Elouise

June 19, 2017

My Voice and My Dad

When I began blogging over three years ago I was terrified. I’d carried family secrets around with me for nearly 70 years. My Dad died in 2010. Over ten years before he died I confronted him about his harsh treatment of me as a child and teenager.

Yet I still had things I needed to say, in writing. Publicly. To him and to anyone else who cared to listen.

Here’s an excerpt from a post I published on 27 January 2015. That was one year after I began blogging, nearly 5 years after Dad died at age 96. I’d begun posting Dear Dad letters from time to time, even though it felt awkward.

I’m surprised at feelings I’ve had since I began writing Dear Dad letters. Sometimes I’m afraid I’m trying to get something from Dad that he can’t give me. I don’t think I am. I definitely feel I’m ‘out there,’ in the driver’s seat without a finished roadmap, uncertain where this will lead.

Most surprising, though, has been a sense of relief. Not because I know what I’m doing, but because I know I need something for myself. Something I can receive only by speaking to him about the very subject he wasn’t always interested in hearing about—me, his first-born child, female. . . .

These Dear Dad letters feel right because I’m my father’s daughter. I’m not asking for anything. I’m not expecting anything from him. Simply put, I need to be present to Dad in a way I’ve never been present to him before.

I’d describe it as barging right in and announcing my presence. Not rudely, but confidently. Interrupting Dad was a big no-no when I was a child. Knock before entering; enter only if permission is granted. Dad is very busy right now in his study. Don’t disturb unless absolutely necessary!

But he’s my Dad! I’m allowed! No explanations needed. No big crisis. No requests to make things better. No great accomplishments or failings to report. And no clear strategy or plan about why I’m here just now, why he’s the one with whom I need to speak, or what I’m going to say next. I just know I need to be here.

This strikes me now as it did then—the language of a mature, responsible adult woman. It didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t matter now what Dad would think of this.

After all, he’s my Dad and I’m entitled to be with him and say things to him at any time. Whether he’s living or not.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 20 June 2017
Image found at skitguys.com
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Relieved

14 Comments

June 17, 2017

blossoming like a rose

Today’s prompt brought back an anthem from my college choir days. It’s been playing through my head all day–one of the most beautiful anthems I’ve ever heard.

The lyrics are based on Isaiah 35, a poetic passage that foresees a time to come when all will be well for the blind, deaf, weak and weary. For all who are discouraged, afraid and convinced they’ve been forgotten. Holiness will reign and injustice will be a thing of the past.

And what about this earth? It will also change in ways we can’t imagine. The opening lines of the anthem set the tone. From my memory…

The wilderness and the solitary place shall rejoice,
And the desert will be glad, and blossom like a rose.
For in the wilderness shall water break forth,
And streams flow in the desert.

This is Isaiah’s poetic vision of coming peace with justice. To some it may seem naïve or even make-believe. Yet doesn’t each of us harbor a wish, if not a vision for a better tomorrow?

The account of creation, the fall, and the resulting impact on all generations can sound heavy if not heavy-handed. Nonetheless, the God described throughout Hebrew and Christian Scriptures never gives up. Over and over opportunities are offered for turning around and taking another path. One that leads to justice with peace.

The God who created us is angered by injustice, moved by the plight of those who pay dearly for the decisions of others, including rulers of all kinds. Some leaders work with every intention of doing what’s best for everyone. Others seem intent on doing what’s best for themselves and their own, not for the people they serve or for strangers within their gates.

A beautiful anthem doesn’t solve our problems. It does, however, remind me that our leaders are not God, no matter how committed they are to doing good, and no matter how much we the people may want them to be God.

The anthem also reminds me that I’m not God and you’re not God. No matter how good or right we think we are, we can’t ensure that all will one day be transformed, much less pull it off.

I can, however, take one precarious step forward at a time, and trust God to do right, as the only Judge of all the earth.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 17 June 2017
Photo found at emeralddesert.com – Desert Bloom in Palm Springs, California
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Blossom

16 Comments

June 16, 2017

A word is dead

Another short gem from Emily Dickinson, for children of all ages and all stations in life. My free verse response follows.

A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

Emily Dickinson: Poetry for Young People
Edited by Frances Schoonmaker Bolin
Illustrated by Chi Chung
Sterling Publishing Co., 1994

Words spoken
thought
given away
on faces
in body language
live and multiply—
shaping us
shaping them
into people
we are
or are not
together

Spoken words
birth attitudes
expectations
hope and despair
inextricably linked
in this short life

Not the answer
to our wildest dreams

Not a solution
for the world’s woes
or private sorrows

But like smiles—
small change
of treasure
received
or withheld

***

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 16 June 2017
Image found at twimg.com
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Create

8 Comments

June 14, 2017

punctured from within

The photo above haunts me. Every time I look at it, I imagine us in the context of nature’s beautiful yet unpredictable fury. This is Indonesia’s Mt. Bromo. Tourists and local visitors gather around the Sea of Sand near the heart of a volcano. Steam makes its way through the upper crust and into the atmosphere.

The volcano itself is not shown in this photo. The volcano is live, though not with regular predictability. Still, its strange power draws people to it.

