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German Day-Book for your enjoyment

Day Five: Friday, May 12th, 2017

Today was a different day altogether. The main mission was to see Hilde in the nursing home. Hilde (pronounced “Hilda”) is Bernie’s oldest sister-in-law. She was married to Hans, his older brother. Hans died in 1990 and she has been “alone” all these years. A couple of years ago, she was stricken with some sort of disability. She cannot speak anymore and swallowing is becoming more and more difficult. It is important for us to spend some time with her this trip. It may be the last we see her.

She looked very good laying in her bright and cheery room. The German nursing homes are so well kept. There are no odors. They are immaculately clean…and the “guests” as they are called, are treated like royalty. Hilde’s hair was coifed and clean. Her room was filled with flowers and it made us feel better about her circumstance. Apparently, the six children each come and visit one day a week. The closer ones come more often. But they spend time with her…reading, talking, etc.

When we go back, I’ll take the German music I brought and sing a little bit with her. Anne told us that when we go this next time, we will let them know ahead of time what we want to do, and they will bring Hilde and others out to the gathering space. Yikes! I may be singing for more than just Hilde!

Michael came over this evening and we took off. He’s got the phone situation taken care of and now I have internet through Jurgen upstairs. So, we’re all wired for sound again. Michael, Bernie and I went out to a little “Imbiss…” An imbiss is a little restaurant where one can get a little “bite” to eat. We had bratwurst and German French Fries (that sounds funny, doesn’t it?). No ketchup. You eat them here with German mayo. Yum!

After the little bite to eat, we drove around again. It is SO LOVELY here in the Spring. We’ll get some shots of the hedgerows for you and send them with the next installments of the Tagebuch.

Tonight, around the den table, we ended up having this amazing conversation about Church, theology, intellectual dishonesty and the need for the Church to embrace the Science and real history that folks know today. Michael served as interpreter/translator and did a lovely job. Jurgen was really engaged and Bernie just ate it all up! Anne even joined in. It was VERY lively.

In the meantime, they found out that I like to work jigsaw puzzles. Apparently, Jurgen has had this rather large puzzle he has been wanting to work. It isn’t very big…just 9000 pieces. It will be the size of the whole table plus about half more! And they just happen to have a puzzle board large enough to accommodate it. More later as that unfolds! Wow!

As we sat there together, Jurgen went and brought some Cuban Rum. Oh, dear heaven! I don’t care for rum, but this was the smoothest and tastiest I’ve ever had. It wasn’t drippy sweet like so much Rum I have tried. It was like a refined cognac…delicious. We had four…even Anne joined in. Aloys threw his hands and went to bed. He hasn’t quite adjusted to house guests yet. He’ll get there!

Well, that was Friday…more tomorrow. It will be full of family…Florian is coming up from Osnabruck for the weekend and we have dinner with Peter and Petra tomorrow night. Pete is Anne’s little brother (14 years younger!). Then, Sunday we will spend the morning at Birgit’s house in Vechta for MuttersTag and then Sunday afternoon with Cordula in Cloppenburg! It will be a busy weekend.

Monday, we will go to Badzwischenahn during the day and then Michael has gotten tickets for a concert in Oldenburg for that evening! Love to Everyone!

Saturday, May 13th, 2017

Wow! Today, we got to spend time with Florian. If you remember (or don’t know), Florian is Margret’s grandson…Bernie’s grand-nephew.

After a breakfast with Michael joining us at Anne’s house, we drove to Cloppenburg where we used to stay when Margret was alive. (She died in 2014.) You can take a peek if you’d like at https://www.cloppenburg.de/.

We drove to Manuela’s and Lothar’s home on Stoerweg Street. Manuela is Margret’s daughter and a lovely woman. She has a philosophical brain. Her husband Lothar, is in banking with some regional job that takes him all over the place. They are Florian’s parents. Oh, it was so good to see all of them together. And, I’ve noticed that the German family members who have visited us in the states feel “closer” to my heart than the others. But anyway, there was lots of hugging…then coffee and talking…and talking and talking.

