Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Tag: Gratitude

April 25, 2018

Attic Update with Photos

Whew! I can hardly believe we’re getting there. Our daughter and her husband arrive Saturday night, and will be our first guests in the new attic bedroom/sitting area! Except for Smudge and I. We’ve already stolen a little snooze or two on the new mattress.

The photo at the top and the following photo are painful reminders of What It Was Back When….after more than 30 years of living in this old house. The top photo looks Northeast, the one below Southwest. D took the top photo before we began clearing stuff out; below we’re well over halfway there, believe it or not.

And here’s what the contractors had to work with–almost ready for them to begin.

Below you’ll see the Northeast look, with everything but the floor finished. I loved the old checkerboard linoleum, though it was well past its prime. In these photos we still have carpet to go, plus furniture. The trim is white; the ceiling and walls are very light green with blue tint that complements the view from the attic windows–tree tops and blue sky. The third photo looks toward our back yard–Southwest. You can see the handrail we had added to the attic stairway. There were already skylights over the stairs and on the East side of the attic roof.

So here’s where we are today–still getting things put together and in place. Carpet all laid, with the painter due to return and put one more coat on the attic stairwell. The carpet is gray–a short, tight plush weave that’s supposed to resist cat claws.


Last but not least, I took some photos with my IPad to document the contributions of the two males most present in my life these days.



I’m surprised at how wonderful it feels to have this task well along the way to completion. I’ve dreaded the day when we would either die and leave the mess to our family members to clean up, or when we would finally grab the bull by the horns and wrestle it to the ground. Actually, I have D to thank for wrestling it to the ground–though I’ll take my share of the bows, as well.

The rest of this week we’ll be getting things back to a bit of sanity downstairs and upstairs. I’ll post as I’m able, and take attic snoozes with Smudge whenever the urge hits me.

Thanks for stopping by today!
Elouise♥

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 25 April 2018
Photos taken by DAFraser and ERFraser

15 Comments
March 21, 2018

Yesterday evening – a prayer of lament

Most evenings I take time to jot down how I’m feeling. Sometimes I’m so weary I can scarcely keep my eyes open.

But yesterday evening was different. I’d spent time that evening going through old files from years of teaching and being a graduate student. Part of me was laughing and enjoying seeing some of the cheeky things I’d written in my younger years. The other part of me kicked in near the end—a little voice that wouldn’t let me go.

So when I sat down in the late evening with my journal, this is what I wrote to God—a prayer of lament, I think.

Oh God, I feel so empty tonight—so out of touch with the woman I am today. It seems my best work and my most memorable efforts are all in the past. Filed away in boxes of paper crammed with words—so many that I scarcely recognize myself back then.

Where did they all go? — Those words, ideas, images, insights, sparkling clear roadmaps to my past life and thinking and feeling.

They seem much more alive and important than anything I might manage to eke out today or tomorrow. Such high hopes and noble ambitions. And now this?

Please look kindly on my confusion through the eyes of Your merciful providence, and give me gratitude.

Then I went to bed and promptly fell asleep. A bit sobered, yet grateful for memories of so many good women and good men. And for the privilege of having touched their lives, and been touched by theirs.

I’m not the woman I thought I was when I arrived at the seminary to study or to teach. Or even when I began this blog.

Today I’m working on a piece for later this week. It’s about one of the most difficult subjects I’ve had to deal with personally and institutionally, as a member of various churches and as professor and dean at the seminary. Sexuality.

Thanks for reading and listening. And for helping grow me into the woman I am today.
Elouise♥

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 21 March 2018
Photo found at pixabay.com

2 Comments
March 16, 2018

Attic Memories

The attic is bare, and our downstairs spaces are now crowded with boxed books, old photos, cards, letters and files. They’ve invaded the basement and every room below the attic. All this because it’s time to give the attic a new life. After a bit of dry wall repair, painting, carpeting, and a handrail on the attic stairs.

