I turned 60 on March 24th. My older sister insisted that we mark the occasion with a mini family reunion. She flew in to Seattle from Detroit and my niece (her daughter) hosted a birthday party for me, complete with a decades theme. There were party favors and foods from the 1950's, 1960's, 1970's, 1980's, 1990's and 2000's. We had Necco Wafers and Pez, we had ratatouie and carrot cake, and we had poems. My niece asked everyone who came to write a poem for me - and they did! Seeing myself through the eyes of my sister, my husband, my two sons, my great-nieces and daughters-in-law was truly memorable and very moving.
My sister also gave me a wonderful gift: letters written to my cousin Harry when he was in basic training in 1952. These letters were mostly from my mother and father, and were simply telling Harry about their activities day to day, my father's work and volunteer work, me and my sister. Unremarkable, right? Except that my mother died 6 months after writing these letters. She was already sick. She referred to her "rheumatism" saying her hands were making it hard to write. Only she didn't have rheumatism. She had Scleroderma, but didn't know it yet. The diagnosis would not be given until 3 months after these letters were written.
I have very few actual memories of my mother. She died when I was three and a half. These letters give her back to me. She was a loving mother to me and my sister, a loving wife to my father and a loving aunt to my cousin. She told cousin Harry about the funny things I did, when I was sick, when my sister needed new clothes for school, an opera she attended with my father. She became a real person through these letters, not just a tragic figure who died so young and left me alone.
I am so grateful for these letters. I have read them again and again. I was loved and cared for by my mother, and even though she left so long ago, I carry her in my heart always.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Some Thoughts on Turning 60 by Saralee Sky
In exactly two weeks - on March 24th - I will turn 60. This is a milestone, a testament to the fact that I have lived on this planet in this incarnation for 60 years. What can be said of my life, my time on Earth?
I am aware of feeling deeply, of always feeling everything intensely, every hurt, every praise, every event in my life. I am also aware of not having a very good memory. Minutes, days, weeks, years have been lived and forgotten. Where are those events? Those heartbeats? Those experiences?
When I say I do not have a good memory it is true only in part. I DO have a very good memory for unique moments in my life - special teaching moments when someone or something intervenes and shakes me to my core. One such moment: I am 3 and sitting in my high chair at my Aunt Goldie's house. The phone rings and she answers it. She listens, then throws her head back and screams. No one tells me anything but I KNOW my mother is dead.
I am 6 or 7 and I am sitting on my father's lap. "I'm hungry," I say. "I'm Jewish," he replies.
I am away at summer camp for the first time. I am 8. I am told to come to the camp office and then told my father is on the phone. We are not allowed to receive calls except in emergencies so I am scared. I pick up the phone and my father's voice explodes over the wire, "What did you do to you (step)mother?!?"
I am 8 or 9 and I am sitting at the kitchen table across from my father. My stepmother sits between us. We are having lunch. "Give me a match," my father says to me. I reach behind me to a cubby in the wall where the matches are kept. I drop the book of matches on the floor. I reach down to pick them up when I feel/hear my father's hand slam down on the table. "When I say give me a match, I mean give me a match!" he explodes with anger.
I am sitting on my Aunt Goldie's porch waiting for dinner. I am with my Aunt Betty. I am 9 or 10. "I'm starving," I say. "You'll never know what it is to be truly hungry," my Aunt Betty replies.
I am 17. I just got home from a basketball game (or similar event). I hang up my coat in the closet in the family room. My Uncle Joe is there and he says, "GoodNIGHT, Saralee." "Goodnight," I reply as if by rote. "Do you realize that for the last three years I have always said goodnight to you first?" he asks.
These are moments etched in the stone of my memory. While some of them may seem inconsequential in the sum total of a life, they are actually extremely important. Let's take them one by one. In the first case, no one told me that my mother had died, but I knew the moment my aunt screamed what had happened. My mother was in the hospital. She had a fatal disease and she had just died. I felt the connection sever as I sat in my high chair, and I had no words to describe what I felt. I learned from that moment on to listen to the voice inside me.
