Too Quiet

I heard the marching band practicing the other night when I was out in the yard. We live about a mile from the high school, so all that wafts our way is the sound of drums and, occasionally, some brass. It’s always a welcome sound – marching season starting back up. It reminds me of much less quiet times, when my kids were still home and in marching band, and our house was a stop-over after practice, and before games, and after games, and well, a lot of other times, too.

There for years, there was never any quiet in our house. The noise was constant; the activity was never ending; there was always something going on. At the time, I sometimes got tired of it. I used to yearn for some quiet time alone, even as I tried to imagine what such a thing would be like. Now, quiet time is pretty much all we have here…I miss having kids at home.

I always wanted to have a bunch of kids – such a big family that when the oldest ones were getting married, the littlest ones might just be starting school. Being a mom has always been my favorite job, and I never wanted it to end. (Not that grown children don’t benefit from a little mothering, too - it’s just not the same as having dirty little hands to hold and sweaty little heads to nuzzle…)

But economic reality stopped our family at two – a boy and a girl, ages 27 and 25 now. Our kids are close together in age – 13 months apart – so they were always in a collective sort of a stage. They potty trained at nearly same time, gave up car seats at nearly the same time, went to school one year then the next, and on and on it went, until they both needed cars at the same time, went off to college within a year of each other, and more recently, got married – both of them - within two years.

It’s been a whirlwind of activities, rites of passage, sleep-overs, school trips, plays, band and soccer, clubs, birthdays, holidays, having friends over, going off to college, coming home from college, going off to college again, then planning and executing two weddings – one held right here, at our home. Because they were only a year apart in school, my kids always had a large group of the same friends, which meant our house was always full, our fridge was often empty, and it was impossible to buy enough toilet paper or, in later years, keep enough coffee made.

I remember melting down in the car several times during the busiest of those years, while waiting for one or the other of my offspring to get out of yet another band or sports practice, school club or play practice, or lesson of some type. Those activities all had a way of running late, which meant I was too often late to pick up the other child and take him/her wherever he/she needed to be, which only added to the stress.

I remember wondering, during those melted-down times, how much longer I could handle working full-time, while being a decent parent who keeps the house relatively clean and makes sure there’s some food in the pantry, as well as providing 24:7 hospitality and shuttle service. (Back then, Mr. Clark traveled all the time, so in terms of on-site parenting, I was on my own…)

And, then, all at once, it ended.
Both kids grew up, got lives, and moved away.

Now, pretty much all I have is quiet time, and it’s not as precious, interesting and rewarding as I thought it would be.

The story isn’t as bleak as I have, perhaps, made it sound. I am happy and proud of my kids. They have jobs, and benefits, and spouses whom I love dearly. They both have homes that feel warm, welcoming and full of energy and love. Because they stayed close – one in Atlanta, the other in Athens – I get to see them often, and they still, at least on occasion, hang out with the same group of friends who used to cover our TV room floor on a sleep-over night.

I don’t have grandchildren yet, and I am in no hurry, since I have two “grand-dogs” who I see, dog sit, and spoil regularly. We’ve already established “what happens at Pinkie’s (my grandma name) stays at Pinkie’s,” so when the grandbabies arrive, there won’t be any surprises with regard to the amount of affection, treats, noise and happy chaos that will most certainly occur.

I believe things happen for a reason, and things work out the way they’re supposed to, so even though it’s often too quiet and sometimes lonely, it’s okay that I only had two children. It’s okay that both of them grew up and left at the same time. It’s okay that neither of them are in any hurry to have kids.

And, it’s okay that I have all this long yearned for quiet time…thankfully broken up at times, by the sound of a marching band practicing. I enjoy the flood of happy loud memories that it brings.

Too Much!

What is enough? And, how much is too much? These were the questions I pondered driving back from taking pictures of a child’s birthday party at an art studio in Dunwoody the other day.

The child is a lovely little girl. It was her third birthday. And, it appeared that a good time was had by all. But, the whole format of the party seemed like too much. There was a “teacher” who orchestrated the “activity,” which was to “make a very special box to put your wishes and other special things in.”

Nice concept. It’s just there was no one on the guest list older than three and the kids didn’t seem to fully get what was supposed to be going on. It was too much. First they had to put on “very special” aprons and party hats. Then they had to sit in a chair (for way too long for some of them) and try to paint small wooden letters that spelled their names. Then they had to paint the box. Then they had to glue the painted letters of their names to the box lid, along with some feathers and glitter and other “very special” things.

It seemed like a lot to complete in an hour, for a one, two or three year old. Their parents were there, attentively trying to help them and it felt like there were as many expectations in the room as there were balloons. By the time it was time to sing “Happy Birthday” and eat cake, the Birthday Girl and her guests seemed glassy-eyed and over-stimulated.

“When do we eat cake?” was the battle cry, as the little artists finished their boxes, washed their hands, and grabbed a juice box from the cooler. Playing with the ice in the cooler seemed to be more of a hit than making the very special boxes had been.

Another theme for these elaborate birthday parties is the gymnastics party at the kiddy gymnastics place. While a little more age-appropriate, these parties still seem to overwhelm. One of the parties I photographed – this one for a two-year-old – had water bottles labeled with the Birthday Boy’s face, candy kisses with Disney “Cars” stickers on them – applied by the Birthday Boy’s mother, party bags with the Birthday Boy’s face and “Cars” stickers on them, and, sadly, a complete melt down by the Birthday Boy himself. It was all just too much for a two-year-old…

I see too much, too often on the ring fingers of the brides I photograph, as well. I don’t know when it became mandatory to give a girl a $3,000-$6,000-or more engagement ring, but I rarely see a smaller one these days. And, the wedding band that follows is equally spectacular…What happened to the idea of “two young people just starting out” with a subtle, pair of rings that spoke of brighter things to come?

