The Reunion of Shirley and Jennie

Whenever I see videos like this one I am so moved by the idea that all creatures are capable of love. How could any scientist or animal behaviorist prove else wise? I’ve seen it in dogs staying with owners who are injured or other dogs, ducks who  remain with mates, cats who adopt baby bunnies…You Tube is filled with such videos. How can we be so blind as human beings not to notice relationships around us because “only humans have spirits”?

Shirley and Jennie were truly fortunate to find each other. It is the story of a friendship that never died. Their undying love for one another is obvious. It is a very moving story.

Shirley’s handler must have had a feeling of pride beyond anything I will probably ever feel when he said, “I don’t know who the first one was to put chains on Shirley but I am the last one to take them off.” What a blessing to know you helped free another sentient  being.

I am jealous that I feel that I have never had a friendship as close as this one. Such friendships are truly rare and a blessing. Perhaps there is still time to be able to feel such joy. I can only hope. Namaste Attic Annie

The Actual Wedding

Everything for the past three days had led up to this moment. I was so happy for my son. Yes, he was already married having received his marriage certificate on July 8, but this was his wedding! My chadult (as a friend of mine calls her adult children) had finally found someone to share his life.

The HoJo was only a block from the wedding site so we walked. It was faster than calling a cab. The wind was a breeze and the temperature had cooled down to make it a beautiful evening. As we approached the hotel, I looked up and saw the marquee. In the middle of this Chinese message I saw the word Nathan. I was so pleased.

We entered and Barb and I were escorted to a table where the bride’s family was seated. I greeted them as best as I could. Her mother left the table and returned with a rose for my corsage. I had left the one I had received that morning in our hotel room. I thanked her as she pinned the new one on me.

I looked at the table which was already being set with food. There were many dishes that were not recognizable, but I thought I might be bold and I would sample some of them any way. There was a significant wait for the proceedings to start. Also on the table, ala 1950s USA style, were cigarettes right there on the Lazy Susan, taken from their packs. I was wondering why I thought the air was getting hazier. That was the answer. There was also a pack in the “favor” sitting on the table by each plate.

Things were still being set up and guests were arriving. I watched with interest as the staff set up tiers of wine glasses to form a fountain with a single glass on top. I had no ideas for what reason.

The bride was to enter by walking down a spiral staircase while the spotlight shown on her. The time was set for 1818 since 8 to many Chinese is a very auspicious number relating to good fortune, wealth, prosper, etc.

All was proceeding on schedule until “CRASH!” A couple of minutes before 1818 the “host”, or emcee hired for the occasion, backed into the table with the wine glasses and they all came tumbling down. Of course the glass flew everywhere including onto the several tiered wedding cake! The staff had to take the time to clean up the glass as much as possible and rebuild the tower. I didn’t know why Julie has chosen 1818 so I didn’t check my watch to see what time she actually entered. I’m hoping maybe this all was cleaned up by 1828 but I have no clue. She was left at the top of the stairs to wait.

The Chinese consider a wedding as a time to entertain friends. There is nothing really emotion producing, or solemn, or spiritual about any of the proceedings. The “host” who, by the way, was dressed as if to maybe go to a family picnic, or run to the local grocery, was in control. One of the things he was in control of was the music, and he played it as high-volumed as he could. Granted there was not much I would understand being said. The bride was gracious enough to provide someone to translate what was going on and neither Barb or I could even hear her and she was sitting as close in between us as she could. It was really disappointing. I ended up just pretending I was deaf and I used my eyes to interpret what was happening.

There was my son in his formal tux and Julie in an exquisite gown. When Julie entered, I couldn’t see my son’s face because his back was to me. I was hoping to watch the expression in his eyes. I could still tell he was extremely happy. Because nothing was solemn, there was never a place I wanted to cry. My friend Maxine had provided me with an antique handkerchief just in case, but it remained in my purse.

There were words spoken and an “important official” examined the wedding certificates. He avowed that they were legitimate and they were legally married. Nathan had insisted that Julie wore a veil. He lifted the veil and gave her a very sweet, sincere kiss. I could not always see what was going on so I don’t remember if they exchanged rings again or not. I’ll have to wait for the wedding pictures of the actual event.

Julie’s father was asked to come front and speak about the wedding. Then I was called up. Nathan had warned me only a couple of hours beforehand. I had everything written down but I did not have time to learn it so I read what I had written. I called her my daughter-in-heart and told her of Nathan’s love of adventure. I told him that he was not as wise as he may think if he ever let her go.

They lit the Unity candle, cut the top layer (without glass) of the cake and fed one another. They both picked up a large bottle of red wine and poured the wine into the top glass which then flowed until it reached the bottom layer. Fortunately this had happened often enough that the last of the wine left enough room so the bottom row didn’t overflow, I really didn’t understand the meaning of this event and I was told that there really wasn’t any. It was just part of the package the hotel provided whether they wanted to do it or not.

