Waiting for Results

So, you took the exam. A corker! You crammed for hours before the big test. Before that you went over your notes, even typed them from the hand scribbled notebooks. The mind refreshed the material learned over the term. You summarized it all as well. Finally you had one page encapsulating the class material succinctly. You were prepared.


Taking the exam was tense at first; then relaxed as a rhythm developed. Questions were quickly sorted, and answers formed. Then essay questions tackled. After an hour, the test was over. You glanced over the test booklet. You were satisfied. Rising from the seat, you walked forward, handed in your booklet and left the room.


Now for the hard part. First some deep breaths, stretching stiff legs and arms, of course the back, and a slow walk back toward the dorm. But first, a cup of coffee. Others had gathered as well, and soon chatter was all about the tests each had taken that morning. Camaraderie exploded. Then laughter.


Later in the day the wondering began. Did I do well? Will I get an A or B on this test? Will it affect my final grade in the class? Days followed until our next class meeting. Only then would we learn what the results were. And what they meant.


Each of us has had an experience like this, or similar. Perhaps there was no dorm. Maybe this was high school. Or college, grad school, or a qualifying exam for a new job? Whatever, we’ve taken tests, submitted our work, and had to wait for the results.


So too, Rocky and I. Wednesday was a full day at the downtown hospital in Chicago. Five appointments, consults and prep work done for pending surgery. What they will do, when they will do it, and what the likely results will be. So much pending. So much hanging in doubt. We’ve done our work. Now theirs.


We wait. Did we pass? Will the surgery go forward? Are the prospects better than thought before? What will the future hold for us?


Like any test, waiting is involved. So too our trust. And patience.


And hope.


June 20, 2019

A Song In Our Heart

There was a movie with a sound track song named I have a Song in My Heart. I don’t remember much about the movie. There was a farm, maybe a horse, illness in the home, a love story, a girl, I think.  I don’t think it was Black Beauty, but it could have been. Maybe the movie was ‘A Song in My Heart?’


Well, anyway, the song was beautiful. I was probably 8 or 9 years old. When the song came on the screen, I melted. The lyrics were enough to create a giant sob, but the melody was wonderful, soaring, lingering. It melded with the lyrics magically. At least for me back in those days. Maybe 1950?


Note: with Google, I learned this song is With A Song in My Heart. I had the first word wrong. A film with the same name came out in 1952. I would have been 9. We three kids saw it with Mom in a theater in Pasadena. I doubt there was a farm in the story line. But it was a love story; Mom loved the mushies!


With all of that said, my point is simply that Rocky and I have a song in our hearts.


Times right now are difficult. Rocky faces a cancer threat that will either change his life or end it. We do not know which at this moment. We should know more certainty by the end of the week. Then we will deal with whatever will be.


Meanwhile, the worry, moods of doom, and unknown, weigh heavy. Throughout this ordeal – so far only 16 days into it – we have been surrounded by love, care, generosity of spirit and finances that take our breath away. We know we are not alone. And we know we are loved.


Wow. Super Wow!


So, with those feelings bubbling up through the gloom, a song forms in my mind and it turns out to be…Ta Da! – With a Song in My Heart!


Now you know what a mushie I am. A sucker for a good melody, a heart wrenching lyric, and the emotions to go with it.


Thank you all for standing with us. With your help, we will get through this.


Know that your love is returned. And how!


June 19, 2019

Perspective

Time. Experience. Happenings. Mingling with strangers. Watching strangers. Traveling streets and neighborhoods once familiar, but now distant by decades.


I had moments – hours really! – last week that encompassed all of the above.  Monday we visited Chicago Northwestern Hospital to meet with Rocky’s surgeon. Sister in law Sharon paid for limo service; the trip into the city, the driver waiting for our consult to happen, then the ride home. Riding and not worrying about traffic or driving, I observed the world of morning rush hour as a passenger. Been a long time since that has happened. I commuted by train and car for more than 20 years. Saw many of my old work neighborhoods.


One was a reminder of my first days in the Loop as a fresh, 22 year-old fresh college grad. Finding my way in the Loop as a complete stranger. Jostling along the sidewalk with hundreds of others on the way to the office. Wondering about lunch time and where I would be. Wondering about the commute home, too. Absorbed with how I would become familiar with all this strangeness - of scale, of new, of thousands of strangers everywhere I glanced.


