A bientot

We're off on an adventure, and my blog will be on hiatus until mid-May.

What a glorious day it was today, with sunny skies, seventy-some degrees, and a gentle breeze.  Bob, Zoe, and I went to the cemetery to decorate my parents' graves for Easter.  I had everything I needed to leave the artificial flowers in a pleasing way, but I never seem to remember to bring maintenance tools.  I took a big wet sponge to wash off the bench and stones, but I could have used a rake to gather up the leaves and clippers to neaten up around the headstone and my dad's military plaque.  The daylilies planted behind the bench had emerged and look very healthy.

When I go to the cemetery, I think about my mother's stories of how her family would spend Saturdays at the cemetery tending to all the family graves and stones.  I  like the feeling of just being one of many across the generations who have shown their love for family through this simple task, honoring the memory of those who came before.

Bob took Zoe on a long walk through the cemetery, giving me time to rest on the bench and reflect, after I had tended the graves.  Bob returned and sat next to me, and Zoe settled on the graves.  First she rested near where my mother's left arm would be, and then she stretched out by my dad's side.  It was almost as if she knew what she was doing.  It was a sweet thing for Bob and I to carry in our hearts.

My identical best friend

Barbara entered Uni High School as a freshman, just a year after me, and joined the Class of '68.  I truthfully don't remember how we became such good friends, although it could have been our love of French, which we started that year.  But it also could have been some divinely-implanted magnet that drew our souls together.

One of the things I have appreciated the most is that Barbara stood by my side while I was wearing my back brace for scoliosis.  The brace, a cumbersome odd-looking instrument of torture, transformed me into an introspective girl, not the outgoing one I had been, and also brought me unwanted attention.  (I was really blessed that Uni students never once teased about me about my “otherness,” nor was I isolated.  But I digress!)

Barbara and I lived through the usual angst of being teenagers, but we lived through it together.  We rode our bikes all over town and enjoyed games of tennis on the university courts.  We walked the few blocks to our church most mornings our senior year and played countless games of pool.  When we were old enough, one or the other of us drove a convertible, and we cruised by the houses of  “boys of interest,” hoping they would be outside wanting to cruise with us.  It was our photograph that was in the local newspaper when we graduated.

We attended the University of Illinois, majoring in elementary education.  At our former principal’s request, we participated in a program that allowed us into the elementary classroom immediately, but most importantly showed us what it was like to be an Afro-American of the same age.  We were immersed in the black culture as the Civil Rights Movement was just beginning to ramp up.

Barbara remembers an incident that I had shut out about us being accused of cheating in one of our later education classes.  We had not.  After years of studying together and having the same high school and college experiences, our work had simply become very similar.  Luckily we were able to assure the professor that we had not transgressed.

After graduation, Barbara married and moved away from Champaign,  She taught a short time, relocated to California, and gave birth to her sweet daughter, Vanessa.  I remained single, starting new education programs in various school districts, becoming certified in multiple areas of special education.  For the most part, we didn’t correspond.  I wasn’t there for her mother’s funeral but did attend her father’s visitation.

It was Vanessa who brought us together again.  She entered the University of Illinois in the fall of 1997, and mom planned a visit soon after.  I received the call, and Barbara and I were back in each other’s lives.  It seemed we had never been apart--that’s how it is with special friends.

As our visits continued, Barbara’s husband Tom dubbed us “Identical Best Friends.”  The term fit.  We share many of the same values and interests.  We are readers, crafters, card makers, and knitters.  We enjoy college football.  We love the Lord.

Last year was an awful one for Barbara.  She was diagnosed with breast cancer, and because she was in the midst of chemo, she was unable to attend her older brother’s, Len’s, funeral.  He passed away from pancreatic cancer.  As Barbara continued her treatments, her co-worker’s sweet young daughter passed away, and Barbara’s baby sister, Marsha, was diagnosed with a different type of breast cancer from Barbara‘s.  Just before the holidays, Marsha passed away from an allergic reaction to one of the chemo medications.  Through it all, Barbara held on.

She journeyed through the “shadow of the valley of death,” but blessedly she is now on the other side.  It has been three weeks since her last infusion.  She is cancer-free.  She is traveling this weekend to see her daughter and to celebrate her husband’s birthday.  Below is an e-mail that Tom sent to me on March 7th and my reply today.

B&B (March 7, 2011) - 

I wanted to write a quick note to say Thank You.

Barbara has had a number of struggles this past year, and sometimes I 
marvel at how well she has handled it all. I know one thing that 
helped her get through it. She has two very good, very special 
friends - one in Mesquite, NV, and another - an identical best friend 
in Illinois.

There were rarely more than a couple of days that would pass without 
one or both of you sending her something in the mail. Beth, I had to 
wonder that local bookstores had any stock left because all of their 
books had been sent to Barbara. Usually, I would get to the mail 
first and bring it in. Barbara would walk in, look at the box on the 
counter, and know it was from you. The look on her brightened 
countenance was often a combination of amazement and appreciation. 
Much like a kid on Christmas morning, she would open the box with 
enthusiasm and check out the goodies.

You gave Barbara love and strength and encouragement, and she could 
not have asked for more. From a simply selfish point of view I 
appreciate that you kept her in your heart.

I mention this because tomorrow [Tues, 3/8] is Barbara's very last 
cancer treatment. Twenty-four hours from now she will be completely done.

Again, Thank You.

Tom

Hi Tom (March 31, 2011),

It was so nice of you to send your thanks.  The truth is that being away from Barbara while she was facing her battle and losses was one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do.  I wanted to be able to see her for just a few minutes each day, to either sit by her side in silence, celebrate a joy, or lift her up with a funny story.  I wish I could have held her hand while she had treatments or played a lullaby while she rested.  I had words to pray while I would have anointed her with oil.  I wanted to hold her tightly in my arms when Len and Marsha passed, so she would know that she still has someone who shares many childhood memories with her--not a sister, but an identical best friend.