While the emcee was talking with Julie and Nathan, I heard her say, “I thought he was cute.” Evidently it is very popular to play a version of “The Newlyweds” as part of the program. Since I couldn’t hear, I don’t know if Nathan was asked a question or not. The whole thing did not go over well and the emcee stopped questioning almost as soon as he began. I realized why one of the family friends had asked me a question earlier. He asked, “The host knows you are religious. (I’m not, I’m spiritual) Is there any topic that would offend you if asked?” It finally dawned on me what he was talking about.

The official part of the program was ended. The bride and groom disappeared while the guests continued to eat. I honestly cannot tell you a thing that was on the menu. I was hungry by this time and I tasted a few of the offerings. Much of it was cool by now.

Nathan and Julie reappeared. This time she had on the traditional red dress. There was no time to talk. Group pictures were taken although there was not one of me alone with the couple. I didn’t even realize that until later. They then circled the entire room and toasted with very small glasses with small groups around the entire room. Fortunately, they were drinking water. I can’t imagine being able to consume that much wine.

The members of last year’s original faculty had taken a bus from Shenyang. They took off and Nathan and Julie followed shortly to continue the celebration. I was touched that nineteen of them had come so far to support Nathan.

Barb, Becky, Robert and I went back to the hotel and had one complementary drink. Afterwards we went to bed. About twenty minutes later I have no idea why, I started sobbing. I tried to be silent but emotions were just flooding over me. I had suddenly seen my son who had, I felt, been trying to steer his boat with only one oar since he was six when his father left. I saw Julie and a new sail added. They were floating without effort down life’s stream. I was so happy. I was crying with joy.  I could give up trying to help steer Nathan’s life. I was relieved. I fell into a very blissful sleep.

Namaste. Attic Annie

An Anglo-Chinese Wedding Part 2

When we arrived at the Beijing Airport, we had to transfer to another terminal to pick up our luggage. Things went smoothly since we followed the other people from our plane and the few signs that were in English. We were only on the train a few minutes. By the time we figured out where to pick up our luggage and went to the bathroom, we were among the last to go through the check in to get to the gate.

I was still carrying the $4.00 bottle of water I had bought in Chicago. Because the flight attendants were so good at offering drinks, I had only sipped about 1/4 of it. It was taken away from me and tossed. That’s the last time I buy big bottles that I won’t have time to drink.

The plane to Dalian was already boarding. We were supposed to meet friends of my son at the gate. They were coming from South China for the wedding. I spied someone looking around and smiling just as she got to the front of the line. She looked like her facebook picture so I waved. It was really strange when I got on board and realized my assigned seat was right next to hers and her husband’s. We had about an hour to get acquainted. I could understand why they and my son had become friends. I liked both of them immediately.

Julie’s family all turned out for the reception at the airport. There were probably ten people there. Aunts, uncles, cousins, parents…all had come to greet us. Nathan was there to greet us with bouquets of flowers. We hugged each other and I didn’t want to let go. I almost started crying. It’s hard to see your son only every 18 months or so. I had sent a message to Julie that I was looking forward to her calling me Mom. She hugged me and did just that. It sounded wonderful.

It had taken quite a while for our luggage to arrive. Nathan’s friends had gone out first. Becky was standing there holding a bouquet as well. I wondered why but didn’t say anything. Julie’s grandmother grabbed my hand. She is only about eight years older than I am but she is very strong and healthy. When we started walking, I thought she was preparing me for a marathon as we headed to the car.

The trip to downtown Dalian was really a trip! I didn’t see any accidents but I was prepared for one at any moment. Those people cut in front of each other with centimeters to spare. I get nervous when there are only a few feet in between me and someone cutting in. I was astounded at the drivers. Traffic was flowing freely, literally bumper to bumper. It was amazing. I tried to relax but I was glad when we stopped and I could breathe again.

We checked into the hotel. Nathan and Julie went with us up to the room and turned on the air conditioning and checked to see that everything was o.k. The other couple was in the room next to ours. Since it was about 10 at night there, we went to bed. About two in the morning, both of us woke up. It was getting warm. The a/c had been turned off. That even included the fan. We made it through the night and in the morning we opened the window to let in some air.

The breakfast was part of the charge for the room. Nathan and Julie joined the four of us. I had a couple of brown (soaked in tea) hard boiled eggs, some orange liquid that was supposed to be juice, and a variety of non-descript vegetables. After breakfast, a tour around Dalian by van was arranged for us.

Dalian is a lovely city…or at least it would be if there were not so much construction going on. I don’t believe we drove a single mile without seeing at least two projects. They took us along a road that bordered the coast. We could see the East China Sea in the distance.