I watch others who were near my age back then. I sensed their newness to this experience, their wonder.


Later as we exited the limo and found our way around the large complex of buildings – people everywhere – the encounters with this new reality reminded me of how we are introduced to the new experiences of life. Startling, scary, foreboding. Yet exciting.


Still later, the ride home offered yet more vistas of the past; and perspective. The mind did not nap. Thoughts coursed through memories old and new. Until we arrived in our current world of familiar rhythms and shapes.  


On Friday, we repeated the experience. This time neighbor Pam generously arranged and paid for the limo service. The route was different than Monday’s; still more vistas of old familiar places. City vignettes. Pop-up views of yesteryear. But oh, so different. Now there are buildings where blank spaces once were. New apartment complexes with daring architecture and memorable angles of expanses of glass. New life and rhythms in this arena once solely the province of work spaces; dead space on weekends and evenings; now lively with 24/7 living of people.


People everywhere. Walking, driving, scurrying, going places with strident intent; some lolling gently in place enjoying a breeze, a cup of coffee, an idle chat with a stranger.


And still another route home with fresh views of times long ago. Fifty-four years ago my young self was planted in this place. So much has happened in those years. What was then fresh is now new again – familiar yet strange – and perspective provides meaning and weight.


Each person has a story. Like mine, the story is ever-unfolding. It has an indistinct start and no end. These stories are always unfinished. Works in progress. We don’t know them, so don’t know their story. They don’t know us, either. And yet we co-exist. It is a willing by-play of our stories. Mingled, yet not.


A writer senses the story without knowing it. Yet more perspective beckons us.


Old. New. Memory. Fresh story. Life.


June 18, 2019

Divisions

You are a decent person. I think of myself as decent. Together you and I, we, are decent. We agree on that. Those who are not us most likely are decent. Talk with a group of strangers, and learn how quickly we laugh together. At the common things that seem odd, but routine. Even a word said over and over again sounds odd, doesn’t it? The foreignness of common things rises to our consciousness at times unexpected. It is one of the oddities of life; and funny at the same time.


Quirks make things interesting. Not threatening, interesting.


What is threatening to me, or you, or us, comes from another place in our being. Somewhere delicate and vulnerable. Why is not readily apparent, but vulnerability is awakened.  


What are some of those things, topics? Well, for many – including myself – is the fear of losing a freedom. Perhaps it is my sense of order and governance?  I prefer freedom to regulations and rules. I like to think things through to be more certain I understand a point. Then I like to discuss it with others. Slowly I gather accompanying thoughts on the topic and stand ready to learn more, or protect the view I’ve crafted so far.


If someone comes along and pokes fun at my thought, I defend my conclusions. Not sure if I’ve completed my thinking on the subject, but I want to naturally proceed in morphing my thinking in a way that maintains a continuity of logic. Later, I may switch utterly to another stance, but only when ready to do so. I don’t need someone bullying me to change my view just because they think I should.

Argument and debate are like that. They are adversarial. I am comfortable with mutual exploration of topics, of thinking, of weighing pertinent matters on the subject. I avoid adversarial and favor collaboration.


And I favor order. My mind needs time and space to work through a list of topics. There are many items to be considered. Like – charter schools, abortion, gay rights, women’s rights, nurture of immigrants, educational theory and nurturing students to explore their own worlds – things like that. I don’t want people to hi-jack the discussion topics and push my order around theirs. This isn’t about my adopting their ideas but me understanding my ideas. Then we see where we agree or differ. Assessing how and why those views differ is yet another task to undertake.


The process is important. Abridging the process is viewed as a threat from external sources. I don’t accept that pressure. I need time and order to think through my options.


Finding difference is easy. We all have them. We are not 100% in agreement most of the time. We are in general agreement with minor differences present. We accommodate the differences; we are not controlled by them.


Those who magnify differences are seeking something. Power? Influence? Standing?


So easy to do these days. Abortion. Gun controls. Education. Qualifications. Credentials. Religion. Lack of religion. Big government, or small. Pollution. Technology. Republican. Democrat. Conservative. Liberal. Centrist.