I can’t help feeling I’m an onlooker here in the USA to an unpredictable volcano that’s eroding our nation and our planet, with spill-over to other nations. Sometimes via spectacular eruptions. More often via mesmerizing, self-destructive behavior.

We’re being sold to the highest bidder, and our planet is grieving. As am I.

Seeping wounds drip into the atmosphere. Contempt for us and for the environment spills out. Are they signs of a future meltdown?

The sad outcomes of inhumane legislation and environmental degradation cannot be undone. The fabric of society and this globe are being punctured from within and without.

I won’t sit idly by, watching the growing head of steam. Nor will I deny its destructive power. Especially the power to destroy our planet and us in return for ill-gotten gains.

No solutions here. Just a commitment not to look the other way or sit idly by waiting for the next eruption.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 14 June 2017
Photo found at Pixabay.com
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Puncture

14 Comments

June 13, 2017

Diminishing time, and yet…

I recently confessed, to my surprise, that I now want live to be 100 years old.

So what will I do between now and then? What’s my measurable goal, and how will I know I’m making progress? Or when enough is enough already!

Early Sunday morning I had this dream just before I woke up.

I’m somewhere away from home, with a group of interesting people who seem to have items they’re displaying in a large room. The hall is full but not crowded. The people themselves are interesting, and the items are all different.

I encourage a few visitors to walk around and look at the creative articles on display. There are women and men in the room. Artist types, but not selling their items so far as I can see. They’re just sharing them in this large hall for people to look at. I see several I want to visit. However, it’s late, and I know I need to be on my way.

In the next scene I’m driving my car. I have no passengers, and am on my way home via what looks similar to an interstate highway. I’m on an entrance ramp. There aren’t any signals or signs, but I know where I’m going. I pull onto the highway, into the traffic.

This dream got me wondering what I might display as one of the interesting artist types. After 3 ½ years of blogging, I have over 900 posts and 900 followers! I can scarcely believe it. I love blogging and have no intention of giving it up. It also seems a good time to reconsider my goal for all this writing. Especially if I want to display at least some of it.

The dream also got me wondering where I’m going on the highway. Home, yes. But where is home? I’m clearly in control, in the driver’s seat. No one else is with me, and I’m feeling happy, relaxed and expectant. The highway isn’t formal like an interstate or state highway. Yet it’s spacious, inviting, and busy without being crowded. It feels a bit rustic. It isn’t a ‘polished’ highway, but a well-kept road somewhere out in the country.

Here’s where I find myself today:

I have diminishing time on this earth.
I’m not looking for fame and fortune.
I want a concrete project that brings me joy and puts some of my writing into a user-friendly form.
I want to begin now with small steps in a direction—perhaps setting aside writing time each week to identify and collect a specified number of posts with potential.

Beyond that, I have no clue where this might go. I do know, however, that without a Big Hairy Goal and measurable steps in a direction, I’ll think this one over to its grave and mine!

Thoughts? Comments? Experiences of your own? I welcome each and every one! Always.

Elouise ♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 13 June 2017
Photo found at montanarue.com
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Taper

11 Comments

June 12, 2017

In this short life

Here’s another wise comment from Emily Dickinson, found in a volume of poetry for young people. I think it’s for us older folks, too. My comments follow.

In this short life
That only lasts an hour,
How much, how little,
Is within our power!

Emily Dickinson: Poetry for Young People
Edited by Frances Schoonmaker Bolin
Illustrated by Chi Chung
Sterling Publishing Co., 1994

Not much here for me to love. If life is short and only lasts an hour, and since I’m nearer the end of my hour than ever before, my time to make an impact has come and almost gone.

Or so it seems. How do we assess the impact of one human life?

It’s easy to understand the quandary Emily describes. I want to make an impact. I want to make things better. I want to do volumes of good. I want my life to count for something. I don’t want to do it all, have it all, climb every mountain or ford every stream. I just want to make a measurable difference. For good, of course.

Yet life as lived is almost unbearably repetitious and often filled with poor decisions.

Emily Dickinson spent most of her short, painfully private life taking care of others, enjoying nature, reading, scribbling words on paper, and stuffing them away unseen. Today they’re everywhere in collections and volumes. The gift of a short life now gifting us with insights into nature and human nature.

St. Thomas Aquinas suggests we can’t judge the power of one person’s life narrative at the time of his or her death. The full, true meaning of a human life can’t be known until it plays out in the lives of others. Thus our good looms longer and larger than our lives; so does our evil or neglect of the good. What we do and what we don’t do matters.

Emily’s words ring painfully true. We’re faced with an exasperating quandary. Each day the seconds tick away, presenting us with limited options, limited time and limited power.

Because of this, we can’t pronounce final judgment on ourselves, much less others. Not just judgment about the meaning of our lives, but about the meaning of any one day, hour or minute.

Instead, I choose to focus on loving God, loving myself, and loving my neighbors. Not just my next-door neighbors, but those who live on the other side of this globe or the other side of the road.