Nathan and Julie had arranged for everyone to eat at this lovely restaurant. There were eight of us, including the two drivers who were giving us the tour. When we entered I saw tank after tank of fresh live seafood. We were taken to a private room upstairs and waited while Nathan and Julie went downstairs to pick out our food. It was our first exposure to eating Chinese family-style.

There was a large Lazy Susan in the center of the table. As the dishes began to arrive, they were placed there. The others picked up their chopsticks and began eating right from the dishes, one bit at a time. The last dish to arrive was a fresh fish (I don’t know what kind) who I called “George”…as in, “George, I knew him well….”. He was the first George. Before our trip was over, we had been served at least four more. I told the story about George Foreman and his sons to Julie. Each new fish now became another George. They were by far, in my opinion, the best part of the meal. I’m in love with Chinese steamed fish…heads and all.

After a rest back at the hotel, we met one more time for supper. This was kind of the “rehearsal dinner”. There is a popular restaurant chain called “The Hot Pot” where Becky, Bob, Barb, Julie, her parents, Nathan and I went. It was delicious as long as I, like the noon meal, didn’t ask too many questions as to what we were eating.

Unfortunately, when we got back to the hotel, we realized the a/c was still not working. Barb and Betsy went down to the desk. They thought that translators were being called. Instead, Nathan and Julie arrived. At that time of night, nothing was done. We had to sleep with the window open which meant the traffic noise was unceasing. We got little sleep. I was so proud of Nathan. He kept his cool the entire time he was trying to handle this. Here it was the night before his wedding and there were still things which needed attention. I smiled as I realized the calming effect Julie had on him. I could see the tension, but he didn’t explode. I fell in love with her even more so.

An Anglo-Chinese Wedding…I was there!

In July I posted that my son had gotten married in Dalian, China. He did. But the wedding was scheduled for September 10, 2011. My childhood friend, who is my son’s godmother, and I were able to fly there for the wedding. She had enough frequent flyer miles to fly for free. My son loaned me the money for my ticket. It seems he chose the same summer that my air conditioner broke down and had to be replaced and hail damaged my roof to the point it needed to be replaced as well. The wedding fell in the middle of those two events and part of the foundation needing repairs due to the drought, a new crown needed for my tooth due to a cavity underneath it, and a dented car door. Life goes on!

I didn’t sleep much the night before I left. I never do. I was all packed and ready to go. I left my home at 6:00 a.m. to get to the Park and Ride. I can park my car for free and enjoy a relaxing back seat ride to and from the airport in comfort. I followed the mapquest directions until I came to the Belknap ramp split. I forgot to stay to the left until it was too late. I took the road to the right.

Instead of entering Belknap Street, I found myself wandering around an industrial area of Fort Worth in the predawn dark in an area I had never had any reason to visit. The streets were narrow and semi cabs were strewn along them. I presumed they were filled with truckers waiting for their loads. I came upon a freight train parked across the road. I had to maneuver my car around in a U turn. Next I came to a dead end road and again had to turn around.

I’m not certain how I did it, but I finally managed to follow my Garmin directions and pulled into the Park and Ride at 6:40 a.m. I thought I had been told to be there by 6:30 and was worried I’d be late. I was told the driver would be there to pick me up by 6:55. I sat down in the waiting room to let the morning’s adrenalin work its way out of my system. By 7:05 the driver appeared.

We said our good mornings and he took my bag to load into the van while I entered and buckled myself in. He sat in his seat and was just about to pull out when I realized I didn’t have my carry-on bag. Just in time I told him to “STOP!” and explained. He turned off the motor. I reentered the waiting room and found my bag right where I had left it. Thank goodness. Of course, except for the attendant I was the only person there so the bag was perfectly safe.

One must not be prone to anxiety attacks when driving from Fort Worth to the airport. One must leave at least two hours ahead of time to allow for traffic. I knew that. I knew my flight did not start boarding until 8:30 a.m. Yet it was difficult to keep that in mind as we inched ourselves the twenty five miles in bumper to bumper traffic along TX 121. Actually, the wait in the van equalled the wait I would have had at the gate. Check in and security were relatively fast and I was cleared to board. I had no more than fifteen minutes at the gate before I embarked on my newest adventure.

My friend and I met up with each other in Chicago. She had to start out even earlier than I. She flew from Florida to Houston and then to Chicago. Fortunately, she flew into Terminal B on Continental and had to find me in Terminal C. We originally thought we’d have to find our way to the International Terminal M, traveling by train, but luckily United had all its flights in the same terminal.

By the time we found each other, (thanks to cell phones) we had fifteen minutes to spare after having our visas checked (along with 500 other passengers). We once again boarded for our thirteen hour flight to Beijing.

