Recorded as part of a Christmas cantata about 20 years ago.
Merry Christmas
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Rocks from the Riverbed
“When the whole nation had finished crossing the Jordan, the Lord said to Joshua, ‘Choose twelve men from among the people…and tell them to take up twelve stones from the middle of the Jordan…and put them at the place where you stay tonight.’ So Joshua called together the twelve men he had appointed… and said to them, ‘Each of you is to take up a stone…to serve as a sign among you. In the future, when your children ask you, ‘What do these stones mean?’ tell them that the flow of the Jordan was cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord…these stones are to be a memorial to the people of Israel forever.’” Joshua 4:1-7
From the riverbed of my life,
I will pluck stones,
A stone of gratitude for my very existence,
A stone for His redeeming love,
A stone representing His guiding hand,
A stone for his sustaining grace.
A stone for comfort in sadness,
A stone for times of great joy,
A stone for all of His good gifts,
A stone because He himself is The Rock.
When my family gathers next time, they may find a pile of rocks as a centerpiece in the middle of the dining room table. There may be some whispering to each other as they try to determine if Mom has finally lost her marbles or become as dumb as a box of rocks.
But surely one of the little ones will say, “Uhhh….Grandma….what is that pile of rocks doing on your table!?”
And I will talk to them about Joshua and the twelve men and say, “These are rocks from the riverbed of my life. They represent the times when God held back the flood of danger or evil which could have swept me away. I want you to know that He is the Rock on which I stand.”
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Looking Across
Friday evening, I drove from western New York back to northern New York on I-90 (the Thruway) and I-81. As I left the Buffalo area, I drove on a stretch of I-90 which parallels Genesee St. and is close enough that traffic on I-90 can be seen from Genesee and vice versa.
As I looked across to Genesee St., I also looked across six decades of my lifetime. I could see a car in the 1950s traveling away from Buffalo. I had been in the city visiting grandparents and was riding in the back seat of my parents car on the way home to Town Line Rd. which divides Lancaster and Alden. I peered out the side window of the car at the lights of the vehicles on the Thruway. Who are those people? Where are they going? What are their lives like? Will I be traveling there someday?
A few miles further on I-90, and I could see ponds. When I was a child there were gravel pits in that area. My parents would take us swimming in the gravel pits on hot days after my Dad got home from work. I could sit at the water's edge and hear the sounds of the traffic whizzing by on I-90. People about whom I knew nothing passed in proximity.
I did not know that the 66 year old me would be traveling that highway having been to western New York to work on settling my uncle's estate. I did not know that he would be the last in his generation to depart, leaving me as the oldest member of my family of origin. I did not know any of the joys and sorrows that I would experience in those intervening years. I did not know enough to be either excited or fearful. So much, both good and bad, was beyond my view and beyond my ability to even imagine.
About half-way between 6 and 66, I wrote the following:
I ponder the "what ifs" of my life,
The wide range of possibilities,
A broad spectrum
From disaster
To spectacular.
I recount the "supposes" of my life,
The infinite complexities,
Puzzle pieces,
Some dovetailing,
Other in hopeless tangle.
I indulge in a dream of "if onlys,"
Those happy coincidences
That propel one,
Soaring upward,
To grand success.
I shudder at life's "near misses,"
Those frightening times
When something unspeakable
Was inches
Or seconds away.
I bow in gratitude to Him,
Whose all-powerful hand
Has in the maze
Pointed and pushed
And protected.
I cannot see tomorrow. I do not know if I have decades left. I do not know if I will travel a road parallel to the one I am currently traveling. But, I continue to trust in the powerful hand to point, push and protect.
As I looked across to Genesee St., I also looked across six decades of my lifetime. I could see a car in the 1950s traveling away from Buffalo. I had been in the city visiting grandparents and was riding in the back seat of my parents car on the way home to Town Line Rd. which divides Lancaster and Alden. I peered out the side window of the car at the lights of the vehicles on the Thruway. Who are those people? Where are they going? What are their lives like? Will I be traveling there someday?
A few miles further on I-90, and I could see ponds. When I was a child there were gravel pits in that area. My parents would take us swimming in the gravel pits on hot days after my Dad got home from work. I could sit at the water's edge and hear the sounds of the traffic whizzing by on I-90. People about whom I knew nothing passed in proximity.
I did not know that the 66 year old me would be traveling that highway having been to western New York to work on settling my uncle's estate. I did not know that he would be the last in his generation to depart, leaving me as the oldest member of my family of origin. I did not know any of the joys and sorrows that I would experience in those intervening years. I did not know enough to be either excited or fearful. So much, both good and bad, was beyond my view and beyond my ability to even imagine.
About half-way between 6 and 66, I wrote the following:
I ponder the "what ifs" of my life,
The wide range of possibilities,
A broad spectrum
From disaster
To spectacular.
I recount the "supposes" of my life,
The infinite complexities,
Puzzle pieces,
Some dovetailing,
Other in hopeless tangle.
I indulge in a dream of "if onlys,"
Those happy coincidences
That propel one,
Soaring upward,
To grand success.
I shudder at life's "near misses,"
Those frightening times
When something unspeakable
Was inches
Or seconds away.
I bow in gratitude to Him,
Whose all-powerful hand
Has in the maze
Pointed and pushed
And protected.
I cannot see tomorrow. I do not know if I have decades left. I do not know if I will travel a road parallel to the one I am currently traveling. But, I continue to trust in the powerful hand to point, push and protect.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Dry Spot or Deluge?
I haven't written on this blog in almost 2 weeks. It isn't writer's block....it's writer's overload. A handful of friends know the events of the past several days and think I need to write a book. Every time I decide on a topic...and there have been multiple possibilities....I realize that there is no way to throw that information out in the public arena without hurt to someone. Changing names to protect the innocent...or the guilty...would not be sufficient.
If I can't write about what is consuming my thoughts, then I can't write about anything, and so I have been silent. If I ever extract myself from the vortex of chaos surrounding me and arrive at some focal point, I will have lots of material.
If I can't write about what is consuming my thoughts, then I can't write about anything, and so I have been silent. If I ever extract myself from the vortex of chaos surrounding me and arrive at some focal point, I will have lots of material.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Gratitude for Little Things
My husband's return from a business trip to California was the occasion for me to be sitting in the baggage claim area of the Syracuse airport. His flight was about 30 minutes late, so I occupied myself with a knitting project. Although I was focused on my yarn and needles, I was aware of a woman of Indian or Pakistani origin who was obviously also waiting. She walked around the baggage claim area coming closer to me with each circuit. I figured she noticed me knitting and was eventually going to come close enough to engage me in conversation.
After several minutes, she did indeed approach and ask me what I was knitting. I told her it was a sweater for a doll. She sat down beside me, and we carried on a typical get-acquainted conversation. Where are you from? For whom are you waiting? How many children do you have? How many grandchildren? What are their ages? Where do your children live?
As we chatted, I came to a spot in my knitting where I needed to do something I had not done before. I mumbled something to myself and made an attempt which didn't look right to me. She questioned what I needed to do, and said, "Oh, I know how to do that. Give me the needles." She quickly did two stitches, and that was enough for me to catch on to the technique. She handed my project back, and off I went. I am not sure how long it would have taken me to figure this out on my own.
How nice that our paths crossed and that she was available with knowledge at the precise time I was in need of it. We never actually exchanged names, but I am glad for those few minutes.
I am grateful for the tiny slices of life when I receive an unexpected blessing.
After several minutes, she did indeed approach and ask me what I was knitting. I told her it was a sweater for a doll. She sat down beside me, and we carried on a typical get-acquainted conversation. Where are you from? For whom are you waiting? How many children do you have? How many grandchildren? What are their ages? Where do your children live?
As we chatted, I came to a spot in my knitting where I needed to do something I had not done before. I mumbled something to myself and made an attempt which didn't look right to me. She questioned what I needed to do, and said, "Oh, I know how to do that. Give me the needles." She quickly did two stitches, and that was enough for me to catch on to the technique. She handed my project back, and off I went. I am not sure how long it would have taken me to figure this out on my own.
How nice that our paths crossed and that she was available with knowledge at the precise time I was in need of it. We never actually exchanged names, but I am glad for those few minutes.
I am grateful for the tiny slices of life when I receive an unexpected blessing.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Shades of Gray
I sat at the kitchen window this morning watching the visitors to the bird feeder. Eventually, I got out the bird identification book. A number of birds I saw were a combination of black, white and gray. My curiosity got the best of me. What were they? If one looked closely, it was clear that they were not all alike. Markings, beak shape, tail length and patterns of movement were different. I decided that I was seeing black-capped chickadees, nuthatches and juncos.
I sit looking out life's window at the world flying by. People and situations which initially appear as combinations of "black, white and gray" need closer examination. Who and what are they actually? It isn't only curiosity that makes me ponder these questions....it is emotional survival. What are their markings and what do they mean?
I pray for discernment.
I sit looking out life's window at the world flying by. People and situations which initially appear as combinations of "black, white and gray" need closer examination. Who and what are they actually? It isn't only curiosity that makes me ponder these questions....it is emotional survival. What are their markings and what do they mean?
I pray for discernment.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Trachiniae by Sophocles
Deianeira was, as a young woman, very beautiful. The river god Achelous, who sometimes appeared as a bull and other times as a snake, wished to marry her. Heracles (in Rome known as Hercules) desired her also, and killed the river god in order to marry her himself.
While she was crossing a river carried by a Centaur named Nessus, the Centaur attempted to violate her and was also killed by Heracles. As he was dying, he told Deianeira to take some of his clotted blood. From it she could make a potion which would cause Heracles to only love and be faithful to her.
