Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Category: Writing

April 15, 2023

What’s happening

Smudge is turning into a movie star…just look at those searing eyes and beautiful coat!

David celebrated his 80th birthday last month–with family members, some we hadn’t seen since before Covid. The gorgeous flowers were from our daughter and her husband.

These days I’m learning (slowly) to accept life without many outings or visits with friends. On the whole my health is good, though my stamina isn’t what it used to be. Still, between Smudge, David, and the birds in our back yard, there’s more than enough to make each day special. Though some days don’t feel as special as I might like.

How are you doing? The news these days is enough to send anyone packing, looking for another world. I pray you’re finding reasons to live, reasons to love, reasons to hope, and ways to help carry–even for a moment–the heavy burden of our growing anguish.

Early this morning a small Carolina Wren was standing on the roof just outside our bedroom window, singing his heart out. It didn’t matter what the weather was like, or what’s going on in today’s so-called news. Here’s to faith sufficient for each day and each night, and ways to connect with each other in these uncertain times.

Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 15 April 2023
Photos taken by ERF in March 2023

9 Comments
April 10, 2023

Doubts of the teacher | Dorothee Soelle

Dorothee Soelle, professor and author, made her mark during and after the Viet Nam war. Her poetry resonates with the agony of yesterday’s spiraling war on the streets and in the air. In this poem she doesn’t address us directly. Instead, she itemizes her own agony as she observes the way so-called ‘peace’ gets negotiated without the input of those who suffer most.

I can’t help thinking about the way our country has descended into a sea of anger, anguish and hopelessness. Instead of locating and listening to people who most need help, attention is fixed on how to win the next election. Based, of course, on strengthening the power of the party, not the welfare of all citizens. Especially the welfare of the most neglected or hated among us.

So…here’s a look into Soelle’s spirit as she watches the debacle unfold in her generation–the View Nam war. In addition, watch for her early identification of the problem–now taken for granted, it seems.

Doubts of the teacher

In the phase of despondency
class wars subside
the fears of men grow
here and there peace is negotiated
nobody asks the people
what kind of peace they want
the hopes of the victims
stray to the occult

In the phase of despondency
my certainty grows
I feel
more and more resilient
I don’t waste my time doubting
these days
that lowly jesus is the truth
and the way

In the days of fear
I sing once more
in the days of discord
my peace grows

But what for
if it can’t be shared
if it remains invisible
if we can’t partake of it with others
if the victims go away empty-handed
what good are these riches

If one can’t teach it
is that peace

Dorothee Soelle, author; poem found in Revolutionary Patience, pp 38-39
English translation © 1977 by Orbis Books

Food for thought. Especially during this week following religious celebrations of many kinds. What difference are we making? Or are we more concerned about what we call “peace” — the kind delivered and enjoyed at the expense of those without peace or access to basic needs.

I wish I could wave a wand. Or, better yet, learn to teach it based on present realities, not on unexamined pie in the sky by and by, or looking the other way.

Many thanks for stopping by today!
Elouise♥

13 Comments
April 3, 2023

Getting back to ‘normal’

Thanks for visiting! I haven’t posted anything since March 11. Here’s a quick rundown.

On February 22 I had surgery to replace pacemaker I Love Lucy I with I Love Lucy II. The surgery went well, though the anesthesiologist arrived about 3 hours late (not her fault). Post-surgery was a nightmare of pain and itching due to use of a strong saline solution that messed up my skin. It’s still healing.

In the middle of March, two long anticipated events occurred. First, D turned 80 years old! Second, our daughter and her husband visited us for the first time in more than 3 years (thanks, Covid). They live in Oregon. Both are superb musicians. Our son-in-law was part of the recent Unwound coast-to-coast tour, playing two nights in Philadelphia a few weeks ago. No, I didn’t get to hear the concert in person. Too late and too much for an old lady like me. Besides, what I most wanted was to spend time with them–which we did, before they flew back to Oregon.

Finally, about three months ago I began taking a small capsule twice a day for pain caused by peripheral neuropathy in my feet. It isn’t a drug, and it won’t heal anything. Instead, it reduces pain in my feet. If you’re interested in knowing about this kind of nonprescription approach to many inflammation problems, here’s a Harvard University article. Long, and incredibly interesting.

Finally, it seems we are in yet another Trump show, whether we like it or not. In addition, climate change seems here to stay, and we have fallen into world war whether we like it or not. What will come tomorrow? I don’t know. So here’s small poem about what I do know—about myself.

Cast onshore
Of a deserted island
Shaking water
From my eyes
Seeing nothing
And nobody
As unanticipated
I wonder aloud
Who am I
And why am I here
Now and not then
When all seemed well
That ended well

Published in Without a Flight Plan, p. 61
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 2021

Thank you for stopping by, especially in the middle of trying times.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 3 April 2023

7 Comments
February 28, 2023

In Our Woods, Sometimes A Rare Music | Mary Oliver

Here’s another lovely poem by Mary Oliver. It caught my eye and my spirit this morning. My comments follow.