D began the project weeks ago, sorting things out. Keep, toss, or give away. Especially books. Academic books occupied at least 75% of the attic. In rows, like a library. His and mine going back to our college years. Scholarly, earnest, serious books we used as students, professors or administrators.

During the last two days I spent most of my time in the attic, going through my piles of accumulated evidence and memorabilia from teaching, travel and family life.

Here are things that made me teary, exhausted or both.

  • Seeing how many places D and I visited for vacations or professional trips. Takeaway: Marrying D was a great way to see and hear about the world.
  • How many postcards I’ve purchased as a way to bring some of our travels home. Though they’re small, they remind me of more than appears on the postcards. Keepers.
  • Reminders of my large extended Renich family. Sadly, I don’t anticipate more official Renich family reunions. I loved looking through old reunion photos and family newsletters. More keepers.
  • My long emails to Diane when I visited Kenya for the first time (1997). I was terrified Diane might die (of ALS) while I was gone. I also wanted to take her with me in my emails. I wanted her to see in her sharp mind’s eye exactly what I was seeing. Irreplaceable.
  • How many recorded notes I kept over the years. Formal and informal. Back then it was about having a written record of appointments, meetings, interviews and important events. I didn’t trust my memory. But I did trust my bankruptcy court note-taking skills. It also helped me keep my listening and observational skills sharp. No, I didn’t keep all the notes. And yes, it gave me little pangs when I let most of them go.
  • I was astonished (if not exhausted) at how many students touched my life. And the wild, wide diversity of countries and cultures they brought into the classroom. Not in an online setting, but in person. Many struggling with English as a second language. Many going through life crises and changes in professional status. Too many now gone from this life. And many I probably wouldn’t recognize if I saw them today.

Despite the emotional and physical exhaustion of the last few days, I’m grateful for this look back into a world I won’t experience again. Sometimes it’s difficult being on the outside. Still, I don’t want to go back. I love life as it is—even though it’s not always neat and tidy.

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 16 March 2018
Photos taken by DAFraser

8 Comments
March 9, 2018

For all the women I have loved

During the last few months I’ve been going through old teaching and administrative files, carbon copies of reference letters I wrote decades ago, boxes of notes and cards you sent to me, and old directories with head shots of students, faculty, and church members. More than once I’ve been reduced to tears.

Several years ago I made a list of women whose lives made a difference in my life. It was so long I had to stop.

This is ironic, since most of my life I’ve been beholden to men. They were or might one day become my gatekeepers. It was important to treat them well and with due deference. Most were white. A precious few were interested in my future instead of their own and how I would help them get there.

Yet I was born into and grew up surrounded by women who cared for me no matter what. They didn’t all have motherly skills, but each had something to give me. Something to pass along that would help me grow—if I could only relax into the role of learner.

Today’s post is for all the women who were and are my shining stars —

  • my sisters, daughter, daughter-in-law, granddaughters
  • my mother, cousins, aunts, grandmothers and great-grandmother
  • classmates, playmates, teachers and faculty colleagues
  • committee members, informal kitchen cabinet members
  • therapists, doctors, nurses and external consultants
  • accomplices in strategic disobedience and brilliant projects
  • pastors, church friends, workplace mentors, friendly enemies
  • puzzling combatants, bright stars, struggling survivors
  • angry recipients of insults and injury
  • new mothers fighting isolation and depression
  • aspiring preachers and teachers finding strong voices
  • devastated applicants turned away due to marital status or fear
  • determined women moving ahead against all odds
  • heartbroken wives whose husbands just walked out the door
  • heartbroken mothers who just lost a child or baby or husband
  • tearful survivors of trauma in need of help
  • closeted lovers of women not sure where to turn for help
  • gifted women passed by in favor of an average male applicant
  • poets, writers, musicians, preachers and teachers
  • drama queens, dreamers and world-changers

Like a galaxy of stars, you are brilliant in my life. Scarcely a day goes by without one of you showing up in my heart. I’m so glad I kept all those notes, cards and sometimes silly photos. Reminders that the history we made, no matter how small it seems today, still matters.