What does a husband buy his wife for later anniversaries if he started the marriage by giving her that much bling? How do you say, “Thank you for spending the last 30 years with me,” if the day you said, “I do” you decked your wife’s hand so grandly that it’s almost blinding to look at when she’s in the sun?

The necessity of the new car or truck payment is another “too much” for me. I see young nurses at work (at the hospital) heart broken that they only get six weeks of maternity leave, and tormented by child care and “getting the baby on a schedule” questions. Later these same young mothers are torn apart when their babies or toddlers get sick, and have to be in child care anyway, because mom can’t get off work.

Why do these women torture themselves this way? Because, they “have to make the car (or truck) payment.” Does it occur to these young families that if they drove older vehicles, there’d be more time to spend with the kids?

I read an article about how the size of the “American Dream” has grown since its’ inception in the 1950’s. Back then the average middle class home was 1,300-square feet; now it’s 2,400. It used to be common for siblings to share rooms. Now everyone has to have their own room, complete with separate bath and walk-in closet. Yards are bigger, rooms are bigger, and a two car garage is a must…

We’ve super-sized ourselves into a lifestyle that leaves us scrambling to make house payments and car payments, buy big engagement rings and plan elaborate parties for toddlers…

I don’t know where I’m going with this, except to say that this Recession may be a good thing. It may force us to scale back a bit, rethink some things, and reign in our expectations. My bet is those three-year-olds would’ve had just as much fun playing in a kiddy pool, then running wild in the yard after the frosting buzz set in. Less is more, but what a hard lesson that is to learn!

Lost and Found

“Those who wander are not always lost.” - J. R.R. Tolkien

There is a new love in my life. His name is Tim. He’s from the U.K. and in the brief time since we’ve known each other, he has changed my life. Don’t worry. Mr. Clark hasn’t been ousted. Tim is the voice in my new little TomTom GPS unit. And, he and I just can’t get enough of each other.

For years I have been lost – everywhere I go, all of the time. I have absolutely no memory for place, direction or land mark. I have no sense of direction, and I don’t pay very good attention. In our family the joke has always been, “Whatever way Mom says to go, go the other way and you’ll get there.” And, almost 100-percent of the time that is right.

You can imagine how hard it is to ferry soccer teams, and birthday parties, and groups of kids places when you have no idea where you are or how to get where you’re going. I did that for years and it was very stressful – for me and my passengers.

Later in life I find myself all too often, stumbling around Atlanta and NE Georgia, trying to find the coffee shop where I’m to meet a prospective photo client bride, or the park where I’m supposed to shoot a family’s portraits, or the gymnastics studio where I’m to take pictures of a kid’s birthday party.

There’s nothing quite as harrowing as getting lost on the way to take pictures of a wedding, and weighing out when to call the bride and tell her that her photographer will be “a little bit late due to traffic,” all the while screaming at Mr. Clark on the phone things like, “I don’t know where I am! If I knew where I was I wouldn’t be lost! Just tell me how to get there!”

And, driving around late at night, making U-Turn after U-turn on some dark Georgia farm road after shooting a “quaint country wedding,” is no way to end a day.

The last of these adventures happened a few weeks ago, when my assistant and I were nearly an hour late to a wedding at some hard to find church on the far side of Buckhead. I had worn Mr. Clark out, yelling at him on the phone to “find me and tell me where to go,” as he sat at home frantically Google mapping possible locations and routes. I had worn my assistant out insisting that she “check the Mapquest directions one more time and see if you can find us on the map…”

I had sweated off all my makeup due to the exertion of all that yelling and I was about to have to call the bride and tell her we’d be an hour late due to “a big traffic jam on I-85” when my phone rang. It was the bride. A funeral at the church had run over time, so “things were running about an hour late,” and, she hoped we could get a cup of coffee somewhere or something…” Whew!

That night when we got home, my assistant and I informed Mr. Clark we had decided the business should buy a GPS, but we needed him to shop around for the cheapest possible system with a voice - there had to be a voice. There would be no more Mapquesting or Google searches for us.

Great minds work in similar ways, so Mr. Clark informed us he had already been shopping and had found a nice little talking unit on-line. It was not new, but recently refurbished and with the $20 rebate, it would only cost $60. Sold! It sounded like such a nice little unit, my assistant ordered one for herself that same night.

And, that is how Tim came into my life.

Since he arrived, Tim and I have been on a couple of little day trips together, to several bride meetings, to a family photo shoot, and to two more Atlanta weddings. And, words cannot express how much I enjoy just going where Tim tells me to go and turning when Tim tells me to turn.

My poor sense of direction sometimes takes over, and I’ll think, “I’m sure when we did the site visit, that church was this way…” So, I veer from Tim’s path to try my own. Tim’s lovely. He never gets angry or yells. He just says he’s “Recalculating route,” then a few moments later he gently, but firmly gets me back on track.

I don’t know yet, how never being lost may change my life. After all, it’s been a 50 year run of never knowing where I am or how to get to where I’m going – both literally and figuratively. I can’t help but wonder if being found on the road won’t carry over into the rest of my life…After all, it’s a different way to travel – being able to sit back and enjoy the ride, knowing you’ll arrive at your destination on time and without a bunch of U-turns…

Wreck

It’s 5 a.m. and I just got home from a 3p.-3a. Emergency Room social worker shift, during which I dealt with two families whose lives have been forever altered by a bad wreck on the Athens 10 loop.

