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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.