I did not include my diary on this trip so I can’t report day to day but I’ll continue with the highlights of the rest of the trip tomorrow. Namaste. Attic Annie

Mizpah

A friend of mine posted the following item on his FB page this morning.

“Thank you God for the opportunity to spend time with family. As always, it is tough to leave but keep them in our hearts while we are away and be with us as we continue our journey through life. I love all of you and am eternally grateful to have the honor to be poppapete in your lives. AMEN”

I replied “Mizpah Genesis 31:49”.

It seemed an appropriate reminder to him of the prayer asking God to watch over us while we are absent from one another.

It originally referred to the story of Laban and Jacob. They made a covenant with each other that neither of them would cross the place where they had set up  a heap of stones and a pillar.

“This heap is a witness, and this pillar is a witness, that I will not go past this heap to your side to harm you and that you will not go past this heap and pillar to my side to harm me.”

Over the years it came to symbolize an emotional bond between two people who want God to watch over each other while they have to be apart.

I’ve been thinking about forty-three years ago when I bought a coin and necklace like the picture above to share with my friend who was leaving for Viet Nam. He was no longer my fiance. That engagement was broken before I went out to Washington, D.C. to spend time with him before he shipped out. He had broken the engagement with me saying he didn’t want to leave me a war widow in the event he never came back. He claimed he couldn’t say he didn’t still love me.

Before he left I gave him half the coin to wear with his dog tags. I wanted him to come back to me.

I didn’t see him again until he returned from serving his time in the Marines and finally came home from Nam . He came by himself to the wedding of friends of ours. I set up his best friend with my best friend. I had asked someone else to go to the wedding with me but he backed out at the last minute leaving me to go by myself as well.

After the service I asked him if he would give me a ride to the reception. Before we went inside I gave him some of the things he had given me, including the other half of the coin. It was obvious by that time that we were not going to get together.

I’ll skip the part about the reception and the ice cream social at the church we both were members of. Needless to say there were some very uncomfortable moments since my best friend had fixed him up with one of her bridesmaids who kept him company all the time he was home on leave. He sat at the bride’s table with her. My “friend”, the bride, paid no attention at all to me.

He left again and a month or so later I received a letter from him apologizing for the way he behaved.He asked me to forgive him.  I had been told he was gone or I wouldn’t have gone to the social only to watch him with the other girl. It was not a pretty sight.

I wrote back to him since I was still not ready to give up and told him all was forgiven. Then I talked with him, thinking I would fly to see him, and found out in the meantime he had met someone else. They had a very brief relationship before he married her.

Turns out his wife and I became friends. For one year we lived within easy driving distance from each other. She had a baby and seven months later I had my son. The friendship was not to last long since my ex was transferred again to my current home.

About three years later I was in Chicago with my son. I was still in contact with her. She invited us to visit. We spent the day at the museum and then spent the night at her house with her, her husband, and her two sons. Her husband was supposed to come home to take us all out to dinner. He was late. When he did come home, he was drunk. We both drank while we dated. He seemed to have stepped it up somewhat. He drove but I was very uncomfortable with the situation.

The next morning he went to work. His wife and I were sitting at the table and she suddenly asked me what Mizpah meant. I was taken aback. I asked her why. She said that her husband had the coin in his drawer. He had never gotten rid of it.

They drove me to our home town where my son and I continued our visit with other relatives. I was out at the car while her husband unloaded our suitcases. Before we left, he hugged me good bye.

That was the last time in thirty years that I saw him. His boys grew up and stayed in Illinois. He and his wife moved out to California. Once in a while I make a game out of trying to find old friends through the internet. I finally found him on Linked-In. He has done exceedingly well for himself. He is still listed with his wife. I have no intention of re-establishing any contact. I’d hate to be thought of as a stalker even though his wife and I became very close that year we spent in the same area.

I don’t know how their married life has been. They are still together so I guess things are good enough between the two of them. When I found out about the coin, he had been married for seven years or more. I often wonder if he ever tossed the coin or if it is still in his drawer. I never did toss out the college pin he gave me on Valentine’s Day or the earrings he gave me for my birthday. I just can’t let myself do it. I sometimes wonder if he ever feels the same way. I wonder if God is still watching over us while we are absent one from another. Namaste Attic Annie

“Dear 16 Year Old Me”

A friend of mine posted this message on Facebook. I’m wondering if the message it carries is mentioned yet in health classes. The message should start by the time kids are ten.

I was of the era where I copied my older sister. During the summer before I was even a teen, I would slather my body in baby oil and lay out in the sun hoping for the prized golden tan. I did not make the connection between baking a turkey and baking myself. As a child, I always had several sunburns during that three month respite from school.

The last time I lay out in the sun was in 1970 when I took a spring break road trip to Florida with a couple of friends. That first day there the temperature was so perfect it was unbelievable. We had come from the ice lands of Illinois where Winter refused to relinquish her iron hold of the season to mild, kinder Spring. In Florida I had reached Nirvana.