According to the police, “the vehicle flipped multiple times.” One person was instantly killed, the other was transported to the ER badly injured. There was a baby car seat with some blood on it in the vehicle, but no sign of a baby in the seat or on the scene. Later we found out the baby was with a relative – nowhere near the vehicle when his mother died, in that unfortunate, terrible wreck tonight…

Horrible, horrible stuff – telling the deceased woman’s family she had died, then telling the surviving patient’s family the neurologist “has yet to determine the possible extent of the damage done by the head injuries sustained in the accident,”…Lots of people, lots of tears, lots of inconceivably awful emotions and phone calls and physical reactions there in the ER amongst those folks on this night…

I cried for both of the families I dealt with tonight, as I drove home from work on those eerie deserted 4 a.m. roads, in that weird 4 a.m. fog and non-light…One family is now dealing with an unimaginable loss. The other is gathered in an ICU waiting room trying to cope with “neurological complications as yet undetermined” and other severe injuries…

As I pulled safely into my driveway, I wondered why it’s okay for us all to have our heads so far up our behinds. There is stuff that really matters in this life, and there is stuff that does not, but must be dealt with anyway…
Flash forward to another part of my life – Barrow Journal columnist/writer. This week’s paper came out today, and partly as a way to fall asleep, and partly as a way to keep current, when I got into bed, I opened up this week’s issue…

A big drug bust by the Barrow County Sheriff’s Office in conjunction with other law enforcement agencies - 41 arrested, 59 warrants still pending – excellent work! Drugs are a terrible problem and a personal curse on all those who can’t escape their grip…

There was the verbage back and forth about the county CFO personnel board hearing…maybe the CFO did something wrong – maybe she didn’t…It’s not clear by anything the board of commissioners or personnel review board said…But, then, why do we care? She’s only the person in charge of the county’s finances during a time of major economic crisis for our county…

And, there’s the he said/she said amongst The Barrow Journal bloggers about what’s going on in local politics…I’m sorry, but an opinion worth reading amongst all those anonymous blogger comments is rare…so negative, mean spirited and ill spoken, so many of those comments are…

Barrow County’s CFO needs to simply tell the board what’s happening with the budget, stop generating controversy and earn her keep…Barrow County’s Personnel Review Board needs to do its’ job, which is to decide if employees are unfairly punished, and if so, rectify the situation with something more substantial than double-speak…

Barrow County’s chairman needs to stop, think and breathe a lot more often before he issues yet another poorly thought-out edict or another rashly uttered statement…

And, we all need to get back in touch with what really matters, which is that if we have a few folks who love us and we are still blessed with good health and a little bit of wealth, and are not dealing with a death in the family – then, we are okay.

As I have written about frequently during the past few months, my husband’s unemployment continues and my middle-class lifestyle is crumbling right before my eyes. But, no one is sick, no one has died, and, I am still surrounded by those whom I most love…for that, I remain profoundly thankful.

Challenges, whether they be personal or political, are simply challenges. They are not life altering events like that really bad wreck on the Athens 10 loop tonight…

The Cycle

Mr. Clark just stormed out of the house, after another one of our “still out of work” fights. It’s not the first one we’ve had, and I’m sure, as long as Mr. Clark’s unemployment continues, it won’t be the last.

Next week will be one year since Mr. Clark was laid off, and what a long, sad, tiring, lesson-filled year it has been. There have been some good things come of it – readjustment of our priorities, paring down our needs, and some nice time spent together, after years of Mr. Clark mostly being on the road.

And, there have been some really bad things come of it, too. Mr. Clark’s efforts to find work have netted only a few interviews, and some temporary contract work. His profession, construction software, is pretty much dead right now. Most of his clients are doing poorly. Their businesses have closed and many of them, like Mr. Clark, are just trying to piece together enough work to pay the bills until folks start building again.

No one seems to know when this recession will end, but a lot of the time it feels like it won’t be soon enough for Mr. Clark and me. And, we’re not alone. According to recent newspaper articles, foreclosures in Barrow County are up 49% from the first half of last year, meaning nearly 1,000 homes have been lost. Nationally, 1 in 8 mortgage holders are behind on their payments.

Unemployment claims are up, too – 126-percent locally, this April, compared to last. The number of people on unemployment who have used up their 52 weeks of benefits is rising quickly. And, while some experts predict an end to the recession as soon as late this summer, those same experts are predicting unemployment will stay high well into 2010.

So, what does this mean for Mr. Clark and me?

It means we continue to scrap around for money and hope for the best, while cycling through what appears to be the unemployed version of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’ “Five Stages of Grief and Loss,” (from her book On Death and Dying.)

The stages are: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Mr. Clark and I are on about our fifth trip around the cycle.

Denial – that’s where you can’t believe you’ve lost something you hold dear, such as your job with decent pay and benefits. The head can’t stop spinning, while all the time you tell yourself, “This is only temporary…Something else will turn up,” as the phone sits quiet, and the bills mount up…

Next comes anger – my personal favorite. This is where you are filled with rage about what has happened, and are consumed with thoughts about “how unfair it is.” This is when nasty things get said, and deep wounds are inflicted on the already fragile and hurting egos involved.

