gratitude
The clouds cast a shadow over the landscape as a light but steady drizzle seemed to permeate the air. The day’s agenda was barren of dedicated community chores or tasks. Free from some pain this reluctant Parkinson’s participant had been experiencing earlier in the week, a leisurely morning was engaged catching up on some reading and reflecting. In the still quiet of the moment a glance at a wall of pictures ignited an almost combustible explosion of memories. Cherished moments of roasting hot dogs with my older sons near the farm pond in North Carolina; Christmas dinner with Mom, my sister and all the kids in our Philadelphia row house; a birthday celebration nineteen years ago in rural Pennsylvania, and our children on the beach near our Connecticut home were images that coalesced in an erupting fountain of thankfulness. The richness of blessings we have experienced came rushing to my mind like a freight train loaded with grains of memories. As I paused in these moments of reflection I recalled that never once did the presence of worry, fear, or doubt regarding our lives serve to advance or propel us toward the blessing of family in which we lived. We lived, loved and worked toward a foundation of wholeness in which each of our lives could thrive and mature. Perfection was never achieved, nor was it sought. However, today’s reflection displays characters perfectly suited for their roles even as the stage is lighted for the next experience.
Bright sunshine blazed through the nearly barren trees as the sun rose on this frosty morning. Lying randomly beneath the huge tree in the front yard are pecans ready to be collected, dried, and stored. The task began several days ago as we made our path from the outside perimeter to the inner core near the tree. Several bags were filled before we made a single round, so many more remain for today’s harvest. One of the several nearby squirrels has also found her way to the abundant harvest of delicious nuts. The quite ample supply gives assurance there are more than enough to share. The simple act of harvest, though challenging to this stiff Parkinson’s affected back, is a welcomed retreat from the seemingly unavoidable news reports of terror, and political and religious strife. Grasping each exposed pecan nut from its protective outer shell in which it matured affords an opportunity to express thanks for this fine harvest that will be shared over the coming season. An escape from the complex world around us into the seemingly simple world of collecting the gift of harvest brings with it great joy through which gratitude gains its opportunity for expression. The germination and development under various climate conditions of this gift of nature is far from simple, but its rendering enables for us a simple act of harvest. May you find within the complexity of your day that special chance to give thanks for the harvest before you, in whatever form it may take!
We arrived at the enormous courthouse and after asking for directions to our assigned destination, we approached courtroom 999. A uniformed guard took our “notice of hearing” paper to determine its accuracy with his document. As he checked off our presence on his list of hearings, he handed us our document and instructed us to wait until our name was called. Soon the kinship with my son would be sealed as a legal one as his adoption by me became reality. As we waited, my mind wandered back to that morning in May of 1985 as we anxiously watched the sun rise over Long Island Sound before making the drive to the airport in New York. We watched as the plane made its way to the arrival gate and my heart raced faster as the woman escorting our son on his journey from Calcutta to his new home in Connecticut with two who could love him like no others. As we lifted him from that hand woven basket that had been his travel crib and looked into that angelic sleeping face the bond of love was sealed. Suddenly, we were back from the past as the clerk called our name for the hearing to begin. The judge stated the petition of “Millner to adopt adult Jahan Garassino” would begin. The hearing was under way. Judge to Jahan: “Are you older than twelve and do you consent to being adopted?” The thirty year old six foot one and two hundred plus pound man responded; “yes”. The judge turned to me and asked: “Do you wish to adopt this man?” I responded with a resounding “absolutely!” The judge then stated; “petition is granted.” Finally, what was accomplished in my heart thirty years ago that morning in May was legally acknowledged that fourth day of November in 2015. With arms of gratitude I hugged my son and whispered “I love you” through the welling of thankful tears. Since the first day I saw him he has been my son. Now the legal designation has caught up with the position of my heart.