As we left, we took Florian with us for a little meandering. Along the way, he and I talked of heavy things…theology, politics, and of course, his studies in economics. He is working on his bachelor’s thesis right now. Along the way, our twenty-three year old passenger got hungry…two very long legs to keep filled up. So, we stopped off in Schneiderkrug at the Grill. On past trips, we’ve always taken the boys there for bratwurst and German French fries. So, that’s what we did. He commented on his good memories of our previous visits. He ate…we had dinner to look forward to…

When we were done, we took Florian back to Cloppenburg to his girlfriend’s house. Her grand-parents are celebrating their 50th anniversary…which is done in a VERY BIG WAY over here. And then, we were off to Langfoerden to Peter and Petra’s house for dinner.

Peter is Anne’s little brother, although “little” isn’t the right word. He is a very TALL German. He is younger by 14 years. There, we enjoyed the company of his lovely TALL blond wife Petra, Nina, their daughter and her friend Daniel, and Dennis, their son and his friend AnneMarie. Everyone is tall here, so I spent the evening smiling and feeling VERY short. Haha!

Dinner was lovely. Asparagus, cucumber salad, potato salad without onions for Bernie, and grilled meats of several varieties. Everyone ate heartily and Michael enjoyed getting to know cousins he doesn’t see very often.

Drinks were poured with great freedom. I had an orange drink of some kind. It is alcoholic, but pretty light. It was mixed with real orange slices and all the ladies seemed to enjoy it quite a bit. It was beer for the guys until Peter brought out the Ramazotti. Karl will probably know what that is, but I’d never heard of it. It is a strong after-dinner drink like Kuemerling…meant for the men. Of course, I was offered some because I have the odd position as being the only woman in the family who can out-drink most of the men and still stay somewhat lucid.

I asked if the custom was the same with the Ramazotti as with Kuemerling (which is, by the way, a rather nasty-tasting herb liqueur). They all laughed and said no. And the men sipped it. I tried it. It was worse than the kuemerling, so I just knocked it back and put my glass on the table. Peter looked at me with big eyes and then started laughing. He asked if I liked it and I said “Nein…es ist drecki…” (That means “No, it is nasty.”) All the guys laughed…and in a little while, he filled my little glass up again. (You know, I always like a challenge…)

Peter took Bernie and me into the old barn where he showed us all the work that Johann (Bernie’s dad) had done when Wilhelm (Peter’s father, Anne’s brother) moved the barn from the house at Spreda to here in Langfoerden. I didn’t realize that Johann had helped, although it makes sense. The beams are old trees (German oak) and will be here long after you and I are gone. He’s done such a nice job converting everything into a work/handy-man’s barn, instead of a barn for pigs and cows and farm necessities. Bernie’s eyes misted over as he looked around. He is realizing now that he is the last of his generation in the family who can appreciate all this “old” stuff…and tell about life “back then” to the young ones…

After two more rounds of Ramazotti, my German was amazing! And it was time to leave. What a wonderful evening of family, laughter, sharing, and remembering!

Sunday, May 14th: MuttersTag and Mother’s Day!

AH, today was “ein wonderbare Tag!” (a wonderful day!) We drove to Vechta ( https://www.landkreis-vechta.de/ ) which is like the county seat of the region where Langfoerden is. There, Birgit and Michael live with their two teenage “children”, Ina und Miko. They are lovely young people. Teenagers are so “grown up” here because they are expected to be. At around 15, each youngster makes up their mind whether they are off to three years of vocational school or to “gymnasium”—which is like a pre-college high school. From vocational school, they are ready for and move right into some career—a backery, a restaurant, a mechanic, a truck driver/mechanic, secretary, etc. From the pre-college, they move on to either a three year apprenticeship (for instance, banking…) and then the university (to major in economics) or right in university (to major in communications, English, teaching, chemistry, etc.). It is a good system. Wish the states would go back to vocational schools and less emphasis on everyone going to college. Not everyone is college material….but everyone can benefit from vocational education.