Next one: I am sitting on my father's lap. I know he's making a joke by retorting "I'm Jewish" to my "I'm hungry", but I also know that he is making an important statement about his identity, the way he sees himself in the world. I begin to think about my own identity from that moment on.
Next one - summer camp. My father goes on to say that I have to apologize to my stepmother for "hurting her feelings". From this event I learn that to remain close to my father and win his approval, I have to please my stepmother. I stop listening to my inner voice and start listening to her. It will be many years before I can get my stepmother out of my head and start tuning in to my own inner voice again. From this I also learn that adults sometimes expect children to be more mature than they are.
Next one - the give me a match one. This was very scary and is etched in my memory because of the huge amount of rage my father displayed at a seemingly minor event - my dropping his matches. While I kept the table between us and my stepmother pleaded with him to calm down, I realized with great clarity that he was not mad about the matches per se. He had a very slow fuse and this was simply the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. He must have felt disregarded and disrespected by me for a long time. From this event I learned not to take my father and his building anger lightly.
Next - me and my Aunt Betty. I am an American child of the 1950's. I do not know want or hunger. But my mother's family, along with her sisters, Goldie and Betty, experienced something that they call The Hunger in Russia in the early 1900's. They were forced out of their Jewish shtettle and into Kiev when The Hunger occured. They all nearly starved. This same Aunt Betty would steal raw grain by the handful from the wealthier Jewish family she worked for. She would put it in her skirt pockets and bring the grain home to her family. She told me all this while we sat on the porch waiting for dinner. I cannot say the words 'I'm starving' anymore. I do not have the right.
Last one, my Uncle Joe saying good night to me first. He waited and waited for me to say it to him first. I of course got used to him saying it first and simply didn't realize I was taking him - and his goodnights - for granted. I was a self-centered teenager. I learned to peek out from underneath all the self-centeredness and see others as they see me. I learned to pay attention to the people in my energy field.
As I continued to live and grow and learn, there were more AHA moments such as the ones I have described. They have each taught me something valuable and precious. I am on the descent of my life. I have passed the half-way point long ago, perhaps even the three-quarter point. I do not know how many more teaching moments I have left. Whatever is in store for me, I am grateful for all that I have been given, and all that I have learned.
I am aware of feeling deeply, of always feeling everything intensely, every hurt, every praise, every event in my life. I am also aware of not having a very good memory. Minutes, days, weeks, years have been lived and forgotten. Where are those events? Those heartbeats? Those experiences?
When I say I do not have a good memory it is true only in part. I DO have a very good memory for unique moments in my life - special teaching moments when someone or something intervenes and shakes me to my core. One such moment: I am 3 and sitting in my high chair at my Aunt Goldie's house. The phone rings and she answers it. She listens, then throws her head back and screams. No one tells me anything but I KNOW my mother is dead.
I am 6 or 7 and I am sitting on my father's lap. "I'm hungry," I say. "I'm Jewish," he replies.
I am away at summer camp for the first time. I am 8. I am told to come to the camp office and then told my father is on the phone. We are not allowed to receive calls except in emergencies so I am scared. I pick up the phone and my father's voice explodes over the wire, "What did you do to you (step)mother?!?"
I am 8 or 9 and I am sitting at the kitchen table across from my father. My stepmother sits between us. We are having lunch. "Give me a match," my father says to me. I reach behind me to a cubby in the wall where the matches are kept. I drop the book of matches on the floor. I reach down to pick them up when I feel/hear my father's hand slam down on the table. "When I say give me a match, I mean give me a match!" he explodes with anger.
I am sitting on my Aunt Goldie's porch waiting for dinner. I am with my Aunt Betty. I am 9 or 10. "I'm starving," I say. "You'll never know what it is to be truly hungry," my Aunt Betty replies.
I am 17. I just got home from a basketball game (or similar event). I hang up my coat in the closet in the family room. My Uncle Joe is there and he says, "GoodNIGHT, Saralee." "Goodnight," I reply as if by rote. "Do you realize that for the last three years I have always said goodnight to you first?" he asks.