When I didn't hear from her, I wouldn't know if she needed all of her energy just to cope with her treatments or sadness, or if she was shutting herself off, withdrawing into the land of books--a place I know well.  I didn't know if I should let her rest there or take her by the hand and bring her back to the sunlight.  True to my nature, I wanted to be able to fix everything.  I thank God that she had an outstanding medical team, a supportive work environment, and you (whom she always bragged about).  Most of all, I give thanks that she did not lose her faith, that she did not feel forsaken, that she could rest in God's peace and love.

Through it all, Barbara has demonstrated a strength and optimism that are rare.  She has shown us how to face suffering, a human condition.  She finds joy in each day and puts one foot in front of the other as she continues her journey.  I could not bare it if we were not walking side by side, and I thank God for giving me this identical best friend when I was just 13.  I am blessed, and God is good.  Amen.

You Never Let Go by Matt Redman

Adaptation of Psalm 23

The Lord is my master potter, I am the clay,
        safe in her hands.
    She kneads this amorphous lump, preparing me
         for transformation into her image.
She spins her wheel, pressing downward and inward
        forming my exterior and then opens me up to pour
    in her Spirit.
Even though there are times
    my creation appears uncertain,
I have no fear,
    for you are perfectly skilled;
your hands
    are gentle and supportive.

You prepare me for the kiln,
    for the fire that will strengthen me, set me as Yours.
You glaze me
    with a wondrous, heavenly shine.
Thank you for all this,
    so that I may serve you until I am dust.
I remain always in your presence,
    ready for you use.

Spring has sprung

Some say the robins didn’t leave Savoy this winter, so I didn’t count seeing my first robin as marking the arrival of Spring.  With the first snow melt, the pansies bloomed in early January, but clearly it wasn't yet Spring.  The landscaping crew came March 11 to clear the flower beds and uncover the new growth on the perennials, however, I still had to wear my winter jacket some days after that.  However, on St. Patrick’s Day, I put the top down on the little red convertible, zipped around town, and welcomed Spring, only a few days before its official arrival today.

Seeing the bulbs adding growth daily since they sprung from the ground, admiring the snowdrops and crocus which are in full bloom, and driving that topless T-Bird, intellectually told me Spring had arrived.  But the best part for me is a new feeling inside that I discovered on a walk with Yorkie Zoe.  Breathing in the freshness of newly tilled soil and feeling the breeze that has swept winter away has awakened my soul to sing a new song, has put a joy in my step, for I have awakened from winter too.  Amen.

There is a time

I was in the pre-procedure (routine) room with Bob today, and after the nurses had filled out the computer information, taken his vitals, and hooked him up to an IV, I began to read to him from my life:beautiful--faith for your journey magazine.  In "Wanda's Letter," written by Editor-in-Chief Wanda Ventling, she writes about the troubled days we live in and that God is present in the chaos and is our everlasting hope.  She reminds us that "we can see evidence of the true and living God everywhere" if we have eyes to see and ears to hear.

In the middle of the letter is a paragraph that especially touched me:
     Oceans ebb and flow, the moon waxes and wanes, planters sow and reap, people are born and die.
     This is God's perfect plan--and when we allow Him to use us according to His plan, only then can
     we experience the peace that passes all understanding.  And only then do we truly live beautiful
     lives.

On the right side of the page is the scripture that is so familiar to us from Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 NIV:
     There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:
     a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a 
     time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time
     to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to
     embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to   
     keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time      to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.

Bob had his procedure, received good results, and was resting back in the room when I heard the Byrds singing Turn, Turn, Turn, the words adapted from the above scripture (music by Pete Seeger).  I don't know where it came from, but it didn't sound like a ring tone.  And identity of the source doesn't matter,  because for me it was a God moment, not a coincidence.  She was reminding me that She is present, and we are part of Her perfect plan...and this is a time to laugh...and love.  Amen.

The making of a dictionary...

Do you use “OK” in your everyday speech?  I do, and even President Obama uses it in his speeches and public remarks.  In Okay: The Improbable Story of America’s Greatest Word, author Allan Metcalf presents the origin of the word, its forms and meaning, and influence.  One book for one word.  Think about researching this same information for all the words of the English language.  Essentially that’s what was done in the making of the Oxford English Dictionary, as I learned in The Professor and the Madman by Simon Winchester.  It is an amazing story and begins with a murder.

 After the recent Tucson tragedy, it is quite topical.  It is the story of a man, whom today we would say suffered from paranoid schizophrenia, who shot and killed another man.  The killer, Dr. Minor, was a 37-year-old American from New Haven, Connecticut who had served as a surgeon in the Civil War.  The murder occurred in 1871 in London as the victim (a married man of soon-to-be-seven children) was walking to work at a large brewery.  There were three or four shots that rang out, and the victim suffered mortal injury.  Found not guilty by reason of insanity, Dr. Minor was assigned to a British Asylum for the Criminally Insane.

The ensuing story tells of the making of the Oxford English Dictionary, and the significant contribution that the incarcerated Dr. Minor--educated, cultured, and mentally ill--made to its success.  As you can imagine, it was a massive undertaking.  Upon completion in 1928, it consisted of almost 415,000 words, almost 2 million illustrative quotations, and 12 volumes.  Besides specifying meaning and pronunciation of words, it also contains each word’s history.  Today, the OED is undergoing its first major revision. 

If you are fascinated by words, a wordsmith, or simply enjoy reading, pick up The Professor and the Madman for an informative read.