In 2010 I resolve to...
Cook more and eat less,
Appreciate more and want less,
Recycle more and impact less,
Read more and watch less,
Listen more and talk less,
Learn more and surf less,
Make more and buy less,
Save more and spend less,
Move more and sit less,
Nurture more and neglect less,
Write more and postpone less,
Praise more and belittle less,
Accept more and judge less,
Buy local more and corporate less,
Observe more and overlook less,
Do more and procrastinate less,
Live more and exist less
Friday, January 1, 2010
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Job Nash Keefer: 12/1/92-11/10/08
I think everyone who has lost a spouse can look back and point to one thing that kept them going during the darkest times. For many it is their children, for some it is their work, for Nancy and I it was our pets. We both believed that no one would be able to love them as they were accustomed. So for both of us, in our darkest times it was their companionship that raised our spirits and their needs that got us out of bed in the morning.
Specifically for Nancy it was Job, her faithful companion for nearly sixteen years. I was blessed to have Job in my life for a short while and he was already an old dog when I came to know him. I never got to see the exuberant, playful dog with whom Nancy got to spend so many years. What I did get to witness is a bond between a person and a dog that few get to experience. Often I would catch one of them gazing at the other with the loving look of someone who knew that the other had given them everything they had to give and both of their lives were so much better for the giving.
As I said, Job was old when I came into their lives and I began making secret pacts with him from the start. "OK, Jobbers, just hang in there until I can get up there to be with your mommy." "Alright, Job, stay with us until after the wedding." "Jobiwan, be a good boy and hang in there through the honeymoon." "OK, Jobbersan, I want to see you when I get back from Portland, you can't leave your mommy while I'm gone." Each time he kept his promise - not that I ever got any recognition of my requests, just a look I read as, "Sure, whatever." When I got back from Portland, I knew that the time for pacts was past. It was time to make him as comfortable as possible and make the most of our final few days with him.
So today, I say thank you. Thank you for welcoming me into your home. Thank you for not leaving your mommy when I wasn't there to help her through it. And thank you most of all for being the "best doggy ever" and always being there when the woman I love needed you. Jobbers, my life is better for having known you, I owe you more than I could ever repay, and I will miss you more than I can say.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Aaaahhhh!
It's roughly eight o'clock in the morning. I'm on my honeymoon so it doesn't really matter what time it is. N. is still asleep and I'm happily ensconced in a rocking chair on the lower deck of our cabin. The lower deck still perches me in among the surrounding treetops and the view is spectacular. The rising sun is pleasantly warming my face and the weather is absolutely perfect. I have a book and a cup of tea to my right and a dog curled up on my left. Before me miles of trees just beginning to take on their autumn colors cover the foothills and in the distance the fog obscured Mount LeConte towers above them.
Occasionally the sounds of my beautiful bride sleeping drift out to me from inside. I'm not sure what I've done to deserve this bliss, but I'm now wise enough to know to never take it for granted. N. and I were married Saturday in a perfect ceremony in an idyllic setting surrounded by some of the most special people on the planet: family, dill weeds, lepers (sic), and widow(er)s. I can't even begin to thank each and everyone of them enough for their part in making that day so very special and perfect in every way.
Being as how they're probably the only ones who might stumble across these ramblings anyway, I'd like to especially thank N's widow friends for the immeasurable impact they've had on my wife's life. They are a group that knows how cherish life and support those they love unconditionally. I doubt any of them fully realize how important they are in her life. N. is truly blessed to have you and I am honored to call you friends.
N. is now up and it's time to start our day. Being the eternal Jimmy Buffett fan, there was no way I could resist the opportunity to, “...go hiking on Tuesday...” With N. I'd walk anywhere.
Signed,
A very grateful husband
Occasionally the sounds of my beautiful bride sleeping drift out to me from inside. I'm not sure what I've done to deserve this bliss, but I'm now wise enough to know to never take it for granted. N. and I were married Saturday in a perfect ceremony in an idyllic setting surrounded by some of the most special people on the planet: family, dill weeds, lepers (sic), and widow(er)s. I can't even begin to thank each and everyone of them enough for their part in making that day so very special and perfect in every way.