With respect, love and prayers for history-making women everywhere,
Elouise♥

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 9 March 2018
Photo found at galeri.uludagsozluk.com

9 Comments
March 7, 2018

Consider the Orchids | Photos


Last week D and I took a day off to visit the Orchid show at Longwood. It wasn’t crowded, though the café and restaurant were closed for renovation. Still, it was breezy and bright, with temperatures in the low 50s (Fahrenheit).

The photos below show the entrance–not when we arrived, but just before we left late in the afternoon. The wall of orchid plants was an extension of the gift shop. Orchids for sale! The second photo is a close-up of what we didn’t buy.

Overall, I thought this year’s Orchid show wasn’t as spectacular as last year. I missed the giant ‘orchid tree,’ and didn’t think the main hall of the conservatory did justice to the theme. Nonetheless, D took some beautiful photos. Here are several of my favorites, minus their names.

Near the end of our visit we found empty seats beside the Conservatory stream and had a nice sit-down, and took photos to prove we were there.

Then D played with his camera while I rested my feet. Here are his Monet look-alike studies in water, preceded by a photo  of the waterfall and stream at the far end of the main entrance to the Conservatory.

Looking at all this beauty, even in retrospect, I can’t help thinking about Jesus’ words of encouragement to the crowds of people who brought him their sick and afflicted, hoping to be healed. In addition to healing, they heard these words–the words I can’t help thinking about when I see these photos.

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will God not much more clothe you–you of little faith?

Matthew 6:28-30 (NRSV)

No promise that everything will be as we would like it to be. Just the promise that when we seek first the kingdom of God we will have enough. Even more than enough–when we share it instead of hoarding what we do not own and cannot keep alive.

These are troubling days for this planet and all its inhabitants. I’m grateful for the beauty of nature, especially in the middle of a bleak winter.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 7 March 2018
Photos taken by DAFraser in February 2018 at Longwood Gardens 

16 Comments
February 10, 2018

Taking a break to dream

Dear Friends,

I need a break. Not from you, but to listen to my heart and body. I’m serious about being in the last chapter of my life, and want my writing to reflect this without being morose, and without chasing after things that don’t matter that much on any given day.

For several years I’ve wanted to reorganize my home office to make it user-friendly for me as a writer. Today it still reflects my past as an academic and volunteer against human trafficking. Too much stuff hanging around!

So this week, with D’s good help, I’ll get going on that. Most of all, I want to dream about where I’m headed with my writing in the next months and years.

Here’s the bottom line:
I’m not closing down my blog
However, I won’t post anything for at least this coming week

In the meantime I pray that Lent, which begins on Valentine’s Day, will draw us closer to ourselves, to each other and to our amazing Creator who still chooses to walk with and among us daily. Incognito.

Thanks for being here, and for your encouragement.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 10 February 2018
Image found at barbarabenedettelli.it

10 Comments
January 24, 2018

buried

buried
beneath snow
life sleeps

Is there an angel in your life? Someone who was there for you at the very beginning when you were most vulnerable? Someone who gave you a gift you didn’t know you had until very late in life?

When I was born, my father had already been flat on his back for 8 months in a TB sanatorium. He came home weak and alive when I was 10 months old. If you’ve read my earlier posts, you’ll know my ordained clergy father was no angel in my life. For a quick summary, read Why I haven’t buried God.

When I was born, my mother was living with a young couple and their 8-year old daughter. Hence I lived the first 10 months of life surrounded by my mother and friends who thought I was God’s gift to each of them.

When my father came home from the sanatorium, things changed quickly. Dad was never one to take his duty lightly. It didn’t take long to change the atmosphere, beginning with a push and shove about whether Uncle Ed was my father or not. And, of course, who was now in charge of our little family. My mother or my father. I believe my mother lost dearly in that transaction. As did I.