Fast forward many years. Deianeira is waiting for Heracles to return after an absence of 15 months. She is apparently now at least middle-aged, as she has grown children. Before Heracles enters the city, the spoils of war precede him. Among them is a beautiful young woman who has been taken captive. Deianeira pities her and is interested in her story. Eventually she learns the truth that the girl Iole is the reason Heracles recently destroyed a city, and that he intends Iole to also be his wife.
Deianeira fakes acceptance of this, but then sends a robe to Heracles which she has treated with the potion given to her by Nessus many years earlier. She gives instructions to the messenger to ask Heracles to wear it as he makes sacrifices to the gods. Heracles complies. The robe tightens around his body sucking the life out of him and causing agonizing pain.
Deianeira now realizes that the Centaur has tricked her. Heracles will never look at another woman, because he won't be alive to do so. The Centaur has reached out from the grave to extract his revenge. Deianeira commits suicide.
Heracles begs his son to put him on a funeral pyre, even though he is still alive, and so end his misery. He also makes his son promise that he will marry Iole. His son Hyllus protests, but eventually gives in to his father's demands. Hyllus exits chanting, No man foresees the future; but the present is fraught with mourning for us, and with shame for the powers above, and verily with anguish beyond compare for him who endures this doom.
Something tells me there is a sequel to this story....or there ought to be.
Also, it isn't smart to believe what a Centaur tells you.
And, it is even less smart to replace your middle-aged wife with a young beauty. Ever since I was a teenager, I have wondered how smart men can be so dumb when it comes to women.
While she was crossing a river carried by a Centaur named Nessus, the Centaur attempted to violate her and was also killed by Heracles. As he was dying, he told Deianeira to take some of his clotted blood. From it she could make a potion which would cause Heracles to only love and be faithful to her.
Fast forward many years. Deianeira is waiting for Heracles to return after an absence of 15 months. She is apparently now at least middle-aged, as she has grown children. Before Heracles enters the city, the spoils of war precede him. Among them is a beautiful young woman who has been taken captive. Deianeira pities her and is interested in her story. Eventually she learns the truth that the girl Iole is the reason Heracles recently destroyed a city, and that he intends Iole to also be his wife.
Deianeira fakes acceptance of this, but then sends a robe to Heracles which she has treated with the potion given to her by Nessus many years earlier. She gives instructions to the messenger to ask Heracles to wear it as he makes sacrifices to the gods. Heracles complies. The robe tightens around his body sucking the life out of him and causing agonizing pain.
Deianeira now realizes that the Centaur has tricked her. Heracles will never look at another woman, because he won't be alive to do so. The Centaur has reached out from the grave to extract his revenge. Deianeira commits suicide.
Heracles begs his son to put him on a funeral pyre, even though he is still alive, and so end his misery. He also makes his son promise that he will marry Iole. His son Hyllus protests, but eventually gives in to his father's demands. Hyllus exits chanting, No man foresees the future; but the present is fraught with mourning for us, and with shame for the powers above, and verily with anguish beyond compare for him who endures this doom.
Something tells me there is a sequel to this story....or there ought to be.
Also, it isn't smart to believe what a Centaur tells you.
And, it is even less smart to replace your middle-aged wife with a young beauty. Ever since I was a teenager, I have wondered how smart men can be so dumb when it comes to women.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Walking into the Wind
I checked the weather radar online when I got up this morning, and decided I could get in a walk between the forecasted rain showers. The day is cool and very windy, but I started out under blue skies with clouds in the distance.
Autumn is my favorite season. I love the leaf colors...brilliant reds, oranges and yellows contrasted with dark evergreens. I love the aroma of rain-soaked leaves and the sound of my feet swishing through them. Although I try to push myself and keep up a brisk pace, I find myself distracted by the sights and sounds, and I lose focus on the intent to exercise. Many homes in my area have lovely fall decorations or rather tawdry Halloween-y ones. No matter, I enjoy the plastic pumpkins as much as the huge hardy mums.
Over halfway through the 3 miles, I was greeted and passed by a young woman...probably half my age. She strode by and left me in her dust. I sighed, wishing I could keep up. As I rounded a corner, she was still in sight. I heard feet behind me. Along came a jogging teenage girl...probably half the age of the young woman. They were both still in sight when the teenager blew by the young woman. I chuckled to myself.
I had an aunt who said to me once, "Youth is always beautiful." I was young at the time and didn't quite understand. Of course, I have also heard it said that "youth is wasted on the young."
The last block home is uphill, and this morning, I was walking into a headwind. I wondered how much of a wind it would take to stop me in my tracks. I mused that I am also walking into the headwind of age. Eventually that will stop me in my tracks, I suppose. Meantime, I will enjoy the wind, the colors, the aromas, the sounds, and I will smile at those with the strength and energy of youth who leave me in their wake.
Autumn is my favorite season. I love the leaf colors...brilliant reds, oranges and yellows contrasted with dark evergreens. I love the aroma of rain-soaked leaves and the sound of my feet swishing through them. Although I try to push myself and keep up a brisk pace, I find myself distracted by the sights and sounds, and I lose focus on the intent to exercise. Many homes in my area have lovely fall decorations or rather tawdry Halloween-y ones. No matter, I enjoy the plastic pumpkins as much as the huge hardy mums.
Over halfway through the 3 miles, I was greeted and passed by a young woman...probably half my age. She strode by and left me in her dust. I sighed, wishing I could keep up. As I rounded a corner, she was still in sight. I heard feet behind me. Along came a jogging teenage girl...probably half the age of the young woman. They were both still in sight when the teenager blew by the young woman. I chuckled to myself.
I had an aunt who said to me once, "Youth is always beautiful." I was young at the time and didn't quite understand. Of course, I have also heard it said that "youth is wasted on the young."
The last block home is uphill, and this morning, I was walking into a headwind. I wondered how much of a wind it would take to stop me in my tracks. I mused that I am also walking into the headwind of age. Eventually that will stop me in my tracks, I suppose. Meantime, I will enjoy the wind, the colors, the aromas, the sounds, and I will smile at those with the strength and energy of youth who leave me in their wake.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Electra by Sophocles
My own personal "Greek tragedies" have recently hindered me from reading the classic ones. I read Electra some weeks ago, but didn't have the time to write about it, so today I skimmed through and refreshed my memory.
Electra is the daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra. Agamemnon was killed by Clytemnestra and her lover Aegisthus, who are now ruling in his place. Chrysothemis who is Electra's sister has chosen to quietly accept this difficult situation. Orestes, their brother, was spirited off to another country for his safety many years ago. Electra cannot let go of the injustice that was done and spends her life in mourning very openly. This is, of course, viewed as a display of defiance by Aegisthus and Clytemnestra, so she suffers hardship under them.
During the course of the story, Orestes returns grown-up and unrecognized. He and his friend Pylades avenge Agamemnon's death by killing both Clytemnestra and Aegisthus. The bulk of the play, however, is really about Electra's constant expression of grief and whether one should quietly accept ones circumstances or constantly rail against them.
When I was about 19, I went through a phase where I thought one should always express how one was actually feeling and not put on a good front to hide inner misery. What I quickly discovered is that this approach is a slippery slope spiraling downward into the pit of despair. Each expression of misery gives rise to deeper misery. Conversely each expression of joy elevates ones spirit. Showing interest in others can bolster a gloomy mood. Looking for something positive or beautiful counteracts sorrow.
I am in favor of being honest, but I am not in favor of clinging to misery, since it usually makes a person non-functional too. It is a rotten way to live.
Be advised to say no more; canst thou not see what conduct it is which already plunges thee so cruelly in self-made miseries? Thou hast greatly aggravated thy troubles, ever breeding wars with thy sullen soul..." (the chorus to Electra)
Go out and take a walk. Observe the beauty of the world around you.
Listen to the laughter of playing children.
Lose yourself in a good book.
Play uplifting music.
Find a way to be helpful to someone else.
Clean something that is dirty enough that you can see the difference.
Stay off the slippery slope leading to the black pit of hopelessness!
Do not follow the example of Electra.
Electra is the daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra. Agamemnon was killed by Clytemnestra and her lover Aegisthus, who are now ruling in his place. Chrysothemis who is Electra's sister has chosen to quietly accept this difficult situation. Orestes, their brother, was spirited off to another country for his safety many years ago. Electra cannot let go of the injustice that was done and spends her life in mourning very openly. This is, of course, viewed as a display of defiance by Aegisthus and Clytemnestra, so she suffers hardship under them.
During the course of the story, Orestes returns grown-up and unrecognized. He and his friend Pylades avenge Agamemnon's death by killing both Clytemnestra and Aegisthus. The bulk of the play, however, is really about Electra's constant expression of grief and whether one should quietly accept ones circumstances or constantly rail against them.
When I was about 19, I went through a phase where I thought one should always express how one was actually feeling and not put on a good front to hide inner misery. What I quickly discovered is that this approach is a slippery slope spiraling downward into the pit of despair. Each expression of misery gives rise to deeper misery. Conversely each expression of joy elevates ones spirit. Showing interest in others can bolster a gloomy mood. Looking for something positive or beautiful counteracts sorrow.
I am in favor of being honest, but I am not in favor of clinging to misery, since it usually makes a person non-functional too. It is a rotten way to live.
Be advised to say no more; canst thou not see what conduct it is which already plunges thee so cruelly in self-made miseries? Thou hast greatly aggravated thy troubles, ever breeding wars with thy sullen soul..." (the chorus to Electra)
Go out and take a walk. Observe the beauty of the world around you.