See what I mean?


Rather than threaten others, let’s delight in the myriad choices and differences. Allow it to be the food for our brains to exercise their thinking and logic. Exercise is good for the brain. It needs the stretching and bending to keep in shape. Judge not but consider widely. Allow others to think their own way. You have your way. Don’t let them take your way away.


Like new citizens among us – whether born here or immigrant – differences strengthen each of us. Let that happen naturally.


Vive le difference!


June 17, 2019

Blue Sky

Clouds hung low and dark. Wind swept the trees and bushes. Temperatures hovered in the 60’s then the 50’s. The forecast was for full sun, no clouds and pleasant temperatures. That was how the world appeared as we went toward medical analysis and counsel Monday morning.


When we emerged from the bowels of the medical building, the sun greeted us. So too, the blue, blue sky. Wind was gusty but embracing. Temps were 70-ish and most pleasant. The world welcomed us for the long ride home. Brilliant sunlight. Deep blue sky. Low humidity kept the universe stunningly crisp in appearance.


Our hearts heavy with fear and worry of the future. It will be painful. It will be uncomfortable. The surgery will happen. The medicines will do their job. The body will recover as it will from the intrusion of man-made attempts to fix what is broken.


But the weather is our companion in this. It is sparkling and clear. The sky is very blue. The sun is warm and invigorating. It is helpmate to what we cannot control.


Not all are helped. Some are immune to the tickles of climate. The rest of us are mightily blessed. Our burdens are lightened. Life goes on. Relationships are adjusted as needed. Daily routines change, too. But life goes on. Inexorably. Until it doesn’t. That is for another day when we are better prepared. All of us.


Blue sky. Big sky. Scintillating. Breathless. The future lies ahead. Existence awaits our explorations. Even those who know the limits, the future awaits a very personal exploration and discovery. The journey is personal. For each of us. Alone or with a helper, the journey remains one’s own. Custom and private.


But the sky is there for each of us on our journey. It does not discriminate. It helps us know, feel and live. In whatever realm will be.


June 14, 2019

  

Freedoms

We take freedom for granted. I admit this. I think most of us do. That’s why I used ‘we’ at the beginning of this blog. We. You and I. All of us, in one fashion or another. Together in some similarity or the mosh pit of differentness. We.


Freedom. The license to personally express  myself or move wherever I please in the moment. I stride down the walkway. I skip along in rhythms unheard by others. I jump or leap at will. Freedom to move. Whither and thither is my choice. No other tells me to or not. I do as I please.


Uttering the words of my truth – or writing them – is my freedom. Oh, I have responsibility to do this in truth and fact. I shouldn’t harm another person or misrepresent them for whatever reason. I oughtn’t do that. There are repercussions for such behavior; that’s fair play. Surely I wouldn’t want another to do that with regard to me. Fairness, equal and just among all of us. There’s the we again. A reminder that I am not alone on the planet. I share space and resources with others. The we.

Fairness is caused to be because of the we. We each have freedom to live life as we see fit. No other person or group or government has sway over that freedom. That is what it means to be American. Other nations, too, but I don’t know their innerworkings like I do America’s.


So, freedom is a big deal here. We get to say what matters to us. As long as it does not have negative impact on others, we can say, move and be in this world as we deem it.


There are those among us who don’t trust others. They trust themselves, just not others. So the we in their lives is fraught with doubt and maybe terror. It is as if others might or will do something that would harm them. I guess, they fundamentally do not understand freedom and its natural limits. But then, they are in the world and we – the rest of us – have to learn to live with them.


The them, are those who feel the need to place controls over others so they are not harmed by the others. They are afraid of consequences beyond their control. Their response to this is to legislate restrictions. They set the standard of belief, value and behavior that everyone must live by.


This is how we get laws against abortion, homicide, theft, assault, and sexual perversion. This is how we get bans against gays and lesbians – or not bans, but no protections for? – as well as restrictions on speed, house color, opinion, literature, art styles and expressions. So many things threaten others. So many things to control to make one portion of society comfortable in their ocean of worry and dread.