These are moments etched in the stone of my memory. While some of them may seem inconsequential in the sum total of a life, they are actually extremely important. Let's take them one by one. In the first case, no one told me that my mother had died, but I knew the moment my aunt screamed what had happened. My mother was in the hospital. She had a fatal disease and she had just died. I felt the connection sever as I sat in my high chair, and I had no words to describe what I felt. I learned from that moment on to listen to the voice inside me.
Next one: I am sitting on my father's lap. I know he's making a joke by retorting "I'm Jewish" to my "I'm hungry", but I also know that he is making an important statement about his identity, the way he sees himself in the world. I begin to think about my own identity from that moment on.
Next one - summer camp. My father goes on to say that I have to apologize to my stepmother for "hurting her feelings". From this event I learn that to remain close to my father and win his approval, I have to please my stepmother. I stop listening to my inner voice and start listening to her. It will be many years before I can get my stepmother out of my head and start tuning in to my own inner voice again. From this I also learn that adults sometimes expect children to be more mature than they are.
Next one - the give me a match one. This was very scary and is etched in my memory because of the huge amount of rage my father displayed at a seemingly minor event - my dropping his matches. While I kept the table between us and my stepmother pleaded with him to calm down, I realized with great clarity that he was not mad about the matches per se. He had a very slow fuse and this was simply the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. He must have felt disregarded and disrespected by me for a long time. From this event I learned not to take my father and his building anger lightly.
Next - me and my Aunt Betty. I am an American child of the 1950's. I do not know want or hunger. But my mother's family, along with her sisters, Goldie and Betty, experienced something that they call The Hunger in Russia in the early 1900's. They were forced out of their Jewish shtettle and into Kiev when The Hunger occured. They all nearly starved. This same Aunt Betty would steal raw grain by the handful from the wealthier Jewish family she worked for. She would put it in her skirt pockets and bring the grain home to her family. She told me all this while we sat on the porch waiting for dinner. I cannot say the words 'I'm starving' anymore. I do not have the right.
Last one, my Uncle Joe saying good night to me first. He waited and waited for me to say it to him first. I of course got used to him saying it first and simply didn't realize I was taking him - and his goodnights - for granted. I was a self-centered teenager. I learned to peek out from underneath all the self-centeredness and see others as they see me. I learned to pay attention to the people in my energy field.
As I continued to live and grow and learn, there were more AHA moments such as the ones I have described. They have each taught me something valuable and precious. I am on the descent of my life. I have passed the half-way point long ago, perhaps even the three-quarter point. I do not know how many more teaching moments I have left. Whatever is in store for me, I am grateful for all that I have been given, and all that I have learned.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Swearing In Ceremonies Take Two by Saralee Sky
Recently Barack Hussein Obama was sworn in as the 44th President of these United States of America. In fact, he was sworn in twice, because the Chief Justice mixed up the words during the inauguration ceremony. It got me to thinking about promises we all make and oaths we take in our lives. How can we make them more than mere words?
We all make promises, to ourselves and to others. And perhaps the most formal “oath” we take is part of our marriage ceremony. We vow to love, honor, respect, etc. I am sure we all mean the words as we say them on that special day, but do we keep the vows alive over time? Not all promises are able to be kept. Not all vows hold over time. But surely it is good to try and live up to the lofty ideals contained in oaths. They have worthy goals: “Do no harm.” “Until death do us part.” “Defend the Constitution of the United States.”
I swear I will not dishonor my soul with hatred, but offer myself humbly as a guardian of nature, as a healer of misery, as a messenger of wonder, as an architect of peace. (Diane Ackerman)
The above quote from Diane Ackerman came to me from www.gratefullness.org as part of their email program, Word for the Day. Many of their quotes give me pause, but none more so than this one. I am struck by the power of the words, and the intention of the oath. I do not know why Ms Ackerman created this oath, what ceremony she was participating in if any. But what if – each and every morning – we all had to swear to live our lives a certain way? If we did, then what better oath than the one Ms Ackerman has created?