Listen to the laughter of playing children.
Lose yourself in a good book.
Play uplifting music.
Find a way to be helpful to someone else.
Clean something that is dirty enough that you can see the difference.
Stay off the slippery slope leading to the black pit of hopelessness!
Do not follow the example of Electra.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Commitment to Truth
How does one discern between conflicting statements....especially when neither party has demonstrated a commitment to truth previously?
I am caught in the middle. How do I plot a course when I am not sure where the land-mines are located? Two people are telling me with certainty that they know....but what they "know" overlaps only slightly. I want to do what is "right," not just so that I can survive, but also for the sake of doing right.
I know that God sees and knows all, and that He himself is the personification of truth. But in this present era, He is not in the habit of sending a handwritten message or giving clear revelation through a vision. I am desperately in need of the guidance of His Spirit...of the still, small voice that directs.
Today I am reading II Corinthians 13:7-8 Now we pray to God that you will not do anything wrong. Not that people will see that we have stood the test, but that you will do what is right even though we may seem to have failed. For we cannot do anything against the truth, but only for the truth.
I pray that I will not do anything wrong.
I pray that I will stick to what is right even if it looks like I have failed.
I pray that I will act in accordance with the TRUTH....real truth, not human perspective.
I am caught in the middle. How do I plot a course when I am not sure where the land-mines are located? Two people are telling me with certainty that they know....but what they "know" overlaps only slightly. I want to do what is "right," not just so that I can survive, but also for the sake of doing right.
I know that God sees and knows all, and that He himself is the personification of truth. But in this present era, He is not in the habit of sending a handwritten message or giving clear revelation through a vision. I am desperately in need of the guidance of His Spirit...of the still, small voice that directs.
Today I am reading II Corinthians 13:7-8 Now we pray to God that you will not do anything wrong. Not that people will see that we have stood the test, but that you will do what is right even though we may seem to have failed. For we cannot do anything against the truth, but only for the truth.
I pray that I will not do anything wrong.
I pray that I will stick to what is right even if it looks like I have failed.
I pray that I will act in accordance with the TRUTH....real truth, not human perspective.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Ten Dollars a Pack
One day recently, I was in the checkout lane at a grocery store, when I noticed an unopened pack of cigarettes on the floor. I picked it up and started to hand it to a clerk, assuming it had fallen off the counter or a display rack. The woman ahead of me in line turned and said that it was hers. As I handed her the cigarettes, she said, "Thanks! At ten dollars a pack, I really appreciate it."
I have no idea what kind of facial expression I was exhibiting, but she studied my face briefly and continued, "I bet it just about killed you to give those to me."
I never managed to formulate a reply. She turned and continued writing her check. She was, of course, right in thinking that I was sad to hand her those cigarettes. I had a lot on my mind at that point, but picking up that package snapped my mind into the present, and I felt a twinge of sadness. Cigarettes are addictive. People get hooked. Cigarettes are a huge cause of health problems. They are an enormous waste of money. Even though I didn't know the woman, I could feel empathy and sorrow. I have family members who smoke. I love them and grieve. I'm guessing she has family members who love her and wish she could kick the habit too.
I'm still thinking about that very brief encounter. I wonder if she is.
I have no idea what kind of facial expression I was exhibiting, but she studied my face briefly and continued, "I bet it just about killed you to give those to me."
I never managed to formulate a reply. She turned and continued writing her check. She was, of course, right in thinking that I was sad to hand her those cigarettes. I had a lot on my mind at that point, but picking up that package snapped my mind into the present, and I felt a twinge of sadness. Cigarettes are addictive. People get hooked. Cigarettes are a huge cause of health problems. They are an enormous waste of money. Even though I didn't know the woman, I could feel empathy and sorrow. I have family members who smoke. I love them and grieve. I'm guessing she has family members who love her and wish she could kick the habit too.
I'm still thinking about that very brief encounter. I wonder if she is.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Did He Wait for Me?
When I learned on Tuesday that my uncle, who lived in western New York, was weakening and probably would not live much longer, I was literally on my way out the door to the Southern Tier of New York to try to help one of my daughters with a crisis she was facing.
Since I couldn't hurry to see him on Tuesday, my dear sister-in-law Kathy got up early on Wednesday and drove the 3-plus hours to be with him. We didn't want him to die alone. He has lived much too much of his life alone...seemingly by his own choice, but we still didn't want him dying alone.
Kathy and I talked a number of times on Wednesday, as my husband and I tried to get away and head in his direction. At one point, Kathy said, she had told him that I was coming and he smiled. He was no longer speaking. Finally by late afternoon, we felt our daughter's situation was stable enough to leave her temporarily.
The weather was terrible...the rain was coming down heavily. The traffic was also heavy...lots of trucks kicking up spray and reducing visibility. My husband drove like a maniac anyway, and we did not stop for supper. We arrived at the nursing home about 8:45 pm. My husband dropped me at the front door, and said that he would take care of getting our belongings to the guest room. I hurried to my uncle's room. As I entered, the nurse had the stethoscope on his chest and was telling my sister-in-law that in spite of the fact that she could not get a blood pressure, his heart was ticking along just fine.
I touched him on the shoulder and told him I had come. I sat down next to him and stroked his arm and his forehead. His eyes stared out with no sign of recognition and no acknowledgement. My sister-in-law stepped into the hall. Later she told me, she had said to the nurse, he would be able to let go now that I had arrived.
Less than 5 minutes later, his breathing changed. His respirations became more shallow. A couple more minutes and he began to pause between breaths.....5 seconds, 10 seconds, and then he went 30 seconds with no breaths. I almost called the nurse, but as I started to do so, there was another breath. Then I waited a full minute....nothing. I could feel no pulse. I called the nurse. She listened with her stethoscope. It was 9:09 pm. I had been there less than 20 minutes.
Kathy,the nurse, the social worker and others all say that he waited for me.
Strange as it sounds, I think that is just what he did.
Since I couldn't hurry to see him on Tuesday, my dear sister-in-law Kathy got up early on Wednesday and drove the 3-plus hours to be with him. We didn't want him to die alone. He has lived much too much of his life alone...seemingly by his own choice, but we still didn't want him dying alone.
Kathy and I talked a number of times on Wednesday, as my husband and I tried to get away and head in his direction. At one point, Kathy said, she had told him that I was coming and he smiled. He was no longer speaking. Finally by late afternoon, we felt our daughter's situation was stable enough to leave her temporarily.
The weather was terrible...the rain was coming down heavily. The traffic was also heavy...lots of trucks kicking up spray and reducing visibility. My husband drove like a maniac anyway, and we did not stop for supper. We arrived at the nursing home about 8:45 pm. My husband dropped me at the front door, and said that he would take care of getting our belongings to the guest room. I hurried to my uncle's room. As I entered, the nurse had the stethoscope on his chest and was telling my sister-in-law that in spite of the fact that she could not get a blood pressure, his heart was ticking along just fine.
I touched him on the shoulder and told him I had come. I sat down next to him and stroked his arm and his forehead. His eyes stared out with no sign of recognition and no acknowledgement. My sister-in-law stepped into the hall. Later she told me, she had said to the nurse, he would be able to let go now that I had arrived.
Less than 5 minutes later, his breathing changed. His respirations became more shallow. A couple more minutes and he began to pause between breaths.....5 seconds, 10 seconds, and then he went 30 seconds with no breaths. I almost called the nurse, but as I started to do so, there was another breath. Then I waited a full minute....nothing. I could feel no pulse. I called the nurse. She listened with her stethoscope. It was 9:09 pm. I had been there less than 20 minutes.
Kathy,the nurse, the social worker and others all say that he waited for me.
Strange as it sounds, I think that is just what he did.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Crying Out
I wrote this several years ago, but want to share it in connection with my last post.
Crying Out
Crying Out
Fear’s icy fingers clutch at my heart,
They brush over my shoulders and chill me.
I cannot find my voice to cry out,
“Help!”
Surely God is my salvation,
Surely He will rescue me!
I push out a quavering, whispered,
“God?”
Are you there in the darkness?
If I reach out, will I find you?
Softly, timidly I venture,
“I will trust.”
The hand of God stretches toward me,
I crawl into His palm and lie down,
I fall asleep murmuring,
“I will not be afraid.”
Rested and refreshed, I awaken.
His strength warms my soul,
I hear my own voice singing out,
“Praise the God of my salvation!”
Awake at 4 AM
I rarely have trouble falling asleep, but if I awaken during the night, I have difficulty getting back to sleep. Especially if there is something stressful going on in my life that my brain thinks it needs to "work on." As much as one portion of my brain shouts at the other that the middle of the night is not the time to ponder possible solutions to some dilemma, the other portion just keeps cranking out ideas. Tonight I have not one, not two, not three, but four major issues, any one of which could keep me awake. Dealing with one of these problems over the next few days is potentially going to prevent me from dealing with the others.
So...how to cope?
Before I went to sleep last night, I followed my normal habit of reading out of the Bible. I do not usually read more that a chapter, but last night I got into the story in Numbers 22-24, which by the way, includes a talking donkey. As interesting as that is, what stood out to me was a message from God spoken through the prophet Balaam.
God is not a man, that he should lie,
Nor the son of man, that he should change his mind.
Does he speak and then not act?
Does he promise and not fulfill?
Can I trust God to take the necessary actions to solve my problems? Can I believe that He is already working? Will He give me the guidance to come up with the right solutions, at the right time? Will He give me the peace to wait for His leading?
Does he speak and then not act? Does he promise and not fulfill?
