enroute365

Taking the high road

I have come to understand the need for fiction writing in a whole new way.

When I began blogging over a year ago, my goal was to share slices of life and observations from my own experiences. In essence, to share truth as it presented itself. I fully anticipated that at some point I'd run up against one specific problem with that plan: I am intricately connected to others. When I reveal bits of my journey, very often I'm also exposing the struggles of those whose lives touch mine. In doing so, it's easy to invade others' rights to privacy.

This is one of the reasons I decided to take a break last fall, the need for integrity above all else. The daily dramas I was entering into were not mine to share ... even if they captured many a valuable life lesson.

Now, don't get me wrong! I'm still awash in tales of my own foibles! In the coming days I'll fill you in on my recent lapse in mindfulness and the broken ankle that resulted. But just for today I wanted to acknowledge -- perhaps even celebrate -- the reality of human inter-connectedness and the bonds of trust that need to be protected ... even if a great story is buried in the process!

Some day I will delve into fiction to tell those truths that would somehow be lost in a "tell-all" accounting. The truths that would somehow be rendered sordid or exploitive if I spared no detail. But today's not that day ... and this site is not the right forum.

But, be forewarned! For Enroute 365 to continue as a "life travelogue," I may deliver fewer stories and more brief insights, especially during those times when my days intertwine deeply with those of a family member or friend. It's a conscious decision to take the high road ... on this site and in my life.

Finding good (a year later)

Once again today, I beg your indulgence as I recycle stories from my archive. For today I chose one that brings me hope whenever I feel the world is out-of-control ... that reminds me to put aside my personal agenda whenever I can contribute to the greater good.

From time to time, I’ve fretted over the degree of hatred being unleashed across continents and peoples. Every day, headlines give evidence to new hostilities. But, I’ve rationalized, the stories of love and humanity don’t always get the best coverage.

Four weeks ago, however, I knew the world was in bad shape. Knew, because I’d caught one too many commentaries on TV. I didn't have to ponder; the talking heads spelled it out. Said we all knew the mess the world was in.

Maybe the moderator and panel experts were right. That’s what I believed one Saturday morning in March. And why I’m glad for the perspective of that same afternoon.

3:00 p.m. I was in a hurry. I’m always in a hurry. I had just left one event and was busily checking items off my To Do list before heading home. One last stop to pick up craft supplies.

I entered the art store with a sense of purpose and moved directly to the specialty paper section. There, I found myself stymied by choices. In the background I heard the cashier greet a customer at the counter. I held a paper up to the light, faintly aware that a monologue had begun.

“If you take the time, you'll find a silent bond that unites us.”

Hearing voices (in the blogosphere)

I’m hearing voices … again! More than whispers, these are the words born of beautiful minds … great writing that lends originality, honesty and humanity to the blogosphere.

But I’m behind the times … again. So forgive me if some of these posts are a bit dated. They remain messages that deserve to be heard.

I’m referring to the Progenitor who is finally a father. Hear the love that’s been awakened in him in a recent poem to his newborn daughter:

Baby girl…
Expanding our world.
Perfection in a soft cheek,
The curve of your spine as you lie on my chest …

Your reality completes…
Our home,
Our lives.

At the other extreme, I’m hearing the voice of Mimi at Mimi Writes who recalls the miracles of her grandmother:

I don't know if she was gifted with a healing vibe or just knew how to get things done. All I know is that my great-grandmother … had many old fashioned cures for whatever ailed us…

Inquisitive and annoying child that I was, I asked her all the time to tell me her secrets. She would not …

Perhaps her gift to me was a knowing and silent belief that sometimes wisdom lies in things that cannot be explained.

I hear the the message of Sarah at My Life as it Was, Is, and Will Be who reminds us to participate in life, even as we grow older:

The water broke a path behind her as she raced onwards. There were whistles and hoots and hollers on the lakeshore.  She continued, oblivious to the cheers. Her path reflected a straight line across the bay. She was riding her jet ski.

And she was 91 years old.

I’m also hearing journeyers who are taking a closer look at their worlds. Writers like Linda at Uncommon Adventures who recently found new appreciation (then life-and-death drama) as she explored her world by bicycle:

Because I see my usual bike route more often than others, it can sometimes seem boring or uninteresting. But if I pretend to be new to the area and unfamiliar with the rolling to flat hills, straight country roads, weathered barns, fields of who-knows-what-yet... corn, beans, alfalfa... I can see the plainness exude a mercurial beauty unlike the scenery presented by a mountain view or an ocean-scape.

