The least of these

Sometimes we forget those who are hurting. We brusquely go through our day as though our actions are the most important. We complain about traffic and why don't people get out of our way? Why are others so unaware of our needs? We forget that even if they knew we were running late for an appointment most would tell us we should have started five minutes earlier. Logic is often the orphan of arrogance.

Today I stopped at one of my least-favorite mega-stores to purchase pet food and pain-relievers. (My Uncle Arthritis is visiting my right hand at the moment.) I waited somewhat patiently for my turn with the cashier. She yawned and seemed tired although it was only 9:30 a.m. I asked if she was tired at that early hour. Instead of mentioning a late night she told me she was tired because she had been crying. She continued that her father called this morning to tell her it was finally time to put her grandfather into hospice care. My heart skipped a beat as I listened to her story. "In my thirty-three years I have only heard my dad cry once, and that was when his mom died." So now he was beginning the journey of saying good-bye to his father.

I understand a part of that mystery. My own parents are getting closer and closer to the end of their own struggles. My dad suffered a stroke over a year ago. At that time my sister and I were told he had Alzheimer's Disease as well. We have watched his small triumphs as well as his major personal defeats. He doesn't understand why he can't keep his balance when he tries to stand. He is frustrated that he can't walk around the house unassisted. Stairs are now in his past. The cognitive decline is oftentimes comical (in a loving way), but mostly it is frustrating for us as well. They still look like our parents, but they have been invaded by the body and mind snatchers. It is painful. My sister and I now mourn the loss of our parents even though life is still in their bodies.

We forget our own mortality. We forget that we too shall decrease so that others may increase.

I told the cashier I would remember her today. I lied. I shall remember her every day.

Plato said it best:
Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle.

Slow down, you're moving too fast. Got to make the morning last. Just kicking down the cobblestones. Looking for fun and feeling groovy.

Feel groovy, and take your time. Today is the best day of your life.

Jane

Today Truly is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life

Yes, it it true. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. It is the first day of my first blog. Why? I need to feel connected. Connected to what? Unfortunately, in the information age there seems to be only one method of connection. Blogs, e-mails, social networks, etc. So I have taken the plunge.

I have a home office in my attic. In my strangest daydreams I have seen myself as Louisa May Alcott or Jane Austen writing away in a garret room surrounded by the past and hoping for a future. Hence the garret reference. Trust me, I am surrounded by the past.

I live in a house built in 1864 so that alone give me license. However, it is also my attic. Here bits and pieces of my life have found repose. Some have taken root (in the worst way). In February I began the arduous task of cleaning out the attic. It was an adventure. It was a huge undertaking. It was frightening. I discovered I had been using my attic to store stuff that I believed I could never part with. I also believed the space was just a large storage bin; an in-house U-Store-It. You know what I mean, boxes of old clothes you don't want to throw away or wear again. I was surprised to find my elementary school report cards that my mother had carefully saved and packed in a box. Wow. That is a post all unto itself. "Stuff My Mom Saved For Me." Much to my chagrin I also came across a box of old underwear. It was gross. However, I digress.

It is here in my garret that I am alone. If someone wants to visit they must muster the fortitude to climb at least two flights of stairs. It is a way to remove myself from the madness of family life, regain my personal civility and connect.