These folks tend to gather with others to believe in religions, rites, and authorities. They expand this to government forms, policies, protocols and instrumentalities. They build societal mechanisms that protect them against the others. And they watch. Watch for behavior outside of norms. Wonder if that is breaking the law. Hope to find a remedy to push the offense away from them and remain safe.


This edging of belief and fear to buffer themselves from others that do not look, feel or think like them, affects social workings. Laws are made. Elections are held. Authorities are given power to use against those they fear. The progress of this is slow but surely circles around and envelopes bystanders who feel included and empowered. Soon the…the books are burned, the different ones are lynched, the crosses burned on lawns, the hooded marauders sack towns and homes of whomever they don’t trust.


Anarchy tempts us. Your freedom takes away from my freedom. Your trust is not my trust. My faith is not your faith.


Anarchy is the opposite of freedom. Freedom is the opposite of life.


Really?


No. Alternatives exist for this. We just must think of them. Find them. We. We must find them. To keep freedom alive and anarchy at bay. The anarchy of the fearful. Those that fear…us.


I don’t fear us. I fear the them that would silence us.


June 13, 2019

A Story to Tell

A tale with a beginning, a middle and an ending. A cliffhanger at times, yet a happy ending. Just what everyone one wants:  a little story, digestible with a moral to share, struggle then triumph over evil. Yes. It’s a quintessential saga of America. The good, bad, ugly and beautiful, all rolled into one but with a good ending.


Sleep follows a good ending. Moral outrage is tweaked. Personal valor and effort triumphs over evil and the good guys – and girls – live happily ever after.


A fairy tale this is. History is filled with such narrations. Except when it isn’t.


It is the ‘isn’t’ that we focus on today. The history of the larger tale that embraces all the others. The really big beginning of a story, the really, really long middle – with many of its own starts and finishes – all leading toward the climax where the big ugly is finally figured out and solutions are thought up to thwart the enemy. Then the victory tale begins in bits and pieces, like Tolkien’s Trilogy of the Ring, so many campaigns fighting the bad guys until finally, finally, in an all-out battle, right wins over wrong.


World War II was like that. At least the history of World War II was told to us in that manner. Besides, we saw it played out in daily newspapers. It was a nail biter from beginning to end. The nation sacrificed much to support the best ending possible. In the end the war was won, good triumphed over evil, and the boy gets the girl, dancing in the street and tickertape parades followed. Much celebration the world over, except the victims, the losers, and the oppressed who are always defined by the story, too.


We all like a good story. Millions, and billions of books attest to that. So, too, movies. And TV shows that imitate movies. Stories. Lots of stories. Good triumphs over evil. The usual.


Until the story line is confused from the get-go. It begins with truth fighting untruth or lies. With time the trouble builds as the untruth becomes more credible and the audience simply can’t tell the difference between the right and wrong. The very sinew of the story is a twisted mess. We, the audience, know we are good. We are on the right side. But we know the enemy as family and friends and colleagues. We know those folks think they are right. We know otherwise. Or feel we know. But do we?


There it is – the plot line and the temper of the story all in one. The suspense builds as we learn more each day who is the good guy and who the bad. What is fact and what is lie. What is narration and what is propaganda. What is real and what is fake. All the while the actors on stage are shouting “fake” and “fact” until we don’t know which is the real one.


Today America is embedded in such a tale. A nation of educated people – those who attended public and private schools and earned degrees attesting to their achievement. Many of those went on to study more earning higher degrees of education. Some went farther than that and emerged as professionally trained doctors, engineers, theologians, researchers, scientists, mathematicians, et. al. They invented new technology and stretched science and medicine to amazing frontiers. They placed men on the moon and now build spaceships that travel to faraway places millions and millions of miles from home. They accomplished much with their learning, their accomplishments.


Until today when all of that is held apparently in disrepute. The educated are now the enemy. Those without the learning fear those who have the degrees. This is the new have and have not of our society. It is no longer a tale of money and who has the most, who the least.


The good and evil are intermixed to the degree we no longer know who the good guy is. The very means of our answers to the riddles are doubted so much they are no longer useful tools.


Then what is? What is the core of this new story that must play out so good and evil are once again clearly identified? If victory is the final end, what is it to look like?


Do we at least know that? I’m thinking not. Please, God, prove me wrong.


June 12, 2019