The breeze was gentle and warm enough to envelop me in a soothing cocoon of exquisite pleasure. The sand on the beach was as soft as a feather bed. The whole explosion of color of water, palm trees, sand, and beach towels tricked my mind into thinking I was in a fantasy world created by Disney. I lay on that beach for what seemed several hours. My two friends were only slightly tan. A couple more hours and I could have been served for Thanksgiving dinner.

That was the first and last time I appeared on the beach for the rest of the vacation. I had met a young man that day who loaned me a shirt. Even with just the covering of that over sized shirt, I was in agony. The cloth which felt so soft in my hands felt like sandpaper on my shoulders. I could not sit, stand, or recline without tremendous discomfort from being touched. Of course, as the days went by, my skin became even stiffer to bend, adding to my misery.

I was destined to spend the rest of the week indoors in absolute pain on every inch of my body not covered by my two piece suit. I was alone while my travel mates enjoyed themselves. I didn’t even ask them what they did during the time I was left alone in the house. Left to my absolute misery.

Something happened that week to change my sun habits the rest of my life. The sun poisoning  I received that day set me up for limited sun exposure the rest of my life. It takes very little time for me being in the sun for me to develop a rash. That had never occurred prior to that trip. Sunscreen helps, but I still must limit my exposure.

There was a period of history where I laughed at the sun. Now I must observe closely for the inevitable red dots and get out of the sun as soon as they begin to appear if not sooner. There was a time when the more pale a woman was, the more beautiful she appeared to be. Now I just look “washed up”. My paleness would give Queen Elizabeth I stiff competition without any white lead and vinegar make up. I have to take large doses of Vit. D because I avoid the sun.

Although the video stresses that melanoma is a cancer of the young, it can affect people of all ages. My father had a cousin who farmed. He was out in the sun every day. He wore a cap but didn’t use any sunscreen. His wife one day noticed a problem behind his ear. It was allowed to grow because it was not noticed. By the time it was discovered, there was very little that could be done.

I love boating, swimming, and yes, even sitting in the waves at the beach. But my time in the sun is so short it usually is not worth the effort. So, dear 16 year old me, will it be worth it to enjoy yourself so long in the sun when you are twenty four? Think about it. And when you are my age, never forget to get your skin checked often.

Namaste Attic Annie

A Little Late…but Happy Father’s Day, Dad

I am in the process of undergoing a lot of what I hope are vital transformations. Whether they last only a moment or the rest of my life, only time will tell.

In an effort to transform, or come alive, I am doing a lot of reading and a lot of soul searching. I’m also trying to forgive. I’m forgiving my “self” as well as those whom I feel I need to forgive for perceived wrongdoings to me in my eyes. That’s a very short list, by the way, but an important one.

In my twenties I was a pretty serious drinker under the guise of being a “party girl”. We would go out on weekends and for some reason I thought five drinks in a couple of hours was enough. Of course after five drinks I was no longer capable of remembering whether I had more or not. Anyway, once I married a drinker, I decided for the safety of the child we had together, that I had better make sure one of us was sober. That was not going to be my husband so that left me. In many ways over the past 35+ years since that decision I have been more of a dry drunk than a sober individual even though at the worst I average one or two drinks a year. In my own way I have more or less tried to stumble through the 12 steps of AA.

Being a dry drunk to me doesn’t mean that I walk around being angry all the time. I don’t really think I do, but when I start to do some serious soul searching I can still feel the anger deep inside. But it does mean that I need to get down to some very basic ideas about my “self” while there is still time. These ideas are ones created because of the relationship with my father. I have decided to make amends with him.

This is one of the steps in the AA program.

8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.

I think perhaps in my older teens I could have become more compassionate towards him. I perceived around third grade that he withheld love from me so I withheld love from him. He did not manage to spend much time with me so, in retaliation, when we did spend time together it was usually with me being completely indifferent to him.

My purpose today is not to explain how in his life he ended up the broken man that he was. My purpose is to let him know that I understand why he had no more love to give me. I regret that situation but I have finally come to accept it.

He had several heart problems and more than one heart attack and was hospitalized. The first time he was hospitalized I was in school my sophomore year and couldn’t come home for a few weeks because of our schedule.  The next time, I came home one weekend from my summer session in college before my junior year to visit him in the hospital. When I walked into the room he was completely astonished that I was there. I don’t remember how long I stayed but I remember the feeling that I wasn’t expected. It kind of hurt. It was an awkward time. We really didn’t have much to say to each other.

Much of his health problems were kept from me because I guess the other members of my family felt I had enough problems of my own…or I wasn’t significant enough to be “in” on such matters.