Anyway, breakfast with Birgit and her family was delightful. She was trained in baking before launching her own cleaning business in Vechta. I can’t remember what Michael (Birgit’s husband, Anne’s son-in-law) does…(not Michael, Bernie’s nephew…he’s in banking, but starting a new IT job at a food-preparation company called Wersing in October). We laughed and laughed and the kids were captivated by Bernie’s antics. Most Germans are much more proper than Bernie. I think most folks find him rather amusing because he is so different than the average bear here.

After Birgit’s, we were off to Cloppenberg to spend the afternoon with my other “fast-tochter.” (That means “almost daughter.” Manuela and Cordula are almost daughters to me. They miss their mother so much…and so do I… And they feel close to me which I treasure very much.)
We shared coffee and a strawberry torte…and some laughter. We also got a wonderful tour of the new house they bought since selling the house where Margret and Helmut lived (and the house where they built on a fabulous upstairs addition complete with Markus’ handy-cabinet making). The boys, Lukas and Tim, are almost grown up now. Lukas has decided he wants to be a semi-truck mechanic and starts his apprenticeship/schooling soon. He’s very tall for his age and very awkward…but so sweet. Tim is very lanky, very long and all legs. He’s only 11 and still “Cute.”

Their new house is amazing. They bought an “old, run-down” house and completely remodeled it. Cordula even bricked in a little cooking space outside…and Bernie was delighted. For her first time, it was remarkable! I see so much of Margret’s “way” in both her girls. I hope Cordula and Markus will come to the USA one day…but the boys will have to be grown, I think.

Agnes and Peter came over while we were there. I do love them so, too. They are Markus’s parents…and Beate, too. Beate is Lui’s sister…the Lui whose father-in-law is Fritz, the gentleman who was a prisoner of war at the same base Daddy was stationed in France. (Of course, ten years apart!) We’ll be over at their house this next weekend, so more about them, later… I will sing the four Volkslied I have prepared for Fritz, then…

Oh, I do love all of you so much and think of you so often. I wish I could pack all of you away and bring you with me. You’d love it, too, and find so much to be fascinated by and so many people to love.

We went back home and sat around a bit. Anne and Aloys had a nice day, too. And then, we turned in.

Monday, May 15th:

Today is a day with Michael. We have had such a good day. He arrived in the morning to find Bernie just getting up. (He’s been sick since we arrived…a rough night Sunday night…) We had a quick breakfast (yes, Bernie does eat over here…) and then took off to get to the bank. We needed to exchange some cash for Euros so we can function smoothly here. The credit card is nice, but there is a 3% international surcharge for using it. It’s cheaper to exchange the cash and pay as we go.

After that, we decided not to drive to Badzwischenahn. That will be saved for another day. (Take a trip there online… http://www.bad-zwischenahn-touristik.de/ )

Instead, we did something just a wonderful. We went to the Museumsdorf Cloppenburg! It is wonderful and there is a lovely website that you can enjoy…here! http://www.museumsdorf.de/

We spent the afternoon there and then had to find a place for dinner before high-tailing it to Bremen for their philharmonic concert. Michael had asked me what I would like to do while here and since there are still concerts everywhere in Europe (cultured music, not rock-n-roll or country) that are accessible, that is what I had suggested. The Bremen philharmonic does these concerts every three weeks. Oh, my! So off we flew after changing …for the concert. Here is another website so you can “see” for yourself and learn a bit about this excellent philharmonic. (http://www.bremerphilharmoniker.de/)

The concert was in a building called Die Glocke. (the bell) Apparently the likes of Herbert von Karajan and other music-notables have tauted Die Glocke as one of the best acoustical concert halls in the world. Having spent a fabulous night there last night, I concur. We sat in the second row, not the best seat in the house for an orchestras, but Michael tried. He’s never been to a concert like this before. Up front is fine for some things, but…I was astounded. The sound was perfect as if we were in the balcony towards the back. The sound was perfectly balanced as we enjoyed an evening of Debussy (L’apres midi d’une faune), Henri Ditelluex (a contemporary composer whose works are quite unique…and this one was his Cello Concerto which was written in honor of Rostropovich…a big WOW!), and Dvorak’s Simphonie 8.