I invite you to take a moment to listen to the voices with me by reading full posts via the links provided. See if these bloggers' words resonate within you!

Genie stays!

 
Continued from the July 12th post, "Lessons While Waiting."

Genie has decided that she's part of the family. Last night the little miss burst in on me (in the bathroom) to demand her third brushing of the evening. The night before, she marched across my desk to lie against my arm as I read blogs. And I've heard her jump down from the dining room table when she senses that I'm approaching from down the hall. So no doubts remain that Genie has made herself at home ... and that, indeed, this pretty Persian knows she already runs our home!

Genie's previous owner, Marla, has come to the same decision: Genie belongs with Frank and me. Marla stopped by for a final visit with Genie last night (she takes off for Texas today). Marla's been so busy preparing for this move -- selling possessions, finalizing job details and packing -- that she admits it hasn't really hit her yet: that Genie won't be moving with her.

I tell Marla that Frank and I will take good care of Genie ... but, in some ways, Genie is already taking good care of me. I now look forward to returning home after a long day of work. But not because I know Genie will be waiting for me. Some days this sweet cat does just that: waits for me at the top of the stairway. Other days I must rouse Genie from where she lies snoring in my office chair ...  snoozing under the china cabinet ... or curled up on the fireplace mantle! I look forward to seeing Genie because there's a part of me that needs to nurture. And Genie has a corresponding need for gentleness and understanding.

My nephew thinks it's funny that I speak to Genie in a higher pitch ... in something akin to baby-talk. "Ooooh, Geee-neeee, honey! Do we want our leeetle mousey?" he mimics in a falsetto voice. How quickly these children forget: fourteen years ago, that's how I spoke to him!

What can I say? I'm guilty of spoiling pets and children. And I'm quite unrepentant. After all, look at that contented mug (Genie's "happy face")! Mine is a victimless crime!

What pets own you? And why? What need does pet ownership fill for you?

Earlier posts:

• July 6th, "Of a Pet Lost and a Pet being Found"
• July 9th, "Meeting Genie"
• July 12th, "Lessons While Waiting"

Lessons while waiting

Continued from the July 9th post, "Meeting Genie."

Doing what's best for someone else doesn't always come easily. And that was the choice Marla was desperately trying to make. She had gone to great lengths to find new people for her pet as she prepared to start a new life in a new location. But now, when an expected job clearance had not yet come through, Marla struggled over Genie's future.

I saw the signs of an inner battle on her face as Marla fought back emotion. "I don't know what to do if the job doesn't pan out," she admitted. Then, as if correcting herself, she added, "but it isn't really about me, it's about her. It's about what's best for Genie."

Marla is still in her twenties and isn't yet settled. Her life has been in transition for some time now, during which time Genie has been housed by friends and, most recently, boarded at a local vet's. Even earlier, Marla didn't quite have the time she'd first thought she would to care for a cat ... and she feels that Genie has suffered because of this. I appreciate Marla's honesty. It helps me understand why, when Genie first came to our home, she didn't know how to play.

I've walked in Marla's shoes before. I remember how, fresh out of college, I longed for the companionship of a cat ... even when my work hours and social life really didn't make me the best pet owner.

Seeing Marla's dilemma, I realize that I must be as selfless as she is trying to be. So, after meeting my husband's eyes from across the living room, I offer a proposal. "Frank and I have found that when something is right ... when it's meant to be ... circumstances fall into place of their own accord. We don't need to force it. Maybe adopting Genie is right for us ... maybe it isn't," I begin. The next words are more difficult to utter, but somehow I get them out. "Why don't we proceed this way," I continue. "Why don't Frank and I continue to keep Genie in our home until mid-July when you'll have an answer about the job." "That way, you don't have to pay boarding fees, Genie continues to enjoy a home-atmosphere and you can visit her whenever you'd like." If the job doesn't pan out and you decide to keep Genie, Frank and I will consider this time our kitty 'fix' ... a time to reintroduce us to cat ownership ... or cat servitude, as the case may be! No hard feelings. But if you decide, for whatever reasons, that we can adopt her, we'd like that very much. She's a very special kitty so this can't be easy, but know you'd be welcome to visit her whenever you're in town to visit your mom."