Further, I choose to do this as a woman loved in all my glory and ignominy by my Creator. Every second of every day. And yes, I still choose to make a difference for good. Even though that means making a difference for ill from time to time, regardless of my best intentions.

15 Comments

June 10, 2017

caught unawares

caught unawares
poised between heaven and earth
pilgrims journey home

When will the sun set?
Who will return tomorrow?
Will the bridge remain?

steady footsteps
drum softly in fading light
glowing with promise

***

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 10 June 2017
Photo found at pixabay.com – Burmese Foot Bridge at Sunset
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Revelation

10 Comments

June 9, 2017

My one-of-a-kind body

Dear Friends,

This past week was a blur. Not a horrible blur, but the kind that softens my outlook and strains my capacity to take things in. I knew it was coming, yet living through it physically and emotionally was more exhausting than I anticipated.

It’s all about my dear, one-of-a-kind body. The one I’m learning to treat tenderly–with special care, huge respect and growing gratitude. It’s easy for me to fall into a sense of despair when things don’t improve as quickly as I’d like.

And yet…the outcome of this week’s saga is positive. I now have four more lab tests to get through—three involve separate blood draws. The other is a 24-hour collection I won’t describe because you really don’t want to know.

I met my kidney doctor on Wednesday, and relaxed immediately. She had a welcoming, patient-centered approach and treated me as the adult woman I am. I was surprised to hear she wasn’t sure what’s going on in my body. The numbers are clear on my lab results for the last ten years.

At the same time, having seen me, she doesn’t consider me an ‘average’ 73-year-old woman. For example, I’m still physically active and don’t look that old. Hence the standard measurements don’t necessarily apply. So she wants to find out whether I’m at an earlier stage of kidney disease, or whether something else might be going on. I left with orders for further testing.

My exhaustion continues, as do other issues that have plagued me for the past year. Which brings me to yesterday’s appointment with my integrative doctor. She’s also totally patient-oriented, and is treating me for adrenal disorder (sometimes related to kidney problems).

Last December she told me it might take 2 full years to recover my energy. Along with more supplements and directions about diet, she gave me a list of changes to make in my lifestyle. I had to start putting myself first, cutting way back on things I didn’t need to do, meditating regularly, enjoying the outdoors, and I think you get the picture.

In short, I had to begin loving my body more than I loved pleasing or even being with other people. I had to treat my weary body as tenderly as I might treat a newborn baby. It’s no exaggeration to say I was a rank beginner at this, even though I thought I’d been treating myself well.

After reviewing how things were going in all parts of my health care, she wrote orders for follow-up blood work, gave me a big thumbs up, and sent me home to carry on!

The way ahead still feels heavy. My attitude, however, has changed. Each evening I make a short journal entry about how I’m feeling. Now, instead of dwelling on the challenges or discouragements of each day, I recall things that brought me joy and delight.

I’ve also decided I might like to live to be 100 after all! Not because I think the world is getting better each day, but because I’m finding ways to celebrate little things instead of focusing on stress-points in my life or in this world God loves so much.

With hope and gratitude,
Elouise ♥

24 Comments

June 5, 2017

Reduction of persons

Reduction of persons
into friends and enemies
betrays small vision
driven by fear

Snap judgments
drive compulsive sorting
of good versus everyone else

Diminishing circles of friends
birth expanding circles of enemies

Profiling writ large
defaces our common humanity

Vain attempts to maintain control
over an imagined world
guarantee nothing–
not even my survival
at the cost of yours

***

With thanks to the Oxford English Dictionary for its entry on ‘uniform’ as a verb. Here’s a choice quotation from the July 1887 edition of Harper’s Magazine: “It is a human device to uniform people into friends and enemies.”

10 Comments

June 4, 2017

baptismal waters

I’m just back from our church, where we witnessed the immersion baptism of eleven young people. I thought back to this post about my Mother, looked it up, and decided to reblog it today–three years after I first published it. It still makes me tear up when I read it. I hope you enjoy it as well. Elouise

Telling the Truth

baptismal waters
rise gently enfolding her
world-weary body

* * * * *

I’m standing in a windowless, high-ceiling concrete room
with a concrete floor, drainage holes and air vents.
A deep whirlpool tub stands in the middle
filled with warm steamy water.
The room faintly resembles a large sauna minus the wood.
Functional, not beautiful.

Mother is in hospice care after suffering a stroke weeks ago
and then developing pneumonia in the hospital.
Her ability to communicate with words is almost nonexistent.
Today she’s going to be given a bath.
I’m told she loves this, and that
Sister #4 and I are welcome to witness the event.

For the past hour caregivers have been preparing her–
removing her bedclothes, easing her onto huge soft towels,
rolling and shifting her inch by inch onto a padded bath trolley,
doing all they can to minimize pain and honor her body.
Finally, they slowly roll the trolley down the hall.

The hospice sauna room echoes with…

View original post 237 more words

4 Comments

Like it? Pass it on!

Like it? Pass it on!

Like it? Pass it on!

Like it? Pass it on!

Like it? Pass it on!

Like it? Pass it on!

Like it? Pass it on!

Like it? Pass it on!

Like it? Pass it on!

Like it? Pass it on!