Back to bed I go.
So...how to cope?
Before I went to sleep last night, I followed my normal habit of reading out of the Bible. I do not usually read more that a chapter, but last night I got into the story in Numbers 22-24, which by the way, includes a talking donkey. As interesting as that is, what stood out to me was a message from God spoken through the prophet Balaam.
God is not a man, that he should lie,
Nor the son of man, that he should change his mind.
Does he speak and then not act?
Does he promise and not fulfill?
Can I trust God to take the necessary actions to solve my problems? Can I believe that He is already working? Will He give me the guidance to come up with the right solutions, at the right time? Will He give me the peace to wait for His leading?
Does he speak and then not act? Does he promise and not fulfill?
Back to bed I go.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Toy-ta-toy-toy
I'm not sure how it got started, but ever since I was a very little girl, my Uncle Roy and I have had our special way of closing a conversation. Certainly, it would seem odd to anyone else. We point at each other, making a circular motion with our index fingers and say, "Toy-ta-toy-toy."
Yeah, I know...it doesn't mean anything, and it's ridiculous. Except that for us, it is infused with rich meaning. "You'd better behave yourself," or "So long, it was nice to see you," or something else that isn't easily defined, but we both understand.
I am 66 and my uncle is 91, and we still continue this foolishness. Today I talked to him on the phone. He is in a nursing home, has cancer, has been told he cannot tolerate any more chemo and is refusing any other interventions. His voice was weak today. He could barely hear me, although I was shouting as loudly as I could.
He said that he was tired. I told him that I didn't want to keep him talking too long, that I just wanted to let him know I was thinking of him.
My uncle: "I'm thinking of you too, sweetie."
Me: "I want you to know I love you."
My uncle: "I love you too, sweetie."
Me: "Good-bye"
My uncle in barely a whisper: "Toy-ta-toy-toy."
I burst out laughing. I couldn't believe he remembered to say it given his condition. In recent years, it has become a bit of a competition to see who remembers to say it at the close of the conversation. He won, leaving me to add: "Same to you."
My uncle: "Thanks, sweetie."
Each time I talk with him now, I wonder if it will be the last time that I hear "Toy-ta-toy-toy." A silly, silly phrase conveys the warmth of more than six decades of family relationship, mutual admiration and concern for each other.
No other words will do.
Yeah, I know...it doesn't mean anything, and it's ridiculous. Except that for us, it is infused with rich meaning. "You'd better behave yourself," or "So long, it was nice to see you," or something else that isn't easily defined, but we both understand.
I am 66 and my uncle is 91, and we still continue this foolishness. Today I talked to him on the phone. He is in a nursing home, has cancer, has been told he cannot tolerate any more chemo and is refusing any other interventions. His voice was weak today. He could barely hear me, although I was shouting as loudly as I could.
He said that he was tired. I told him that I didn't want to keep him talking too long, that I just wanted to let him know I was thinking of him.
My uncle: "I'm thinking of you too, sweetie."
Me: "I want you to know I love you."
My uncle: "I love you too, sweetie."
Me: "Good-bye"
My uncle in barely a whisper: "Toy-ta-toy-toy."
I burst out laughing. I couldn't believe he remembered to say it given his condition. In recent years, it has become a bit of a competition to see who remembers to say it at the close of the conversation. He won, leaving me to add: "Same to you."
My uncle: "Thanks, sweetie."
Each time I talk with him now, I wonder if it will be the last time that I hear "Toy-ta-toy-toy." A silly, silly phrase conveys the warmth of more than six decades of family relationship, mutual admiration and concern for each other.
No other words will do.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
The Record of a Life
My dear uncle is 91 years old and the last person in my family in the generation before me. He recently moved from an independent apartment to the nursing home of the senior residence in which he lives. He skipped over "assisted living," because he stayed in his apartment until he could no longer make it to the kitchen to fix meals or even crawl to the bathroom. He has no children....just four nephews and one niece, and that would be me.
I spent the last six days sorting, packing, giving things to charity, throwing things out, and getting his apartment cleared out. I could have never done this on my own, as the task was gargantuan. I think he saved every piece of paper he ever wrote anything on. Fortunately, my two cousins and the wife of one of them, one of my brothers and his wife, and my long-suffering husband helped.
Although we were focused on the task, we were all cognizant that we were pawing through the record of a life-time. We found pictures of him as a baby, grade school report cards, his high school diploma, college notes, and letters written to him during World War II when he served on a hospital ship in the Pacific Ocean. He has no children and our generation was unaware of him ever dating or bringing a young lady to family events, but we found a picture of him with a young woman wearing a corsage definitely looking like they were going on a date.
We found sketches from his days as an engineer on cooling systems, pay stubs going back decades, old resumes, and photos of him taken when he was sent to Aruba on business back in the 1950s when most people in New York had probably not heard of Aruba.
One entire cupboard in the kitchen was filled with empty jars. Why he was saving them is anybody's guess. He apparently purchased paper towels in large quantities. The number we found would have lasted him years. The refrigerator was full of unopened canned goods. Why he kept unopened cans there is also a mystery.
We didn't have time to read all of them, but there were notes everywhere. All of his paid bills were returned to the envelopes and had notes on the outside....his commentary on the economy or a description of the phone call he had had with a customer service rep regarding the bill. Mixed in with the bills and bank statements were scraps of paper on which he had written notes about books he read or TV programs he watched. I discovered several sheets of paper clipped together on which he had rated each of his nephews and his niece (yours truly) based on our willingness to help our parents, dedication to family, and community service. I think I'd better burn that one. After rambling on and pondering leaving us percentages of his assets based on our "scores," in the end he decided to treat us equally in his will.
I expect he doesn't have much longer to live. He has been battling cancer for about 7 years and cannot tolerate any more chemo. Last week he turned down a blood transfusion and asked that Hospice be called. He told me that he sees no point in being pulled back from the brink any more. Yesterday he refused to get out of bed, saying he was too weak.
He has lived a long life....but, I'm not sure it has been a happy one. He claims he was a "loner," but he does love to talk to others. And yet, very few people in the independent living area knew him. He kept to himself. But I wonder, for whom did he write all of those notes? There were certainly some that he never intended anyone to see, but others that he may have hoped someone would appreciate.
He is and was an enigma. But, we...his nephews and niece...all have fond memories of times spent with him, and when he is gone, I will miss him.
I spent the last six days sorting, packing, giving things to charity, throwing things out, and getting his apartment cleared out. I could have never done this on my own, as the task was gargantuan. I think he saved every piece of paper he ever wrote anything on. Fortunately, my two cousins and the wife of one of them, one of my brothers and his wife, and my long-suffering husband helped.
Although we were focused on the task, we were all cognizant that we were pawing through the record of a life-time. We found pictures of him as a baby, grade school report cards, his high school diploma, college notes, and letters written to him during World War II when he served on a hospital ship in the Pacific Ocean. He has no children and our generation was unaware of him ever dating or bringing a young lady to family events, but we found a picture of him with a young woman wearing a corsage definitely looking like they were going on a date.
We found sketches from his days as an engineer on cooling systems, pay stubs going back decades, old resumes, and photos of him taken when he was sent to Aruba on business back in the 1950s when most people in New York had probably not heard of Aruba.
One entire cupboard in the kitchen was filled with empty jars. Why he was saving them is anybody's guess. He apparently purchased paper towels in large quantities. The number we found would have lasted him years. The refrigerator was full of unopened canned goods. Why he kept unopened cans there is also a mystery.
We didn't have time to read all of them, but there were notes everywhere. All of his paid bills were returned to the envelopes and had notes on the outside....his commentary on the economy or a description of the phone call he had had with a customer service rep regarding the bill. Mixed in with the bills and bank statements were scraps of paper on which he had written notes about books he read or TV programs he watched. I discovered several sheets of paper clipped together on which he had rated each of his nephews and his niece (yours truly) based on our willingness to help our parents, dedication to family, and community service. I think I'd better burn that one. After rambling on and pondering leaving us percentages of his assets based on our "scores," in the end he decided to treat us equally in his will.
I expect he doesn't have much longer to live. He has been battling cancer for about 7 years and cannot tolerate any more chemo. Last week he turned down a blood transfusion and asked that Hospice be called. He told me that he sees no point in being pulled back from the brink any more. Yesterday he refused to get out of bed, saying he was too weak.
He has lived a long life....but, I'm not sure it has been a happy one. He claims he was a "loner," but he does love to talk to others. And yet, very few people in the independent living area knew him. He kept to himself. But I wonder, for whom did he write all of those notes? There were certainly some that he never intended anyone to see, but others that he may have hoped someone would appreciate.
He is and was an enigma. But, we...his nephews and niece...all have fond memories of times spent with him, and when he is gone, I will miss him.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Pride, Prejudice and Propriety
I am quite fond of both recent versions of Pride and Prejudice, the longer BBC version with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle and the shorter one with Matthew MacFayden and Keira Knightley. I have watched both multiple times and can't decide which I like best. Each has scenes I prefer over the other and supporting characters I like better.
Yesterday I used the 2 hour version to put some civility and dignity back into my life after a phone call I received in which someone directed crude and foul language at me. Of course, the manners demonstrated in both versions seem stiff and affected to us today, but there is something comforting in the pattern. No matter how much one loathes another, he or she is still bowed to and given at least a surface respect. The characters communicate their intent very clearly without profanity. There is something to be said for keeping things civil.
So, I hung up on the disrespectful perpetrator of foul language and stood there shaking briefly, until it occurred to me that I could get the nasty encounter out of my head and immerse myself in a climate of cordiality by popping in the DVD of Pride and Prejudice.
