TIS THE SEASON

To my knowledge, Chris has never been to Iowa. I haven’t ever really been to Iowa, though Michael told me we drove through the state on our way to the Apostle Islands. We drove through while I was sleeping in the back seat because Michael had decided to drive us to Wisconsin in the middle of the night. His idea was that I would sleep while he drove and then we would switch drivers in the morning. His plan mostly worked. I drove us from Duluth to our campsite near Bayfield WI as the sun rose up in the East, with Michael snoring in the passenger seat. Chris was left in Wisconsin on the banks of Lake Superior during that trip. The night before leaving for Heather’s in Des Moines, I realized that Chris had never actually made it to Iowa.

As I pulled his coffee can down from the bookcase, I tried to remember the last time I had taken Chris anywhere. It’s been awhile. Maybe the last time was over a year ago when we visited Vancouver and I left in the hand of laughing sculpture. Our travels of late have all to been to places where Chris and I have already gone. I was in the kitchen, opening the can when Michael and the Cabbage walked in. “What’s that?!” The Cabbage asked as they opened the fridge in search of a snack. Michael answered for me and then there was a brief but frank discussion on human remains. There’s not a whole lot of Chris’s ashes left. Enough left for a few more adventures. Once we made it to Heather’s we sat around the table discussing possible locations to leave Chris. I had looked up some places listed on the Atlas Obscura website. One spot happened to be a cemetery and it was Terry who asked “Have you ever theft Chris in an actual cemetery?”

The Huston Cemetery in Wes Des Moines used to be the center of a roundabout. The intersection has since been remodeled but the tiny cemetery of maybe ten headstones still remain. The last person buried in the space was James B Huston in 1889, the man who founded the settlement. I walked all the way around the cemetery, looking for a good spot to leave Chris. The headstones were all so worn that barely any lettering stood out. I finally settled on a spot close to the tree and in eyesight of an old farmhouse. Really, it was too cold to stand outside debating too long on the perfect place and too cold for tears. There have been a number of times Chris has been left hastily and rushed, mostly because it’s not quite legal. This spot was probably the most legal of all, being it is an actual cemetery.

This is the time of year where everything starts to feel like a scratchy hair coat for those of us who have experienced loss. The memories of our past lives float in to remind of us what it is that we have lost and the Holiday season becomes a mix of pain and joy. Good and bad. Our grief can cause us to lash out in unexpected ways and I am reminded to speak mindfully and tread softly. I am not the only one to have experienced loss. I am not the only one with a ritual for celebrating the life of someone I love. Leaving Chris in all of these different places is a reminder to myself that I do not live in a vacuum. We all have broken or bruised hearts.

This is the time of year for more then ever leading with kindness.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Last Friday, Michael convinced me to go on a long bike ride out to eat tacos. Most of the ride was on a nice paved trail that wound through a wooded area. We passed a pond where I saw a beaver hut and a deer. We rode under overpasses filled with wonderful graffiti. I saw so many things I wanted to stop and photograph, but I didn’t because this was a bike a ride. If I’d been alone, I would have stopped a thousand times. Eventually we ran out of trail and had to take to the street, but the street wasn’t busy. The ride was easy and the tacos were delicious.

We hadn’t made it too far into our return trip, still on the street part of the journey. Michael was the leader; he has the gps and I didn’t really know this area. Every thing was fine until BAM! it wasn’t. Michael’s back tire exploded. It sounded like a gunshot. I had never witnessed such a thing. It was kind of spectacular. We stood on the side of the road debating about what to do next. Michael asked if I thought I could find my way home to get the truck and I was hesitant with my yes. I probably could have found my way home, but I wasn’t certain that would not happen without some wrong turns. We had stopped across from a small neighborhood and woman and her daughter came out to check on us. They had thought it was a gunshot and came out to make sure we were not hurt. Then the woman offered to drive me home and my first instinct was to say no because I don’t want to be bother. We were not close to home, but for once I set aside my internal ‘I don’t want to be a bother’ woman and took her up on the offer.

In our small talk during the drive, we discovered that both of us are from Oklahoma. She grew up in Miami and when I told her that I grew up in Collinsville, she said “Oh! I know people there!” Then we spent some time trying to figure out if we knew the same people. We shared life stories about cancer and catastrophes and at one point the woman said “I think I was destined to meet you.” When she pulled into my driveway, I offered her gas money and she flat out refused. I thanked her profusely as I hopped out of her car. Michael loaded the bicycles into his truck when I showed up to rescue him. As we started to drive off, we saw the woman again. I rolled down my window and waved so that she could see we were alright.