Eight months after my father’s homecoming, we moved from Charlotte, North Carolina to Seattle, Washington. I took with me the seed of that elusive thing called resiliency. They say some children have it and some don’t.

In my case, I believe that seed was planted in me the first 10 months of my life. By my mother, Auntie Wyn and Uncle Ed, and their only child Grace. They loved and played with me, fed, encouraged and doted on me. I was the most beautiful baby in the entire world. And I got to hear my mother playing the piano, nurturing in me another invisible seed of resiliency.

See the lovely photo at the top? All the important people (except me, of course) are there. My parents are already surrounded by my surrogate family: Auntie Wyn was mother’s maid of honor; Uncle Ed (with glasses) gave my mother away; Grace was my mother’s flower girl.

Perhaps the bond between my mother and me is stronger and deeper than I ever realized.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 23 January 2018
Photo of my parents’ wedding in September 1942, Charlotte, North Carolina

6 Comments
January 23, 2018

feeling unnerved

a foot bridge beckons
park lights pierce dark midnight
the way ahead fades

***

Feeling unnerved tonight
wandering through my mind
not sure where I am
or what to do next

Life happens quickly
though it feels like slow motion
so little time to listen to myself
much less to You

It’s almost midnight now
and I’m still not sure where I am
or where I’m going

Would You be offended if I
just follow in Your footsteps
wide awake or stumbling
wondering Where and Why?

Many thanks to my blogging friend John for the photo at the top. It was taken in Caulfield Park at about midnight after a sweltering hot day in Melbourne, Australia. The ambiguity of the photo grabbed my attention, and John kindly agreed to let me use it for a poem not yet written.

John has followed my blog almost since its birth. You can check out the post about his midnight walk right here:

https://paolsoren.wordpress.com/2018/01/20/night-time-in-the-park/.

John’s posts are Australian to the core, full of entertaining, thought-provoking, irreverent, hilarious and enlightening insights. All dished up in his native tongue. I’ve told him at least a million times I wish I’d had him as a teacher. Somewhere along the line he got the gene. Now he’s retired, wandering around here and there with his camera, or pulling out old photos about the way things were when he too was very young.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 23 January 2018
Photo taken by John (paolsoren) in Caulfield Park, Melbourne, Australia, January 2018

10 Comments
January 17, 2018

frozen branches

frozen branches
bent beneath iced snow –
blue-green brilliance

I can’t help thinking about the frozen beauty that resides in each of us. Waiting for a thaw. Hoping to make it through the harsh winter. Perhaps relieved when snow and ice transform our everyday into something magical. And grateful for the sun that eventually melts and softens us, one small drop at a time.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 17 January 2018
Photo taken by DAFraser, December 2013 

10 Comments
January 8, 2018

silence settles

silence settles
fills cracks in evening darkness
ticking clock whispers

It’s my favorite time of day. Quiet and dark, nothing making a sound except the hum of our refrigerator, water gurgling through the radiator, my heartbeat echoing in my ears, and the calm, super-quiet tick of my now-ancient desktop clock. I bought it in Germany in the 1970s. It sits on our kitchen table, faithful and timely for nearly four decades.

Last night I was bemoaning (only slightly, mind you) my housebound captivity during our early winter cold spell. I’ve always enjoyed this time of day. I get to read a little, write a little, eat a little snack on behalf of my blood sugar, and often listen to evening hymns—singing along if I’m so inclined.

So last night I decided to write a haiku about my evening surroundings. Writing it was more than enough to calm and lift my spirits. If I can’t walk in the woods, I can wander through my house of memories. Surrounded by reminders of where I’ve been, how many amazing people and places I’ve known along the way, and the beauty of late evening silence.

Happy Monday!
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 8 January 2018
Photo found at pixabay.com

3 Comments