As Sir Lucas would say, "Capital!"
Yesterday I used the 2 hour version to put some civility and dignity back into my life after a phone call I received in which someone directed crude and foul language at me. Of course, the manners demonstrated in both versions seem stiff and affected to us today, but there is something comforting in the pattern. No matter how much one loathes another, he or she is still bowed to and given at least a surface respect. The characters communicate their intent very clearly without profanity. There is something to be said for keeping things civil.
So, I hung up on the disrespectful perpetrator of foul language and stood there shaking briefly, until it occurred to me that I could get the nasty encounter out of my head and immerse myself in a climate of cordiality by popping in the DVD of Pride and Prejudice.
As Sir Lucas would say, "Capital!"
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Dinner Date? No way!
Today I once again went to a farmers' market and set up an informational table regarding cancer screenings. During the course of the morning, a man stopped to speak with me. He was initially somewhat hostile. He informed me he had an "attitude" toward "you people"....meaning my agency. Except, he had no idea what we do, and it turned out he was actually mad at the Federal Government regarding a Medicare and Social Security issue, which has absolutely nothing to do with me or my agency.
He ended up dumping quite a bit of his history on me, including the fact that he had recently served jail time for DWI and that his wife of 30-some years had viewed this as the final straw and left him.. He felt badly about the impact his actions had had on her life. I asked him if he had quit drinking. He allowed that I had hit the nail on the head with that question. We got into an in depth discussion which resulted in him saying he felt as though he had been to an AA meeting right there out on the street. As he left, he said, "You are a really nice lady, Ruth."
I wondered about this interchange. I was pretty sure it would not have any lasting impact on him. He told me he wasn't ready to change.
A bit later he returned, and oh my, he asked me what my plans were for dinner this evening. I had not anticipated such a turn of events. I thought we had had a strictly professional conversation. I told him that I was married and that my husband was returning from a trip out of town, and I had a "date" with him this evening. He said, "Well, maybe you will be back here sometime....you never know." I assured him that I had been happily married for 43 years and my husband was a wonderful man, and that I wasn't going out to dinner with anyone else. He said, "Sometimes things change." He eventually left, but not until he had asked for my business card. I had my business cards with me, but I gave him one from the agency hoping it would be a deterrent, since I was pretty sure his interest was not professional.
As I was packing up to leave, he returned again! He was talking to the folks in the adjacent booth, and I was ignoring the conversation. Except that I heard the phrase, "Actually, I'm interested in the lady next to you, who is packing up."
I got in my car to drive away, and there he was knocking on my window. He apparently felt it necessary to remind me once more that "sometimes things change," and he hoped to see me again.
This man has NO CLUE how fussy I was about whom I would consider dating when I was a young woman. Should I ever be without my husband, which I hope with all my heart that I never am, I would be even more fussy as an old woman! If I ever have the misfortune to run into that man again, and he tries to cross the professional-personal line, I will be explaining in unmistakable language that he is not in the minority of the male population that I would consider as a dinner date.
I am anxiously awaiting my husband's return home.
He ended up dumping quite a bit of his history on me, including the fact that he had recently served jail time for DWI and that his wife of 30-some years had viewed this as the final straw and left him.. He felt badly about the impact his actions had had on her life. I asked him if he had quit drinking. He allowed that I had hit the nail on the head with that question. We got into an in depth discussion which resulted in him saying he felt as though he had been to an AA meeting right there out on the street. As he left, he said, "You are a really nice lady, Ruth."
I wondered about this interchange. I was pretty sure it would not have any lasting impact on him. He told me he wasn't ready to change.
A bit later he returned, and oh my, he asked me what my plans were for dinner this evening. I had not anticipated such a turn of events. I thought we had had a strictly professional conversation. I told him that I was married and that my husband was returning from a trip out of town, and I had a "date" with him this evening. He said, "Well, maybe you will be back here sometime....you never know." I assured him that I had been happily married for 43 years and my husband was a wonderful man, and that I wasn't going out to dinner with anyone else. He said, "Sometimes things change." He eventually left, but not until he had asked for my business card. I had my business cards with me, but I gave him one from the agency hoping it would be a deterrent, since I was pretty sure his interest was not professional.
As I was packing up to leave, he returned again! He was talking to the folks in the adjacent booth, and I was ignoring the conversation. Except that I heard the phrase, "Actually, I'm interested in the lady next to you, who is packing up."
I got in my car to drive away, and there he was knocking on my window. He apparently felt it necessary to remind me once more that "sometimes things change," and he hoped to see me again.
This man has NO CLUE how fussy I was about whom I would consider dating when I was a young woman. Should I ever be without my husband, which I hope with all my heart that I never am, I would be even more fussy as an old woman! If I ever have the misfortune to run into that man again, and he tries to cross the professional-personal line, I will be explaining in unmistakable language that he is not in the minority of the male population that I would consider as a dinner date.
I am anxiously awaiting my husband's return home.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Excess vs Need
I am nauseous.
I just watched the video of a tour through Donald Trump's private jet which cost $100 million dollars. The fixtures, including the seat belt clips, are plated with 24 K gold.
Yesterday I stopped in a drugstore to pick up a travel size tube of toothpaste for my husband. A young black girl stood in front of the sanitary napkins with a sale brochure and a few coins in her hand. She asked me for a dollar to help her buy what she needed. After I gave it to her, I realized that what she had was still inadequate, and that she was planning to beg from other women who entered that aisle until she had enough. I gave her the rest of the money.
She looked astonished and said, "You didn't have to do that."
I thought of her repeatedly throughout the day, and when I woke up this morning. I thought that I should have asked her if there was anything else she needed. I wondered where her mother was. Was there no adult in her life who cared for her needs? My heart was aching.
Having watched the video of The Donald's ridiculous and ostentatious excess, I now have nausea in addition to the ache.
I just watched the video of a tour through Donald Trump's private jet which cost $100 million dollars. The fixtures, including the seat belt clips, are plated with 24 K gold.
Yesterday I stopped in a drugstore to pick up a travel size tube of toothpaste for my husband. A young black girl stood in front of the sanitary napkins with a sale brochure and a few coins in her hand. She asked me for a dollar to help her buy what she needed. After I gave it to her, I realized that what she had was still inadequate, and that she was planning to beg from other women who entered that aisle until she had enough. I gave her the rest of the money.
She looked astonished and said, "You didn't have to do that."
I thought of her repeatedly throughout the day, and when I woke up this morning. I thought that I should have asked her if there was anything else she needed. I wondered where her mother was. Was there no adult in her life who cared for her needs? My heart was aching.
Having watched the video of The Donald's ridiculous and ostentatious excess, I now have nausea in addition to the ache.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Putting It All Together
I just assembled the weed-whacker which has been sitting in the box in our garage for months. The yard is in serious need of something a bit more tailored than mowing accomplished via a rider. I guess I should have known when we purchased it that the assembly job would be mine. Tradition would make it a job for the man in the house, but....
When I was in high school, we took a battery of tests that were supposedly designed to help us determine a career path. The guidance counselor laughingly told me that I had bested all the males in the class on the test of mechanical aptitude. Given my strong math ability, he probably should have suggested that I go into mechanical engineering, but thinking about women in that type of field hadn't quite hit the social landscape. I headed off to nursing school.
During the early years of our marriage, my husband assembled toys for the kids and furniture and whatever else. However, I noted that he found this very frustrating. He is a perfectionist, and if everything didn't line up correctly or a screw was missing, the project really bogged down. Eventually I decided that I was better equipped for the task. I think it started over thirty years ago with a sandbox that had seats and an awning.
I actually enjoy working through assembly instructions. It is rather like solving a puzzle. My husband is very good at jigsaw puzzles and Sudoku. He just doesn't see assembling things as a game or a challenge.
We needed a new lock on the back door of our previous home. We purchased the new lock and it sat in our kitchen for months....probably close to a year. He was certain that the screws in the package were too long, and he refused to get into the project and problem solve along the way. Finally, I tackled the job while he was at work. He was right. The screws were too long, but the instructions said that if you found that to be true, you could break them off at a line which had been scored for that purpose. I was not physically strong enough to break the screws, but I knew there was a vise and a hacksaw in the basement. When he came home he said, "Oh, you found someone to fix the lock."
So today when he comes home, he is going to trip over the weed-whacker just outside the back door. Fortunately for me, he actually seems to enjoy yard work.
Marriage partners should divide tasks by what they do well and enjoy. Forget about tradition. If neither of you can do a project, hire someone. It's worth the price to avoid conflict.
When I was in high school, we took a battery of tests that were supposedly designed to help us determine a career path. The guidance counselor laughingly told me that I had bested all the males in the class on the test of mechanical aptitude. Given my strong math ability, he probably should have suggested that I go into mechanical engineering, but thinking about women in that type of field hadn't quite hit the social landscape. I headed off to nursing school.
During the early years of our marriage, my husband assembled toys for the kids and furniture and whatever else. However, I noted that he found this very frustrating. He is a perfectionist, and if everything didn't line up correctly or a screw was missing, the project really bogged down. Eventually I decided that I was better equipped for the task. I think it started over thirty years ago with a sandbox that had seats and an awning.
I actually enjoy working through assembly instructions. It is rather like solving a puzzle. My husband is very good at jigsaw puzzles and Sudoku. He just doesn't see assembling things as a game or a challenge.
