8/20/2015 4 Comments Grandparents Never DieEvery year, on August 18 and 19, I spend time thinking about two very special people in my life: my maternal grandparents. Jack and Lucy Moore were very special to me, a very important source of love and support when I was growing up. Grandma died on August 18, 1983, and Grandpa died on August 19, 1979. Even today, I wake up and have to remind myself they are gone. I think that is normal. Of course I never forget they are gone. Yet, I know on some mystical level, they are always with me. They were married 31 years when Grandpa passed. He had suffered a form of Alzheimer's back before much was known about it. He basically had stopped talking, yet he always lit up when one of us walked into the room. He spent the last several years in a nursing home. Taking care of him nearly killed my grandmother. Even so, she never got over the guilt of placing him there. Yet there was always love there between them. They were good together. And they were good to me. I owe a lot of who I am today to them. I hear their voices in my head all the time. That is how I know they are still around. Love never dies. So today, as I prepare to once again move on after observing some time in meditative reflection, I pick up their smiles, senses of humor and contribution to my life, and say thank you.
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8/19/2015 4 Comments On Little Cat's Feet...Fog BY CARL SANDBURG The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on. Recently, a little kitten came into my life for a short time, changing everything. She was rescued from a man who obviously didn't know how to treat a ten-week old baby. He was waving her in the air, walking down the street in front of an estate sale I was helping at. My friend Kerry relieved this gentleman of the kitty and she stayed with us at the sale for the day. When it came time to close up, guess who got to take the newly dubbed Graycie (she is gray) home with him? Carl Sandberg's wonderful poem, Fog, describes Graycie to a tee. Graycie came in on little cat's feet. That is what Graycie did. She just showed up, came into our home, and stole our hearts. Sadly, I came to realize I could not keep her. She deserved a safe, secure home. Yes, mine is pretty secure for dogs. And my mature kitty, Nina, has never suffered from wanderlust. But a kitten tends to want to explore, and having lost one kitty to this proclivity in cats, I decided it would be best to find her a forever home...an place for indoor kitties who do not roam. And miracle of miracles, I found one. And Graycie left last Friday. And she loves her new home. She is happy and content. And is sorely missed. Two weeks was all she was here. Tiime is not what dictates the attachments of the heart. Fortunately she is close by and I will know how she is doing, and perhaps get to visit her. I wonder, though, if she will remember me? Will she remember the dogs and the rescue and all of the events of her young life so far? Time will tell. The important thing, though, is that she is happy. And the memory of her will always warm my heart. 8/19/2015 3 Comments Motivation It Comes and It GoesI have a list of things I ought/should/must do as long as my arm. Or so it seems. I am good, too, at making lists. Writing it down seems to help. (Writing this blog is always on this list...you see how successful I am sometimes on doing that!). Yet my motivation comes and goes something like the tide or the sun and the moon. It rises up, gets your attention, and then fades into the background. Bottom line, sometimes I just don't feel like it. It can be anything I'm supposed/expected/want to do. That last one, "want", is a killer. If I want to do it, who I resist doing it so? Today is a blank slate. Mine to schedule. Dogs have gone to the spa and the kitty is in her office doing whatever it is she does during the day. She left me a tiny little mousie in the den. Her day's work is done I guess. So what will I do with this day? Darned if I know. I have a list. Things to do. I don't feel like doing any of them. But going back to bed is not an option. That would be almost a crime against nature. So at least I am writing this blog. Motivation. It comes and it goes. For now, it seems to have come to visit for a while. Look out life, here I come....and there I go. And there you have it. 8/16/2015 2 Comments Sunday Morning Coming DownSunday morning should be a time for meditation, reflection and worship of all that is holy. By "holy" I mean, sacred, blessed and life-giving. It is a time to give thanks for all of life's natural wonders and all of humankind's gifts and talents. So perhaps that is why sometimes I just stay home and quietly, in my own fashion, ponder and wonder. It is in the quiet that small still voice can be heard. But, I admit, it is not the only place it can be heard. When I go to a place of worship, I go loaded up (or down) with expectations. I expect everyone will be there for the same reason. Often, this is not the case, to which I allow myself to become critical and judgemental. That, I know, is on me. Tune it out. Listen to the music. Hear the words of scripture and the sermon. This is difficult, if not impossible, in a room filled with people who have come into the sanctuary much as if it were their living room or an open park. This is when I am reminded that Jesus himself was never in a church. He never advocated a church structure such as we find today. He was a take it to the street kind of guy. Imagine, calling Jesus a "guy"! Blasphemy? Anyway, sometimes I just think I need to be with myself and dwell on the living Spirit, much like I am doing here in these words. Lest this become a sermon, I must draw myself up short here, and give the caveat that it is my way of justifying not going to church this morning. The Holy is in the garden and in the wind. It is in the sound of the birds and gentle breathing of a sleeping dog. And, yes, it is in the everyday hubbub of life as we know it. This Sunday morning, it seems, I just needed to remind myself of that. |
Rob McMurray,
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