Bargaining is a nice break from all the negativity of anger and denial, as it is the time when the job search picks up again. “If I re-work the resume, and search a few more job boards, maybe I’ll get an interview…If I call X, Y or Z back, maybe something will have changed and then I can have my old life back….”

Then, when those efforts net little or no result, depression sets in. Experts say you have to move through depression in order for healing to begin. But, sometimes “moving through” takes what feels like a very long time. Some glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel would help, but there is none. The tunnel is long and dark and those unemployment statistics continue, ever bleaker, as your own personal home foreclosure becomes a not too distant reality…

There’s only so long you can wallow in those depths, and then you have to crawl back out. That’s the acceptance stage. For me, that means putting my anger and depression aside, and stop bargaining with the universe for something more “fair.” It means we are where we are, for whatever reason, and all the fussing, fretting and fighting won’t do anything but make things worse.

Mr. Clark may never have as good a job as he used to have – ever again. And, we may never live as well as we used to live – ever again. But, that’s no reason to become horrible people. Maybe the light at the end of our particular tunnel is that a lot of things needed changing in our lives, and we weren’t making those changes ourselves…(All too often, God has to knock me to my knees in order to get my attention. Maybe this period of Mr. Clark’s unemployment is another one of those times…)

Mr. Clark just walked back in, as I knew he would. He understands the cycle, too. And, while that doesn’t do anything to get him back to work, knowing that hope and acceptance follow the dark depths of anger and depression keeps us moving forward - one resume, phone call, contract job, unemployment check and prayer at a time.

Simple Pleasures

“Tis a gift to be simple, ‘tis a gift to be free.” -- Quaker hymn

I have never been one for simple pleasures. Not me. I like grandiose things like trips to Europe and weeks at the beach, going to Disney World and traveling somewhere in this country for a week or two on a whim. For years Mr. Clark’s income supported (or almost supported) that lifestyle and it was wonderful.

The year of unemployment has whittled that back significantly. We don’t even have cable TV anymore…I have been struggling with trying to come to love “life’s simple pleasures.” I have good days and bad.

Last night I got home from my emergency room shift, bone tired and emotionally worn out. There were three deaths during my 12-hours and I handled two of them. There were long waits for treatment, and lots of very sick and/or very grouchy people.

On the way home, instead of focusing on how lucky I was to be working in the ER - rather than a patient there - I was reminiscing on all the grand trips we used to take, and all the fine adventures we used to have. Flying down 316 with the windows down and the sunroof open (we no longer have A/C in either of our cars…) I was feeling very, very sorry for myself.

Home was quiet, except for the animals – four dogs, three cats, some birds, and a stray kitten I had just found a home for that day. After feeding them all, and pouring myself a big glass of wine, I settled onto the back porch swing…It was a cool evening, quite pleasant – not nearly as hot as the last few week’s have been. The lightning bugs were flickering, and the wild birds were chirping as they settled for the night or caught the last of the day’s mosquitoes.

It’s been a good year for baby birds in our yard, with several cardinal couples successfully raising not one, but two broods. There are two families of woodpeckers – one large, one small in size – that have raised four or five babies in the tree just beyond the porch. A family of blue jays has been wrecking havoc on the front and side porches, swooping down loudly to steal cat food and terrorize the other birds. The little fish pond in the back is a welcome stop for all kinds of birds, as they drink and wash and chirp at each other…

I finished my wine as the cicadas and tree frogs cranked up. And, as it got dark, I began to settle into the rhythm of the simple pleasure.

Inside, the stray kitten was mewing from the room where he’s been kept. He’d been alone all day and it was time to play. I rolled up some paper balls for him and taunted him with some string. He was hilarious, dashing around the room, chasing those paper balls and killing that string. He purred and rolled and leapt with such enthusiasm – his little being so filled with joy - it was hard not to feel a deep sense of contentment begin to set in…

Another glass of wine, and some time spent reading the newspaper and catching up on magazines, all four dogs snoring loudly and happily on their dog beds nearby. A cat on my lap, another stretched out beside me – both purring and lounging and exuding calm the way only a fat, happy cat can do…
These simple pleasures, they are the real thing.

You might think it was the combination of wine and fatigue that helped me access my inner simple pleasure meter last night, and maybe they were factors. But today, is another beautiful, cool, dry day – no excessive heat, no humidity. The A/C is off and all the windows and doors are open. The air smells fresh and clean. The birds are chirping outside.

I picked several nice tomatoes, some peppers and a few cucumbers from the garden this morning and filled all of my bird feeders. The dogs and cats are once again snoring and purring, this time around my computer desk…The little stray gets to go to his new home today, and I will have a fresh tomato sandwich for lunch. Another month of bills has been paid; no one is sick; there will be time for more wine and lightning bugs and cicadas on the porch tonight….

Maybe simple pleasures are the only real pleasures…and, that’s why we have to photograph the trips and the beach weeks and the bigger days. They are so spectacular they overwhelm, and they are fleeting, leaving us with a sense of emptiness and loss when they’re over.
I’ve never felt that way after finishing a tomato sandwich or playing with a kitten or watching a bird family feed. There is much to be said for simplicity.

Call 911!

I just got a call from my little sister in Colorado. My dad went to the hospital last night with some chest pain, and one day into the hospital testing, it looks like nothing major is wrong. What a relief!

That being said, I have to admit my dad – loving him dearly as I do – was very stupid last night. He thought he might be having a heart attack, so he got up, dressed, didn’t call any one to let them know what was going on, and drove himself to the hospital. Not only is this dumb – it’s medically dangerous.

