Marsha's Birthday Open House 12/13/14 from 1 to 5 pm

'Did you know that a heart can get stronger in all the broken places?'

Since starting my advocacy work for Hospice last June, people have told me the most amazing, personal, goosebump-inducing stories about loved ones in their last days. They've also thrust books into my hands containing many more such accounts of the shimmering veil between this life and the next. I recently devoured one of these treasures, Midwife for Souls, written by a devout Catholic who is also a hospice nurse. Here's how the book ends...and I can't stop thinking about how beautiful and true these words are--not just in hospice, but in all of life:

At the beginning of my work in hospice I always held back, reserving a part of myself, for fear that my heart would break. For years I refused to care for dying children because I believed that my heart just wasn’t strong enough. By the time I met Brice [a pediatric patient], I’d had my heart broken before. Years have passed, and I’ve had my heart broken many times since, doing this work. It’s the most amazing thing. Did you know that a heart can get stronger in all the broken places? I used to think it took a strong heart to do difficult things. Now I know that doing difficult things is how you get one.

Kalina, Kathy (2011-06-24). Midwife for Souls (Kindle Locations 1785-1789). Pauline Books and Media. Kindle Edition.

"Go placidly amid the noise and the haste..." (My mother always said silence is golden.)

I happened upon this poem while visiting a doctor's office for Hospice a few weeks ago, and it keeps coming back to me. How had I not heard of this before?



"Desiderata" by Max Ehrmann, 1927

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly, and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious
to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter, for always
there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the  changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment;
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore, be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.

And whatever your labors and aspirations
in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

The Magic of an Ordinary Birthday

Today is my 39th birthday. Even though it was an ordinary weekday of juggling responsibilities, I spent it doing things I enjoy: Wrapping gifts, taking and posting pictures, writing captions, receiving mail (wonderful early response to the annual appeal... insert shameless plug here: http://www.hospiceoforleans.org/index.php/how-you-can-help/), signing thank-you letters, drinking coffee, eating... and eating ...and eating: Italian cookies, General Tso's chicken and Clark bars, listening to classical music (insert shameless plug #2 here: http://interactive.wxxi.org/listen#fmstream), being sung to (including by three lovely ladies in their 90s... a trio of nonagenarians!), getting text messages (including one from a favorite septuagenarian -- my Dad), chatting with my bestie in Britain and my big sis in Brockport, hugging and kissing my kids, picking up after them (ok, not a favorite activity, but sweeping beats stepping on Cheerio crumbs... or light bulb shards, as was the case this evening), checking Facebook (thanks for the love), and all the while, praying fervently for friends traversing a treacherous valley. I regret that I did not get out for a run today, but tomorrow is Saturday, and I shall stride my way into my 40th year!

Ready, Set, Say: "Clark Bar Improv Cake"! In the above series, left to right, 1) We prepare for our official birthday photo (no, Cordelia, you can't have a Clark bar yet), 2) Lucy checks Mommy's teeth for residual broccoli bits from the General Tso's chicken, and 3) The rest of us finally realize we're being photographed, while Delia still gazes longingly at the deliciousness in front of her.

  

“Here ends another day, during which I have had eyes, ears, hands and the great world around me. Tomorrow begins another day. Why am I allowed two?” ― G.K. Chesterton

Throwback Thursday: The time we met Capt. von Trapp

My sister Brenda has been archiving old photos and came across these doozies the other day:

First, Christopher Plummer (so dashing, as ever) with classical music radio host Mordecai Lipshutz at WXXI public broadcasting station (where Brenda works), circa 1993 (?), when Plummer came to narrate William Walton’s Henry V with the RPO. 

The station staff had strict instructions NOT to bother the Plummer, but Bren and I were undeterred, armed with a postcard we were determined to get him to sign.

 

Captain von Trapp was gracious to us when we produced this postcard of him as the evil General Cheng. 

As you can see, we were pretty excited. (Believe it or not, these dorky dresses were very much in style at the time.)

Still wearing my cousin's clothes, with gratitude and pride

Today would have been my cousin Karin's 40th birthday. She died almost 5 years ago from a rare, aggressive form of kidney cancer. In this picture, she is celebrating the wedding of her brother Greg to her new sister Cathi. I inherited many of Karin's clothes, including this dress, and I still wear them with gratitude for the privilege of knowing Karin.