We needed a new lock on the back door of our previous home. We purchased the new lock and it sat in our kitchen for months....probably close to a year. He was certain that the screws in the package were too long, and he refused to get into the project and problem solve along the way. Finally, I tackled the job while he was at work. He was right. The screws were too long, but the instructions said that if you found that to be true, you could break them off at a line which had been scored for that purpose. I was not physically strong enough to break the screws, but I knew there was a vise and a hacksaw in the basement. When he came home he said, "Oh, you found someone to fix the lock."
So today when he comes home, he is going to trip over the weed-whacker just outside the back door. Fortunately for me, he actually seems to enjoy yard work.
Marriage partners should divide tasks by what they do well and enjoy. Forget about tradition. If neither of you can do a project, hire someone. It's worth the price to avoid conflict.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Crashing a Party
I guess I can cross "crashing a party" off my bucket list....something I had never done until yesterday.
For several days extensive preparations have been going on at my neighbor's home. Their oldest daughter turned 16, and they planned a very elaborate "Sweet Sixteen" party around a carnival theme. Various booths appeared in the yard for arcade type games. In addition to the pool, which is a permanent fixture, there was a dunking booth and a bouncy contraption and fat sumo suits for kids to put on and fight in. The entire area was decorated with tents and banners and balloons and flags. They had hired a man who creates balloon animals. But, they didn't have a clown.
As the afternoon began, cars started to arrive. Their driveway and the street, on both sides, were soon lined with vehicles from which laughing teenagers emerged. A few parents were also in attendance and by late afternoon the celebration was in full swing. But, they didn't have a clown.
I hauled out my red and white stripped stockings and a black hat with a colorful band and a large flower sticking out of the top. Pieces of red yarn hang from under the edge like stringy hair. I purchased the hat at the Ringley Museum gift shop in Florida. I threatened to wear it home on the plane, but fortunately (for my husband) it collapsed and fit in my suitcase. The stockings showed nicely below a pair of black crop pants. My husband had just given me a nearly florescent yellow sweatshirt that he received at a race. I turned it inside out, so that the logo didn't show and tied a colorful scarf around my neck. I once had a very, very large pair of red shoes, but I sold them in a rummage sale, so my black mules had to do. I found a pair of white gloves to wear, but first, I had to make up my face.
I just happen to have some clown makeup. My blue "eyeshadow" extended up into my forehead completely covering my normal eyebrows. Red circles on each cheekbone, a very large smiling mouth, and a few freckles made with my eyeliner, and I was good to go.
I had earlier purchased a couple of bags of Tootsie Pops. I placed them in a colorful little bucket.
I decided on the direction from which I should approach the party so that no one would likely see me coming until the last minute. I decided to talk as little as possible, and began circulating and holding out my bucket of lollipops. It was a riot to see the reactions of the teenagers. A guy from my former neighborhood showed no signs of recognizing me. One girl refused the lollipop saying, "I don't take candy from strangers."
Of course, I wasn't really a stranger....I was just strange. I certainly got some quizzical looks. The younger sister of the birthday girl had a look of confusion, as in...."I don't remember a clown being part of the plans."
I was at the party much less time than it took to put the make-up on and take it off. But then, I didn't really belong there, being 50 years older than most of the guests. In any event, I can cross "crash a party" off my list of things to do before I kick the bucket.
For several days extensive preparations have been going on at my neighbor's home. Their oldest daughter turned 16, and they planned a very elaborate "Sweet Sixteen" party around a carnival theme. Various booths appeared in the yard for arcade type games. In addition to the pool, which is a permanent fixture, there was a dunking booth and a bouncy contraption and fat sumo suits for kids to put on and fight in. The entire area was decorated with tents and banners and balloons and flags. They had hired a man who creates balloon animals. But, they didn't have a clown.
As the afternoon began, cars started to arrive. Their driveway and the street, on both sides, were soon lined with vehicles from which laughing teenagers emerged. A few parents were also in attendance and by late afternoon the celebration was in full swing. But, they didn't have a clown.
I hauled out my red and white stripped stockings and a black hat with a colorful band and a large flower sticking out of the top. Pieces of red yarn hang from under the edge like stringy hair. I purchased the hat at the Ringley Museum gift shop in Florida. I threatened to wear it home on the plane, but fortunately (for my husband) it collapsed and fit in my suitcase. The stockings showed nicely below a pair of black crop pants. My husband had just given me a nearly florescent yellow sweatshirt that he received at a race. I turned it inside out, so that the logo didn't show and tied a colorful scarf around my neck. I once had a very, very large pair of red shoes, but I sold them in a rummage sale, so my black mules had to do. I found a pair of white gloves to wear, but first, I had to make up my face.
I just happen to have some clown makeup. My blue "eyeshadow" extended up into my forehead completely covering my normal eyebrows. Red circles on each cheekbone, a very large smiling mouth, and a few freckles made with my eyeliner, and I was good to go.
I had earlier purchased a couple of bags of Tootsie Pops. I placed them in a colorful little bucket.
I decided on the direction from which I should approach the party so that no one would likely see me coming until the last minute. I decided to talk as little as possible, and began circulating and holding out my bucket of lollipops. It was a riot to see the reactions of the teenagers. A guy from my former neighborhood showed no signs of recognizing me. One girl refused the lollipop saying, "I don't take candy from strangers."
Of course, I wasn't really a stranger....I was just strange. I certainly got some quizzical looks. The younger sister of the birthday girl had a look of confusion, as in...."I don't remember a clown being part of the plans."
I was at the party much less time than it took to put the make-up on and take it off. But then, I didn't really belong there, being 50 years older than most of the guests. In any event, I can cross "crash a party" off my list of things to do before I kick the bucket.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Ajax by Sophocles
Ajax is another miserable fellow...not quite as miserable as Oedipus, but certainly ill-fated.
The goddess Athena is rooting for Odysseus and against Ajax, so she causes Ajax to think that a herd of cattle are enemy soldiers. He proceeds to slaughter some and take others back to his tent to be tortured to death. All the while, he is thinking he will gain favor with his allies, because of his dominance over the enemy. Instead, everyone thinks he has lost his mind.
His wife Tecmessa has apparently developed affection for and loyalty to him, even though she was originally spoils of a previous battle. They have a son together (Eurysaces), and she is, of course, concerned for his well-being and future. When Ajax eventually comes to his senses, she is doubly grieved. She explains that while he was living in a fantasy, at least he was happy, and only those who cared for him were sad. Now that he realizes what he has done, he himself is grieved, and his friends are still grieved, so matters are worse than before.
Ajax decides that he must kill himself. 'Tis base for a man to crave the full term of life, who finds no varying in his woes. What joy is there in day following day--now pushing us forward, now drawing us back, on the verge--of death?...One of the generous strain should nobly live, or forthwith nobly die...
Tecmessa pleads for her own sake and that of their son, that he not commit suicide. Since he has ravaged her country, and her mother and father are dead, her welfare hangs on him. ...have thought for me also: a true man should cherish remembrance, if anywhere he reap a joy.... But whosoever suffers the memory of benefits, to slip from him, that man can no more rank as noble.
Eventually Ajax does kill himself. An argument occurs regarding whether or not his corpse should be buried. If you have read Antigone, that should sound familiar.
Interestingly, his enemy Odysseus intervenes and declares that he should be buried. To me also this man was once the worst foe in the army...yet, for all that he was such toward me, never would I requite him with indignity....When a brave man is dead, 'tis not right to do him scathe--no, not even if thou hate him....His worth weighs with me far more than his enmity.
Interesting themes:
Tecmessa makes the point that suicide is a selfish act. It is an easy out for the person who commits it. It leaves his family and friends behind to grieve. Is that "noble?"
Odysseus' feelings of hatred do not extend beyond the grave. He takes the measure of the man's life. Ajax was a worthy adversary, and so he is willing to honor him in death.
The chorus has the final word: Many things shall mortals learn by seeing; but, before he sees, no man may read the future or his fate.
We human beings are stuck in one dimensional, one direction time. The future is hidden. Sometimes we think we would like to see it. It's probably best that we don't.
The goddess Athena is rooting for Odysseus and against Ajax, so she causes Ajax to think that a herd of cattle are enemy soldiers. He proceeds to slaughter some and take others back to his tent to be tortured to death. All the while, he is thinking he will gain favor with his allies, because of his dominance over the enemy. Instead, everyone thinks he has lost his mind.
His wife Tecmessa has apparently developed affection for and loyalty to him, even though she was originally spoils of a previous battle. They have a son together (Eurysaces), and she is, of course, concerned for his well-being and future. When Ajax eventually comes to his senses, she is doubly grieved. She explains that while he was living in a fantasy, at least he was happy, and only those who cared for him were sad. Now that he realizes what he has done, he himself is grieved, and his friends are still grieved, so matters are worse than before.
Ajax decides that he must kill himself. 'Tis base for a man to crave the full term of life, who finds no varying in his woes. What joy is there in day following day--now pushing us forward, now drawing us back, on the verge--of death?...One of the generous strain should nobly live, or forthwith nobly die...
Tecmessa pleads for her own sake and that of their son, that he not commit suicide. Since he has ravaged her country, and her mother and father are dead, her welfare hangs on him. ...have thought for me also: a true man should cherish remembrance, if anywhere he reap a joy.... But whosoever suffers the memory of benefits, to slip from him, that man can no more rank as noble.
Eventually Ajax does kill himself. An argument occurs regarding whether or not his corpse should be buried. If you have read Antigone, that should sound familiar.
Interestingly, his enemy Odysseus intervenes and declares that he should be buried. To me also this man was once the worst foe in the army...yet, for all that he was such toward me, never would I requite him with indignity....When a brave man is dead, 'tis not right to do him scathe--no, not even if thou hate him....His worth weighs with me far more than his enmity.