Every spring
I hear the thrush singing
in the glowing woods
he is only passing through.
His voice is deep,
then he lifts it until it seems
to fall from the sky.
I am thrilled.

I am grateful.

Then, by the end of morning,
he’s gone, nothing but silence
out of the tree
where he rested for a night.
And this I find acceptable.
Not enough is a poor life.
But too much is, well, too much.
Imagine Verdi or Mahler
every day, all day.
It would exhaust anyone.

From A Thousand Mornings, Poems by Mary Oliver
Published by Penguin Books 2013
© 2012 by NW Orchard LLC

This morning I woke up to a songbird greeting the day. I also woke up to promises of rain and more frigid weather. Most importantly, I woke up. Alive and grateful for sleep, on the other side of last week’s highlight—getting a new pacemaker–Lucy II!

Mary Oliver’s poem reminds me that I don’t need an entire day of bird song, or even sunshine. Just being alive and able to hear one songbird is quite wonderful.

Last week I had Lucy (my pacemaker) upgraded to Lucy II. The hospital experience was distinctly less than I remembered. Imagine waking at 5am and getting to the hospital by 6:30am. We made it! That meant I would be home just after lunchtime. Except I wasn’t. Thanks to scheduling issues, I lay there all prepped, stomach empty since midnight, waiting with everyone else for the anesthesiologist to arrive. As it turned out, the fault wasn’t hers.

On the bright side, I haven’t been in such a lively, entertaining place since Covid lockdowns began. The entire surgery team was just there across the way, talking, laughing, obviously enjoying themselves while they too waited for the magic moment.

It came about 3 hours later. I’m glad to say I was out of it in a jiffy, had a good long nap before I woke up, and have been dealing with post-op instructions for nearly a week. I’m weary, prone to sleep anytime of the day or night, grateful for D and for Smudge, and slowly regaining my bearings.

As Mary Oliver points out, I don’t need a concert. I just need a bird song in the morning, a place to lie down and sleep as needed, a cat who loves to sleep with me, and D who makes a wonderful home nurse.

Thanks for stopping by.
Elouise

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 28 February 2023
Photo of wood thrush; found at Wikipedia.

21 Comments
February 20, 2023

Life with Lucy

Seven years ago, in early 2016, two events changed my life. First, I got a pacemaker to help with my heart issues. It went well. I was relieved and slightly ecstatic to have this new gadget that has helped keep me alive for the last seven years.

As some of you already know, Lucy (as in “I love Lucy“) is the name I gave my new pacemaker. She’s been with me through all kinds of ups and downs. That includes breaking my jaw in 2016, just two weeks after getting my pacemaker. There aren’t words to describe how devasted I felt. Especially because I’d just met Lucy and was on my way to a much-needed hair cut!

Suddenly I was living with wired jaws for about five weeks, followed by rehab exercises and drastic food changes. I’m not a party animal. I am, however, a people person. I know beyond a doubt that Lucy, along with D, Smudge, music, family members and friends got me through days and nights of despair and pain.

Two days from now I’m scheduled to get a replacement battery for Lucy. I’m told it’s nothing compared to getting the pacemaker. We shall see.

Do I still love Lucy? You bet I do! Right now I’m looking at a lovely Valentine’s Day card from a member of my church. The front of the card says “Love is patient and is kind.”  Sometimes I wish I could blame my body for the pain it causes me. Thankfully, I’m learning to be patient and kind toward my various bodily aches and restrictions.

That’s my news for today! We’re in a mess here in the USA. All the more reason to be patient and kind with ourselves and with neighbors and strangers near and far. Right now.

Thanks for stopping by!
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 20 February 2023
photo found at wallpaperweb.org

18 Comments
February 11, 2023

Through the valley of the shadow of death

On 28 December 2005, I wrote a letter to my sister Diane. After more than nine years, ALS had done its worst. After an emergency visit to the hospital, she chose to return home to die. During the long wait, she was surrounded by family, friends, and caretakers. I’m grateful I could fly from Philadelphia to Houston once more before she died. I’ve reformatted most of my letter into poetic form. I still tear up when I read it.

Dear Diane,

I can’t stop thinking about the way Jesus’ birth was, for him,
a valley of the shadow of death—
leaving the most glorious home he’d ever had,
taking the final and first step all at the same time—
leaving heaven and stepping into earthly reality.
Did he have time to get ready?
I imagine him choosing this new form of life
without struggling against it
as God’s fullness of time approached for him.

I wonder how death is unfolding for you.