Being as how they're probably the only ones who might stumble across these ramblings anyway, I'd like to especially thank N's widow friends for the immeasurable impact they've had on my wife's life. They are a group that knows how cherish life and support those they love unconditionally. I doubt any of them fully realize how important they are in her life. N. is truly blessed to have you and I am honored to call you friends.
N. is now up and it's time to start our day. Being the eternal Jimmy Buffett fan, there was no way I could resist the opportunity to, “...go hiking on Tuesday...” With N. I'd walk anywhere.
Signed,
A very grateful husband
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Com Fest 2008
"Come celebrate peace and social justice at Comfest, arguably the largest free, non-corporate urban music and arts festival in the US."
I should probably preface my comments by letting you in on a not too well kept secret. I am probably the most plain vanilla dude on the planet. Hi, I'm Joe "White, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant, Republican (how's that working for me?), heterosexual, khaki and polo shirt wearing" America.
So Comfest (short for Community Festival) is a celebration of everything I'm not. That's an oversimplification but let's go with it for now. There's a big part of me that admires those that dare to be different and stand up for what they believe in. But there's also a part of me that wants to point my finger and gape. Luckily it's that second part that I brought with me to Comfest.
As N. and I pedaled up, the "Pride Parade" was beginning. Yes we rode our bikes to Comfest. I'd say, "How very green of us", but we drove to a park and biked in from there. Anyway, back to the Pride Parade. How very interesting. Sing with me now: "Who wears short shorts? Boys wear short shorts!"
Once the parade passed we were able to get into the park and check out the booths and watch the people. The booths offered a little something for everyone, even me. We got some lunch at the wellness forum's booth. I had a Del's favorite wrap, which included hummus and baked tofu. It was actually very good. BTW, in case you're wondering (Day ???, 236 lbs). N. had a salad with tahini dressing and we shared a side order of flatbread and hummus.
Then we went on to explore the booths. Like I said these ran the gamut. OK, not quite the full range of the gamut, I did not see a McCain 2008 booth anywhere. There was, of course, a Register to vote for Obama booth as well as a booth for the Libertarian party. There was tie-dye aplenty, and a huge assortment of pipes; we learned about saving the animals, ending the violence in Darfur, and how to simplify our lives. We perused the dozens of crafts booths. We purchased tee shirts from the local bike co-op, picked up a pinwheel whirly gig from another booth, and bought organic dog and kitty treats for our kids (what is spelt flour, anyway?).
Oh yeah, did I mention there were people there too? Apparently, Comfest is the opportunity to dive into the depths of one's closet and don the most outlandish apparel that one owns. Missing this memo, I personally arrived in a pair of rust colored Columbia shorts and a 'Big Dogs' tee shirt. At least I was sporting the bicyclist's mud spatter up the back of my shorts and shirt so I didn't look quite so much like an off-duty republican.
There were men in kilts, men in skirts, women clad above the waist in only pairs of "Obama 08" stickers, fishnet stockings of all colors adorning both genders, lots and lots of black, plenty of hand logo-emblazoned tee shirts (My fave: "This is what a lesbian looks like" Thanks, I'll update my field guide accordingly), and last but not least a somewhat lost looking chap in a "Hank Williams, Jr. tee shirt.
I loved it. I was drawn in enough to be irked by the "Comfest is going away" signs of protest in neighboring windows. Really, get over yourselves. If you're that closed-minded that you can't tolerate diversity in your neighborhood for three very peaceful, harmonic days then schedule your vacation around these days. Or take in a John McCain "Stay the Course" rally instead. Just remember that the right to have gatherings like Comfest is one of the rights that our service men and women are dying to preserve.
I should probably preface my comments by letting you in on a not too well kept secret. I am probably the most plain vanilla dude on the planet. Hi, I'm Joe "White, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant, Republican (how's that working for me?), heterosexual, khaki and polo shirt wearing" America.