This was Michael’s first concert. He was mesmerized and enjoyed it very much. There was a 20 minute explanation about the concert, the works presented and the musicians which was perfect for him. Even Bernie paid attention! Of course, it was all in German, but I know about programme music (the Debussy), contemporary concertos, and happen to love everything by Dvorak. I was in heaven. Bernie was transfixed and kept squeezing my hand. He was particularly interested in the young conductor. What a wonder he was to watch!

Anyway, we got home about 11:30 p.m. Good night! What a lovely day!

Freedom from the myths that have shaped us…

We do seem to be captive to “the myth.” There are so many things that we want to believe, or that we accept unconditionally and without examination. I believe that the myths we embrace are like hugs. They make us feel safe and secure. But not one myth should live on without some examination. When I turned 50 (some years back), I started challenging the myths in my life. To my surprise, most do not remain.

The first myth I began to challenge was the concept of “American Exceptionalism.” I have been very interested in the public conversations surrounding our “great country.” It is perhaps quite obvious that most folks who live anywhere in the world probably feel like their country is “great.” (With the exception of those individuals who are forced to run from their country because of political unrest, terrorism, jihadism, or catastrophic reasons….) All my life, I have been raised with the idea that we (Americans) belong to the greatest country in the world. We learn it in school, if not be exact phrase, by the tenor of our lessons.

History is an interesting subject. It is most often written in the voice of those who have “won.” We tend to know about the Middle Ages taught through the experience of kings and feudal lords, reigning monarchs, and the people at the top of the political spectrum. We know about the Enlightenment because of the people who lit the world on fire with new knowledge and opened up the horizons beyond local geography by going beyond where the “little people” lived. We know about the Revolutionary War through the eyes of…well, us. We won! We separated ourselves from powerful England, later got the best of the French, the Spaniards and their settlements out West…

We also know some history through the skewed lens of “myth.” The cowboy and Native American era wasn’t about John Wayne, Gary Cooper and all those who played our “heroes” growing up. It was about Manifest Destiny and the white immigrants desire to plow across North America and possess it all. We literally obliterated an entire race (except for those we tidily put away on “reservations”) as we “won the Wild West.” Hardly anything to feel proud of. A LOT OF INNOCENT PEOPLE were slaughtered in that fight stretch to the Pacific Ocean.

We are taught some things about our American Civil War, but again, it tends to be through the lens of those who “won”… The Union. There are some folks today who know about the other end of things…because their families belonged to the Confederacy. Only recently have we done a better job at revealing experiences of the Confederate patriots, their families, etc.

The American problem of slavery is often glossed over from both points of view. There were Africans who literally sold other Africans for the price of the profit. There where whites who ran the ships and dumped off “these heathen” in the Caribbean islands and at the port cities of America. But we cannot forget the thousands upon thousand early slaves…who were not black-skinned at all. Indentured servants from Europe were the first slaves here in the New World. And ships full of Irish “slaves” who had been sold and counted as worthless also came to America. Some of the captains dumped those white slaves overboard when supplies got low! For the sake of convenience and profit, all races have sold their brothers and sisters for the chance at profit.

And, of course, when one considers the myth of American exceptionalism, one must come to grips with the years between “freeing the slaves” after the Civil War and the actual Civil Rights Act of 1965. It took almost one hundred years to make it right…and we’re still struggling with racial issues. Haven’t gotten it right yet. And with the advent of the first black president, racial tensions and economic tensions have risen as folks on all “sides” seem to feel disenfranchised, left behind, or worse yet, forgotten altogether.

