FIBERGUY

You’ve never seen a child so incredibly happy to get out and play in the snow. She would have spent the whole day outside if we had let her!

So many people in Florida wanted to see Juliette, I figured I would post some Flip videos we took this moring while waking up and reading the paper. (Momma, click on the white arrow in the middle of each picture to start the video playing.)

Our dear friend from Norway, Berit, knit a sweater and hat for Juliette as a present and brought it with her when they traveled here this summer to surprise Harald’s parents at their 50th anniversary party. Here are some pictures taken between Christmas and New Year’s when we were up on the north shore in Lutsen. I’ve got some short videos I will get around to uploading one day soon, too!

You know, it’s been quite a long time since I’ve been to a southern funeral, and there were several things that struck me about yesterday, things that I found endearing and good to remember.

1. I love the elders who don’t hesitate to say “Amen!” out loud during the eulogy when the preacher says something they agree with. Love it. Propriety be damned, preach brother, preach!
2. Having an Elvis gospel song, complete with a gospel choir backup, played as special music, with nary a hint of irony. Love that even more.
3. During the funeral procession, total strangers who pull over to the side of the road as they see the hearse and the line of cars with their lights on headed to the cemetary. That strangers would interrupt the busy flow of their daily lives out of pure respect and sympathy for the grieving family and loved ones with such a simple and yet profoundly symbolic gesture – it brings a lumpt to my throat every time I think about it. I am reminded of my early childhood, when cars would pull over on the side of the road, and the men would get out of their cars and take off their hats as a sign of respect. Such old-fashioned goodness and honor seems rarer and rarer to me these days, and that made it all the more special the many times I saw it yesterday.

I admit, I miss the old-timey, at-home covered dish dinners that always followed a family funeral when I was growing up. That was just what we did in those days. Someone you know died, you went in the kitchen and cooked, and you took the food to the family so they wouldn’t be burdened with such a mundane chore as cooking at a time of great sorrow. But they don’t seem to do that up here. And somewhere along the way, I picked up another habit I maintained for years. I must have read about it in a book of rituals. I started draping all the mirrors in the house in black fabric, as a sign of mourning and a guard against vanity during times of grief. Now I don’t have that many mirrors anymore except in the bathroom, and those are really needed, so I don’t keep that tradition either. Seems like we are poorer for losing some of these traditions that helped to define and contain and formalize the mourning, as if it just isn’t right that we go right back into our daily routines immediately after a funeral, with no outer markers for ourselves or others to indicate the life-altering event that just occured. I guess I wish there were some things that had not changed.

I will be able to fly home to Florida for 24 hours on Wednesday night, just long enough to be there for the funeral Thursday morning before flying home late that night. It’s awful to have to go under these circumstances, but it will be a really good thing for me to be with my mom and my family on Thursday. And, besides, I owe it to my aunt for every kindness she ever showed me (and there were many).

They are gorgeous pink lillies we grew this past summer …. a cheerful memory of a happier time ….

Pink lillies from our garden this past summer

Some of you are no doubt familiar with this famous quote from Henry van Dyke, the 19th century writer, poet and essayist. I love the imagery and am posting it for myself and for anyone else for whom it brings a moment’s worth of comfort.

“I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white
sails to the morning breeze and starts
for the blue ocean.

She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until at length
she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come
to mingle with each other.

Then, someone at my side says;
“There, she is gone!”

“Gone where?”
Gone from my sight. That is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull
and spar as she was when she left my side
and she is just as able to bear her
load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.

And just at the moment when someone
at my side says, “There, she is gone!”
There are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad
shout;
“Here she comes!”
And that is dying.”

I’ve been fighting a bad case of the sads all day since my mom called at 7 am. My Aunt Louise died this morning around 4 am after struggling with her health for many years. Lord, she’s been through the ringer with health problems. She was a wonderful and sweet woman and I only have good memories of her. She always accepted and loved me exactly like I was – never really wanted me to be anything other than myself. I loved her for that – and for her good south Georgia cooking and her marvelous laughter. She loved to have a good time and laugh. I really wanna go somewhere alone and cry, but works demands otherwise. I sure wish I could be in Tallahassee this week with the rest of my family for the funeral. This is when being so far away from family is the hardest.

It’s a rare thing to get a really great photo of Harald without him mugging for the camera, so this picture is a double delight. These pictures were taken the Friday before Halloween by one of Harald’s co-workers at a “sunshine committee” event the school put together for staff, a trip to Apple Jack Orchards for a hay ride. Really, for me, I can’t imagine a more perfect picture.

Today I am thinking about a lot of things. First and foremost, I am thinking of my dad, my uncles and my grandfathers. The list is long. All of them served their country through military service and did so, I believe, well and proudly. One of my earliest childhood memories of a photo is a picture of my Grandpa Matthews dressed in his World War I uniform. And when my dad passed away, I got his military memorabilia, including a certificate from the US Navy acknowledging his presence at the Bikini Atoll atomic test in World War II. Though he did not know it at the time, his presence at that event likely rendered him unable to father a child (as apparently so many others experienced after the tests when they returned home), and thus he came to be my dad when I was adopted. War not only exacts a terrible price on those who suffer visible injuries, it can also leave a life of internal scars that few are ever privy to, scars that will not heal no matter what.

Of course, I also especially think on this day of Renee, my cousin down in Tallahassee who lost her eldest son, Anthony, in Afghanistan last year. I know she will carry the pain of a mother’s loss with her for the rest of her natural days. No parent should outlive their child, but especially not by losing them to an enemy’s hand. And I am reminded of all the loved ones who have sat at home with knitted brow and worried soul, anxiously awaiting their dear loved one’s safe return – and the agony of those who never see that day. God bless them all.

There are some who think it is inconsistent, or at least hypocritical, to pray and work for peace while also supporting the military. I do not. We would be blind to history and to human nature if we fail to acknowledge that there are those who simply will not choose to live in peace with their fellow human beings. The reasons are myriad, but it would be naive, I think, to assume that it will ever be possible for all of the world to avoid conflict entirely. The price willingly paid by so many who served, and continue to serve, our country to defend our freedoms demands, I think, our respect, even if we disagree with how they got there.

For any of you who read this who are veterans, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I hope you know how much you are appreciated.