Writing | Telling the Truth

June 1, 2017

An unexpected gift | Recipes

At 11:00 am yesterday I left my house and walked two short minutes to my next-door neighbor’s house for a show and tell cooking lesson. A simple Indian dish he concocted of quinoa and garbanzos. He wanted to cook something that would fit my health needs, and thought this might fit the bill.

I sat on a kitchen stool watching as he started from scratch and put it together, checking each ingredient with me as he went along.

There weren’t any mysterious ingredients or fancy maneuvers at the stove. Just water for the rinsed quinoa (2 cups dry), cooked first (about 4 cups water, no salt) and left to sit when done, covered, while he prepared the flavorings in a large frying pan.

Here’s what went into the frying pan:

2 to 3 tablespoons of olive oil, heated, to which he added
Sliced fresh garlic – 6 or 7 cloves
1 teaspoon each, cumin seed and mustard seed
Turmeric powder to taste
Chili powder to taste
About 1 teaspoon ground coriander

When the seed were popping and the spices fragrant, he added prepared caramelized onions and let things simmer. Next he added the drained garbanzos (a large can) and let the mixture simmer in the olive oil. Finally, he added another smaller handful of chopped coriander and one chopped yellow onion. Then it all simmered until the onions had lost their bitterness but not their crunch.

Finally, he added the flavorings and beans in the frying pan to the pot of cooked quinoa and mixed everything together.

Then the moment of truth! He served up small portions for everyone present—his twins and their nanny, and me, of course. Delicious. Nourishing. Easy to make.

This unexpected gift came because the day before he’d seen me out walking, asked about my health, and wanted to do something that would be good for me and easy to make for myself. I brought most of it home and had some for lunch today. Yummy!

For me, this was a big event. Nonetheless, it doesn’t take much to make my day. Just bits and pieces here and there. A note or email from a friend, a smile from the clerk at the grocery store, seeing friends when I’m out walking, a lovely song on the radio, a late afternoon walk with D, evening birdsong or a call from a family member. Small things that let me know I’m not alone, and that I matter.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 1 June 2017
Photo found at betazeta.com, not the dish described above, but similar
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Portion

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May 31, 2017

Disappeared

Disappeared
without a trace
comes home to haunt us

Dis-membered
lives and bodies broken
past yet present

Suppressed
roots of our
current discontent

We don’t have to accept this state of denial. It leaves traces that scream to be heard. We are a multicultural nation.

We don’t all agree that this is a proud heritage. Nonetheless, not once in my upbringing or schooling did anyone introduce me to the full history of multicultural America, the so-called United States. We seemed content with stylized stories that perhaps told part, but not nearly enough of the truth.

The seminary in which I taught and served as dean had a proudly diverse student body, faculty and staff. Yet every time there was a national racial incident (Rodney King, for example), I was reminded of how much I didn’t know or understand.

During my last year at the seminary, I was part of a small faculty group that piloted a way to work together on issues of race and multicultural differences. We took up-front time coming to agreement about how to be safe within our diverse group. Then we got to work, doing with each other the personal and group work that might be done across our campus and institutional structures.

One of the most riveting books we read was A Different Mirror: A History of Multicultural America. It’s now out in an expanded, updated edition. The author Ronald Takaki, was born and raised in the USA. His ancestors came from Japan, and he looks Japanese. And yet…he was still considered an outsider.

Takaki’s well-documented book begins with American Indians, before the so-called discovery of this country. From there, he traces the chronological history of multicultural America to the present.

This is the American History I was never taught in school. Takaki packs it with data, stories, photos, archived news articles, and astute insights into why we are diverse, and how each group was received into these United States. He also has a vision for what we might learn from this history about our future as a thriving multicultural nation.

We’ve forgotten our roots. We’ve suppressed them and found ways to cope with or rewrite the truth about our past. We’ve done this in public and private, newscasts, corporations, universities, neighborhoods, families, churches and communities of faith, and in our educational system—to name a few. Textbook wars are still fought to keep certain voices from seeing the light of day.

Sadly, this approach suppresses the truth about brave women, men and children who found and still find ways to work together against our national habit of creating insiders and outsiders.

What kind of future do we want for our country? What would it take to get from here to there?

For starters, you might read this book. You might find yourself in it. Or, if you’d like a shorter, equally riveting edition, there’s an edition for young people. Same title, with well-documented stories and photos. Both books are difficult to put down.