The inner tuber for Michael’s tire was replaced the next day and then exploded again while we were on a pre-dinner bike ride. This time we were right behind a shopping center that contained a sports bar and only three miles by street to our house (we’d travelled about seven via trails). Michael rode my bicycle home (like a bear on a bicycle) and left me at the sports bar. We dropped the bike off for repairs the next day and his whole back wheel has now been replaced. We went to lunch after dropping the bike off at a place that we’d never been to before. The food was not great and waiter was so weird and awkward. I met all of his strangeness with a smile and a nod and patience. Afterwards, Michael made a joke about about how kind I was to our weird waiter. I said “Kindness costs me nothing.”

I said this flippantly and when I really think about it, it is not entirely true. Kindness is a muscle that we must exercise. The more we use it, the easier it is to be kind until eventually you don’t even realize you’re making effort. The stranger who rescued us has trained so well that she didn’t ask “Can I give you a ride?” She said “I can give you a ride.” I want this level of kindness strength. I am not just grateful for the kindness of strangers, but for the reminder that kindness must be a daily practice.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Hope

4 Likes, 1 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Hope"

Last Saturday, Michael and I went to IKEA to buy a futon for the basement. The basement is becoming a second living space and sleeping room for Michael. He's got our old TV set up down there along with his desk and computer. We had an old couch down there that he was sleeping on, but it reached the end of it's comfort ability. I suggested replacing it with a futon because it's a couch, it's a bed, it's a couch! And yes, we live at IKEA okay. Jeeze, get over it. Any way, we get in a check out line with our flat bed cart and then I peek around the people in front of us to see what's holding up the line. There is a woman at the checkout counter with two flat bed carts and one full (like Walmart on a Friday full) shopping cart. I convinced Michael to slide on over to the line next to us.

As we stood in our new line, I watched the show of getting this woman's stuff checked out. Her face looked so haggard and embarrassed at the chaos she was creating. We made it through checkout just as the woman and her teenage daughter were attempting to get their carts towards the exit doors. The mother was trying to push one of the flat bed carts with one hand while pulling the full cart. Her teenage daughter was behind, doing her best to maneuver the second flat bed cart. I don't know if you have any experience with pushing IKEA carts, but those things require skills. The wheels are designed to roll in any direction. If you are pushing a full cart, you are using all of your core muscles and arm strength to steer that cart in a forward motion that will not send you careening off into a display of vardagens, shattering them into a million pieces. Maneuvering two carts at once is suicide. 

Michael managed to swerve our cart around the woman and her daughter and make his way to the exit. I was following behind with nothing in my hand except a plant (that Josephine has already pulled out of the planter, by the way. I cannot have houseplants). I looked at the woman trying to push a cart while pulling a cart and I said "Can I help you push one of these carts? All I have is this plant." The look on her face was one of suspicion, but she agreed. We followed Michael to the elevators and he corralled us all on to the platform so we could make it all in one elevator trip. On the way down to the parking garage the woman told us that they had driven three hours to come to the store today and that one of her friends had requested some items. The woman said that she'd had no idea it was going to be so much stuff. She shook her head at her carts and looked slightly embarrassed. Michael and I shrugged off her embarrassment and reassured her that it could easily happen to anyone. We always go in to that store for one thing and then leave with a whole new bedroom.

The elevator doors opened to the parking garage and I continued to push the woman's cart over to her car, which was parked very close to where we had exited. When we all got to her car, she looked at me, placed her hands together and said "Thank you so much for your kindness." Her words were so genuine and the look in her eyes was of such gratitude. I replied "it was no problem." and I went to catch up with Michael. After we had loaded our stuff in the truck and Michael was pulling out of our parking space, I said "You know, I was really helping everyone when I was helping that woman." Michael nodded and said "Oh, I know. You were thinking globally and acting locally." That woman and her three carts were in the process of creating quite the traffic jam for those exiting the building, but also I could see the frustration on this woman's face. I could see her struggle and I recognized how easily I could be in her place. 

I am guilty of taking on more than I can chew more often than I can count. I will carry all of the grocery bags into the house in one trip as if I am a pack mule. Asking for help is not an option, but that doesn't mean I would not accept help if offered. Well...I might hesitate slightly at the offer, but eventually accept it. The description of 'pack mule' does not only apply to my ability/determination of carrying all of the things. I think that many of us can relate to this, that it is slightly easier to just accept help being offered than it is to ask for it out right. It feels nice to be the one offering and giving help and it was such a simple thing to do. It reminded me that the gift of gratitude is very powerful. Every week, I end this post by saying that I am grateful for you. I am grateful to those of you who read these posts without judgment. I do not ask you to read or follow this blog, but you do. So... thank you so much for your kindness. 

