, to be with the Lord in his spare hermitage. In today's reading, he talks about the pleasure of receiving letters, people writing to him because of his essays that appear now and again in magazines and I sense some guilt in that pleasure.As if he feels that all he should need is God alone.

 I wonder about that. Don't even hermits come down from their caves in the mountains to beg for food and maybe, just maybe, human appreciation in some form?

 A book that I just finished speaks to all this. "Habits of a Happy Heart" tells of the positive chemicals that are released in humans that cause happiness, however fleeting.One such chemical, serotonin, appears when we receive kudos from our peers, whoever they may be.The author suggests that one habit that might be worthy of our developing would be to savor those moments. If we bat them away or deny those moments we are missing out on that gift nature has for us.

 Speaking of batting away, I can recall my Mother, from good intentions no doubt, would be sure to bring me down a peg or two if I mentioned a victory."You must be humble", I heard."Don't be a big shot", she said.Sigh.Anyway, it's's not too late is it?

 The other day, I received a thank you note from a member of our writing group.I had sent her a small multi-colored  enamel cross with the word Joy on it. I could see it hanging near her writing desk by the window where she creates gorgeous haiku. She wrote that the colors matched her spot perfectly. Then she wrote, "Are you magic ?." Oh how I loved that small sentence. She and I and the others engage in magic every time we gather to write and share our stories.Magic, mystery and miracles are all around us.

 Despite Merton and my Mom, I called my daughter, Jessica, to share that story, savoring the serotonin and knowing she would not bat it away.

solitary moments

  A glass jar sits by  my desk. I have started to collect moments in the jar, things that happened that I want to remember. I want them to be there so that on a rainy, cold, uninspired day, I will remember. In the jar, along with the slips of paper that the moments are captured on, are three pens, purple,blue and yellow. They brighten the whole thing up.I gaze at the jar often and wonder what it would look like if I had done this for many years instead of a few months.

 One of the memories is of a few days before Christmas when the family gathered here. As a tradition, someone reads the Bible narrative of the birth of Christ, usually the oldest grandchild. This year , the oldest was away at boot camp, so we were all  a bit wistful to begin with . Then Riley, the next oldest read and as he did I was struck by the sudden depth of the silence surrounding us. It was almost like we had never heard these words before. I rested in that holy silence and surrounded by those I love, never wanting it to end.

Many memories are not in the jar and these are the wisps of happenings that will stay with me forever and have changed the way I look at life.The small white butterfly who danced around me on a hot hillside in Australia as I sat alone and miserable. It just stayed and stayed and I just knew, as inexplicable as it was, that this was a visit. I even took a picture from the spot to mark what happened.A few months later, a young man at church, who I barely know, asked it I had had an encounter with a butterfly and if so it was my Mother comforting me.

 In a small quiet chapel at a retreat house in Alabama. I feel called to leave my room, go there and kneel. On the altar is a golden monstrance with the host exposed . My head is bowed and when I glance up I hear this: "This is all that matters".I am stunned and then I think, "Yes, when you think about it, this is truth".I am grateful beyond words for this solitary moment.

Tailor sitting alone in my room in 1989. On the worn yellow rug with the door shut,  just a few minutes to pray..I said one word, " Jesus" and then it happened, an occurrence that I have no name for. I was filled with something that was so powerful, I was afraid it would lift me and carry me away. Love? I don't know what it was and I have never felt it again. I was so fearful of leaving my children that I got up and then tried to write about it.I think this phenomenon is recognized in Buddhism as well and to me it seemed like a small taste of heaven.

Without these moments of solitude, none of these things would have happen.I crave solitude because my spirit knows what can be there waiting, beyond my wildest dreams."Eye has not seen ear has not heard what God has ready for those who love Him."We sang that yesterday.

memories of a drinker part 2..

   Receiving many responses to my last post about my child hood, I feel that there is more to tell. My middle son, Kevin and I had a great chat about what I wrote that proved revealing to me as I followed the timeline of my life. His question was about how I managed to break the cycle of alcohol and abuse.

  My mind went back to a day when I left God behind like a discarded sweater as I walked over the bridge that spanned the Belt Parkway in Queens.I was headed home from St.Clare's Church, liberated from ever going to church again by something the priest had said that was the last straw. He had asked that we pray for the conversion of the North Vietnamese and my mind rebelled.When had prayer every worked, much less this one ? I floated home, free.

 Three years later, living in a posh condo in California, I woke up one day, with a chasm in my center that I could almost see. I knew what it was and said these words: "God , if you are there , help me." I wish I knew  the exact day so I could cerebrate it but the year was 1971. Nothing happened at that moment but what happened after was quite stunning. The way I was gently led to books and people whose words became a lifeline back to the One who loved me first.Words in a book from the library. I thought it was a love story but was actual the conversion story of St.Augustine. How had that book come to my hand ?.Hundreds of years later, his words stirred my heart. And on it went.

So my answer to the question is the Japanese art of kintsugi. The art of repairing and sealing the broken pieces of pottery, cups and bowls with gold.

As time went on, I began to understand the most important thing that I would ever know, that I am loved. This, which is what each human needs, and are made for. It matters not who we are, who are flawed parents were, how we have been treated, how sinful we are, we are loved. We are His children and we are loved. I have heard those words in my heart and I know where those words came from.

And so the great Kintsugi Artist, has filled in my cracks, crevices, my sores, wounds, and lacks not with dust and resin but with streams of grace.

..Today's perfect reading:...."then you shall cry for help, and he will say: "Here I am."..Isaiah 58:9.