He lasted another year before he was hospitalized again. By this time I was experiencing my second junior year in college because I had changed majors. It was spring time and I had papers to write and a serious boyfriend. I was now twenty one and probably could be described as taking care of only myself and my needs. By this time I knew little of what was happening in my father’s life. He spent most of his free time with my sister and I never really knew or cared where he was.

I was not even in direct contact with him. We were leading separate lives even though I was still living at home. My aunt reported that the doctor said he was doing well. I remember where I was on campus when the thought crossed my mind that I should go see him. But he was doing OK. I’d go tomorrow. I put off going to the hospital.

There was no tomorrow. He died that night. I called my boyfriend who met me at the hospital. He was the only one whom I could think of who would give me some support. I remember my sister and her husband being there but I honestly don’t know how I got to the hospital or who else was there.

Father’s Day was never anything special in our house. When I was old enough to ride the bus into town for a few years in high school I would buy him some small gift but often the day would come and go with little recognition. I can’t remember how many times I tried to give him gifts that I had personally bought or when I stopped. I really didn’t know what Father’s Day was all about. It was just one of many celebrations we never seemed to have in our household.

He died and went to the grave without me being able to ask him why he couldn’t show me he loved me or if he even did. I try to examine his life through his eyes. He promised my mother that he would not break up the family, even though several couples offered to adopt me. I was only three when she died. He liked a beer once in a while when he and my uncle got together but I don’t ever remember him getting drunk. He never took a vacation after mother died. He went to work every day until he started having health problems. I guess to him that was being a good father and in the 1950s and mid 60s, that was probably right.

He was a good father for those times. But a father I resented because he had nothing emotionally left to give me. So, on this Father’s Day, only forty three years too late, I am sending my father best wishes for a happy day, wherever he may be. I am trying to make amends for my part in our failed relationship. When a tire is flat because it is empty of air, it can’t support the car safely. It causes the whole car to wobble. My father’s emotional tank was flat and it has taken me forever to forgive him for trying to continue to steer the car all those years on four flat tires.

It’s a little late, but I’m sorry, Dad. Maybe if we run across each other again we can have a fresh start. What do you say? Happy Father’s Day. Your loving daughter, Annie.

Namaste. Attic Annie

I am not a Christian

I am going to have my roof replaced starting Wednesday due to hail damage. For whatever reason, I have found talking with the sales rep for the roofing company to be a very enjoyable experience. How I ever thought I could or even should start talking to him about my religious beliefs totally astounds me. He was a complete stranger until last week and I have only seen him a total of three or four times. But I have been close to his last call of the day and he is beginning to unwind so he takes a little more time just to chat.

A couple of days ago he was here to measure my roof line. When he finished that, I just started chatting with him on non-business related topics like we had briefly done a couple of other times. Part of me says he’s just being a good salesman but another part says he just likes to talk. He and his wife parted ways in December and I think he gets a little lonely.

Anyway, how it came about I’ll never know but I started talking with him about my church and my beliefs. I don’t usually even share those topics with life long friends.  It was crazy! I told him about growing up in a very conservative Lutheran church. When I was old enough, I learned I was a LUTHERAN. I referred to myself as a Lutheran and connected all of my religious beliefs with that name. We did not refer to ourselves as Christians. My close friend was CATHOLIC but my father didn’t forbid me totally from associating with her. It just wasn’t encouraged. She wasn’t referred to as a Christian either.

When I began dating my first fiance, I went with him to his church and became a Disciple of Christ. I married in that church. (Not to him) I was a Disciple. We moved to Connecticut for one year and back to Illinois for the next year and we were Congregationalists. After trying to find a fit in Texas, we settled in to attending the Cumberland-Presbyterian church. After the divorce I no longer felt welcome in the couples oriented small CP church so I tried the Methodists. The large church downtown had a huge singles group so I tried that. I immediately sensed I was in a meat market. There were too many women dominating the activities who were prime rib or T bone for me to be comfortable. I have felt my entire life that I’m more the equivalent of hamburger…still hot and juicy but not prime category.

I decided to go to the Methodist church close to my home. I attended church there but was not involved in any activities. After almost two years, I decided to join the Bible study group before church. I was at the same time dating a guy named Jim. The class was made up of people my age and I was welcomed since I brought Jim with me to the activities. It only took a little while for me to realize this was a COUPLES Bible study. When Jim and I broke up, I sensed from the other women that I was no longer as welcomed, especially if I chatted with any of the other men, the HUSBANDS. I was there long enough for my son to be confirmed. Other political things were happening in the church with which I couldn’t agree, and, at the same time, I was getting more and more unwell so I soon stopped going to church altogether. I was no longer a Methodist.

I became unchurched for twenty years. It was during that time that I realized there was a definite change in the climate and many more people were calling themselves Christians as opposed to the names of the founders of the churches they attended.  There were now Christians everywhere. As I said earlier, when I talked about religion with people I would say I believed I was now very spiritual but did not consider myself religious.