The faux fireplace spouts infrared heat from its front panel as a heavy mist of rain appears as fog over the early morning landscape. Gracie, the Golden lies peacefully under the edge of the recliner in which this Parkinson’s participant sits and reflects on the full pace of the last few days. Two runs for food and supplies for a family reunion and participation in a church/community program that delivers food for the weekend to children in need filled the Friday before the event anticipated for months. We arrived at the “fellowship hall” of the church and began the process of setting up the computer and projector as well as the “self serve” line of food for the crowd expected any moment. Delight filled our hearts as distant relatives of my paternal grandmother began to arrive. For some, it had been years since I had seen them. For others, it was an opportunity to meet family of which I was only faintly aware. Gratitude welled up in my heart as I found opportunities to share time and hear memories from two beautiful “matriarchs” who were blessed with years of 90 and beyond and hearts filled with delight to be sharing then with family. We shared pictures in a slide show created from old photographs from the late 1930s through the early 1950s. Genealogical charts and home picture albums were perused after sharing our meal and the afternoon was packed with stories of days gone by. As we packed away the remaining food for use in the next day’s community fellowship program, we were filled with gratitude and love for the connection to family and the collection of memories that will sustain us until the next time together. The richness of lives can never be encapsulated into a few moments, but a few moments sharing their wealth of experience are among the riches that contribute to the legacy of love!
Cool crisp air embraced the bright and sunny morning that this reluctant participant with Parkinson’s had designated as house cleaning day. Vinyl siding now encases the old farm house and sparkles a bright white most of the year. Summer warmth and humidity in the presence of reduced direct sunlight on the north side serve as a rich foundation for the growth of mold and mildew. Armed with a bucket of water and bleach along with a long handled brush and water hose, this determined cleaning warrior commenced the battle of the mold. Tackling one section at a time starting from the top, the bleach soaked brush was guided up and down, then side to side. A rinse with the hose quickly uncovered spots that needed another application from the cleaning warrior to render the section a sparkling white. Section by section, strip by strip, the process was repeated again and again. Aching joints and stiffened muscles seemed to all coalesce at the eighty percent complete point for that side of the house. The real battle then began. It was no longer the battle of me versus the mold, it was the battle between the “I can’t do this anymore” me and the “just one more section” me. The “just one more section” warrior won out to complete what had been set as the goal for the cleaning. As each stroke in the “me” battle was delivered with determination a grateful heart noticed what appeared to be a breakthrough in the joint pain and stiffness. Both pests were still present, but their metaphorical barking was not as loud. Thankfulness became the engine that lifted each stroke as the last intended section was complete. The house cleaning set out for completion had been accomplished and a grateful heart embraced this warrior in a restful reprieve.
As I peer through the windows at the green, yellow, and brown toned leaves flapping in the autumn breeze, I am today remembering those same leaves as vibrant green in the spring and summer. I recall that when a child my shoes, shirt, and long pants were shed for shorts as soon as school was out for that season. Those seemingly restrictive items of clothing were used only for Sunday school and special occasions. Autumn meant a loss of freedom to wander the farm and the woodlands unrestricted by garments and need for warmth from the cooling air. Now far from those days of childhood the feelings of loss try to insinuate themselves as the overcast skies prompt an apparent gloom on the yellowing autumn landscape. Parkinson’s disease has brought with it symptoms of stiffness and movement restrictions that now being experienced in the autumn add to those feelings of loss of freedom. A seemingly easy task for which I volunteered yesterday turned into a major physical challenge that was taxing yet a blessing and joy as those for whom the service was rendered received great joy. The childhood experience became less and less an issue as I moved on to different tasks with school and life on the farm. I learned that those tasks were of no less value (to me or to others), just different. In this autumn, here and now, I am grateful for the experience that taught me that what I am able to accomplish now has no less value. It is just different. Tasks now may require a different accommodation than before. Chores may take a bit longer than previous times. As I ponder the things yet to be done I embrace those thoughts with a thankful heart that fills with joy.