So Comfest (short for Community Festival) is a celebration of everything I'm not. That's an oversimplification but let's go with it for now. There's a big part of me that admires those that dare to be different and stand up for what they believe in. But there's also a part of me that wants to point my finger and gape. Luckily it's that second part that I brought with me to Comfest.
As N. and I pedaled up, the "Pride Parade" was beginning. Yes we rode our bikes to Comfest. I'd say, "How very green of us", but we drove to a park and biked in from there. Anyway, back to the Pride Parade. How very interesting. Sing with me now: "Who wears short shorts? Boys wear short shorts!"
Once the parade passed we were able to get into the park and check out the booths and watch the people. The booths offered a little something for everyone, even me. We got some lunch at the wellness forum's booth. I had a Del's favorite wrap, which included hummus and baked tofu. It was actually very good. BTW, in case you're wondering (Day ???, 236 lbs). N. had a salad with tahini dressing and we shared a side order of flatbread and hummus.
Then we went on to explore the booths. Like I said these ran the gamut. OK, not quite the full range of the gamut, I did not see a McCain 2008 booth anywhere. There was, of course, a Register to vote for Obama booth as well as a booth for the Libertarian party. There was tie-dye aplenty, and a huge assortment of pipes; we learned about saving the animals, ending the violence in Darfur, and how to simplify our lives. We perused the dozens of crafts booths. We purchased tee shirts from the local bike co-op, picked up a pinwheel whirly gig from another booth, and bought organic dog and kitty treats for our kids (what is spelt flour, anyway?).
Oh yeah, did I mention there were people there too? Apparently, Comfest is the opportunity to dive into the depths of one's closet and don the most outlandish apparel that one owns. Missing this memo, I personally arrived in a pair of rust colored Columbia shorts and a 'Big Dogs' tee shirt. At least I was sporting the bicyclist's mud spatter up the back of my shorts and shirt so I didn't look quite so much like an off-duty republican.
There were men in kilts, men in skirts, women clad above the waist in only pairs of "Obama 08" stickers, fishnet stockings of all colors adorning both genders, lots and lots of black, plenty of hand logo-emblazoned tee shirts (My fave: "This is what a lesbian looks like" Thanks, I'll update my field guide accordingly), and last but not least a somewhat lost looking chap in a "Hank Williams, Jr. tee shirt.
I loved it. I was drawn in enough to be irked by the "Comfest is going away" signs of protest in neighboring windows. Really, get over yourselves. If you're that closed-minded that you can't tolerate diversity in your neighborhood for three very peaceful, harmonic days then schedule your vacation around these days. Or take in a John McCain "Stay the Course" rally instead. Just remember that the right to have gatherings like Comfest is one of the rights that our service men and women are dying to preserve.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Separate and Different
Today I'm caught between my two lives.
Yesterday N. and I completed the 30 mile Tour de Feed benefiting the local food bank. It is an excellent example of what is so great about our relationship. We share so much in common and enjoy doing so much together. It's not fair to compare my two lives, they are separate and different. That being said, I am more content now than I ever have been.
But I never would have been ready for and open to this new life if not for the experiences of my past life.
Two years ago today, I awoke and slid quietly out of bed to walk the dogs, being careful not to awaken L. My mother had arrived in town the night before and L. always went out of her way to prepare the house for her arrival. So I was neither surprised nor concerned when she fell asleep early and was still sleeping when I woke up before dawn.
As I walked the dogs I started to get this nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right with the way she was lying in the bed. I hurried the dogs about their business; at this point it was just a silly sensation anyway. When I saw her again the suspicion quickly turned to dread. She was still in the same position as when I slid out of bed. Normally she would stir a little, roll over, shift, do something. I gave her a gentle nudge, my biggest concern being how stiff she would feel when she woke up from having slept in the same position for so long.