Back to the present and my chat. This guy opened up about this theologian who lives not too far away who professes to anyone who will listen that he is a Christian and a SOUTHERN BAPTIST. I happen to know this gentleman although our paths have crossed only a few times. The roofer was sharing that this man USED him to meet with the insurance adjustor and for all the preliminary paper work and then the following day there was the sign of another roofer in his yard. That reminded me of the Christian contractor who did a miserable construction job in two of my rooms. I had hired him at that time because he was a Christian and I trusted him. I paid him before I discovered all the half-a&^ errors he made. He never did come back to correct the work.

It was then that I blurted out that I did not consider myself a Christian. He got a very startled look on his face. “I wouldn’t be able to say THAT,” he said. I explained that the older I got, the more dismayed I was with the people attending the churches I did and the protestors of several different causes who hold rallies in the name of Jesus to spew their hatred and condemnation. All of these people wear Tee shirts and wave banners, and bracelets and crosses and rings professing what good Christians they are.

My faith in the ONE GOD is as strong as it will ever be.That does not mean I do not believe in Christ. My faith in him has matured and gotten stronger in the past six years than at any other time in my life. I totally believe in following his teachings, but I have found myself feeling uncomfortable around the loudly proclaiming Christians whose actions I observe speak to me in volumes much louder than their words. I guess it would be the Christian thing to do to accept them and love them completely anyway. I’m still working on that.

My cousin was a devoted Joyce Meyer fan. I like to listen to Joyce occasionally as well. She really resonated with me when she said the following:

Sitting in church every Sunday does not make you a Christian any more than sitting in a garage makes you a car. 

I really am a Christian. I am just not religious.  I just can’t call myself that if it means being like so many of the others who have come crawling out of the woodwork.  Namaste. Attic Annie

Why so many train whistles?

As a child I would lie in my bed at night during the warm summer nights listening to the whistles of the trains delivering raw materials  to the local steel company or hauling away the finished products. I could clearly hear the cars coupling together, banging in the still of the night. Kind of a climatic haunting resonating sound. I would only hear the sounds a couple of times and then the night would be still.

The company was only about four miles from our house. As the wind blows, it was much closer, nearly straight up. Our house was on the top of a hill and the sound carried clearly on the summer breezes. Even the sound of the whirring fan did not mute the trains’ mournful tones.

I never knew the reason why the sound fascinated me. It  created in me a deep desire to travel, a deep sense of yearning…not so much for adventure but to escape the reality of the loneliness of my childhood. The sound seemed to mimic the desires of my heart to get away. Perhaps if I could ride the train it would take me to warmer places in winter and cooler places in summer where people would be friendlier and would grant to me the present of acknowledging my presence. They would welcome me into a loving family. Alas, that never happened. I grew up and moved on.

I have lived in my present home for almost thirty four years. I grew so accustomed to the whistles blowing that I paid no attention. It was especially easy in those months when the windows were closed against the blasting heat or the frigid cold. It was easier even than that when fifteen years ago I purchased double paned windows. I almost forgot there were trains.

April and sometimes May offer rare opportunities to sleep with the windows open and the fan on low to circulate the air. However, it also enables the sounds of the trains to carry in the stillness.

My home is located between two rail lines to the east and the west about three miles or less apart. During the day I don’t really hear the trains. Perhaps the engineers don’t blow the whistle as much or the TV blocks out the sound. But at night, especially with the windows open, I can not only hear the whistles, I can hear the rhythmic moving wheels of the trains on the tracks. Perhaps that is why I have the TV on so much. The house can really become still in such an almost empty house. It is at those times that even the sound of my dog’s toenails on the tile can seem loud.

I’ve tried several times the past few days to keep the TV turned off. It is then, even with the windows closed, I can hear the trains both east and west. There is a crossing about a mile from the house. I swear the engineer blows the whistle at least five minutes before it crosses the road and a couple of minutes more once it passes. A few minutes later the whistles blow again at a crossing about a mile further down the track. If it were just once a day it would not be noticeable. I seem to notice it four or five times during the night from one side or the other, maybe more. I’m even becoming more aware of the sound several times during the day. It doesn’t seem to matter if the windows are open or closed.

What used to create in me a childhood yearning and a sense of hope is now seeming to create a repulsion. If I sleep with the TV on, I wake up often usually because the commercials blare so loudly. If the room is quiet, I wake up hearing the incessant moaning of the trains. Whereas, as a child, I felt the trains calling to me, as a senior, I feel the sounds taunting me. It creates in me a sense of anxiety, an annoyance, like some day soon I’ll ride that train forever. It will be here to pick me up.  It is going places now that I will never go. All I can do is wait for it to come to me. What was once a comforting sound, symbolizing a way to get away, now mocks me.