Add it to your reading list!

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 31 May 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Trace

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May 30, 2017

House of Cards? | A Dream

A week ago I had my first coherent dream after months of nothing but bizarre images that bordered on nightmares. Here’s the dream, lightly edited for clarity.

I’m in our house. D is there. It feels smaller than it should be. Especially the kitchen.

Without warning, a woman shows up. In her 40s? She’s living in our house but I don’t remember asking her to move in, or placing an ad. But there she is. No name—quiet and tidy.

I’m just starting to ask questions about how she got here when a young man shows up. He brought lots of clothes. In fact, he’s already taking over precious space with his belongings. I can’t imagine where he came from. He’s single, seems to be in his 20s, and feels entitled to service.

I’m annoyed to find out from him that he’s renting a room in our house and has a key and a contract. His collection of clothes takes up all the hall space. Now he’s in the kitchen, asking me what’s for breakfast.

Just then a 30-something man and woman arrive with their three young children and luggage. They demand to see their living quarters. The young children, perhaps 7 to 12 years old, are running wild through the house, and the couple is on our phone, arguing about something with their relatives. They’re also complaining loudly about the services here and lack of space.

I’m at my wit’s end. Things are out of control. I look up and see to my consternation that the young woman has put on a maid’s uniform and is calmly pushing a service cart around, cleaning up. I didn’t ask her to do this. She might be a good person to have around.

The demanding young man and the couple with children are out-of-order. I want them out of our house immediately. Yet they’ve signed contracts. I don’t know when, where, or at whose direction.

I retreat to our kitchen, now a narrow galley kitchen, to investigate a loud noise. To my dismay, things have fallen from the top of the refrigerator. Broken pottery and dirt cover the floor. I pick up the plant it contained, and discover the bulb has sprouted thick, healthy leaves, some now broken. A beautiful magenta purple blossom has already begun to bloom.

What’s going on? Is this a circus gone out of control? The descent of chaos, with no time to address anything? A rollercoaster ride with moments of possibility and beauty snatched away willy-nilly?

After much thought, I got back into my dream, took a deep breath, and focused on the blossom, the quiet woman, and D. This house is my body, my home for now. Forget the intrusions. They aren’t going to stop.

Three things stand out–each saying something about who I am right now:

The unexpected lovely blossom is my favorite color. Just look at my Portland rose Gravatar above!
The quiet woman calmly steps in to help without being asked. She seems to know just what to do. Part of me?
D is there behind the scenes, a sign of internal stability and strength. Also part of me?

For now, this is more than enough to calm my heart and free my spirit.

Thanks for reading and listening.
Elouise ♥

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May 25, 2017

Letting go my desire for survival

I’m missing the routines
that keep me steady
and grounded.

Living moment to moment—
So happy to be with her again,
my daughter.

A little off-balance in my daily life—
Grateful for a quiet mid-day
so I can write, eat, be with myself and rest.

The rain has stopped and the sky is brighter.
Still feeling the edge of cold damp air
on my hands, legs and torso—
Wore my wool undershirt today
and flannel-lined jeans.

I want to mother her—
The thought of end-of-life stuff
gives extra meaning and urgency to our visits.

Have I been faithful to her?
Always such a distance to travel
for such a small bit of time.

Is it time to practice letting go—for good?
Whatever that means—
I’m not sure.

I’ve never done this before.
Neither has she—
So many unknowns.

It’s hard to see through tears.

Just being alone for a few hours in this house
feels sad—too empty,
too quiet.

What will it be when she isn’t here—
Or when I’m not here?….

***

I wrote this journal entry during a recent week-long visit with our daughter and her husband. Our first visit with them since I learned I have Chronic Kidney Disease. Surprisingly, the words sing to me–sweetly and sadly. No rushed or distressed cadence. Just the leading edge of a reality unknown to me as a mother.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 25 May 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Survive

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May 20, 2017

from a nearby tree

from a nearby tree
a catbird sends waves of song
spilling to the ground

Have you ever heard a catbird? If so, you already know their song is unmistakable. Loud, almost hyper mimics, they punctuate their unending songs with sharp ‘catcalls.’ Sort of like the sharp ‘meow’ of a cat. Unlike other mimics (thrushes or mockingbirds), they don’t usually repeat their songs.

We hear them every day. Especially now, when birds are nesting and nests need defending. They crank up their musical contributions before sunrise, and continue past sunset. We heard one yesterday evening when we went out walking. It was perched in a tree just above our heads, well past sunset.