Interesting themes:
Tecmessa makes the point that suicide is a selfish act. It is an easy out for the person who commits it. It leaves his family and friends behind to grieve. Is that "noble?"
Odysseus' feelings of hatred do not extend beyond the grave. He takes the measure of the man's life. Ajax was a worthy adversary, and so he is willing to honor him in death.
The chorus has the final word: Many things shall mortals learn by seeing; but, before he sees, no man may read the future or his fate.
We human beings are stuck in one dimensional, one direction time. The future is hidden. Sometimes we think we would like to see it. It's probably best that we don't.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Leading the Blind
Yesterday I made a quick stop downtown to talk with someone whom I thought could give me insight into a project I need to work on. As I hurried down the sidewalk, I came up behind and walked around a man with a white cane who seemed to be pausing. I don't know how he knew I was there, but he called out to me, "Can you tell me where the Arcade is?"
I stopped and said, "You are right in front of it." Actually, he was just a few steps beyond the open entryway. So, I added, "Turn around and walk about 4 steps in the opposite direction. Now turn to your left. The door is straight ahead of you, but there is a sign on the ground you will have to walk around."
I waited for him to navigate around the knee-high tent sign which was definitely a hazard for a blind man. "OK, you are at the opening."
He put a hand on the open door frame and turned to thank me. "I used to be able to find the entrance, because there was an awning over it. I could tell the difference when I walked under the awning, but they have taken it down, and now I don't know where the doorway is."
I cannot imagine what it would be like to be blind. The idea of attempting to navigate the world without sight is terrifying to me. Obviously other senses become keener to compensate, but even so, the world is full of hazards and changes from day to day. Just when you think you have it figured out, someone takes down the awning!
An awful lot of people in the world are figuratively blind and losing their way. They can't find the door, because someone has taken down the awning. Something that should be there for protection, but that also provides guidance, is missing. I don't know if the awning on the Arcade will be put up again, but typically figurative awnings once removed are not replaced. So, we live in a world with fewer and fewer awnings, resulting in greater and greater moral confusion.
I stopped and said, "You are right in front of it." Actually, he was just a few steps beyond the open entryway. So, I added, "Turn around and walk about 4 steps in the opposite direction. Now turn to your left. The door is straight ahead of you, but there is a sign on the ground you will have to walk around."
I waited for him to navigate around the knee-high tent sign which was definitely a hazard for a blind man. "OK, you are at the opening."
He put a hand on the open door frame and turned to thank me. "I used to be able to find the entrance, because there was an awning over it. I could tell the difference when I walked under the awning, but they have taken it down, and now I don't know where the doorway is."
I cannot imagine what it would be like to be blind. The idea of attempting to navigate the world without sight is terrifying to me. Obviously other senses become keener to compensate, but even so, the world is full of hazards and changes from day to day. Just when you think you have it figured out, someone takes down the awning!
An awful lot of people in the world are figuratively blind and losing their way. They can't find the door, because someone has taken down the awning. Something that should be there for protection, but that also provides guidance, is missing. I don't know if the awning on the Arcade will be put up again, but typically figurative awnings once removed are not replaced. So, we live in a world with fewer and fewer awnings, resulting in greater and greater moral confusion.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Only So Much Time
I have in a previous blog referred to my 91 year-old uncle as the most stubborn man on the planet. This may actually be the truth. Over the past few weeks, he has been in declining health. During a recent phone call to him, I became concerned that he wasn't eating and seemed weak. I had no idea how bad it was, because I live over 3 hours away by car. He has no children, and I am his only niece. He has 4 nephews, but I am closest to him, and I am not close enough.
Last week I received a call that he had been hospitalized. He lives in a residence with all levels of care, so assisted living was available to him. However, he continued to try to manage on his own in his independent living apartment until he could no longer make it to the kitchen at all, and eventually could not even crawl to the bathroom. He could have arranged for help with meals and personal care long before things deteriorated to this extent. I suppose that the frailty sneaked up on him. Each day he probably told himself that he would feel better the next day. And then, there is the fact that he is stubborn.
My husband and I traveled to see him. After visiting at the hospital, we went to the apartment. I was shocked at its condition. He is a life-long bachelor, who has always kept his living quarters neat and clean. I am not going to describe everything I found, but I spent hours washing dirty clothing and bed linens, cleaning the kitchen, and removing spoiled food from the refrigerator. I did not have time on this trip to tend to the stacks of mail and newspapers.
In the car on the way home, I reflected on the fact that he is 25 years to the month older than I am. What will I be like in 25 years? Will I still be here in 25 years? Will I be able to care for myself? For my home? When one is young, 25 years seems like a long time. Now...hmmm....not so much.
I picked up my knitting and began knitting furiously while my husband drove. He said, "I'm surprised you are knitting. You seemed so tired."
I replied, "I've got to get busy and be productive. I may only have 25 years left!"
Last week I received a call that he had been hospitalized. He lives in a residence with all levels of care, so assisted living was available to him. However, he continued to try to manage on his own in his independent living apartment until he could no longer make it to the kitchen at all, and eventually could not even crawl to the bathroom. He could have arranged for help with meals and personal care long before things deteriorated to this extent. I suppose that the frailty sneaked up on him. Each day he probably told himself that he would feel better the next day. And then, there is the fact that he is stubborn.
My husband and I traveled to see him. After visiting at the hospital, we went to the apartment. I was shocked at its condition. He is a life-long bachelor, who has always kept his living quarters neat and clean. I am not going to describe everything I found, but I spent hours washing dirty clothing and bed linens, cleaning the kitchen, and removing spoiled food from the refrigerator. I did not have time on this trip to tend to the stacks of mail and newspapers.
In the car on the way home, I reflected on the fact that he is 25 years to the month older than I am. What will I be like in 25 years? Will I still be here in 25 years? Will I be able to care for myself? For my home? When one is young, 25 years seems like a long time. Now...hmmm....not so much.
I picked up my knitting and began knitting furiously while my husband drove. He said, "I'm surprised you are knitting. You seemed so tired."
I replied, "I've got to get busy and be productive. I may only have 25 years left!"
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Strange Ideas
Wow! I ran into another one! Where do people get these strange ideas that they are so certain are factual.
Today I was at another farmers’ market with information on free mammograms. An elderly man approached me and wanted to know why I was offering free mammograms. His initial question didn’t raise any suspicions with me, because I often talk to people who are just curious. I responded that women without insurance often need help in paying for a mammogram. I was about to point out that we also offer colorectal testing for men, but he interrupted me.
He asked me why I thought women “needed” mammograms. Ah, yes…his tone made my antennae begin to tingle. I replied, “Oh, you want to argue with me, don’t you? I do not want to argue.”
He then launched into a lengthy monologue on the supposed evils of mammograms. He stated that only human mammals get breast cancer, because only humans get mammograms. In other words, he was saying that mammograms cause breast cancer. There was no opportunity for me to interject anything factual, because he continued by describing a TV program he had seen. He claimed to be well informed on the subject, and said that the radiation in an MRI is equivalent to being exposed to a nuclear explosion. Oh, my.
When he finally paused and came up for air, I tried to preface some facts by lending myself some credibility. I told him that I was an RN, had a degree in chemistry and had a Master’s degree, and….
Before I could go further, he told me to take my diplomas and wipe my A** with them. Nice guy.
I said, “Good-bye” and turned to face a different direction.
So….just in case you care:
*other mammals, including dogs and cats, do get breast cancer. In fact, the rate in dogs is three times that in humans.
*men can get breast cancer, and they don’t get mammograms.
*a woman who has never had a mammogram and doesn’t do self-breast exams, typically finds the lump when it is the size of a golf ball. It can already be cancerous when she discovers it, prior to a mammogram.
*mammograms are NOT the same thing as MRIs. The lowest possible amount of radiation is used to visualize the breast during a mammogram.
*even an MRI doesn’t expose you to as much radiation as a nuclear blast…..well, I suppose it might if you are talking about a nuclear blast that is on the opposite side of the planet. You would have to have some specifics as to your distance from the epicenter before you started throwing “facts” like that around. (Actually an MRI doesn't expose you to any radiation. It doesn't use x-rays to create the image.)
Sometimes it is hard to know whether to laugh or cry. On the bright side, about a dozen people thanked me today for what I was doing, and shortly after the nasty encounter, a cute little boy with hair sticking up in every direction grinned at me and waved as he passed by.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Inexplicable
In my "retirement," I work part-time for an agency which offers free mammograms to women who are uninsured. Attempting to locate women who could benefit from this service, I am in the process of trying to attend every farmers' market in the county.
Today I set up at the end of a row of booths displaying all manner of fruits, veggies, flowers and baked goods. It was hot and sunny, so I went to the trouble of putting up a tent. I set up my table covered with literature under the tent. I hung a poster from the tent frame which said in bold and bright letters "FREE MAMMOGRAMS for uninsured women."
I talked with many people. Some glanced at the sign and avoided me. But, one woman came right up to me with the intent of picking a fight. I know this because she did have insurance, did NOT want a mammogram, and had to have seen the sign from the direction in which she approached.
She informed me that there was no reason for women to get mammograms. If we put the right things into our bodies, our bodies will take care of themselves and we won't get cancer. She said that cancer was caused by "negative thinking."
I countered that 1 in 8 women get breast cancer, and it is not prevented by positive thinking.
She repeated the bit about putting the right things into our bodies and added that she knew this for sure because she has a PhD in this. I wondered what she meant by "this," so I asked what the PhD was in. She replied, "Natural Health."