If my dad had been having a heart attack, and it got really bad, he wouldn’t have been able to drive, so he probably would’ve had a wreck - endangering himself and possibly other motorists. Thankfully nothing like that happened and he made it to the hospital without incident…
I can tell you from my experience in the emergency room (as a social worker) that is not always the case. Sometimes people do end up in nasty wrecks because they collapsed at the wheel, trying to drive themselves to the hospital. And, there’s just no reason for that.

I understand “stubborn,” “hard headed,” and all the other words used to describe people who aren’t fond of doctors, and would rather hop behind the wheel and handle it themselves than call 911. But, “stubborn” doesn’t cut it when you’re endangering yourself and others using your “hard head” to avoid an ambulance bill – and the prompt, effective medical treatment that comes with that bill.

Before I went to EMT school (some years back), I didn’t understand what went on in the back of an ambulance. Things like oxygen masks, and people strapped down to back boards…CPR, and excitement and a rough ride involving lights and sirens…as seen on TV. And, while there that all goes on, there is also medical care happening that can change outcomes and save lives.

A good paramedic is amazing, when it comes to staying cool, thinking clearly and moving quickly in a difficult situation. Give that paramedic a skilled EMT partner, and you have some crazy great medical care going on – on the way to the hospital. Doesn’t that sound better than hopping behind the wheel and hoping for the best?

My observation is that if it really is your time to go, a good paramedic can’t save you. But, if you’ve fallen through some cosmic crack and today’s not really your day to die – an ambulance ride with a good paramedic can keep you from heading towards that white light until it really is your time.

So…if you think you’re having a heart attack or a stroke or any other serious medical event – call 911. The ambulance will show up quickly and your treatment will begin the moment those medics walk through your door.

Another thing that is important to do - in the unfortunate event of an emergency - is to have the information the medical people need to treat you, right there obvious and easily accessible in your wallet, cell phone and pocket book. That would include: basic medical history (medical conditions, drug allergies, doctor’s name, and what medicines you take); and, who to contact – names, relationship, land line, work number and cell.

Carrying these details with you gives the medical people the information they need to start treating you, and it gives the social worker the information she needs to contact your family and get them to the hospital.

I make my family carry little cards in their wallets that state name, medical conditions, drug allergies, MD name and emergency contacts. I make them wrap those little cards around their insurance card, so they will be one of the first things the ER staff takes a look at. I also make them put identifiers in their cell phone numbers – Emmi-daughter; Dylan-son; Lorin-wife – so anyone who had their phone would know who to call.

This all may seem a little paranoid, but emergencies, by nature, happen suddenly, are not expected, and require prompt action. There is no excuse not to maximize one’s chances of making it through with the best possible medical care and the least possible trauma to the ones we love.

So, the next time you – or anyone you love – feels like they really are having a medical emergency, the action plan is “Call 911.” Then, all that good information in the cell phone and the wallet will help the paramedics and ER staff do as good a job as possible in handling the problem.

And, then, after the smoke clears, you won’t be left wondering (God forbid!) if Dad would’ve made it, if he had only called the ambulance…or (better case) Dad won’t have to hear an unwelcome lecture about how stupid he was, driving himself to the hospital, while still lying there, in that uncomfortable hospital bed…

Pop

“Pop” passed away this week. He wasn’t my “Pop” – he was my son-in-law’s. And, he sure played a big role in my son-in-law’s life. I can’t recall a single conversation about his family that my son-in-law didn’t include something about Pop, which is quite something, considering my son-in-law is nearly 30, with a wife and a life of his own.

I only met Pop a few times; the things I remember about him were his wise, kind eyes – with more than a hint of humor in them – and, his deep, deep Southern voice. He had that kind of Southern accent the rest of the country wishes they had - slow, soft, rolling, no hint of a twang.

While I have only heard a little about the Pop who was the grandpa of my son-in-law when he was a boy, based on how close they remained, they must have had some pretty good times. There were tales of a trip to Estes Park, Colorado with Meme (Pop’s wife of nearly 60 years) and Pop; and, tales of time spent in their trailer on a lot in the mountains nearby. It sounded like there was always lots of good food and plenty of laughter and more than enough Tom-foolery to go around…

As an adult, my son-in-law would sometimes receive the gift of a shirt – one Pop had worn “back in the day” - that somehow fit his grandson perfectly, and had that hint of “retro” that made it a fashion find. Pop’s jackets and suits had the same effect, as they were doled out, with seeming perfect timing, as my son-in-law came of age, and became a man.

The week my daughter and son-in-law were married was full of sweet stories and gestures on both family’s parts. I remember, in particular, the excitement with which my son-in-law came over early one morning, carrying an old photo in an antique-looking frame. It was of Meme and Pop on their wedding day, and, young Pop bore a more than striking resemblance to his grandson, our groom, my son-in-law about to be.

“See,” he said with unabashed excitement. “I look just like Pop!”

Also that week I got to hear the story of Meme and Pop, from Meme. She said they were in the second grade together, and one day Pop brought his duck for show-and-tell.
“He had on short pants, and he was standing there, so proud, just holding that duck,” Meme said. “I knew right then, he was the one for me.”

They were sweethearts for 77 more years, with Pop passing on just before their 60th anniversary. She said Pop used to bring her funny little treats, like a bag of cherries or a piece of gum…maybe that’s why my son-in-law used to appear at our door, when he was still courting, with a single rose, or several gardenias, or some other pretty sweet-smelling treat – usually picked from Meme and Pop’s yard.