I have decided to take this oath every day, each morning as I start my day. I offer it to you and to President Obama. It is not as formal or specific as the President’s oath, but it says so very much more to me. It uses words like: guardian, messenger, healer, architect. When I see myself as a guardian, as a messenger, as a healer, or as an architect, I feel powerful, able to make a change for better in the world. More important it uses the word humbly. This word reminds me not to take myself too seriously, even though I may be a guardian, messenger, etc.
I am touched by this oath, this attempt to align oneself with nature, wonder and peace, and to move away from hatred. I read Ms Ackerman’s words and I want to live up to them, be worthy of them, have them engraved upon my soul. What better eulogy could I have than to have it said of me: “she hated no one or no thing, she loved and protected the sea, the earth, and all who dwell therein, she healed the sick and the sick-at-heart, she filled herself and those around her with wonder, and she worked tirelessly for peace”?
We all make promises, to ourselves and to others. And perhaps the most formal “oath” we take is part of our marriage ceremony. We vow to love, honor, respect, etc. I am sure we all mean the words as we say them on that special day, but do we keep the vows alive over time? Not all promises are able to be kept. Not all vows hold over time. But surely it is good to try and live up to the lofty ideals contained in oaths. They have worthy goals: “Do no harm.” “Until death do us part.” “Defend the Constitution of the United States.”
I swear I will not dishonor my soul with hatred, but offer myself humbly as a guardian of nature, as a healer of misery, as a messenger of wonder, as an architect of peace. (Diane Ackerman)
The above quote from Diane Ackerman came to me from www.gratefullness.org as part of their email program, Word for the Day. Many of their quotes give me pause, but none more so than this one. I am struck by the power of the words, and the intention of the oath. I do not know why Ms Ackerman created this oath, what ceremony she was participating in if any. But what if – each and every morning – we all had to swear to live our lives a certain way? If we did, then what better oath than the one Ms Ackerman has created?
I have decided to take this oath every day, each morning as I start my day. I offer it to you and to President Obama. It is not as formal or specific as the President’s oath, but it says so very much more to me. It uses words like: guardian, messenger, healer, architect. When I see myself as a guardian, as a messenger, as a healer, or as an architect, I feel powerful, able to make a change for better in the world. More important it uses the word humbly. This word reminds me not to take myself too seriously, even though I may be a guardian, messenger, etc.
I am touched by this oath, this attempt to align oneself with nature, wonder and peace, and to move away from hatred. I read Ms Ackerman’s words and I want to live up to them, be worthy of them, have them engraved upon my soul. What better eulogy could I have than to have it said of me: “she hated no one or no thing, she loved and protected the sea, the earth, and all who dwell therein, she healed the sick and the sick-at-heart, she filled herself and those around her with wonder, and she worked tirelessly for peace”?
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Ode to Angel
My dearest friend and cat, Angel, died Tuesday, January 27, 2009. She wanted to go out on Saturday night, January 24th. She did not come back in when I called her. I decided to let her stay out, since the weather was clear and she had ready shelter on or under our porch. She never returned on Sunday or Monday.
My neighbor found her Monday afternoon in his driveway. He thought she was hit by a car because she was walking so 'funny'. She is missing her rear right leg, so she walks sort of sideways, with her tail pointing right as ballast. He called animal control and they took her to the animal shelter. He did not realize she was mine. Monday evening he rang our bell and asked if our cat was missing, then told us what he had done. I called the shelter but the message said they do not take messages or give out information on missing animals on the phone. They said to come in between the hours of 10 and 5.
Tuesday morning – right before I got there at 10:05 - the Vet euthanized her because she was vomiting blood and had a tumor. She would have been 19 years old in March.
