Last year (2009) for Mother’s Day I wrote my blog on Mental Images of my late Mom. I have discovered there are more. Here is a sample.
Mother as Disciplinarian. Having 9 children with a permissive mother could have been sheer bedlam. At times our house may not have looked like the Sea of Tranquility but it surely was not because Mother did not exercise discipline. I am using the old fashioned definition of discipline as meaning the practice of a parent utilizing power to keep order, instill values, express convictions. On occasion Mother would spank. In retrospect I am a little surprised at how seldom she did this and did it with very little physical force. I do recall one particular incident. My sisters and I were supposed to have done the dishes and had been warned a couple times to get it done. We dawdled. Mother’s patience was exhausted. She lined us up in order of our age and administered the spankings. When she got to my younger sister Dorrie, Dorrie objected (in German) with, “Not me! Not me! Not me! Mama Not me!” That struck me as being very funny and I giggled. Mother did not find it funny and I got my second spanking of the evening. One other example of Mother strongly expressing her unhappiness with me was when I used the expression “son of a gun”. To Mother this was near blasphemy. She ordered me to the bathroom where (as directed) I washed my mouth out with home-made soap until it foamed. Then she set me on the steps to the upstairs and told me to think about how important it is that I watch my tongue.
Mother as Seamstress. Mother and sewing is a constant image. I see her at her trustworthy treadle-driven Singer sewing machine. She sewed dresses for my sisters, shirts for me, and aprons for all. Patches were almost a daily assignment, especially to the knees of my trousers during that season of the year when we “shot marbles” from our knees. Materials for the sewing came from, everywhere: the Henry Doering Mercantile in Walburg, from flour and sugar sacks, from parts of other older garments, from wherever. Just recalling my mom with her sewing machine, her needles, and her patterns stirs my heart with notions of being clad by love and care.
Mother as Host. Our home was always open to all and Mother was the quiet but ever-present hostess. The birthday parties were simple and predictable. No organized games, for of course kids knew how to entertain themselves. Mom saw to it that there were always homemade chicken salad sandwiches, (she slaughtered, plucked and cooked the chickens) lemonade, and an angel food birthday cake loaded with candles…and if we could afford the store-bought ice, also freshly made homemade ice cream. When I went to a boarding school 35 miles from home I knew that I could bring home one or a dozen classmates and there would be food enough for all. I even recall the Concordia High School softball team marching into our home early one morning and Mother scrambling up dozens of eggs for the whole crew. When the congregation at which my dad served as organist bought a new organ it was mom who provided a big lunch every single day for the workers who came (and took over a week) to install the organ. Her welcome mat was always out; there was always one more plate available to set and then fill with fried chicken, mashed potatoes with cream gravy and a couple fresh vegetables.
Mother NOT In Images. While I have all these wonderful mages of an active Mother I find it interesting that there are some things of which I have absolutely no image. Even though I was only number 3 of our 9 children I have no memory of ever seeing Mother pregnant. (Maybe I have no memory because as a child we were not allowed to ever say the word “pregnant” in mixed company.) I have no images of my Mother relaxing with a book to read. No images of my Mother just sitting and listening to the radio.
But there are enough memories to sustain the soul and to make Mother’s Day 2010 a day of thanksgiving for and joyful memories of my mother, Lena Doering Kieschnick.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Parenting: From The Bahamas to China
It was in the middle of winter and I was living in New York. The assignment was to take me to The Bahamas. I accepted. The Lutheran School there was experiencing some challenges and the national Lutheran Church asked me to go see if some satisfying solutions could be worked out.
The Lutheran school there had a lot going for it. Nice campus. Committed parents. Some excellent teachers. Fairly stable financial situation. Good reputation in the community. And there were some serious problems. There was a member of the school board who was a strong-willed antagonist seeking his own personal goal to the detriment of the school. Relations with the congregation sponsoring the school were becoming strained.. Teachers wanted to instill good values into their children but they also knew that the tuition funds for many of their students was secured through the transshipment of illegal drugs.
So I worked hard with appointments beginning at 6:30 am and one even beginning at 11:30 pm. I think we made some progress.
I rewarded myself by taking a later afternoon flight out so as to allow time for 18 holes of golf prior to departure. It was beautiful day and a gorgeous golf course. After a few holes I joined another single. He was a very good golfer and had more than that going for him. When he casually mentioned his Manhattan, New York address I realized that he lived in one of the top suites of Trump Tower. As we entered into conversation he invited me to join him for lunch on his yacht which was moored in the harbor. When I asked him how I would identify his particular yacht he not immodestly replied “It’s the biggest one there.”