Men like Pop are the unwavering, ever present, cornerstones of families lucky and blessed enough to have such a guardian, champion, director and friend. And, men like these set such strong, solid examples that it is hard for their families not to follow in their foot steps and raise strong, solid families of their own.

These Pops, Grampas, PeePaws (or whatever they are called) are the first to offer a piece of candy or ask you to come sit in their lap, and the last person on this earth you want to hear a word of disappointment or correction from. Those of us lucky enough to have had such a force in our lives work hard to follow in those big footsteps, even after Grampa or PeePaw is gone. And, we miss them – their laughter, their humor, their gifts of old clothes and wisdom, for so very long after they’re gone.

So, rest in peace, Pop, and know that you affected so many, so profoundly – even those like me that barely circled around the edge of your life, and your family – were touched by the way you loved and were loved so deeply.

Some men leave a bigger hole than others, when they go; and, that is the case with Pop. Our hearts and prayers go out to each family that has lost their “Pop,” as it is a hurt that eases with time, but never, ever, really goes away.

Weddings

Partners…tied together by stuff too difficult to explain to someone new.”

One of my jobs is wedding photographer, so I have the privilege and honor of seeing a lot of couples tie the knot. And, while all weddings are similar in goal, each is unique in execution.

Some weddings are very laid back and casual…maybe it’s a second marriage, or maybe the couple is so low-key and in love that they are able to remain focused on what really matters - which is that they are having a ceremony to formally and publicly unite their hearts, minds, and lives – to be followed by a party to give their friends and family a chance to celebrate that decision with them.

Other weddings are such complex three-ring circuses that even Barnum & Bailey couldn’t keep things on track. One that comes to mind involved 6 attendants each for the bride and groom, 12 junior bridesmaids and groomsmen, 4 ring boys and flower girls, and 4 long divorced-some-remarried-with-new-children parents.

Another involved a groom who had, to his credit, been a UGA football player, so he had something like 15 groomsmen, to the bride’s 9 bridesmaids. They traveled in “pods” (as the wedding coordinator called them) down the aisle, because the groomsman-to-bridesmaid ratio was so generous that one bridesmaid preceded two groomsmen down the aisle…A lovely wedding that, but so many people!

Some weddings are multi-cultural or racial, which makes for great pictures, as the two cultures bump up against each other in honor of the union that has just occurred…One family brightly clad in the formal regalia of their customs, the other dressed in the prim and proper pastels their celebrations demand…

Those weddings are fun because there are two different kinds of food, and two different types of music, and many (for each of the two cultures involved…) potentially unsettling traditions that, in the spirit of the event, have to be experienced…Christians being spun in the air in chairs by Jews…Ceremonies ending with the smashing of glasses and signing of documents called Ketubahs…Women in saris and a bride’s body painted with henna - little sparkling dots called “bindis” on her forehead…

Before one of those weddings I learned it is a tradition for the henna painted all over the bride’s body to include the groom’s initials, and that him looking for his initials is a bit of wedding night ice breaker…Pretty good tradition, I’m thinking, given the obvious wedding night jitters I’ve seen on the nervous faces of some of the couples I’ve photographed…

The ceremonies are all different, too – some pastors and officiants are more inspired, involved and joyful than others…There is the minister (or in one case, married pair of ministers, which I thought was really sweet) that has watched the bride grow up, maybe having even baptized her as an infant…And there is the hired officiant for the destination wedding who is no more known to the couple than “Adam’s Tom Cat” (as my Gramma would call a complete stranger.)

One of the “Adam’s Tom Cat” officiants had a really nice message during the ceremony, as he had the couple not only hold, but look at their hands being held together.

“Look at these hands you hold today,” he said. “For these are the hands which will hold yours on the best and worst days of your lives…These are the hands you will hold when you are sick and when you are well…When your children are born and when – God forbid – something wrong happens to them…These are the hands you will turn to for comfort, your whole lives long…And, they are the last hands you will hold, as you leave this earth, thankful that you had each other as company all the days of your lives…”

Wonderful message, that…And, there was a really inspired, fired up minister at a multi-cultural wedding talking about how hard marriage is, and that “what you are doing today is agreeing to be the loudest voice at the 50-yard line” when your spouse succeeds, and “the only voice left in the dark stadium where everyone else has gone home” when your spouse fails…He talked about how what makes a couple a couple – each couple special unto itself – is the private time, jokes and laughs that no one else knows about.

“I guarantee you that today, and tomorrow, and the next day, and many days after that, something will happen between the two of you to cause you to laugh - deep belly laughs – and no one else will notice or have been there. But years from now, something will trigger a memory of that event and that laughter, and you will both smile – no matter how old you are, or how long you’ve been married…That is the friendship and union you are entering into today,” that minister said.

And, what a fine thought that is…For all of us old married couples and all of those newlyweds being photographed…A club, exclusive membership, only you and your best friend for life get to belong…Forever, or at least “’til death do you part”…What a grand adventure, and what a fun thing to get to experience each time a couple chooses me to capture those particular memories…an honor and an privilege.

Waving Girl

Florence Martus, also known as “The Waving Girl” of Savannah, was a small, slender woman who was known to wear long flowing skirts and always have a Collie at her side. She lived with her brother George, the light house keeper on Elba Island, at the mouth of the Savannah River from 1886-1931. And, for all those 44 years, she greeted ships as they came and went from that busy port.