We also have to come to grips with the continuing struggles of women in the United States. All is not equal yet. We women are not protected from religions that would subjugate us (and the Christian Church still has its own issues, so don’t immediately think I’m thinking about Islam). We still see polygamy, misogyny…everything from giving our daughters away at altars in marriage to mutilating their genitals to expecting them to cover themselves and calling it “modesty.” (That actually hails from another era when women, who remain property in some cultures, were expected to keep covered to protect others from “wanting them.”) Women remain hyper-sexualized in our media, used as products to sell all sorts of things.  We still don’t have equal pay, equal employment, equal opportunity, etc. We still have a long way to go.

Part of the sticky wicket for me is how intertwined our country and the Church have become. It is very disturbing to me every time I hear some TV preacher say that America is the “New Israel…” America is a “Christian nation.” America is “chosen by God.” Oh, good grief! No IT IS NOT! We are  no more “new” than any other nation that God may or may not choose to bless the world. We certainly don’t have that much to brag about. Even the good we’ve done politically in the last century is balanced with the “whatever” we can get out of it. (Case in point: We’ve not been real eager to help nations that have little to offer us. Think about the Congo, the Sudan, etc. in Africa. Not a lot of resources we’re going to get from helping them. Consequently, they languish.) We are not a “Christian” nation. We are, according to our Constitution, a nation that is not overtly tied to any religion and indeed, open to all who come to our shores. We do not discriminate because of religion. Yes, we have been blessed by any number of factors in our history, but so have countless other countries. We like to think God is blessing us more than others, but that in and of itself doesn’t make it true. However, that notion does sell nicely in our churches.

I know the lovely verse, “Blessed is the people whose God is the Lord.” I get that. But it doesn’t say, “The most blessed people in the world are those who just claim that God is their Lord.” We’ve used God’s name to justify some pretty horrific moments in our history. Let’s not be to uppity about being God’s favorite. That God Israel into all sorts of trouble time and again in their history.

The myth of our American exceptionalism died for me a few years ago. Are we a wonderful country? Yes, when we are at our best! Is it great to be an American? Yes, except as I watch this election cycle. I’m embarrassed and very worried! What a mess we’ve created for ourselves!

Another myth I have released is the myth of the Church being a safe and secure place to live and work and be. I even wrote a book where I fussed with that notion for 400plus pages. That’s another essay. (Or you can read my book, An Epilogue for Eleanor. Contact me here to purchase an autographed copy.) One of my personal myths that I also released was that I had to keep my bohemian side in check. I needed to “be good,” “do good,” and “think good,” in order to be acceptable. Nonsense. I finally learned to be the best me I can be and forget the rest. One can be totally strangled by trying to live by what one thinks everyone else thinks is “good,” including The Church. As I said, there’s another essay coming about that.

Myths without examination are just great stories we’ve embraced while we’ve checked our brains at the door. We need our brains. I believe we were created with them because there is an expectation that we will actually use them. We don’t have to accept every myth we’re taught just because everyone else is grabbing a hold of it. Research, conversation and honesty are great scales on which to weigh all those myths in your life. I know I’ve discovered a great freedom releasing the myths that were entrapping me. That freedom is…well…very freeing!

 

A Post about God’s Presence for June 29, 2016

It is an interesting period of life when one is faced with aging parents, disease, and the need to move. Such has been the last six months of our lives. Faced with a new illness for my father, we decided that instead of waiting until death to deal with the estate, the state of their home, their personal needs to be closer to a dependable adult child, and the new health challenges, we opted to face everything directly. Within three months, we had moved my parents to Florida to be close to us. It has been, at the very least, quite an adventure.

At first, we were all a bit numb. Daddy was sick. Mother was feeling quite vulnerable. We lived over 700 miles away and there was that pesky promise I had made years before. I had put my arm around Mother’s shoulder and said, “Mother, when the time comes, don’t worry. I’ll be there.” That was all well and good. But in truth, I was not there…but over 700 miles away. What should we do? How were we going to deal with this? My only sister who lived close-by has been and continues to be “needy…”, even when my parents were beginning to struggle with their own new-found neediness.