Here is an excerpt from "My Cousin's Clothes," a reflection I wrote Dec. 31, 2008, 16 days after her death:

Karin’s funeral was on a Friday. On Saturday, my mother and I planned to fly back to Buffalo. However, the weather postponed us – as it turned out, by three whole days. We returned to the Faulkner homestead and were greeted, well, like family. That evening, standing in the kitchen, Karin’s mother Nina looked up at me and inquired, “How tall are you?” She wanted me to go through Karin’s clothes – “She won’t be needing them anymore,” she said.

The next day, I found myself standing in the closet of a cousin a barely knew in person, but knew intimately through the written word, her blogs. Even though Karin’s accounts were remarkably detailed, I don’t recall her ever mentioning her favorite brands and clothing styles. I found them uncannily similar to mine (the main difference that many of mine are thrift-store finds): Lands’ End, Coldwater Creek, Talbots, Jones New York, Christopher Bank – solid colors, mostly; a tad more pink than in my closet, and a few more florals; V-necks, like mine; mostly separates (finding a good fit is hard for us tall girls). I took a deep breath and began assessing the shirts, one at a time, looking, considering, sliding each hanger to the left. How on earth would I decide what to take and what to leave? I couldn’t possibly take them all. I didn’t feel I should. But Nina seemed determined that I should take some. The prospect seemed to comfort her. And I certainly wanted to comfort her, if I could, even in this seemingly small way.

Going through Karin’s clothes, I identified with her in a way that I believe – and I hope – will render me forever grateful for each day that enjoy the privilege of living. At 35, Karin was just one year older than I. (Will I have only one more year to live?) She was two inches taller than I. (So why do her gowns fit me to a T? Strange – “like the cousinhood of the traveling dress,” I mused.) “Why am I still here, and not she?” I fairly shouted inside myself. Then the tender line of the French musical Les Miserables came to mind: “Oh my friends, my friends forgive me, That I live and you are gone. There’s a grief that can’t be spoken. There’s a pain goes on and on.”

I proceeded through the shirts, the skirts (I left the trousers – she was two sizes slimmer); the gowns, inexplicably, fit perfectly; and I took just one pair of pajamas, soft ivory cotton with a pastel harp print. Then I looked down and realized: her shoes might fit me (we tall girls have big feet). I slipped on a pair of pink ballet-style Crocs – princess shoes, I thought – and they fit. I nearly gasped. Wearing the garments of a deceased person bore one kind of weightiness. To literally walk in her shoes … it felt like too much! As if, somehow, it would be up to me to carry on with her living. Not her life, of course, but my own, in memory of her … in honor of her life and death … in honor of the fact that I can live and breathe and love and, if I choose, blog! So why wouldn’t I?

Karin’s husband Steve heard my gasp and my declaration: “Oh! Even her shoes fit me!” He stepped into the room, I think to reassure me that he didn’t mind my going through her things. “You sound awfully sentimental about shoes,” he teased, and he added: “Karin was sentimental about everything. I’m not.”

Nor am I, normally. But, stepping into my cousin Karin’s shoes, trying on her clothes, taking them home with me, and embracing my children at the door, I have carried another song in my heart: “I will never be the same again, I can never return, I’ve closed the door, I will walk the path, I will run the race and I will never be the same again … the Glory of God fills my life, and I will never be the same again.”

Here is Karin playing "Silent Night" on the harp: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1naZ-16tBXw.

'Words can't bring me down'...but Birthday Bash sure can!

OK, so here's the sitch: Two weeks of bona fide running workouts and the scale hasn't budged. It's as if my body is saying: "New job, big change, no way am I gonna let this go!" (Or maybe she's saying: "You can run all you like. As long as you keep eating cookies, ice cream and pizza to your heart's content, I'll be content hanging onto this comfy poundage, thankyouverymuch!")

I'm really fine with how I look. I mean, sure, I'm 20 pounds up from my vegetarian apex last fall. But even so, I'm still 20 lbs ahead of where I was a year ago. And my height works to my advantage -- 20 pounds on me "blends in" better than on a shorter person.

The problem is that the pounds are literally weighing me down when I run. And want to run. I love to run. Would I choose to carry two 10-lb weights with me on a 5-mile jaunt? Of course not! But I am, essentially. I just need to remember this next time I'm tempted by one of the weird ice cream flavors Tom brings home from the grocery store. (Curse you, BOGO!)