I knew immediately she was gone the moment I touched her. I shook her to wake her, knowing in my heart that wasn't going to happen. The entire morning is basically a blur to me, but I will never forget the image of her face as I rolled her over: cold, gray and stiff. That image is as fresh in my memory as if it were a snapshot that I pulled out and studied every day for the past two years. I can't remember more than bits and pieces of the rest of the morning and couldn't put them in any semblance of order: futile resuscitation attempts, paramedics, firemen, police officers, the coroner. I was numb and lost. At some point the numbness wore off and I became certain that no one anywhere, ever had suffered this kind of pain and loss. In my head I knew this wasn't the case, but my head could not convince my heart differently.
Two years later, my heart has healed. Not completely, but fully. I will always miss L and I will always love her. My heart aches that I could neither fix her, nor be what she needed me to be. I am comforted in knowing that for the most part I was what she wanted me to be and that I gave her a level of happiness she hadn't been able to find previously in her life. I know that she loved me and I'm more certain now that she knew that I loved her.
So today. Today I take some time to focus on the past rather than the present and future. I hold tight to a love and life lost, recognizing that with each passing year the memories will fade ever so slightly and the pain will continue to dull and ebb away.
L,
I love you, I miss you, and I wish you peace.
C.
Yesterday N. and I completed the 30 mile Tour de Feed benefiting the local food bank. It is an excellent example of what is so great about our relationship. We share so much in common and enjoy doing so much together. It's not fair to compare my two lives, they are separate and different. That being said, I am more content now than I ever have been.
But I never would have been ready for and open to this new life if not for the experiences of my past life.
Two years ago today, I awoke and slid quietly out of bed to walk the dogs, being careful not to awaken L. My mother had arrived in town the night before and L. always went out of her way to prepare the house for her arrival. So I was neither surprised nor concerned when she fell asleep early and was still sleeping when I woke up before dawn.
As I walked the dogs I started to get this nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right with the way she was lying in the bed. I hurried the dogs about their business; at this point it was just a silly sensation anyway. When I saw her again the suspicion quickly turned to dread. She was still in the same position as when I slid out of bed. Normally she would stir a little, roll over, shift, do something. I gave her a gentle nudge, my biggest concern being how stiff she would feel when she woke up from having slept in the same position for so long.
I knew immediately she was gone the moment I touched her. I shook her to wake her, knowing in my heart that wasn't going to happen. The entire morning is basically a blur to me, but I will never forget the image of her face as I rolled her over: cold, gray and stiff. That image is as fresh in my memory as if it were a snapshot that I pulled out and studied every day for the past two years. I can't remember more than bits and pieces of the rest of the morning and couldn't put them in any semblance of order: futile resuscitation attempts, paramedics, firemen, police officers, the coroner. I was numb and lost. At some point the numbness wore off and I became certain that no one anywhere, ever had suffered this kind of pain and loss. In my head I knew this wasn't the case, but my head could not convince my heart differently.
Two years later, my heart has healed. Not completely, but fully. I will always miss L and I will always love her. My heart aches that I could neither fix her, nor be what she needed me to be. I am comforted in knowing that for the most part I was what she wanted me to be and that I gave her a level of happiness she hadn't been able to find previously in her life. I know that she loved me and I'm more certain now that she knew that I loved her.
So today. Today I take some time to focus on the past rather than the present and future. I hold tight to a love and life lost, recognizing that with each passing year the memories will fade ever so slightly and the pain will continue to dull and ebb away.
L,
I love you, I miss you, and I wish you peace.
C.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Spring is in the air! (and, oh yeah, Day 16 - 267.6)
Today was an absolutely perfect day in central Ohio. Everywhere trees are beginning to bloom and once again outside is actually a viable place to spend time again. I took advantage of it as much as possible. At lunch I read in my car. I left the windows up and just basked in the warmth. I was just beginning to break a sweat as I got out of the car. For this Southern boy it was "gum-like perfection" after his first northern winter in decades. The book I was reading, Jimmy Buffett's A Salty Piece of Land, not only enhanced my feeling of warmth - it's the story of a man's quest to refurbish a light house on a tiny remote Caribbean island - but also provided me with a great metaphor for grief and an affirmative answer to the question I posed in my previous post (but more on that later). If you enjoy Jimmy's music and outlook on life, you'd love the book.
