Life and Death | Telling the Truth

Rita

My unquiet mind
Twisting and turning nonstop
Ponders a mystery

Without a trace
Or signal from anywhere
A friend vanishes

Bare windows stare
Unable to voice answers
To unasked questions

So much of life today is about what I don’t know. Social distancing has broken casual and formal ties to friends and even strangers whose lives intersected mine daily.

A great emptiness has descended, daring me to fill in the blanks. Where did it all go? Why isn’t my beautiful friend Rita out walking her dog every morning and evening? Why doesn’t she answer my email? And why is her phone out of service? I don’t have an answer.

Rita was in her late 80s. She walked her lively little dog Charlie in the park every morning and evening. Then came Covid and social distancing. Before that, besides seeing her in the park, I sometimes went to her place. Never a dull moment! It was all about tea, health, politics, religion, food, and whatever Rita wanted to tell me about her life.

Now my life feels smaller. I’m tormented by memories that are themselves becoming strangers. I want to be born once again. I want a starting point, a middle, and an end. Something that will hang together into a believable story of who we are, who I am, and why all these silences refuse to answer our questions.

The rhododendron at the top is for Rita, wherever she is.

Thanks for stopping by today,
Elouise♥

4 Comments

May 26, 2021

On the verge of Summer

Dying more or less
mimics water draining
from the sink–
Sometimes fast
sometimes slow
sometimes with a
fury known only
to the drowning

Looking around I try
to remember what
I just left behind
But cannot

Sooner or later
all will lie silent
waiting for Spring or not,
While here on the verge
of Summer the sun
already boils over
with heat I know
nothing about, having
never visited the furnace
of this new day

Praying this day brings us joy, peace and opportunities to know and appreciate ourselves and others more than we did yesterday.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 26 May 2020
Painting found at landscapepainter.co.nz

1 Comment

May 22, 2021

How would you live then? | Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver puts us on the spot with whimsical questions we’ve likely never asked ourselves. My comments follow.

What if a hundred rose-breasted grosbeaks
flew in circles around your head? What if
the mockingbird came into the house with you and
became your advisor? What if
the bees filled your walls with honey and all
you needed to do was ask them and they would fill
the bowl? What if the brook slid downhill just
past your bedroom window so you could listen
to its slow prayers as you fell asleep? What if
the stars began to shout their names, or to run
this way and that way above the clouds? What if
you painted a picture of a tree, and the leaves
began to rustle, and a bird cheerfully sang
from its painted branches? What if you suddenly saw
that the silver of water was brighter than the silver
of money? What if you finally saw
that the sunflowers, turning toward the sun all day
and every day—who knows how, but they do it—were
more precious, more meaningful than gold?

Poem written by Mary Oliver, first published in Blue Iris (2004)
© 2017 by NW Orchard LLC
Published in 2020 by Penguin Books in Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver, p. 167

Prisoners sometimes say what keeps them going is having a room with a view. A room with even a tiny window on a tiny plant or part of a tree branch. Like clock-work, these bits of nature became companions. They signal changing seasons, measure the speed of the wind, announce the time of day, or signal the coming darkness of night. All without a paycheck or a bonus for going the extra mile.

We humans seem glued to electronic devices, out of touch with the Garden our Creator handed over to us. Perhaps even out of touch with each other as precious women, children and men. “More precious, more meaningful than gold.”

I laugh when I read this poem. It’s full of whimsy. The kind that comes from close observation of nature and human nature, which Mary then turns into gold. Who wouldn’t like to see and experience Mary’s unexpected everyday wonders? Perhaps she’s inviting us to slow down and redirect our attention. Life is short.

Elouise♥

7 Comments

May 18, 2021

a one-year old nest

basking in sunshine
beneath snow-white blossoms
a one-year old nest

That’s right, folks. Last autumn’s empty paper wasp nest survived last winter’s harsh reality weather! You can’t see them in this amateur shot through the window, but small wasps are buzzing all around the basket-like nest. Probably checking it out like a relic in a museum!

Will there be another queen and her subjects? I doubt it, even though the nest hasn’t lost any chunks to the ground below. Still, the story isn’t over, and I’m staying tuned.

Yesterday afternoon I finished my part of our 2-week attic books marathon (at least 30 boxes almost ready to go to The Theological Book Network). Then I started on my office.

This time it isn’t about giving things away. It’s about seeing what’s there in the first place. Most of it would count as personal memorabilia. Some needs trashing, and some will go to people who need more stationary or greeting cards (for example).

The best gift of all has been seeing bits of my life in personal notes, cards, photos and letters. Some precious, some OK to let go of, and some I don’t remember keeping at all.

At any rate, yesterday afternoon I had a wonderful teary session with these bits and pieces. Especially pieces I’d forgotten about. Which led me to wonder whether I know myself anymore.

