Excerpt from the Voice of Hospice newsletter:
In our darkest hour and heartbreaking loss, an Angel was sent to us and her name is Rachel Luck, Spiritual Care Coordinator. I will attempt to express what she did for us and how much we needed her and love her. Rachel is unique and has an ability to see and understand the shattering of lives with the loss of their loved one, she touches your heart and helped us find strength and love to move forward. We met with Rachel and instantly felt loving arms surround us. Rachel sat with us and let us talk about our Mom and helped us even laugh when we thought we would never smile or laugh again. She was the perfect fit to us. We asked Rachel to preside over our mother's memorial service and she never hesitated accepting this responsibility. It was extremely important to us our Mom's life be celebrated and the words at her service capture who our Mom was, how her love of family was her heart and soul, how she had instilled in each of us strength, courage and love of family as well as how she had touched so many people in her life's journey. Rachel's service was absolutely perfect, a tribute to a great woman and the essence of whom our Mom was to her family and friends. We have had many people who attended the service comment on how wonderful the service was and how meaningful Rachel's words were about Mom. Our family felt Mom's - Loving spirit in each and every word Rachel spoke. Mom's service was filled with light and joy and we owe that to Rachel. Our spirits were lifted and focused on the incredible gift each of us had during our Mom's life with us and not the overwhelming sadness her loss has brought. We cannot express adequately our feelings and deep gratitude to Rachel. She will forever be our Angel who gave us strength and light in our darkest hour.
Sincerely,
(Names respectfully withheld).
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Poopstains and Perennials
I walk my dog most every morning. There is a little path that we like to frequent just by the library. I have a special bond to this place. It is non-discreetly tucked away between the parking lot and the drug store. I go there not because it is a place of respite or beauty or solitude. But for the sheer reason that I found 20 bucks on my first visit.
So each visit is somewhat made in vain... tossing over leaves and garbage left behind by passerby's with the hope of finding yet another president's face on paper. Sometimes the dog will do her business. And I have been shocked by the amount of steam dog poo can produce when it burrows into freshly fallen snow.
I made a mental list of the items I have discovered since. None of them are monetary. But there is great evidence that either bored teenagers, bored retirees or sufferers of midlife crises visit this place incognito. I have found my pick of MGD, Icehouse and Miller Lite bottles. Cigarette butts galore. Even denture cream and Zycam. There was an empty and faded box of Lemonheads. There was a cardboard advertisement for Chapstick. A shoe lace. Cough medicine. Fast food wrappers and a plethora of discarded cups. I noticed a broken lighter. Several plastic bags. A straw wrapper. And an empty box for an LED light.
And then I wondered how lazy one person can be when there is a trash can only yards away. I was almost happy the dog took a dump there. As a statement that WE think the parties responsible for making it a dump are despicable.
And then I walked away. Empty handed. Right passed the trash can.
So each visit is somewhat made in vain... tossing over leaves and garbage left behind by passerby's with the hope of finding yet another president's face on paper. Sometimes the dog will do her business. And I have been shocked by the amount of steam dog poo can produce when it burrows into freshly fallen snow.
I made a mental list of the items I have discovered since. None of them are monetary. But there is great evidence that either bored teenagers, bored retirees or sufferers of midlife crises visit this place incognito. I have found my pick of MGD, Icehouse and Miller Lite bottles. Cigarette butts galore. Even denture cream and Zycam. There was an empty and faded box of Lemonheads. There was a cardboard advertisement for Chapstick. A shoe lace. Cough medicine. Fast food wrappers and a plethora of discarded cups. I noticed a broken lighter. Several plastic bags. A straw wrapper. And an empty box for an LED light.
And then I wondered how lazy one person can be when there is a trash can only yards away. I was almost happy the dog took a dump there. As a statement that WE think the parties responsible for making it a dump are despicable.
And then I walked away. Empty handed. Right passed the trash can.
Monday, February 8, 2010
20/20 Rear Vision
I give. Snow is everywhere. The fine folks 'round these parts have a bit of a learning curve when it comes to navigating ones automobile in it. I understand.
I understand you're in a hurry... need to get to work... need to hurry up so you can spare those few last minutes you tried to give yourself so as not to rush over the black ice.
But if you are going to brave the roads, and take the time to scrape your windshield and warm up your car please PLEASE do me this favor... there is a weapon atop your vehicle. It is flat and hardened and has a mind of its own when withstanding winds of 35 mph or greater.