Strange how the meaning of sounds can change with age.

Pregnancy and Cancer…Impossible choices my mother made

I can only imagine the thoughts my mother had while she was pregnant with me. My family was very close mouthed about her even with me, and I was only able to glean bits and pieces of history about her or her life. We are talking about the late 40s when, if you talked at all about cancer it was in a whisper “Shhhh don’t tell anyone, she has cancer!”

From the way the story goes, she, for whatever reason after my sister was born, was told she would probably never have any more children. My sister was an only child from 1940 to 1945. At that time my mother realized that once again she was pregnant. I was on the way. She was 39. Two months after my birth, she was 40.

There was a problem. Somewhere along the line, she discovered a lump in her breast. She was pregnant. She had a lump. This was 1946. According to today’s rates, a woman in her 30’s has a 1 in 229 chance of developing breast cancer during the next ten years. Have the rates increased in sixty years? That’s a 0.4% chance if my figures are right. It happened to her.

There was very little she could do.  Maybe she could have a  radical mastectomy using ether as an anesthetic. I have been unable to find information on the effects of ether on a pregnant woman or her baby, but the effects on any patient were sometimes not good either. I don’t know what the medical establishment would have done for her then. Would they have refused until I was delivered? Would they have taken the chance?  Could she have had an abortion to save her own life? I don’t know. Abortion was illegal. I don’t know if there were exceptions to the law in 1946 or not.

I wish there were a way to go back in time to be there when she was going through all this. There isn’t.

She delivered me and had her operation. From what I understand, I was kept by my mother’s sister next door while she recovered. Some time during that first year I returned to my mother’s care. She was well enough to ride in the car with me, my sister, my cousin, two aunts, and my father all the way to California and back when my aunt returned home after nursing her through the operation and recovery.

Some time before I was two,  I have been told that she bent over to pick me up and had a horrific pain in her back. The cancer had spread to her bones. She lived another two years or so, dying in April two months before my fourth birthday. She was forty two.

To discover that one is pregnant is, in general, a very happy experience for many married women or unmarried women who intentionally get pregnant. I like to think that my mother very much wanted me to exist once she found out I was on the way. It is very difficult for me to comprehend her decisions sixty years ago. When she discovered the lump, from what I understand, she put off going to the doctor. When she did finally go, the doctor assured her that there was nothing to worry about. Did she agree with him? I’ll never know. Did she want to know anything different? I’ll never know. I do know that the same aunt came back once again to Illinois and took care of her those last two years.

I only had one opportunity to ask my aunt questions sometime in my early 30s. When she talked about Dr. Malcom, who was my mother’s doctor, she still blamed him for her beloved sister’s death. She said very little, but even after thirty years, I still remember the hate of that man in her voice and the pain she was feeling even talking about my mother. She never realized, and I didn’t say, that I was interpreting her reaction as having preferred my mother to live rather than me.

Being pregnant and having cancer at the same time must be a special kind of hell on earth. The questions that a woman has to face are monumental. Should I continue with the pregnancy? Should I have an abortion? Should I have chemo while I’m pregnant? Should I wait? Is it known yet what future effects the chemo might have on my child or on me? Will I live long enough for this chid to remember me as her mother? Will my husband love this child or will he resent it for all her life for his losing his wife? What effect will losing me have on my baby?

I have a cousin who survived breast cancer about four years ago. I’m not sure exactly what year it was since I deliberately avoid thinking of the year when I hear news like that. I never say anything like, “Oh, it’s 2007. My cousin was diagnosed with cancer this year.” I think when I was in her home last year she said something about having survived three years with no sign of its return. She was looking forward to the fifth year. I think if a woman survives that long, the likelihood of the cancer returning is very small.

Her breast cancer still has not returned. Instead, she now has an aggressive form of leukemia. In some women, the chemo and radiation received to stop the breast cancer are responsible. She had the option of checking herself into the hospital and undergoing very aggressive chemo. It’s spring. She was told she would not be able to eat fresh fruits and vegetables. She would not be able to be around any living plants. She would be in isolation.

She checked herself back out of the hospital the next day. She said no. She wanted to finish the rest of her life surrounded by her family. It’s springtime. She wants to be around the flowers she loves and to watch all the birds in her back yard. She didn’t like the odds of a successful survival being only 40 % or the possibility of the leukemia not returning of only 15%.

It is not for anyone else to question any mother who is pregnant and has cancer. The current legislature is trying to pass laws prohibiting abortion once again even if it means the life of the mother. It is impossible to choose. No other human being should criticize any woman’s choice in a matter such as this. No other human being has the right to tell the woman what to do. She can only listen to her inner voice and make the best choice she thinks is available. Namaste. Attic Annie