I’m going to try to avoid controversial / political posts for a couple weeks, so I can focus on the things that make me happy, and that bring us together as human beings, as I get a desired frame of mind for Christmas.
As a bridge to that mode, I offer this story from the life of Mahatma Gandhi.
The transition from British rule to independence in the Indian subcontinent was marked by horrific violence, as communities fractured along sectarian lines. Massive riots happened in major cities, resulting in many deaths and injuries, and ignited a cycle of revenge and anger.
Gandhi began fasting to bring attention to this, and hopefully to bring peace to his land. One day, a man came to him, begging forgiveness for a wrong he had committed during these riots. His son had been killed by a Muslim mob, so in retribution, he took the life of a Muslim child. He asked Gandhi how he could avoid going to hell for this.
Gandhi’s answer, I believe is worthy of Solomon. He said that for this man to redeem himself, he should find an orphan of Muslim parents killed in the violence; adopt him, and raise him as his own. But the kicker is that he must raise the child not a Hindu, but in the Islamic faith if his lost parents.
We are all one. Gandhi said it; Jesus Christ said it as well. Wise people from time out of mind have shared this view. As I prepare to celebrate Christmas, this will be in my heart, and I hope in yours as well.
Peace on Earth!
Sunday, December 11, 2016
Friday, December 9, 2016
Maddie Senior Memories
Maddie, you are a delight!
You are bright, beautiful, loving, and gentle – and always have been.
We learn so much from you and enjoy seeing you with your friends, sharing laughter, ideas, love, and respect.
We are excited for your next adventure, and know you will accomplish whatever you put your mind to!
You are bright, beautiful, loving, and gentle – and always have been.
Watching you develop from the sweet little girl in these pictures into the still-sweet, intelligent, principled young woman that you are has been an ongoing source of joy to us.
We learn so much from you and enjoy seeing you with your friends, sharing laughter, ideas, love, and respect.
We are excited for your next adventure, and know you will accomplish whatever you put your mind to!
But the love will have been enough.
What do you say about the first person you ever loved – the sweet lady who taught you how to love?
There is no way to sum up Mom in a few minutes. Fortunately there is no need to. We are all sharing this time together because we already know her and love her.
So let me just share a couple of memories and impressions of Mom.
We have so many wonderful pictures of Mom. One that is very special to me was taken when Maddie was less than a year old. Mom is standing in our living room, holding Maddie in her arms as they gaze into one another’s eyes. Mom was softly rocking her weight from one leg to the other; back and forth, back and forth – the slow, gentle dance that Mom often did when she held children.
I honestly don’t know what Mom was saying to her in this picture, but I backfill with one of Mom’s classics. I remember so often, as she held a baby, she would softly say—almost sing—‘Oh, Heavenry days!’
Mom may be the only non-Japanese person in America for whom ‘heavenry’ is a word. And she said it with such love, that it was heavenry to witness. The joy Mom felt, and expressed when she was around babies was a thing of beauty.
Mom had a way with words and expressions, with a few which are uniquely her own. Instead of ‘For crying out loud!’, or ‘For Pete’s sake!’ she would say … ‘For crying out Pete!’
One of my favorites is one she used at bedtime when we were little … ‘Skin-a-bunny’. Now, we all know the drill … you assume the position – the same one as for ‘Hands up! Don’t shoot!’ Then she’d pull your shirt off, then the jammie tops go on the same way. When I think of this – I can almost feel her helping pull a warm pajama shirt, right out of the dryer, down over my head.
I tried this expression a few weeks ago, when some friends were over with their twin two-year-olds. One of the girls got some chili on her shirt, and we wanted to change it before she climbed on my white couch. I said ‘Skin-a-bunny!’ Her mom just stared at me – half laughing, and half “What did you just say … ‘Skin a bunny?’ Nice image to share with a child!” Really made me laugh, hearing this with new ears. It’s still a fine expression though – and those girls will hear it some more!
Mom was brilliant, with a mind full of a wonderful range of knowledge. She wasn’t showy about it, but she enjoyed knowing it. Among many other legacies, she passed on to us a love for Jeopardy. We watched the original daytime show with Art Fleming and Don Pardo – well before that interloper Alex Trebek stepped in. Mom would sit down with her little Snickers bar. Well, they weren’t really bars per se – she would refrigerate them, then slice them into quarter-inch-sections, to create something like little miniature chocolate truffles. But I digress. She would have these Snickers treats on a plate, and slowly eat them as we watched Mom run entire categories. Now, as generous as Mom was with the show, and her subtle demonstration of knowledge, we learned early that we didn’t want to go to the Snickers well too often – too often being defined as ‘ever’. She was raising seven kids and shared everything with us, but this was her escape, and there were just enough Snickers sections to get her through the episode.
As part of holding up my end of the legacy, Maddie watched her first episode of Jeopardy at the ripe old age of seven hours.