She sits by the window and watches as the ravens prance in the open field, consuming the occasional worm or creature driven to the soil’s surface by the recent deluge from days of rain. Readjusting her position to view another field, Gracie the Golden lets loose a low grade groan as she expresses herself about the goings on outside. Her run in the early morning had been short as she wanted not to miss out on the fresh dish of food she has become accustomed to as waiting for her return inside. Gracie sat eagerly as she peered in through the glass on the door and Sebastian the barn cat rubbed himself gingerly around the porch bench as he “meowed” his desire for a morning morsel as well. Cawing crows, a meowing cat, and a restless retriever are welcomed participants in the celebration of a new morning. Although stiffness is a seemingly constant companion to this reluctant participant in Parkinson’s disease, we find movement and stretching and bending and twisting to accommodate doors, the dog, the dish and the needs of others brings about an unloosing of flexibility. A cloud of otherwise dreaded challenge is lifted by the light of gratitude that arises as we reflect on the opportunities that lie ahead for today’s unraveling of possibilities. Thankful for shelter, people, and other creatures to love, this somewhat stiff but willing participant steps onto the stage of today’s production.
A change from rainy and crisp to overcast and muggy served as the backdrop to stiffness and aches that seemed to annoy this survivor of nearly seven decades. On the advent of my birth anniversary I was perched precariously on the precipice of a pity party! A mood of woe was creeping in as I sat reflecting on the last couple of years since a formal “retirement”. As a not so fond participant in woeful moods, I decided to let myself go there and “listen” to what I must have been telling myself. Added to the mood walk after the evening eclipse, was the weight of an interrupted sleep by a not so well doggie who must have found a tasty mushroom or some other indigestible morsel to consume the day before. As I “listened” to what the mood “felt like” I began to realize the inaccuracy of the message. It is true that what has been accomplished is firmly in the past, but it is not over! The grace that underpinned any accomplishment attained still resides within this vessel overflowing with knowledge and experiences yet to be fulfilled. Gratitude began to arise as thoughts moved from “has been” to “yet still”. As I savored the presence of the “yet still” thoughts and began to season them with heartfelt gratitude, my “mood walk” changed. It is true that what has been is in the past, but here and now lays the good grace to discover the possibilities that are the substance of tomorrow’s memories. Yesterday’s tomorrow is here today. Thankfulness warms the pot of possibility that is now steaming with God’s grace.
Gazing beyond the chestnut tree past the gazebo and onto the pond this reluctant participant in Parkinson’s disease gives thanks for the opportunity to enjoy the experience of family. During the course of one month we have hosted two sons and their families and reveled in the marriage celebration of a cousin with a plethora of relatives. Each of these adventures has brought immeasurable joy and great comfort as we now view the beauty of the landscape and recall the unique elements of each blessing. The wonder of our nine month old granddaughter crawling her way past the otherwise preoccupied pup tussling with her canine mother is yet another mental picture added to the book of gratitude being compiled with recollections. As we whisper the words of thanks for the opportunity to share these precious moments recalled we are filled with the presence of peace that supersedes our cares. Gratitude is the spark that ignites the fuel of thankfulness that illuminates our landscape of memories. May your memories today be filled with light!
The church was bustling with family and friends greeting one another in anticipation of the wedding for which everyone had arrived midst the passing shower. Two delightful days had been spent with Ray’s brother and his wife in central Connecticut and we now were focusing on the union of their cousin’s daughter with a “fine British chap” she had met in college. Beside me was Aunt Sarah, the reigning matriarch of the family clan. We had visited with her Just the day before in the retirement community in which she lives unassisted and independent at a stunning ninety three years of age. Spry and quick witted, this avid reader and former nurse exudes warmth and caring as she surveys the plethora of relatives gathered for this nuptial celebration. Soon the ceremony concluded its intended purpose and the newlyweds were off for photographs and preparation for the giant reception about to unfold at the lake in northwestern Connecticut. Hugs, kisses, and giant handshakes were exchanged with multiples of near and distant relatives as the musical dinner celebration began. The stiffness of PD tried to take over, but dogged determination fought it at every turn. As I looked at the then bustling dance floor, there was Aunt Sarah, hand raised and reaching for the sky as she moved to the rhythm of the beat. As I witnessed her celebration of life and love I gave thanks for sharing these moments with those lovely people and for the joy that life has to offer. Looking past age and physical challenges, one may find the substance upon which a rich life is lived – LOVE. The newlyweds were beginning their celebration of love in a grand form and we were grateful that they shared it so beautifully with so many!