I bit my tongue. Several things came to mind which would have heated up the interchange. I managed to restrain myself from anything other than a shrug. (I try harder to behave myself when I am representing an agency.)
There were a few additional comments back and forth. She said people should "go when their time comes." I said it makes a difference whether that time comes when one is in their 80s or 50s. It was obvious that I wasn't going to convince her of anything, and that she just wanted to argue.
Eventually, she turned to walk away and shot back over her shoulder, "Anyway, I've been a smoker for 40 years, so if I die of cancer, it will be f.....ing lung cancer."
I know why she delivered this as a parting shot. She did not want me to point out the total incongruity of believing that "if you put the right things into your body, it will take care of itself" and then smoking!
Arrrrggghhh! Inexplicable!
But, she is probably angry with herself about this habit, so she is looking for other directions in which to place that anger. So there I stood today: smiling, dispensing information, giving out key chains with the agency's phone number AND conveniently in the line of fire.
Today I set up at the end of a row of booths displaying all manner of fruits, veggies, flowers and baked goods. It was hot and sunny, so I went to the trouble of putting up a tent. I set up my table covered with literature under the tent. I hung a poster from the tent frame which said in bold and bright letters "FREE MAMMOGRAMS for uninsured women."
I talked with many people. Some glanced at the sign and avoided me. But, one woman came right up to me with the intent of picking a fight. I know this because she did have insurance, did NOT want a mammogram, and had to have seen the sign from the direction in which she approached.
She informed me that there was no reason for women to get mammograms. If we put the right things into our bodies, our bodies will take care of themselves and we won't get cancer. She said that cancer was caused by "negative thinking."
I countered that 1 in 8 women get breast cancer, and it is not prevented by positive thinking.
She repeated the bit about putting the right things into our bodies and added that she knew this for sure because she has a PhD in this. I wondered what she meant by "this," so I asked what the PhD was in. She replied, "Natural Health."
I bit my tongue. Several things came to mind which would have heated up the interchange. I managed to restrain myself from anything other than a shrug. (I try harder to behave myself when I am representing an agency.)
There were a few additional comments back and forth. She said people should "go when their time comes." I said it makes a difference whether that time comes when one is in their 80s or 50s. It was obvious that I wasn't going to convince her of anything, and that she just wanted to argue.
Eventually, she turned to walk away and shot back over her shoulder, "Anyway, I've been a smoker for 40 years, so if I die of cancer, it will be f.....ing lung cancer."
I know why she delivered this as a parting shot. She did not want me to point out the total incongruity of believing that "if you put the right things into your body, it will take care of itself" and then smoking!
Arrrrggghhh! Inexplicable!
But, she is probably angry with herself about this habit, so she is looking for other directions in which to place that anger. So there I stood today: smiling, dispensing information, giving out key chains with the agency's phone number AND conveniently in the line of fire.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Antigone by Sophocles
Back to the Great Books...
Antigone and Ismene, the daughters of the ill-fated Oedipus and his wife/mother, have just seen their brothers Polyneices and Eteocles kill one another. Creon, who is brother to their deceased mother and now King of Thebes, has declared that Eteocles died defending Thebes and will be buried with honor, but Polyneices was a traitor whose body must be left for the dogs and birds. Creon has issued a decree that anyone who attempts to bury Polyneices will be killed.
Antigone and Ismene disagree on an appropriate course of action. Antigone is a spunky lady with a strong sense of what is right. Ismene counsels her: ...we were born women, as who should not strive with men....we must obey in all things, and in things yet sorer. Antigone is not swayed by Ismene and determines that she will bury Polyneices herself no matter what the consequences.
King Creon is a pompous fellow who can't believe anyone would willfully disobey his decree, but he orders guards to make sure that Polyneices' body is left unburied. He is convinced that people will do pretty much anything for the right amount of money, and that someone might pay to have Polyneices buried. Nothing so evil as money ever grew to be current among men.
A guard arrives in fear for his life, because he must tell Creon that an attempt to cover the body has been made. Creon is accusatory with the guard and demands that the offender be found and brought to him.
The action is paused while the chorus philosophies about man and his skill, cleverness and yet helplessness in the face of death.
Shortly the guard returns with Antigone who has been caught spreading dust on the body. She does not deny her actions. Creon is incredulous that she would defy him. He tells her that all of Thebes agrees with him and does not share her view. She retorts that: All here would own that they thought it well, were not their lips sealed by fear. ....they curb their tongues for thee.
Someone has seen Antigone and Ismene talking and the assumption is made that Ismene agrees with Antigone's actions and must die too. Although she did not agree, Ismene is willing to stand with her sister and die. Antigone rejects this and says that Ismene can serve her best by living. Ismene pleads with Creon for Antigone's life. She points out that Antigone is engaged to Creon's son Haemon. But, Creon does not want an "evil wife" for his son.
Haemon arrives and speaks to Creon. Initially he seems totally submissive to the will of his father as King of Thebes. However, he works around to telling his father that rigidly adhering to a course of action against wise counsel from others is folly.. ...though a man be wise, 'tis no shame for him to learn many things, and to bend in season...forego thy wrath; permit thyself to change. They argue, and Haemon leaves. Creon refuses to change his mind and orders Antigone to be brought for death, specifically he declares that she is to be entombed alive in a rock vault.
The blind prophet Teiresias enters the scene and sways Creon. After some bickering Creon does relent. Ah, me, 'tis hard, but I resign my cherished resolve--I obey. We must not wage a vain war with destiny. He declares that he will go himself to release Antigone.
Unfortunately, destiny has already come crashing down on Creon. Antigone has hanged herself in the vault where she has been entombed. Haemon, in grief, has stabbed himself and died by her side. Creon's wife Eurydice, hearing of the death of her son, has also killed herself.
Creon departs with: lead me away..a rash foolish man...all is amiss with that which is in my hands.
The final chorus: Wisdom is the supreme part of happiness and reverence to the gods must be inviolate. Great words of prideful men are ever punished with great blows, and, in old age, teach the chastened to be wise.
Or...
As the Bible puts it...the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom; a good understanding have all they that do his commandments. Psalm 111:10
Sophocles and the Bible should be required reading for politicians! I fear that "all is amiss" in the hands of those currently running our government.
Antigone and Ismene, the daughters of the ill-fated Oedipus and his wife/mother, have just seen their brothers Polyneices and Eteocles kill one another. Creon, who is brother to their deceased mother and now King of Thebes, has declared that Eteocles died defending Thebes and will be buried with honor, but Polyneices was a traitor whose body must be left for the dogs and birds. Creon has issued a decree that anyone who attempts to bury Polyneices will be killed.
Antigone and Ismene disagree on an appropriate course of action. Antigone is a spunky lady with a strong sense of what is right. Ismene counsels her: ...we were born women, as who should not strive with men....we must obey in all things, and in things yet sorer. Antigone is not swayed by Ismene and determines that she will bury Polyneices herself no matter what the consequences.
King Creon is a pompous fellow who can't believe anyone would willfully disobey his decree, but he orders guards to make sure that Polyneices' body is left unburied. He is convinced that people will do pretty much anything for the right amount of money, and that someone might pay to have Polyneices buried. Nothing so evil as money ever grew to be current among men.
A guard arrives in fear for his life, because he must tell Creon that an attempt to cover the body has been made. Creon is accusatory with the guard and demands that the offender be found and brought to him.
The action is paused while the chorus philosophies about man and his skill, cleverness and yet helplessness in the face of death.
Shortly the guard returns with Antigone who has been caught spreading dust on the body. She does not deny her actions. Creon is incredulous that she would defy him. He tells her that all of Thebes agrees with him and does not share her view. She retorts that: All here would own that they thought it well, were not their lips sealed by fear. ....they curb their tongues for thee.
Someone has seen Antigone and Ismene talking and the assumption is made that Ismene agrees with Antigone's actions and must die too. Although she did not agree, Ismene is willing to stand with her sister and die. Antigone rejects this and says that Ismene can serve her best by living. Ismene pleads with Creon for Antigone's life. She points out that Antigone is engaged to Creon's son Haemon. But, Creon does not want an "evil wife" for his son.
Haemon arrives and speaks to Creon. Initially he seems totally submissive to the will of his father as King of Thebes. However, he works around to telling his father that rigidly adhering to a course of action against wise counsel from others is folly.. ...though a man be wise, 'tis no shame for him to learn many things, and to bend in season...forego thy wrath; permit thyself to change. They argue, and Haemon leaves. Creon refuses to change his mind and orders Antigone to be brought for death, specifically he declares that she is to be entombed alive in a rock vault.
The blind prophet Teiresias enters the scene and sways Creon. After some bickering Creon does relent. Ah, me, 'tis hard, but I resign my cherished resolve--I obey. We must not wage a vain war with destiny. He declares that he will go himself to release Antigone.
Unfortunately, destiny has already come crashing down on Creon. Antigone has hanged herself in the vault where she has been entombed. Haemon, in grief, has stabbed himself and died by her side. Creon's wife Eurydice, hearing of the death of her son, has also killed herself.
Creon departs with: lead me away..a rash foolish man...all is amiss with that which is in my hands.
The final chorus: Wisdom is the supreme part of happiness and reverence to the gods must be inviolate. Great words of prideful men are ever punished with great blows, and, in old age, teach the chastened to be wise.
Or...
As the Bible puts it...the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom; a good understanding have all they that do his commandments. Psalm 111:10
Sophocles and the Bible should be required reading for politicians! I fear that "all is amiss" in the hands of those currently running our government.
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