By day, she waved to the ships – and the sailors on board – with a kerchief. At night, she used a lantern. And, mariners the world-wide fell in love with her.

The imagined story was that she was engaged to be married to a seaman - much like the ones she waved so enthusiastically to – but one day he left, never to return, presumably lost at sea. Nothing could keep Miss Florence from hoping for her beloved’s return, and so she turned to waving to every ship that passed by, still wishful that someday, she might see her sailor waving back, from the deck of some ship long at sea…

And, while Miss Florence’s love, if he ever existed, didn’t come back, the thankful horn blasts from the ships passing kept that “Waving Girl” waving. And, it turns out, she did some saving, as well.

In 1893, at the age of 25, Miss Florence and her brother George reportedly braved hurricane conditions in their low, flat-bottomed row boat, to save several men from a sinking craft. Shortly after that, she and George rescued all but one of the crew of a government dredge that had caught fire and was rapidly sinking.

According to Savannah historians, George and Miss Florence George attended church regularly, and visited town once a month, for supplies, library books and mail. The mail the “Waving Girl” included letters, gifts and poetry from mariners all over the world.

In 1931, George, at the age of 70, was forced to retire from keeping the Elba Island lighthouse. This meant that the “Waving Girl” was forced to retire, too. She and George moved to town. News spread quickly about the “Waving Girl” being able to wave no more, and shortly after Miss Florence and George left their island cottage for good, she received $523 from well-wishers world-wide – a huge sum during the Great Depression.

Miss Florence continued to keep Collies, attend church regularly, read library books, and gather her mail, but those who knew her have said she never really took to life on the mainland all that well.
In 1938, some 3,000 people turned out for her 70th birthday celebration – a city-wide event that she was quoted as calling, the “grandest day” of her life. In 1943, at the age of 75, Savannah’s “Waving Girl,” died, after a short bout of pneumonia.

A 20-foot bronze statue of “The Waving Girl” was erected in Savannah’s Riverside Park in 1972, near the island where Miss Florence spent most of her life. The same artist who did the memorial of the Marines raising the flag on Iwo Jima was commissioned to the work. An anonymous donor contributed most of the $50,000 it cost to have the statue made.

And, don’t we all wish he was a lowly seaman, now wildly successful, who fell in love with the “Waving Girl” as he passed by on some ship where he served as a young deckhand back when they were both young and fair?

On my first trip to Savannah, the statue of “The Waving Girl” caught my eye, and I have loved Miss Florence’s story ever since – both the real and the made-up parts. Imagine living on a small island with your brother for years and years…the only thing breaking up your days being the passing of ships, and the appreciative toot of their horns, in response to your kerchief in the wind, or your lantern in the dark of night…Imagine rescuing sailors from sinking ships…and, always having those elegant Collies at your side…Imagine the gifts and poems and letters she must have received…

There’s just something so marvelous about a juicy, old-fashioned story like that…Now days, Miss Florence wouldn’t wave or probably even go out of the house. She would simply Twitter as ships passed by, hoping that a few of the sailors on board were her followers (or Tweeps), so they could receive her Tweets…Someday that may be the stuff of which fine stories are made, but for now, please, let me have the story, and the statue, the Collies, lanterns, light house and kerchiefs… In spite of the need to stay current, my old imagination just works better that way.

(Thank you to Erin Rossiter of the Athens Banner-Herald, for filling in the gaps in my knowledge of Miss Florence’s story in “The Long Wave,” the 5.17.09 paper.)

Glory Bound

“When I hear that trumpet sound, I will lay my burdens down…I’ll be travelin’ far from home…I’m waiting for that train to come. I know where she’s coming from. Listen can you hear her on the track? When I board I won’t be looking back…Hallelujah. ”
- from “Glory Bound,” a song by Ruth Moody

I was an EMT on an ambulance a few years back. One of the things you do a lot of on an ambulance is haul elderly people back and forth from the hospital to their home or nursing home. These trips become more frequent as a person’s health declines, and after a while, you begin to know these passengers pretty well – and, how they look health-wise.

One thing I observed is, as a person’s health begins to seriously fail, the person takes on an increasingly transparent look - as if they are slowly becoming more of a reflection of themselves than the real thing.

Much to the amusement of my paramedic colleagues, I tried to explain what I was seeing in these patients as being “like a really well-worn T-shirt – a favorite that’s been worn and washed a million times. There’s no holes in it, but the cloth has gotten really thin, almost like you can see right through it...” Many laughs generated there - but, to me the phenomenon is real. And, I still see it happening around me today.

In fact, a beloved and elderly neighbor of mine seems to become slightly more translucent every time I see her. In her case, the translucence may come as much from her rock solid faith in God, and her excitement about that faith, as it comes from failing health, as she’s actually doing better physically than she has in a long time.

The other evening I was sitting with her, chatting, enjoying the birds singing and the cool spring air. Somehow the topic turned to heaven and how her face lit up! It lit up so brightly it was almost aglow, and in that instant, her translucence became really obvious.

She began to tell me about how she hopes to see her sisters in heaven, and how much fun it’s going to be to be able to move about quickly again. We joked about her needing running shoes in heaven, because she’d have so much ground to cover…What a joy-filled conversation it was - my neighbor so sure of her next stop, and me, so uplifted by her version of what heaven would be like.