As I speak these words, I think back to some nine months ago when I found a stray kitten dashing around in a busy parking lot on a rainy night. To keep her safe, I'd taken her home and spent the next week alerting various rescue agencies, the area's postal carriers and every vet in the city. I blanketed that suburb with bright yellow flyers. After seven weeks I was ready to claim her as my own ... just as her owners finally spotted one of my flyers in a grocery store. Relinquishing that adorable bundle of fur was difficult ... and made all the more so because it seemed that her owners had put forth very little effort toward finding her. Even upon her return, they had few questions and not a single word of thanks. Yet, Jazz (as they'd fittingly name her) wasn't mine, so I tearfully handed her over.

This, I reminded myself, was a very different situation. Genie was very much loved by Marla. Still the prospect of losing her -- even after so short a time together -- tugged at my heart.

Marla agreed to my proposal. She recently stopped by to see how things are going. Since our first visit, Genie has discovered how to play. She loves chasing a felt streamer that we dangle enticingly before her ... and already has a favorite toy, a catnip mouse.Genie has also become a bird lover, strategically placing her twitching body behind a large potted plant beside the sliding glass doors.

I'm not a patient person by nature, but as these last two weeks have passed, I've learned a thing or two about patience as a virtue. I've seen that I can conquer my impatient tendencies by accepting not only the realities before me, but by accepting the other people who share that reality ... by respecting them, respecting their journeys. But mostly, I think I've learned about love ... and how intricately those virtues are tied together: I'm beginning to love this cat and therefore I can be patient and will be accepting of the outcome.

Marla continues to prepare for her big move to Texas. She's impressed with how Genie has progressed and seems content with allowing us to keep her. But her decision is, no doubt, bittersweet. Per our agreement, Marla still has several days to change her mind. While I feel confident that the adoption will proceed, I continue to reign that feeling in; I need to delay it for just a few more days. After July 15th we'll have our final answer.

To be concluded with PART 4 in this continuing series on July 16th.

Earlier posts:

• July 6th, "Of a Pet Lost and a Pet being Found"
• July 9th, "Meeting Genie"

Meeting Genie

Continued from the July 6th post, "Of a Pet Lost and a Pet being Found."

While my husband was reluctant to seek out a new pet -- strike that ... a new companion -- life seemingly was finding a way to bring her to us.

I received the call from my neighbor Lois last week. Her daughter was moving down south and wouldn't be able to take her cat along. Did I know someone? They were running out of options.

My interest was piqued. As Lois described the feline, a Persian, my spirits dropped. While Genie sounded perfect for us in every other way, I had to consider my husband's allergies ... and I had serious misgivings about a long-haired pet. Still, I told Lois that I'd ask around, then -- on a lark -- went to the Internet to conduct research. There I learned that a long-haired pet may be no more of an allergy source than a short-hair; it all depends on which potential allergens trigger your symptoms. One may react to one cat and not another. It's complicated and -- as you find whenever you seek out expert opinion -- no two experts ever agree entirely. So the best advice was to spend time with the cat in question and watch for allergic reactions.

When Frank got home, I recited my findings to him in an out-of-breath litany of sorts. I told him that this might be it; this might be our cat. After all, I was working normal hours. Our finances were in good shape. And this little feline was in need. I stopped for a deep breath.

And before I could exhale, Frank agreed.

Lois and her daughter Marla brought Genie over to meet us the next day. She was beautiful (pictured to the left) and, as Marla described her little idiosyncrasies -- how she loved to be held like a baby and needed a gentle touch and a calm, loving home -- my husband and I realized that she sounded right for us. We decided to keep her over the weekend to see how Genie would adjust to us ... and to see if Frank's sinuses might somehow behave.

I was especially concerned about that latter point. A friend of Marla's had been caring for Genie for the last month or so. This long-haired beauty hadn't been groomed in some time. As Marla passed the cat's brushes to me, I worried that we had the added allergy-risk of accumulated dust mites which would be released once we started brushing her. I'm not typically much on prayer, but I made up for that deficit over the course of the weekend! By the time Monday rolled around, Frank and I had removed a kitchen trash bag's worth of fur and, while Frank did suffer some sinus headaches, it was nothing more than what he usually experiences this time of year. Success!

Marla returned to our home Monday to assess Genie's progress and was happy at what she found: Genie's coat was once again silky to the touch. More importantly, however, Genie was beginning to make herself at home! Marla seemed hesitant, though. After all, she'd loved and cared for this cat for five years. But ... there was more to the story than that. As we spoke with Marla, Frank and I learned that it was possible that Marla might not be moving out-of-state after all. Even though we had surmounted the challenges that lay before us from the start ... there was no guarantee that Genie would join our family. We had not arrived at a happy ending. Not yet, anyhow. And still, as I write this, this story's conclusion is far from certain.