Catbirds don’t seem worried about running out of songs. Instead, they’re worried if you come too close to a nearby nest. When that happens, they aren’t shy about dive-bombing around your head, descending from a nearby thicket to cajole you into leaving the area. They don’t give up, and they aren’t bashful.

God doesn’t swoop down from heaven to defend us or to scare intruders away. Still, there’s something god-like in a common catbird’s defense of its nest and determination to frighten off or redirect the attention of possible intruders.

My real-life intruders are often discouragement, fear or loneliness. Sometimes God descends to my aid when I listen to music I love and let it fill the airwaves, spilling into my heart and tense body. A sign that majesty and power are present in ways I don’t understand.

This doesn’t solve my problems. It simply makes things bearable, and invites me to relax, knowing I’m never out of the range of God’s care. I think another way of naming it is Sabbath rest.

Elouise ♥

18 Comments

May 17, 2017

One Big Blur | An Update

Carolina Anne Fraser’s First Prize Youth Division, 2016 Audubon Photography Competition – Great Frigatebirds taken Near Española, Galápagos Islands, Ecuador

The last four weeks have been one big blur. Mostly medical appointments and family time, plus writing and visiting when I was able and awake. You’ve already heard about our visit with daughter Sherry and her husband to Longwood Gardens.

Another highlight was a visit to the James Audubon House and grounds. We met our son there and toured the old house and grounds. There were birds all over the place! The day was crystal clear, breezy and sunny, cool but not cold.

We went because one of our granddaughters had a prize-winning bird photo on display along with those of other winners and honorable mentions. Proud? Who me? Not just proud, but absolutely floored by her gift.

Back to reality and on another subject, “endless beauty” was my 900th post! I didn’t even notice until it was already out there. When I began blogging over three years ago, I never guessed I’d still be chugging away. One of the most personally rewarding things I do these days is look back at some of my writing, often getting teary in a happy way.

What I thought would be writing about my life has become writing my life. Not looking back so much as looking into the present. Especially as it impacts me directly as a citizen of the world and as a retired woman making my way toward the end of this life.

Daughter Sherry and her husband flew back to Oregon last week. It was bitter-sweet to be together. A reminder of how much family means as I age, and my health changes.

The day after they left, I saw my primary care physician to follow up on lab tests. My kidneys are in good shape right now. No sign of damage. I’ll see my cardiologist at the end of this week. I also have a call in to schedule a first appointment with a nephrologist (kidney doctor) who will oversee my Chronic Kidney Disease care.

My most difficult challenge is dealing with unpredictable energy and emotional highs and lows. That, and the constant need to prepare kidney-friendly food and get enough of it in me each day. D has kindly offered to learn a recipe or two that he can make for me each week.

On Mother’s Day I woke up exhausted after a tough night. Still recuperating from my relatively busy social life last week. So I stayed home from church and slept all morning. Got up, had some lunch, then went straight back to bed and slept more. A wonderful way to celebrate Mom’s Day! I recommend it highly.

I’m not able to write or visit as often as I once was, and am more laid back about what I write. So far, there’s always more than enough when I’m ready and able to write.

With hope for today, and huge thanks for your visits and comments,
Elouise ♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 17 May 2017
Photo credit: DAFraser, May 2017

12 Comments

May 13, 2017

endless beauty

Final —
A heavy word
for dreamers of today

Shuffling through
the watercolor exhibition
my eyes fall on a small tangle
of blue-greens and light pinks
composed and serene
within a gothic arched mat

Exquisite detail sharply defined
invites my eyes to linger
on each small leaf,
each tiny stem and blossom
flourishing at ground level
within trailing vines of small ivy

The work of yesterday’s dreamer
who found endless beauty
lying at his feet

Yesterday D and I were at the Philadelphia Art Museum to see a special exhibition of watercolors from the 1800s and early 1900s. I was captivated by this artist’s vision and clear determination to paint the small things. In part because the possibilities were endless, no matter where he looked.

I couldn’t help thinking about my writing–especially now, as my world seems to be shrinking. I found this artist’s vision challenging and encouraging. He gave up trying to paint the big things. Partly because so many were already doing that. More than that, he was captured by his love for painting ‘into’ the small things.

There’s nothing final about vision, is there? Seeing into the smallest details of life gives me joy and a sense of purpose. A way of connecting with others as I’m connecting more deeply with myself and my spiritual development.

Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 13 May 2017
Photo credit: DAFraser, May 2017
Ivy-covered wall inside the Conservatory at Longwood Gardens
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Final

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May 5, 2017

Happy Cinco de Mayo?

~~May 5, 1862, the siege of Puebla, from a 1901 series of children’s booklets

Cold rain falls steadily
Undermines foundations of trust
Changes perceptions overnight
With over-bold strokes of an executive pen

Stern pretentious words
Proclaim Our America First–
Not Yours!

Bold singing and dancing
Brilliantly costumed adults and children
Delectable Mexican food
Proclaim ‘Happy Cinco de Mayo!’
Against all odds now, as then.

To live the truth of freedom
Is more powerful than a thousand strokes
Of a cold executive pen

Thank you for inspiring us
To live freely, boldly and with flair
In the midst of dull predictable chaos

***

13 Comments

May 3, 2017

Beholden to no one

Beholden to no one
Proud head held high
He sweeps past
With grace in his wings
Pauses in midair
Before dropping down
For a singular feast
On juicy insects bored
From a rotting tree trunk

My feet rooted to the ground
I watch his great beak extract
Life from dust of the earth
Still calm and confident
he lifts his regal head
Surveys the cemetery
Spreads his sweeping wings
And sails majestically over
White gravestones
Silent in awe of his beauty

Wings flapping slowly
He salutes those who are gone
Then rises into dusky air
Lost in a stand of spruce and beech
Giants welcoming his arrival
With graceful open arms

Seen on a walk with D several evenings ago, just after sunset. The male pileated woodpecker was brilliant in red, black and white, calm and confident. I hadn’t seen one in the park for more than four years. Just one call with its haunting rise and slight fall alerted us. He seemed quite comfortable being the star of his show. As though the king or queen were passing by. Unafraid, self-possessed and gracefully regal.

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May 1, 2017

I don’t know where to begin…

So I’m just going to blunder along for a bit. Which is, I’m told, the best way to begin. I think Eeyore would agree with me.

I’m a total novice when it comes to Chronic Kidney Disease (CKD). It wasn’t on my horizon and it isn’t in my family of origin.

But that doesn’t matter now. I have it. Stage 3A. In fact, I probably passed ‘Go’ well over a year ago without even knowing it.

So here I am. Floundering around, lurching through each day with emotional highs and lows, energy highs and lows, eating highs and lows, and little sense of overall wellbeing.

High means I’m upbeat, alert, happy to be alive, and at peace with my body. Giving happy hugs to D.

Low means I’m virtually asleep, can’t move a muscle including my brain, and don’t want to look at another healthy smoothie or make another easy-to-chew soup or stew. Weeping silently or openly. Collecting hugs from D as needed.

Do I feel sorry for myself? No, I don’t. Nor do I ask God, “Why me?” There are millions of us out there with this disease. What I regret is the relative invisibility of the disease—often until it’s too late.

Which raises the question of my status. You might think Stage 3A out of 5 stages is fairly decent. Answer: It is and it isn’t. It’s better than Stage 3B. That’s when you start talking about what’s coming in Stage 4 (preparation for the end game). Followed quickly by Stage 5 (dialysis, kidney transplant and, sooner or later, death).

At Stage 3A I have the possibility of leading a different yet fairly ‘normal’ life. That means constant attention to self-care, lab tests, and endless appointments with various doctors. Some people are able to reverse the progress of CKD, but it’s rare at Stage 3. Difficult but possible at Stage 2; often possible at Stage 1.

So what’s the solution? For me, I’m in a crash course I didn’t want. That means reading books, finding online resources, talking with family members, facing the reality that this is a terminal illness for which there is no magic pill. And of course, writing about it, especially about how I’m feeling.

It also means reordering each day as it progresses. Do I need to take a little nap? Meditate? Write my heart out? Do nothing but sit on the porch listening to the birds? Listen to music? Take a little walk? Have a good cry? A good rant?

This is an invisible disease. If you could see me, you probably wouldn’t know anything’s amiss. Most people without CKD haven’t heard much about it, think they won’t get it, or don’t know how to determine whether they’re at risk. Yet millions of us have it. Go figure.

I’ll post more from time to time. Not necessarily because you need to know, but because I want you to know and it helps immensely to write it out and make it public.

Thanks for visiting and reading!
Elouise♥

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