Jer and I started out at 9:30 Tuesday morning. We made one stop along the way to drop off a letter for Mother Baby Center at a donut shop (where my son works). As we pulled in to the curb, a customer kept mouthing something to me. Turns out he was saying we had a flat tire! I cannot remember the last time I had a flat tire! My son helped Jer put on the spare. Still we were on our way to the shelter by 9:55. We got there a few minutes after 10 and Angel was already gone!
An aid told me that Angel could not get warm when she came into the shelter on Monday afternoon, so the aid took her home with her and slept with her Monday night. When she brought her in to the shelter Tuesday morning it was clear that Angel did not feel well. I guess they had determined she had some sort of tumor on Monday. When she started vomiting blood the Vet made the decision to euthanize her there and then. If they had known I was coming, would they have waited?
I am grateful to the aid who provided Angel with comfort when I could not do so. Everyone at the shelter was so kind, saying, "I am sorry for your loss." My poor sweet beautiful Angel kitty.
I keep replaying her last days and the fact that I wasn’t with her at the end. A friend said perhaps Angel was trying to spare me the last days of her life. I wanted to be there for her and with her at the end, just like I was always there for her during her life. We had a funeral for her. Me, Jer, and the grandkids, Crystal (8) and Jordan (5). Crystal drew a beautiful picture of Angel with her 3 legs, smiling with hearts all around her. It is framed and on the mantle in our living room. I made a grave marker out of a large flat stone with a piece of driftwood on top. The wood is painted with Angel's name and Ripley's name (our dog who is buried next to Angel) and an Om sign and some hearts.
Angel was a semi-wild cat who chose me 18 years ago. She lived with 30+ other cats around a house that backed onto the same alley as my work place. A mean dog had mangled her back right leg when she was a little kitten. The other cats kept her warm until the owner discovered her under the house and took her to the Vet, who removed her leg. After that she was almost completely wild, letting no human near her.
Our office manager noticed all the cats in our neighborhood and started putting out food for them. Angel was one of the cats who would come to eat on our back porch. One day she looked pregnant, and then soon she looked thinner. Our college intern follwed her when she left our porch and discovered her kittens. We found homes for them and asked the owner if we could have the cat spayed. She said no and told us the cat's name was Angel. We had been calling her Tripod!
The next time she got pregnant, she decided to have her kittens behind my computer desk. We made a box for her and the kittens. This time we asked for donations when we gave the kittens away and used the money to have Angel spayed. We didn't ask permission. Angel took to sleeping on my desk under the desk lamp. If I tried to pet her she swatted or bit me. I adored her.
When I left that job I left Angel there, because I didn't think she would want to leave that neighborhood to move in with me, my family and my 2 dogs and one cat. But three weeks later the health department said Angel had to go, so she got to come home with me anyway. She adjusted quickly to life in our family. She was a successful hunter and a loving companion, as long as she dictated the amount of petting. Slowly but surely, she became more and more tame.
She has been with me ever since. She has moved from the house by the lake to Mark's house to the little red house to the house on Cherrywood with Jer and all his three dogs and now the big green Victorian on McKenzie. She slept at the foot of my bed. She asked for scratches on her neck where her missing leg could have reached. She liked to sit in one place and swat our blind Pomeranian, Fancy, as she circled around and around. Each time Fancy came near Angel she would get a swat. It was one of Angel's favorite games. Fancy begged to differ!
Angel was a beautiful tabby cat with brown and black markings, a white chin, and lovely tufts of fur in her ears. When I had a session with a pet intuitive a while ago, Angel made sure to tell Barbara about her white chin and ear tufts.
Angel has been my constant companion, my best friend. And now she has gone, I know not where. Hopefully, she has exchanged her 3 earthly legs for true angel's wings. I love and miss her so. Via con Dios, Angel!
My neighbor found her Monday afternoon in his driveway. He thought she was hit by a car because she was walking so 'funny'. She is missing her rear right leg, so she walks sort of sideways, with her tail pointing right as ballast. He called animal control and they took her to the animal shelter. He did not realize she was mine. Monday evening he rang our bell and asked if our cat was missing, then told us what he had done. I called the shelter but the message said they do not take messages or give out information on missing animals on the phone. They said to come in between the hours of 10 and 5.