After work, N. and I went for a walk in a park that she had mentioned to me on several occasions and of which I've passed the entrance to on numerous occasions. Another great experience. The park is huge, contains dozens of athletic fields, a huge rose garden, and provides access to a significant bike trail that parallels the river. I felt like a country boy living in New York City stumbling upon Central Park. A new world for us to spend this wonderful spring/summer weather exploring. Have I mentioned that I'm excited winter is over?
And now as the day winds down, where am I writing this? In my Adirondack chair, next to my love, citronella candle burning between us, our faithful senior citizen Border Collie mix at my other side. Life is good.
Back to Jimmy Buffett's great description of grief from A Salty Piece of Land:
"Old friend," Ix-nay said, "grief is like the wake of a boat. It starts out as a huge wave that follows close behind you and is big enough to swamp and drown you if you suddenly stop moving forward. But if you do keep moving, the big wake will eventually dissipate and after a long enough time, the waters of your life get calm again, and that's when the memories of those who have left begin to shine as bright and as enduring as the stars above."
I just thought that was an amazing way to describe the process and say that moving on is not forgetting, actually quite the opposite.
After work, N. and I went for a walk in a park that she had mentioned to me on several occasions and of which I've passed the entrance to on numerous occasions. Another great experience. The park is huge, contains dozens of athletic fields, a huge rose garden, and provides access to a significant bike trail that parallels the river. I felt like a country boy living in New York City stumbling upon Central Park. A new world for us to spend this wonderful spring/summer weather exploring. Have I mentioned that I'm excited winter is over?
And now as the day winds down, where am I writing this? In my Adirondack chair, next to my love, citronella candle burning between us, our faithful senior citizen Border Collie mix at my other side. Life is good.
Back to Jimmy Buffett's great description of grief from A Salty Piece of Land:
"Old friend," Ix-nay said, "grief is like the wake of a boat. It starts out as a huge wave that follows close behind you and is big enough to swamp and drown you if you suddenly stop moving forward. But if you do keep moving, the big wake will eventually dissipate and after a long enough time, the waters of your life get calm again, and that's when the memories of those who have left begin to shine as bright and as enduring as the stars above."
I just thought that was an amazing way to describe the process and say that moving on is not forgetting, actually quite the opposite.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Crystal Anniversary
Fifteen years ago today, Laura and I were married. It seems like a lifetime ago. So much water under the bridge since then and I have no clue how I feel about it or even how I should feel. Of course I'm sad. I'm sad for what I lost, but I've gained so much since then. I'm sad that her life was cut short, but I know that she was freed from demons which I could never begin to understand. I'm sad for the life together that we'll never share, but I've since moved on to a new life full of it's own promise for the future.
So here I am, not sure how to mark this day and not quite sure how far along I am in the transition from old life to new. Is there still significant grieving left to be done that I've buried and left unresolved? It is my nature. Or have I addressed my loss and now stand ready to embrace this new life and all that it offers? Sure I'll continue to have moments, now among them, that my loss comes rushing back; but I believe I am ready to move ahead. Not forgetting, not burying, but embracing what I was blessed to share and remembering how that love brought me to what I now have.
Cherish the past. Live for the future. Is is really that simple?
So here I am, not sure how to mark this day and not quite sure how far along I am in the transition from old life to new. Is there still significant grieving left to be done that I've buried and left unresolved? It is my nature. Or have I addressed my loss and now stand ready to embrace this new life and all that it offers? Sure I'll continue to have moments, now among them, that my loss comes rushing back; but I believe I am ready to move ahead. Not forgetting, not burying, but embracing what I was blessed to share and remembering how that love brought me to what I now have.
Cherish the past. Live for the future. Is is really that simple?
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