I went home that night, and sat wondering for quite awhile – out in the dark yard, stars shining brightly above – what it would be like to be that sure of where death will take you…How comforting that must be. My faith is strong, but I’m still really afraid of death, and the details of what comes next are pretty hazy in my mind…

At the hospital, in the emergency room, where I now work as a social worker, you see death relatively often. It comes in many shapes and forms, and is kinder to some than others. In a “good” death, the person is elderly and has lived a long, full life. He or she has family gathered around. They seem close to one another, and their faith is strong. Often the person who is dying knows he or she is about to pass, and often there seems to be an uncanny peace about the process.

It is not uncommon for the dying person to focus on a part of the room where no one is standing, and begin to talk to someone in the family who has already died – as if they were at the bedside along with the living. In these cases, one of the family members will explain that, “Mama’s been doing that a lot lately - talking to my brother, as if he’s still here. He’s been gone for nearly 25 years - died in a car wreck when he was young. I’m not sure why she thinks he’s here, but she sure has been talking about him a lot lately. Before now, it’s been years since she’s spoken his name.”

Sometimes it’s a parent, or a spouse, or a sibling the dying person sees and begins to talk with. Occasionally, it’s just a “beautiful angel, surrounded by light”… According to the scientists, when a person is very sick, or about to die, their blood and brain chemistry changes, and they hallucinate. There are no long lost relatives in the room, no angels – only messed up potassium levels and such…

That may be, but I prefer my version, where a person on their way from this world to the next begins to make a transition…and a little while later, loved ones who have already made the trip show up to guide them…I sincerely hope my neighbor has a good many years left on this earth, but it makes me less sad to think of her going, whenever that occurs, knowing that she will be greeted by her sisters, who will be holding running shoes for her to don, once she passes those pearly gates…or boards that train…or simply fades away in a cloud of comfortable, old T-shirt-like translucence.

Cardinals

“Say it’s only a paper moon sailing over a cardboard sea, but it wouldn’t be make believe if you believed in me…” from Paper Moon, by Harold Arlen, E. Y. Harburg and Billy Rose

There is a pair of cardinals raising two babies in a nest right outside my kitchen window. First the mama built the nest, then she sat on her little eggs for the 12-13 days cardinal eggs take to hatch. During that time we rarely saw the dad, as he is much more skittish than she about the humans gawking from the other side of the glass.

The babies hatched three days ago, and the couple has been busy feeding them since. According to my Google search, the babies will be fed primarily by Dad until they leave the nest, 9-11 days after hatching. Mom, it seems, will be busy building nest #2 during this time, as cardinals attempt two broods during each mating season.

Google also said both parents can feed their young until the babies leave the nest, then Mama will go off and build a new nest for their next family. Our cardinal couple seems to be following that model, as the mama still spends a lot of time in the nest with the babies while dad flits in and out feeding them.

Cardinals mate for life and I like that idea. It makes this little couple’s efforts seem even friendlier and more heartwarming. It’s nice to imagine them, building nests and feeding babies together for years to come.

Other animals that mate for life include: gibbon apes, wolves, coyotes, barn owls, beavers, bald eagles, golden eagles, condors, swans, cranes, angel fish, pigeons, red-tailed hawks, anglerfish, ospreys, prairie voles, black vultures and termites.

Contrary to common lore (which seems to have originated with the “Friends” episode, in which Phoebe says Ross is Rachel's "lobster"), lobsters do not mate for life. They have a tender mating ritual, but the male also mates with almost every other female in the area. So much for lobsters and true love…

Right now Mr. Clark is packing my lunch for my 12-hour hospital work day tomorrow – the human equivalent, I guess, of what Mr. Cardinal has been doing for the past few days…

Marriage is a strange thing, in that it just keeps surprising you. You walk down that aisle, say, “I do,” agree to mate for life, and away you go – with no idea of what lies ahead. Sometimes it’s pretty good stuff - other times it’s just disastrous.

Mr. Clark and I signed on for the long haul together 30 years ago. And, we’ve had some very good times and some pretty bad ones. The thing that always kept us together was our kids. The act of raising our children and enjoying each other as a family always seemed more important than whatever trial or tribulation was driving us apart.

Ironically, the biggest trial and tribulation so far – Mr. Clark’s now 10 months of unemployment – occurred after our little cardinals left the nest. In fact, our little cardinals were already married and settled into lives and nests of their own, when the parental nest took the hard hit.

I know it’s supposed to be “for better or for worse,” and “for richer or for poorer,” but it’s a lot easier to talk that talk, than walk that walk. And, as much as we both have tried to stay focused on the positive, and remain optimistic about the future, there have been some pretty bleak, dark and angry times here in the Clark house, as the economy continues to crumble and Mr. Clark’s job search continues to net only occasional contract work.

If you had asked me at various points along the course of our marriage, if I would still be with Mr. Clark under our current circumstances – children grown, money all gone, no job or security in sight – I’m a little ashamed to admit, but in all honesty have to say, I would’ve said, “No way.”

But, here we are – at about as low a point as two people who still have their health can be - and, we are doing just fine. Like those cardinals outside the kitchen window, Mr. Clark and I just keep on, keepin’ on. Realistically, those baby cardinals have a very poor chance of surviving to adulthood, but that doesn’t change the care with which their parents feed them or shelter them from the wind and rain.

I don’t know what the future has in store for Mr. Clark and me. I certainly hope it involves a job for him, but in this economy there are no guarantees.

What I’d like to envision for us is the same thing I like to imagine for the cardinal couple outside the kitchen window – some successes, a few failures, only a bit of heartbreak, and a continued joint effort forward…

It’s a daunting notion - mating for life – but, if the cardinals (and all those other creatures) can do it, so can Mr. Clark and I.