To be continued with PART 3 in this continuing series on July 12th.

Why share the burden?

If you were fighting a life-threatening illness, would you tell those you loved? Why or why not? I raise the questions because I'm still trying to figure out why I would, days after the subject first came up in conversation.

I'd been dining with a friend who had just completed her cancer treatment. Jazee was preparing to share the good news with a dear sister who lives in another state. This is the first inkling her sibling would have of Jazee's struggle with cancer. “You're just telling her now?” I asked in disbelief.

Before you get the wrong impression, let me tell you a bit about my friend. First, Jazee is a warm, caring woman; the kind who would give you the shirt off her back whether you were a friend or foe. Second, Jazee has never had an easy life, but she doesn't speak of her problems much. She doesn't want others to worry.

I understand. Rather, I'm trying to. I don't want others to worry about me either. Yet I often share my problems with close friends and family. What's more, I want them to share their burdens with me. I just don't know why.

“There's nothing Carly could have done,” Jazee continued as she explained her decision. My friend is right. Her sister couldn't wave a magic wand and make Jazee's cancer disappear. Relating her experiences with me didn't diminish Jazee's pain one iota, even with two to share the burden. Still ... I wanted the chance to ask, “How are you doing today.” I wanted the opportunity to listen.

What does anyone gain by sharing their pain? How does it benefit us to listen? Do the blessings come from knowing that we are not alone? Is there something more? Or is that enough?

Let me know your thoughts. Please feel free to respond in the form of a comment.

Grandma's teacups

The health benefits have proven to be too great of pull and I have begun drinking tea. Sun tea. Hot tea. Green tea. Even a tea made from nettle leaves. My goal is to stay hydrated, enhance concentration, curb allergies and loose weight. I hope that I'm not asking too much!

Realizing my cup has run dry provides me with daily reminders to get up from my desk and stretch. It has also caused me to question the container; now that I drink tea, maybe I should actually use Grandma's teacups.

I inherited two cups and saucers from my grandmother's small collection years ago. They stand out from my own accumulation of knick knacks (primarily ceramics with rough, organic textures and colors). By contrast, Grandma's delicate teacups are fragile and lavishly decorated with floral motifs. And they remain center stage on oak shelves.

Now sipping tea from a bulky coffee mug, I find I'm not prepared to drink from Grandma's cups. I wonder why. Typically I require that items in my home be functional, not just serve for looks. But Grandma deserves an exception. She died over 14 years ago, but I can still feel the anticipation I held at age five over a planned trip to her home in Minneapolis. I can still recall our games of connect-the-dots. And winding the music box on Grandmother's dresser, then watching with her as its figurines danced about.

I don't remember that Grandma ever served tea in her cups. Even for company. And, now in my home, the cups continue sit empty. Empty ... yet full of memories. Perhaps that is their purpose. Maybe someday they will serve up love and remembrances for another generation. I think that's it: Grandma's teacups are already full. I just didn't see it before.

Reclaiming friendship

Today I spoke with a dear friend I hadn't seen in perhaps 14 years. And I'm ashamed to admit that the occasion was the funeral of her husband.

I'd met Jan at a brokerage where we both worked. She was a down-to-earth, what-you-see-is-what-I-am kind of woman and I liked her immediately.  This was back in the days when I took more risks with my health. Jan and I would go on smoke breaks together, sharing the comedies and tragedies from our lives two times a day, ten minutes each time. As I learned, that's all the time necessary to form a deep, caring bond. To share concerns, fears and frustrations. To joke, gossip and conspire.

In time I came to meet Jan's husband Harold. Worried over my single status, the couple once tried to hook me up with one of their nephews. I'm sure they were relieved when I finally met and married the guy that was right for me. Less so when Frank and I invited them to a ballgame on what might have been the hottest day of the year. Today Jan reminded me that it was a double-header.

Years went by and eventually both Jan and I found other jobs.

"I've given up too easily on good friendships ."

Who we are

I recently took my husband to the Des Moines Art Center to see The Oxford Project: Who We Are. The exhibit consists of a series of photographic portraits featuring the townspeople of Oxford, Iowa. Each of 16 triptychs (sets of three-panel displays) included a residents’ story sandwiched between unposed, black and white portraits taken in 1984 and 2005 or 2006.

The combination of image and text exposed how time (and life) transforms people and gave glimpses into those things that sustain us. The panels revealed the importance of relationships and the devastation of personal loss. They captured hopes, regrets and resilience.

"Life transforms us all ... yet, we’re not that different from one another. We all want to be understood."