Thanks for stopping by!
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 18 May 2021
Photo taken by erf, 18 May 2021

16 Comments

May 17, 2021

A personal letter

~~Mom Elouise and Daughter, 1974, Altadena, California on a Sunday morning

Death and dying are on my mind these days. Not just because of Covid-19, but because of how I’m feeling about my own death, plus regular reports of friends dying or facing end of life decisions. I’ve lightly edited this post from February 2017.

Today was our adult daughter’s last full day visiting us. Tomorrow she flies back to the West Coast. I’m teary, lethargic, achy, sad, and already lonely.

I’m also feeling the certainty of death these days. Nothing in particular. Just the awareness that every time I see our daughter it might be for the last time. So what do I want to say to her before she leaves?

I lay awake a bit last night thinking about this. Whatever I say, I don’t want to pretend I’m taking life for granted, as though neither of us is going to die just yet. I also don’t want to say simply, “I love you.” Even though I will and I do!

Here’s what I want her to know.

I want you to know how honored I am to be your mother, and how much I admire you as a woman. You’re a fighter. A brook-no-nonsense human being. An artist in every way, especially as a musician.
You’re an intelligent, gifted woman who knows how to engage others, and when to disengage. An astute political observer. A woman who knows how and when to get help. A survivor of trials and tribulations. A wise observer of human nature and of yourself. A faithful ally and friend.
I’m grateful you’re in my life. You’re a touchstone. Sensible and funny. Kind and clear. And you’re my daughter! I still don’t understand how you became the woman you are today. I do know it was “through many dangers, toils and snares….”
I gave you to God decades ago, knowing I would never have the answers to all the challenges you would meet. Instead, I pray for you regularly, that God’s grace that has kept you so far will lead you home. No matter whether you go first or I do.

One more thing. I feel old age coming on. Not like a flood, but with slow certainty, accompanied by a number of health issues that challenge me. I don’t want to give up. I want to be fully alive, and alert enough to enjoy my family and friends as long as I can.

Not so many years ago I was afraid to let my heart show to my family members. I was afraid to let them know how much I’ll miss them if they die before I die. Better to stay cool and calm than show my feelings. That way maybe the pain of loss won’t be so great. But that’s another topic.

Thanks for reading and listening with your hearts.
Elouise ♥

13 Comments

May 14, 2021

The life of birds

Rose-breasted Grosbeak, adult male

Mouthing birdseed
and surveying what lies
around and behind him,
a young male grosbeak
shows off his brand new
white back feathers and
blossoming rose-breasted chest

Nowhere to go
in particular and
not much to say,
he munches birdseed
and enjoys an early
morning breakfast
before moving on

Reminder of a new day; reminder of Spring’s heartbreaking beauty; reminder of how vast this world is and how small and earthbound we humans are.

For the last few weeks D and I have been (yet again) sorting through our many books that sometimes weigh us down. We’ve been through this drill more than once, thanks to our academic lives and limited shelf space. I’ve often said our main decorative scheme is Books and More Books, closely followed by Shelves and More Shelves.

Some books and manuscripts are sacrosanct. This includes my collection of hymnbooks and piano scores going back to my childhood piano lessons. Plus those favorite recipe books (now antiques) that I rarely use anymore. Plus our bird and plant identification books, old college and graduate school yearbooks, and would you believe multiple translations of the Bible?

Sometimes I wish I had the life of a bird. Especially on a sunny Spring day with plenty of food and water available and not a hawk in sight.

However, on the whole, I’m grateful for the life I’ve had. Not because it was easy, but because it was and still is difficult, breathtaking, exciting, nerve-wracking, crazy-making, beautiful and precious.

On that note, I’m back to the attic to work through another bookcase.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 14 May 2021
Photo found at pinterest.com

2 Comments

May 12, 2021

There’s a chill in the air

There’s a chill in the air
Along the road that leads me
home to the river

Raucous jays and crows
Scream at each other
Without a message that matters

Noisy cars take the quickest
Route to the freeway
Fuming their way through lazy detours

Happiness isn’t on the rise
Neither is patience or understanding
Or ears willing to stop and listen

Still, my heart is at peace
Knowing my end is sooner
Rather than later

Body and heart melt with relief
Releasing things I no longer need
To prove that I was here

I’m not there yet. I am, however, shifting gears yet again. Letting go of things that weigh me down. Things like more books, more unused kitchen utensils, more old clothes, and (especially) the amount I can do in any one day.

My health is (so I’m told) excellent “for my age.” A loaded message, indeed. My feet would not agree with this cheery news. Still, I don’t have any reason to complain—except when I’ve done myself in or feel particularly lonely. A strange experience for an introvert.

The photo at the top, taken this morning, has nothing to do with this post. Except for this.

Every day of his relatively short cat-life, Smudge just keeps going. Purring. Practicing his ‘race up the stairs and tear around the corner in hunt mode’ moves. Playing in a favorite cardboard box. Sitting on my lap asleep, or stretching out on our bed for a midday snooze.