I was very unhappy with the distance between my parents and me. Every time I talked with my mother, her vulnerability screamed out at me over the phone. It was tangible. It was palpable. It was un-nerving. My husband looked at me one night after a particularly difficult conversation with my mother. He just simply said, “We’re not doing this. This doesn’t work for you and it is not working for them.”

I looked at him quizzically. I asked, “So, what do you suggest?”

He nodded emphatically. “We move them here. There’s got to be a unit here in the building that we can buy, prepare and get ready for them. What do you think?”

I was stunned. He was serious. More than serious. He was emphatic. And so, in the next couple of days, my husband did what he does so naturally. He looked around for that perfect condominium unit, found several options, and suggested the idea to my parents. To my shock, they agreed. I realized then how providential it had been for them to have come to help me back in September when I had surgery. They had loved it here. Those five weeks had been great weeks. It was as if Someone out there was preparing the way for us…like that Someone often does when we aren’t paying attention. Those Footsteps go before us…pave the way…open the doors…set things in motion.

In the next few weeks, we had a unit in play. My husband had made an offer. It was accepted and was within my parents’ price-range. My head was spinning. It was a done deal before I could barely breathe. Now, faced with a 700 mile trip both ways every time I traveled, we began the process of readying my parents to move and preparing the unit for them.

The unit was a mess…mustard yellow and slap-you-in-the-face-bright-sky blue. The carpet was filthy…forty-years filthy. The bathrooms weren’t in good shape and my mother deserved better than that. The balcony was not enclosed and they needed that…for sitting and watching and enjoying the corner of Animal Planet and NatGeo that lives just outside our building. The kitchen was a disaster and the appliances were dinosaurs that had fossilized years before.

Somehow, I had to dig deep and find a way to help them where they were and get the unit whipped into shape for moving in. My time frame? Well, in my heart I figured if we could get everything done and them moved by the end of April, we would have a bonified miracle on our hands. Daddy had different ideas. No. October was a better time frame. I smiled. It didn’t feel right to me. Something heavenly was afoot.

My husband and I got a contractor on board who was responsible for the obvious things…remodeling the master bath with pocket door, safety shower doors, walk-in shower to replace the old tub-model, new toilet, new vanity, light-fixture and faucets and shower-fixtures. The floor had to be replaced—it was just awful. The carpet had to be replaced in the entire unit. We needed new blinds in the windows, etc. Strip it. Fix it. Make it right. That was their job.

I took off on the 700 mile trip to my parents’ house. Through gentle conversation and careful deliberation, we decided on an auction company to help with the estate sale and the sale of their house. At 85 and 88, there was so much they loved but so little they needed. Sixty-three years of memories had to be sorted through and decisions had to be made. It wasn’t easy. In the midst of all that, there were doctors visits and blood transfusions, periods of sickness, weakness, anger, sadness, frustration and small explosions. My Mother was an angel. Her Virgo practicality would win the day in those moments when my Pisces Father didn’t want to let go of something.

I would pack for a couple of weeks and then return home to paint, design the kitchen, fuss with nitwit contractors (literally), encourage my husband who was carrying that load all by himself, and try to prepare things for Mother and Daddy. When I got as much done as I could do, I would turn around and drive back, to pack some more, help with more decisions, offer comfort and encouragement and LOVE my parents like I’ve never loved them before.

And there was my sister to consider. Through the years of a fairly dysfunctional life, she had become unusually dependent on my parents. Co-dependency and enabling happens so subtly. But it was there. I encouraged her to move on, to literally move closer to her daughter, where she could start over again, spend time with her grands, and blossom in a way she had never before. Thankfully, she was also resolute. She understood the dynamics and I admired her for that. It wasn’t easy. She had some tough stuff to face and she did. And she did it on her own. I am very proud of her.

I had thought that we could do all this by the end of April. Daddy was pushing for October. In fact, he got angry several times and called me a “tornado.” And then, the auctioneer who was handling the estate and the house sale made the decision for us. “I have you on my calendar for March the 17th and 18th. We’ll have the house sold by the end of March.” Daddy was stunned. So was I. We freaked a bit. We laughed when we realized that it was right around the corner. It was already then mid-February. And then, we kicked into high gear.