Tuesday morning – right before I got there at 10:05 - the Vet euthanized her because she was vomiting blood and had a tumor. She would have been 19 years old in March.
Jer and I started out at 9:30 Tuesday morning. We made one stop along the way to drop off a letter for Mother Baby Center at a donut shop (where my son works). As we pulled in to the curb, a customer kept mouthing something to me. Turns out he was saying we had a flat tire! I cannot remember the last time I had a flat tire! My son helped Jer put on the spare. Still we were on our way to the shelter by 9:55. We got there a few minutes after 10 and Angel was already gone!
An aid told me that Angel could not get warm when she came into the shelter on Monday afternoon, so the aid took her home with her and slept with her Monday night. When she brought her in to the shelter Tuesday morning it was clear that Angel did not feel well. I guess they had determined she had some sort of tumor on Monday. When she started vomiting blood the Vet made the decision to euthanize her there and then. If they had known I was coming, would they have waited?
I am grateful to the aid who provided Angel with comfort when I could not do so. Everyone at the shelter was so kind, saying, "I am sorry for your loss." My poor sweet beautiful Angel kitty.
I keep replaying her last days and the fact that I wasn’t with her at the end. A friend said perhaps Angel was trying to spare me the last days of her life. I wanted to be there for her and with her at the end, just like I was always there for her during her life. We had a funeral for her. Me, Jer, and the grandkids, Crystal (8) and Jordan (5). Crystal drew a beautiful picture of Angel with her 3 legs, smiling with hearts all around her. It is framed and on the mantle in our living room. I made a grave marker out of a large flat stone with a piece of driftwood on top. The wood is painted with Angel's name and Ripley's name (our dog who is buried next to Angel) and an Om sign and some hearts.
Angel was a semi-wild cat who chose me 18 years ago. She lived with 30+ other cats around a house that backed onto the same alley as my work place. A mean dog had mangled her back right leg when she was a little kitten. The other cats kept her warm until the owner discovered her under the house and took her to the Vet, who removed her leg. After that she was almost completely wild, letting no human near her.
Our office manager noticed all the cats in our neighborhood and started putting out food for them. Angel was one of the cats who would come to eat on our back porch. One day she looked pregnant, and then soon she looked thinner. Our college intern follwed her when she left our porch and discovered her kittens. We found homes for them and asked the owner if we could have the cat spayed. She said no and told us the cat's name was Angel. We had been calling her Tripod!
The next time she got pregnant, she decided to have her kittens behind my computer desk. We made a box for her and the kittens. This time we asked for donations when we gave the kittens away and used the money to have Angel spayed. We didn't ask permission. Angel took to sleeping on my desk under the desk lamp. If I tried to pet her she swatted or bit me. I adored her.
When I left that job I left Angel there, because I didn't think she would want to leave that neighborhood to move in with me, my family and my 2 dogs and one cat. But three weeks later the health department said Angel had to go, so she got to come home with me anyway. She adjusted quickly to life in our family. She was a successful hunter and a loving companion, as long as she dictated the amount of petting. Slowly but surely, she became more and more tame.
She has been with me ever since. She has moved from the house by the lake to Mark's house to the little red house to the house on Cherrywood with Jer and all his three dogs and now the big green Victorian on McKenzie. She slept at the foot of my bed. She asked for scratches on her neck where her missing leg could have reached. She liked to sit in one place and swat our blind Pomeranian, Fancy, as she circled around and around. Each time Fancy came near Angel she would get a swat. It was one of Angel's favorite games. Fancy begged to differ!
Angel was a beautiful tabby cat with brown and black markings, a white chin, and lovely tufts of fur in her ears. When I had a session with a pet intuitive a while ago, Angel made sure to tell Barbara about her white chin and ear tufts.
Angel has been my constant companion, my best friend. And now she has gone, I know not where. Hopefully, she has exchanged her 3 earthly legs for true angel's wings. I love and miss her so. Via con Dios, Angel!
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