I want to be so carefree and generally kindhearted, no matter how much I get done. How about you?

Thanks for stopping by!
Elouise♥

6 Comments

April 28, 2021

Farewell, Savannah

secrets of the Deep South
are etched in and on my body

scars and memories fester
even as they grow faint with age

what I love about Savannah
no longer makes up for what I loathe

steaming fear and flashbacks
to my growing up years sometimes boil

transporting me back to childhood trials
and the belief that I’m a misfit

not entitled to happiness or joy
or feelings of deep satisfaction

hence the necessity of these two words
I don’t want to say–

Farewell, Savannah

I’ve been pondering these two words for the past week. My youngest sister (#4) is selling the last house she and her deceased husband, and our deceased parents lived in. It’s a small, cozy, beautiful little house. Full of memories and full of heartache.

I didn’t grow up in this house. I grew up in a large house that looked out on the Vernon River (above). I only know the house that’s now up for sale because I visited as often as possible after my parents moved in. It’s a lovely house in a small semi-rural community. A great place to visit. Neighborhood houses are built along and near marshy muddy banks and creeks near the end of the Vernon River.

It isn’t that the house holds memories (it does). It’s the reality of the Deep South and the way it both encouraged and covered up abusive behavior in families like ours, in churches, in schools, and in work places.

Sometimes, when I’m discouraged or frightened, my mind, body and emotions revert to childhood fears and realities of my growing up years in the Deep South. Especially, but not only, my father’s treatment of me. I’m tempted to believe The Big Lie that says I’m Nobody. Or the other Big Lie that says Things Will Never Change.

It’s time to move on. Which is exactly what my youngest sister is doing. I celebrate her bravery and her sense of adventure as she moves from Savannah to be with her granddaughter and family far from the shores of the Vernon River.

Thanks for stopping by.
Elouise♥

7 Comments

April 21, 2021

The Gift | Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver’s poem is for anyone who is, as she was then, aware of the clock ticking down. My comments follow.

The Gift

Be still, my soul, and steadfast.
Earth and heaven both are still watching
though time is draining from the clock
and your walk, that was confident and quick,
has become slow.

So, be slow if you must, but let
the heart still play its true part.
Love still as once you loved, deeply
and without patience. Let God and the world
know you are grateful.
That the gift has been given.

Poem written by Mary Oliver, first published in Felicity (2015)
© 2017 by NW Orchard LLC
Published in 2020 by Penguin Books in Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver, p. 14

When I read this poem, I tear up. Of all the things on my daily to-do lists, not once have I included “Love…as once you loved, deeply and without patience.”

From my perspective, slowing down means giving up some of my most loved habits and wants. It makes sense, doesn’t it? The puzzle of my life shrinks with each passing day. If I can’t do this, can I do that? If not, what other options do I have?

Mary’s poem jolts me out of resignation mode. Yes, my walk, “that was confident and quick, has become slow.” Just ask D when we go out for a walk in the neighborhood. Or observe me agonizing between doing this or that. It isn’t because I don’t want to do this or that. It’s because I still want it all (or most of it!), yet don’t have the energy I had just yesterday.

I imagine Mary looking at me and saying,

So what?! Even if you slow down, that doesn’t mean your heart’s ability to love “deeply and without patience” has slowed down. If anything, it’s stronger now than ever!

And yes, time is running out. Today, in my imagination, I’m a tiny wren. The kind that can’t stop letting everyone know what a beautiful life this is, and how grateful I am for our Creator, and for you. Especially in the midst of pandemic tragedy, uncertainty, and diminishing energy.

Elouise♥

14 Comments

April 18, 2021

Just as I am

My unquiet mind
Spins out of control
Restless and uneasy

Unvoiced conversations
Saturate space yearning
For calm silence

When did it begin?
When will it end?

An old habit from childhood,
I explain myself to myself
As though minus these many words
I would not exist or be believed
Or convince myself or others
Of my worthiness

Like comfortable old clothes
I pull them close
Trying to assure myself
That I am worthy
Just as I am

The older I get, the more likely it is that ‘just as I am’ can’t possibly be good enough. Too much water down the river and over the dam. Too many roads not taken. Too many opportunities turned down because I was too busy, or afraid. And too many mistakes and unhappy chapters already written into my life.

I want to believe that the older I become, the less I need to prove my worth as a human being. I want to say without hesitation, “It doesn’t matter what you (or I) think about my life.”

I also want to accept the daily invitation to be who I am today in the eyes of my Creator. Not who I wish I were. And not who I might have been in the eyes of my father, my worst boss, or any other human being who has tried to make me into their image of me.

Surely the Judge of all the earth will do right. Not just by me, but by each of us.

Elouise♥

13 Comments

Tag: Life and Death

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!