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Texts with strangers

4 Likes, 1 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Texts with strangers"

One evening this week, as I was getting ready to wash my face before bed, I noticed something sticking out of the drain in our bathroom sink. I plucked the thing out only to find that it was a pumpkin seed that had sprouted. I can only assume that the seed ended up there when the Cabbage washed her hands after carving our pumpkins. The drain in the bathroom sink is a modern drain and it's easy enough for something the size of a pumpkin seed to rest undetected just under the the drain cover. That's what happened. The seed sat hidden for almost three weeks, getting plenty of water and minimal sunlight, until it finally started to grow. It sounds like a title for a great children's' book. There's a Pumpkin Growing in My sink! I should tuck this idea away to go along with the egg that has four yolks. 

Sometimes, I will be floating along through my days while either feeling not much of anything or the weight of all that is wrong with everything everywhere and I will forget to notice the little things. This week it started with a seed sprouting in my sink. It was as if the seed had been purposefully planted there for me to find, to be reminded of the simple beauty of cell division. This was followed with a simple text from a phone number I did not recognize that read:

"I know this is hard on you. just wanted you to know that im praying for you too. Darwina."

At first, I racked my brain trying to remember if I knew anyone named 'Darwina'. Then I wondered what Darwina knew that I didn't. "I know this is hard on you." What? Life? Breathing? Trying to be happy when half the time I feel nothing? Yeah...Darwina, it is really hard. How did you know? 

Of course I knew that this had to be a text sent to the wrong number. I don't know a Darwina, nor did I have a clue really what she was talking about. I replied politely to her text and we had a brief exchange of pleasantries. So often something like this happens and the person on the other end of the line turns angry and hostile. Just earlier this week, I called a number that had called me three times in a two hours. I didn't answer it because I didn't recognize the number, but after three attempts to contact me, I though maybe I should see what they wanted. I called the number and the man who answered was rude. He said he hadn't called me and asked me how I got his number. I explained that I had just hit the return call button on my phone, that it was this number that was listed in my missed calls list. It was a far different exchange than the one I had with Darwina, that's for sure. Then I thought "why can't all exchanges be as pleasant and polite?" 

This week I am thankful for seeds that sprout even in the non hospitable conditions. I am thankful for this reminder that I am a lot like this seed, sprouting and growing in adversary. I am thankful for unintentional words of support from complete strangers. I am thankful for the reminder how things are just better when we respond to each other with kindness and understanding.

I am thankful for you. 

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I'm home with Michael's cold and these two are keeping my legs warm.

"I'm home with Michael's cold and these two are keeping my legs warm."

I had a large chunk of a Thankful Friday written up and I just deleted it all. There was something about it that seamed too I don't know what, but it felt lacking in gratitude. There are so many times when I feel like I'm calling it in and lose a little focus on real gratitude. What does it really mean to be grateful? This is a question I ask myself often usually when I start doubting myself about my sincerity in writing a weekly post on being grateful. Whenever I am doubting, I go look up the definition of the word gratitude.

grat-i-tude: 

the quality of being thankful; readiness to show appreciation for and return kindness.

I should just have this definition tattooed onto my forearm so that I never forget that gratitude is so much more than just being thankful. Today my brain clicks on the "and return kindness" part of that definition. I always offer to return a cart for someone when I am headed into the same store they just left. I usually let the person with two items go ahead of me in a check out line when I have way more than two items in my cart. I will stand holding the door for someone just a few seconds longer if I see them headed that way. I've been working really hard at treating others the way I wish to be treated. Sometimes that last part is difficult when the other person is not being nice or polite, but I still believe in killing with kindness. I want to be at the ready to show my appreciation and return kindness. At the same time, I want to be at the ready to accept appreciation and kindness. Because, let's face it, sometimes accepting is so much more difficult than giving.

J's oldest boy, J.R. is graduating from the US Marine Corps Recruits today. There are mixed feelings about his decision to follow in his father's footsteps, but I am so very proud of him. I am thankful for the young man he has grown to be. I am thankful he is the kind of young man who makes a commitment to something and sticks with it even when he has chosen a not so easy path. I am thankful that after months of whatever they put those kids through, he still has my Dad's goofy grin of a smile. J.R. looks almost exactly like my Dad did at his age. I am thankful that Randy and Katrina made it safely out to San Diego to see him graduate. I am thankful for the cat and the dog keeping me warm when I was on the couch, sick this week. I am thankful for the eggs we ate last night that came from our own backyard. I am thankful for you.

Hoping you all have a safe, but frightfully fun Halloween and a truly Thankful Friday.