It sends projectile missiles without warning. Sprays of unavoidable precipitation skew the visibility of others. At the very least, it startles and frightens the NPR listeners and classical music enthusiasts who are making a stride towards their own personal zen before a busy work day.
There is a special agenda for the SUV's and trucks who participate in their own 2ft or greater "mile high club". As if the momentum of going 5 over the posted speed limit isn't enough, the added height and gravity given to this potential frosty weapon of destruction is particularly disconcerting. Chunks of white debris fly at random toward the innocent folks in its wake.
If you would like to pay it forward, or simply look out for your neighbor, arguing about health care reform will do little when chucking 50 mph snow drifts at granny or little Susie.
So please, cease and desist. Dismantle the miniature frozen tundra atop your car/truck/SUV. Practice a little bit of the golden rule. Practice consideration.
Do this, and everyone's vision will be clear.
I understand you're in a hurry... need to get to work... need to hurry up so you can spare those few last minutes you tried to give yourself so as not to rush over the black ice.
But if you are going to brave the roads, and take the time to scrape your windshield and warm up your car please PLEASE do me this favor... there is a weapon atop your vehicle. It is flat and hardened and has a mind of its own when withstanding winds of 35 mph or greater.
It sends projectile missiles without warning. Sprays of unavoidable precipitation skew the visibility of others. At the very least, it startles and frightens the NPR listeners and classical music enthusiasts who are making a stride towards their own personal zen before a busy work day.
There is a special agenda for the SUV's and trucks who participate in their own 2ft or greater "mile high club". As if the momentum of going 5 over the posted speed limit isn't enough, the added height and gravity given to this potential frosty weapon of destruction is particularly disconcerting. Chunks of white debris fly at random toward the innocent folks in its wake.
If you would like to pay it forward, or simply look out for your neighbor, arguing about health care reform will do little when chucking 50 mph snow drifts at granny or little Susie.
So please, cease and desist. Dismantle the miniature frozen tundra atop your car/truck/SUV. Practice a little bit of the golden rule. Practice consideration.
Do this, and everyone's vision will be clear.
Friday, February 5, 2010
My Latest Love Affair
My stomach betrays me on a daily basis it seems. I think it has some sort of covert agreement-slash-understanding with the mass of cells and blood vessels that reside in my skull. I don't know which comes first... the thought, suggestion... or the antagonizing growl of my gut.
As of late, however, this powerful partnership of belly and brain have seduced me; taken me to some foreign land of human existence in which humanity does not suffer at the hands of obesity and over eating. This is a land that hosts beautiful flowing rivers of chocolate, mountains of garlic mashed potatoes and festively adorned chips and salsa.
In the colder climates you can experience the ice cream tundras.
Further to the south, where the sun dances closer to the surface (at approximately 350 degrees give or take), there are neighborhoods of delicious casseroles, chicken drenched in bbq sauces and savory baked confections.
Amidst the more lukewarm regions my senses steal me away to vast parks of individually wrapped hostess cakes, peanut butter by the heap-fulls, and the occasional whatever dipped in ranch dressing.
The cruelest portion on my proverbial plate, however, is the changing image of the person in the mirror. The brain-slash-belly love affair slaps me in the face with a "you're not included!" attached. Apparently my hips, thighs and upper arms are not allowed quite the same access to this consequence-free dream world.
I recall the days of freedom from this food oppression. I remember when I was able to look saturated fat right in the eye and denounce it. Ahhh... the belly betrays me daily. It lies.
And my hips are declaring war.
As of late, however, this powerful partnership of belly and brain have seduced me; taken me to some foreign land of human existence in which humanity does not suffer at the hands of obesity and over eating. This is a land that hosts beautiful flowing rivers of chocolate, mountains of garlic mashed potatoes and festively adorned chips and salsa.
In the colder climates you can experience the ice cream tundras.
Further to the south, where the sun dances closer to the surface (at approximately 350 degrees give or take), there are neighborhoods of delicious casseroles, chicken drenched in bbq sauces and savory baked confections.
Amidst the more lukewarm regions my senses steal me away to vast parks of individually wrapped hostess cakes, peanut butter by the heap-fulls, and the occasional whatever dipped in ranch dressing.
The cruelest portion on my proverbial plate, however, is the changing image of the person in the mirror. The brain-slash-belly love affair slaps me in the face with a "you're not included!" attached. Apparently my hips, thighs and upper arms are not allowed quite the same access to this consequence-free dream world.
I recall the days of freedom from this food oppression. I remember when I was able to look saturated fat right in the eye and denounce it. Ahhh... the belly betrays me daily. It lies.
And my hips are declaring war.
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