Somehow, we got it done. The house was emptied of the “best stuff” with which my parents wanted to surround themselves. The truck was ordered and filled. My husband came to drive it and my parents filled their van. I drove ahead a couple of days to finish painting and the cleaning so everything was ready for them. The contractor had been an absolute nightmare of flooded units above and below the new one. There had been delays and snafus. Somehow, it was done. The day I was due to arrive at night, they finished the carpeting. Whew!

I set about to finish the kitchen, clean the unit, make sure everything was “mother-ready” and find a moment to breathe. I got it done. Meanwhile, Mother and Daddy, and my wonderful husband stopped along the way overnight. Smaller distances were a necessity. Daddy can’t do the long distances anymore. They made it late Tuesday and we had crew due on Wednesday to unload them and get things in their places.

It is now three months later. They are settled in and just today worked with one last handyman to get shelves in two closets so they can unpack the last of the boxes and clear out the front room that’s been used to store them. It is almost finished and they look so pleased. Everyday, they express thanks to us and thanks to God for bringing them here…for preparing the new home…for making this last adventure a good one.

God is like that…you know? Sometimes that Presence is just working behind the scenes making our lives work in wondrous ways. Sometimes that Presence works through others. Sometimes that Presence works through unknown means…and life enfolds and presents itself to us in all God’s richness and glory. Sometimes, that Light surprises…And it is always done in such a perfect way.

Hindsight helps us see how that Presence has been at work. It wouldn’t be as precious if it were obvious. That Presence still catches us off guard…causes us to catch our collective Breath…catches us unbeknownst…catches us. And we smile. We feel the warmth of that Present Face who looks in favor on us, even though we don’t deserve it. We thank God that God loves us, holds us, protects us, goes before us and puts the right people and circumstances in our pathway. And yes…as my sweet husband so often says, ‘It is all good.’

The purpose of Thayerwriting.com

I am thinking today about what I’d like to accomplish through thayerwriting.com. It is pretty simple. I hope to stimulate thought, encourage my readers, share a positive twist on life with my readers, and take advantage of this space as a place for creative and purposeful writing. In my book, An Epilogue for Eleanor, I “fussed with” what a woman does when her life explodes. How do you sort through your life and come out better on the other side? How do you open your heart again to life, laughter and love? I learned as I wrote the book that learning to see that “it is all good” is a choice… and happens not by chance. Life has dealt me some interesting cards, but in the end, where Life led me is better than where I was. I struggled against the explosion. In time, I let go and leaned into the new direction into which I was blasted. I was carried in a new, different direction. I found parts of myself I had forgotten or never known. I discovered it was truly “all good.”

Here at thayerwriting.com, I hope to share writing and thinking that helps you to see that “it is all good…” More often than not, Life’s biggest explosions propel us forward. Forward is always better than backwards. It isn’t without heartache or struggle, pain or bewildering moments. A forward motion in life comes like a little one learning to walk for the first time. One gets up. One falls down. With each motion, the life-muscles get stronger and the effort becomes less and less. And then one day, that little one takes off running and squeals with delight.

I hope the adult in you never forgets how to squeal with delight. After divorce, after a death, after being fired or accused, or after an embarrassing event, the ability to practice getting up and down in order to learn to run forward again is crucial. That practice strengthens your spirit-muscle. And once up and running again, your spirit can find an inner delight with life… once again. With any luck at all, squealing with that delight will catch you off guard and make you smile.

Since my life explosion back in 2010, I have had to practice getting up after falling down. It hasn’t all been easy. But, as my spirit grew stronger, my inner delight with Life returned…perhaps stronger than ever. I got in touch with a part of myself I had buried and forgotten. My daughter calls it my bohemian side…that side of my personality that is free and easy…that enjoys simplicity…that has learned that love can be carefree and freeing. I like this “me” I have found since my other life exploded in pieces. Life now is “all good.” That “all-goodness” is what I’d like to share with you…here…at thayerwriting.com.