So I had an elegant lunch aboard. It was beautifully served by a cadre of servants. It was then I learned what he really wanted to talk about. He was about to become a parent for the first time. He knew that I had done parent training and he wanted to pick my brain. He really wanted to be a good parent. Finances and the best schools should not be an issue. But, he wondered, how could he be such a parent that his child would have decent values, be an honorable member of society, achieve their own significant goals, have a healthy personality, etc.? We talked a long time and I shared my ears but also ideas, experiences and resources.
.
We parted and I never met him again. But he continues to occasionally rest gently on my mind. I believe that virtually all parents want to be good parents. They almost always really want what is best for their children. However, their actions do not always match their intentions. I know that too often parents are blamed and not trained.
That is one reason I have just accepted an invitation to spend the month of June in China. I will be there as a consultant to an organization which has just secured the Chinese Government’s imprimatur on offering Parent Effectiveness Training in China. They want to reach a million parents and want to do it with quality programs and instructors. I get to be a part of that. And if it doesn’t include golf or yacht lunches it will still be a great adventure.
The Lutheran school there had a lot going for it. Nice campus. Committed parents. Some excellent teachers. Fairly stable financial situation. Good reputation in the community. And there were some serious problems. There was a member of the school board who was a strong-willed antagonist seeking his own personal goal to the detriment of the school. Relations with the congregation sponsoring the school were becoming strained.. Teachers wanted to instill good values into their children but they also knew that the tuition funds for many of their students was secured through the transshipment of illegal drugs.
So I worked hard with appointments beginning at 6:30 am and one even beginning at 11:30 pm. I think we made some progress.
I rewarded myself by taking a later afternoon flight out so as to allow time for 18 holes of golf prior to departure. It was beautiful day and a gorgeous golf course. After a few holes I joined another single. He was a very good golfer and had more than that going for him. When he casually mentioned his Manhattan, New York address I realized that he lived in one of the top suites of Trump Tower. As we entered into conversation he invited me to join him for lunch on his yacht which was moored in the harbor. When I asked him how I would identify his particular yacht he not immodestly replied “It’s the biggest one there.”
So I had an elegant lunch aboard. It was beautifully served by a cadre of servants. It was then I learned what he really wanted to talk about. He was about to become a parent for the first time. He knew that I had done parent training and he wanted to pick my brain. He really wanted to be a good parent. Finances and the best schools should not be an issue. But, he wondered, how could he be such a parent that his child would have decent values, be an honorable member of society, achieve their own significant goals, have a healthy personality, etc.? We talked a long time and I shared my ears but also ideas, experiences and resources.
.
We parted and I never met him again. But he continues to occasionally rest gently on my mind. I believe that virtually all parents want to be good parents. They almost always really want what is best for their children. However, their actions do not always match their intentions. I know that too often parents are blamed and not trained.
That is one reason I have just accepted an invitation to spend the month of June in China. I will be there as a consultant to an organization which has just secured the Chinese Government’s imprimatur on offering Parent Effectiveness Training in China. They want to reach a million parents and want to do it with quality programs and instructors. I get to be a part of that. And if it doesn’t include golf or yacht lunches it will still be a great adventure.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
THE SECULAR AND THE SACRED
I was in Bonn, Germany and my soul had been sucked dry. On the one hand I had just experienced a marvelous uplifting and satisfying week. I had trained some 45 psychiatrists, psychologists and counselors in an intensive human relationships workshop. We had focused on parenting philosophies and skills. We did role-plays, guided recalls and reflective listening.
There was confrontation and there was win-win problem solving.
It was all both intellectually stimulating and energy draining. And it was marked by a surprising secularity. While the training was not designed to be religious in nature I was struck by how persistently issues of ultimate value, of God, of religious training of children, or even personal statements of faith seemed to be the one area not to be discussed. The message I got was that modern educated and sophisticated Germans had moved beyond the superstitions of God and faith.
At the end of the training I had to finalize a business contract. The person in charge seemed suspicious of me and on the defensive regarding what he thought were unreasonable demands.
So I was washed out, physically, intellectually, and spiritually.
Nevertheless, the Sunday afternoon was the only time I had left to visit near-by Cologne and its marvelous cathedral. So I got on the train and went. The very architecture of the cathedral is inspiring. Its lofted towers carry one’s spirit heavenward.