I pray you aren’t struggling to hang on,
and that your faith is growing as things keep falling relentlessly away.
I pray the steady sound of your breath
moving through the ventilator
will calm your mind and your heart.
I pray fear and anxiety will give way to
peace in the midst of pain, grief and deep sorrow.
I pray the Christmas tree in your room will remind you
of the tree of life—a small sign of Jesus Christ
who is with you and for you.
I pray the willingness of your beloved family members
to bid you farewell will be nurturing and sustaining—
A small sign of Jesus Christ who is with and for you.
I pray the loyalty, skill and tenderness of your caretakers
will comfort and cheer you on.
I pray the small dogs and the big human animals egging them on
will have you in stitches from time to time.
I pray your grandchildren will plant sloppy kisses on your cheeks,
and the adults, too!

I wonder—
Do you hear angel choirs singing from time to time?
I pray you’ll hear them more and more—singing over and beneath
your fears and the emotional pain of saying goodbye
to the wonderful friends and family members God has given you.
You have been a wondrous gift to us.
I’d like to think you were given just to me!
But I know you were given to an entire world of people
whose lives have touched yours and been touched by you.
If you can imagine us as an angel choir—
or at least a faint echo of that—
I pray it will bring a smile to your heart and a tear to your eye.
We’re singing God’s praises for giving us time on this earth with you—
God’s beloved daughter child.

With love, from the only oldest sister you’ll ever have,
Elouise♥

Thank you for stopping by. There’s so much heartbreak these days. I pray you’ll find peace and comfort as we watch and participate in these days of uncertainty and sorrow.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 11 February 2023
Photo found at greengateturf.com; Texas azaleas

9 Comments
February 3, 2023

Green, Green is My Sister’s House | Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver’s poem has been on my mind for over a week. The photo above was taken in the front yard of our first home in Southern Georgia, near Savannah. That’s my small, petite sister next to me. Just hanging there, swinging back and forth, was exhilarating! Sister #3 was still a baby. Sister #4 hadn’t yet arrived. My brief comments follow.

Green, Green is My Sister’s House

Don’t you dare climb that tree
or even try, they said, or you will be
sent away to the hospital of the
very foolish, if not the other one.
And I suppose, considering my age,
it was fair advice.

But the tree is a sister to me, she
lives alone in a green cottage
high in the air and I know what
would happen, she’d clap her green hands,
she’d shake her green hair, she’d
welcome me. Truly

I try to be good but sometimes
a person just has to break out and
act like the wild and springy thing
one used to be. It’s impossible not
to remember wild and want it back. So

if someday you can’t find me you might
look into that tree or—of course
it’s possible—under it.

Mary Oliver, from A Thousand Mornings
Published in 2013 by Penguin Books, p. 49
© 2012 by NW Orchard LL.C.

I love this poem. Not because I want to climb the tree in the front yard of my childhood home, but because it understands and honors the agony of aging. It remembers how things used to be. The good, the bad, the ugly, and those unrepeatable moments of sheer joy. The dear old tree understands there’s nothing left but to lie down under the lovely tree I used to climb. Or beneath it, in the good earth.

Perhaps this is no more than a romantic twist about my aging heart. The heart that wants it all back again. Not just in fading moments or vague memories, but in reality. Like a beautiful statue that captures  the glory, agony, and excitement of life with trees. Special trees. Those that remember us and welcome us home. Wild or weary. It doesn’t matter.

Praying this finds you thriving in your own way, making progress at your own pace, and learning to trust your Higher Power to carry you when you can’t walk so quickly anymore.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 3 February 2023
Photo taken by my father in the early 1950s. The house looks out on the Vernon River. We’re hanging from an old mimosa tree.

9 Comments
January 23, 2023

Hurricane | Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver’s hurricane has been on my mind for the last few weeks. There’s so much we can’t predict or count on these days. Not only in nature, but in human experience and global disasters. It doesn’t matter how centered we may be, or how ‘safe’ we think we are. My comments follow.

Hurricane

It didn’t behave
like anything you had
ever imagined. The wind
tore at the trees, the rain
fell for days slant and hard.
The back of the hand
to everything. I watched
the trees bow and their leaves fall
and crawl back into the earth.
As though, that was that.
This was one hurricane
I lived through, the other one
was of a different sort, and
lasted longer. Then
I felt my own leaves giving up and
falling. The back of the hand to
everything. But listen now to what happened
to the actual trees;
toward the end of that summer they
pushed new leaves from their stubbed limbs.
It was the wrong season, yes,
but they couldn’t stop. They
looked like telephone poles and didn’t
care. And after the leaves came
blossoms. For some things
there are no wrong seasons.
Which is what I dream of for me.

Mary Oliver, from A Thousand Mornings
Published in 2013 by Penguin Books, pp. 21-22
© 2012 by NW Orchard LL.C.