I used to think of Mom as kind of frail; maybe because we see her alongside Dad, who always projected such strength. But when you look at what she dealt with, and bounced back; serious bouts of diverticulitis, cancer, heart attack … I think she was more a Mac Truck than a delicate flower. I thought we were going to lose her something like thirty years ago; but within a few weeks of her return from the hospital, she was getting up each day, and working out with her Jane Fonda exercise tapes.
But even a Mac Truck needs help to get through rough patches – and there aren’t many patches rougher than the last ten years have been. We who love Mom will never forget, and will always be humbled and grateful for the amazing care she has received.
The drawback to living a long life is that by the end, virtually everybody you have loved has gone ahead of you. After Dad passed away a few years ago, and with Uncle George being the last of her brothers and sisters to pass away … aside from those of us here, and a few others, this was the case with Mom.
In a way though, that didn’t matter. Because of her strong Catholic faith, and with the love that filled her heart, she knew how to be with them. In the final words of The Bridge of San Luis Rey, Thornton Wilder writes:
‘But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.’
There is no way to sum up Mom in a few minutes. Fortunately there is no need to. We are all sharing this time together because we already know her and love her.
So let me just share a couple of memories and impressions of Mom.
We have so many wonderful pictures of Mom. One that is very special to me was taken when Maddie was less than a year old. Mom is standing in our living room, holding Maddie in her arms as they gaze into one another’s eyes. Mom was softly rocking her weight from one leg to the other; back and forth, back and forth – the slow, gentle dance that Mom often did when she held children.
I honestly don’t know what Mom was saying to her in this picture, but I backfill with one of Mom’s classics. I remember so often, as she held a baby, she would softly say—almost sing—‘Oh, Heavenry days!’
Mom may be the only non-Japanese person in America for whom ‘heavenry’ is a word. And she said it with such love, that it was heavenry to witness. The joy Mom felt, and expressed when she was around babies was a thing of beauty.
Mom had a way with words and expressions, with a few which are uniquely her own. Instead of ‘For crying out loud!’, or ‘For Pete’s sake!’ she would say … ‘For crying out Pete!’
One of my favorites is one she used at bedtime when we were little … ‘Skin-a-bunny’. Now, we all know the drill … you assume the position – the same one as for ‘Hands up! Don’t shoot!’ Then she’d pull your shirt off, then the jammie tops go on the same way. When I think of this – I can almost feel her helping pull a warm pajama shirt, right out of the dryer, down over my head.
I tried this expression a few weeks ago, when some friends were over with their twin two-year-olds. One of the girls got some chili on her shirt, and we wanted to change it before she climbed on my white couch. I said ‘Skin-a-bunny!’ Her mom just stared at me – half laughing, and half “What did you just say … ‘Skin a bunny?’ Nice image to share with a child!” Really made me laugh, hearing this with new ears. It’s still a fine expression though – and those girls will hear it some more!
Mom was brilliant, with a mind full of a wonderful range of knowledge. She wasn’t showy about it, but she enjoyed knowing it. Among many other legacies, she passed on to us a love for Jeopardy. We watched the original daytime show with Art Fleming and Don Pardo – well before that interloper Alex Trebek stepped in. Mom would sit down with her little Snickers bar. Well, they weren’t really bars per se – she would refrigerate them, then slice them into quarter-inch-sections, to create something like little miniature chocolate truffles. But I digress. She would have these Snickers treats on a plate, and slowly eat them as we watched Mom run entire categories. Now, as generous as Mom was with the show, and her subtle demonstration of knowledge, we learned early that we didn’t want to go to the Snickers well too often – too often being defined as ‘ever’. She was raising seven kids and shared everything with us, but this was her escape, and there were just enough Snickers sections to get her through the episode.
As part of holding up my end of the legacy, Maddie watched her first episode of Jeopardy at the ripe old age of seven hours.
I used to think of Mom as kind of frail; maybe because we see her alongside Dad, who always projected such strength. But when you look at what she dealt with, and bounced back; serious bouts of diverticulitis, cancer, heart attack … I think she was more a Mac Truck than a delicate flower. I thought we were going to lose her something like thirty years ago; but within a few weeks of her return from the hospital, she was getting up each day, and working out with her Jane Fonda exercise tapes.
But even a Mac Truck needs help to get through rough patches – and there aren’t many patches rougher than the last ten years have been. We who love Mom will never forget, and will always be humbled and grateful for the amazing care she has received.
The drawback to living a long life is that by the end, virtually everybody you have loved has gone ahead of you. After Dad passed away a few years ago, and with Uncle George being the last of her brothers and sisters to pass away … aside from those of us here, and a few others, this was the case with Mom.
In a way though, that didn’t matter. Because of her strong Catholic faith, and with the love that filled her heart, she knew how to be with them. In the final words of The Bridge of San Luis Rey, Thornton Wilder writes:
‘But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.’
Mom knows that bridge well, having spent much of her life reaching across from this side. We know who she is with today; I hope we can each find comfort in knowing that she now gazes back across with love to each of us.
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