I’m making it up, one day at a time. I never thought I would be faced with so many decisions. Some feasible; a precious few doable. The trees showed Mary the way. Don’t let the goblins scare you. And don’t give up.

Forget about right and wrong seasons of life. Grab what’s available now, and love with all your heart. Forget what others think. They don’t own your body or your soul. This too is a gift from above. Especially when things are bleak.

My health has an unpredictable mind of its own these days. Still, I want nothing more than the opportunity to be my real self before I die, regardless of impossibly “correct” rules or regulations. No fear. No anger toward myself or others. Just the right season to blossom before the next right season arrives.

Thank you for visiting and reading. I pray all is well with each of you, no matter what the weather.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 23 January 2023
Photo found at pixabay.com.

15 Comments
December 19, 2022

winter then and now

Looking back just 1 1/2 years ago, I never would have guessed I would be so housebound, or that this would become my new normal.

Days dwindle down quickly, especially in winter. First light turns into fading light. The list of things I can reasonably accomplish grows shorter by the day. However, the amount of time I think I need to get through each day grows larger. For example: food prep and cooking, exercises, walking, doing my laundry, and endless weeding out of papers and other items I no longer need.

Still, I’m more as ease with my aging body than I was just one month ago. Today it’s way too cold to walk with D in the afternoon. Besides, there’s no way I can keep up with him. Our attic (remember the renovations?) has been my home away from home on most days. It’s quiet, with windows at each end, and plenty of space to get moving, or go through my exercises.

I cry more than I did a year ago. I’ve always been a weeper. However, it hasn’t been easy to weep at will when I feel pain or am discouraged. Yet if I don’t, it won’t help me accept present realities. In addition, though I’m content to post only as I’m able, I’m not thrilled with the constraints I now have.

Here’s an early haiku and poem about ‘frozen grief’. It seems I’m still learning to deal with this. Not just grief from my childhood, but the grief I’ve experienced at the hands, mouths and attitudes of people who wanted to change or take advantage of me.

winter sun
6 February 2014

winter sun pierces
my paralyzed heart waking
frozen grief at will

***

Buried deep, forgotten
Denied, minimized, ignored
Silenced, unexamined

Held at bay
‘It wasn’t that bad’
‘Others had it worse’

Ashamed of my own story
Just another privileged woman
Who doesn’t get it

Afraid to shine a light
On darkness that seems
To have overpowered me

You mean you’re this old and
You still haven’t gotten over it
Beyond it, done already?

Normal
We want normal
How much longer will this take?

Winter sun does its work
In the fullness of God’s time
Not one moment sooner


Thanks for stopping by today. Or tomorrow…
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 19 December 2022
Photo found at pinterest.com
Attic photos taken by DFraser and me in 2018

10 Comments
December 3, 2022

This weariness of mine | George MacDonald

For several months I’ve been up, down, and all over the place trying to figure out who I am now, and why I feel so weary. To things that fell apart years ago, new things arrive unannounced, no matter how long or short the distance may be from here to the end of life as I’ve known it.

On January 1 of this year I began reading one of George MacDonald’s sonnets each day. It’s my 3rd or 4th time going through them. This time, however, I’m finally beginning to hear MacDonald as he was when he wrote them. He was living through a slow, painful death following many years of chronic tuberculosis, the loss of five of his children (4 to tuberculosis), and ongoing debates with church officials who didn’t find his brand of Christianity fully acceptable.

My life has been a lark compared to his. Yet even as I write this I know it’s not the truth. My life has NOT been a lark. I have often not been fully accepted as the person I am, beginning with my upbringing and continuing through my adult years. I must also say I wouldn’t have made it without unnumbered friends and strangers along the way.

These days, weariness is a constant companion. Some of it because of new and old health issues; other pieces because of what it has cost, and still costs me to be the woman I am. I’m often tempted to feel sorry for myself, or angry because of what I inherited the day I was born.

This sonnet, however, isn’t about the past. It’s about the present and the future. It’s about the wonderful gift of accepting weariness as a sign that I’ve done what I could do. Like fruit past ripe, I too am waiting to drop wearily into the good earth. Finally at rest.

Here’s the sonnet I didn’t understand until today.

3 December, from George MacDonald’s The Book of Strife in the Form of the Diary of an Old Soul

This weariness of mine, may it not come
From something that doth need no setting right?
Shall fruit be blamed if it hang wearily
A day before it perfected drop plumb
To the sad earth from off its nursing tree?
Ripeness must always come with loss of might.
The weary evening fall before the resting night.

© 1994 Augsburg Fortress, page 120

Thanks for reading and listening. I couldn’t ask for a better audience.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 3 December 2022
Tanbirul Islam, photographer; photo found at http://www.pexels.com

10 Comments