Inside, the incredible organ sent forth marvelous Bach fugues. People actually came for worship, standing, filling up the nave. I soon understood why they came. The German preacher was articulate, obviously well educated and a speaker of great power. To this day, 30 years later, I recall his message, “The Possibility, Yet the Verity of Life After Death.” That’s what I needed. There is hope beyond the immediate. There are possibilities beyond the problem. There is life after life. There is a spiritual dimension that exceeds and excels the purely secular.
There was confrontation and there was win-win problem solving.
It was all both intellectually stimulating and energy draining. And it was marked by a surprising secularity. While the training was not designed to be religious in nature I was struck by how persistently issues of ultimate value, of God, of religious training of children, or even personal statements of faith seemed to be the one area not to be discussed. The message I got was that modern educated and sophisticated Germans had moved beyond the superstitions of God and faith.
At the end of the training I had to finalize a business contract. The person in charge seemed suspicious of me and on the defensive regarding what he thought were unreasonable demands.
So I was washed out, physically, intellectually, and spiritually.
Nevertheless, the Sunday afternoon was the only time I had left to visit near-by Cologne and its marvelous cathedral. So I got on the train and went. The very architecture of the cathedral is inspiring. Its lofted towers carry one’s spirit heavenward.
Inside, the incredible organ sent forth marvelous Bach fugues. People actually came for worship, standing, filling up the nave. I soon understood why they came. The German preacher was articulate, obviously well educated and a speaker of great power. To this day, 30 years later, I recall his message, “The Possibility, Yet the Verity of Life After Death.” That’s what I needed. There is hope beyond the immediate. There are possibilities beyond the problem. There is life after life. There is a spiritual dimension that exceeds and excels the purely secular.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Jews: From Prejudice to Partnership
I will be forever grateful for the habits and values I was taught by my parents and the small rather isolated German Lutheran community in which I was raised. From my parents, peers and elders I learned faith, honor, love of country, the importance of work and thrift and the need to care for others. Unfortunately that same community planted within me some seeds which were poisonous and hurtful.
Among those evil convictions is the scourge of prejudice. I grew up with seriously erroneous stereotypes and prejudices. I recall that when an adult from another branch of the Lutheran Church joined our particular branch of the Lutheran Church we described the process as “adult conversion”. I was not even allowed to compete in softball against the neighboring Catholic parochial school lest I become contaminated by their heresies. I could nor possibly imagine that a black person would ever be smart enough to be a lawyer. Persons whose sexual orientation was anything other than straight were evil misfits to be identified only by sexist slurs and to be avoided at all costs.
Jews were, of course, completely outside the pale and I was fed all the usual stereotypes. I had never met a Jew. I do remember being told that a Jewish merchant had opened a store in the near-by county seat and I mused, “I wonder what a Jew looks like? Would he just naturally charge me more for his goods because I was non-Jewish?”
It took me entirely too long to change. That change was facilitated by (among other things) some wonderful encounters with Jewish persons. I recall that when my wife Jane and I were living in Hong Kong she was diagnosed with a possible cerebral aneurysm. We were ordered back to the States immediately. Because of my involvement with The Hong Kong International School word of our distress reached the American community. I had been home from the hospital only a matter of hours before the phone rang. The voice on the other end said, “Mr. Kieschnick, my name is Jacob Rothstein. I don’t know if you remember me. We met a few weeks ago. But I have heard of your wife’s medical situation. She needs the best neurosurgeon in the world. He is at Mt. Sinai Hospital in New York. I will introduce you and he will see your wife the moment she arrives at the hospital. And”, he added, "should you need help with paying for those airline tickets or for your wife’s medical care, just let me know. I will be pleased to assist.”
Later I conducted a Clergy Effectiveness Seminar for the Chaplains of the US Air Force. It was not surprising that the Protestants and also the Catholic chaplains asked me to join them for noonday prayer. What I appreciated especially though was when the lone Rabbi there invited me to join him in his prayer rituals, at the end of which he presented me with a gift copy of his personal prayer book, a book which I treasure to this day.
Personal contacts kept coming. When I served The Lutheran Schools of Metropolitan New York there was almost always a law suit or a threat of one for one our 51 schools. I always knew exactly whom to contact, namely, probably the best school law attorney in the state, Howard Capell. He always had time. And for me and many of my colleagues, a great deal of it was pro bono. “I care about your mission and your service to those urban kids” was all the explanation he chose to give. He is still one of my closest personal friends.
In all my dealings with the state or federal education offices I found personal and professional support from the Orthodox and the Reformed and from Agudath Israel.
Then it got even closer. One of our sons married a Jewish woman whom we love dearly. Next month a granddaughter will marry her Jerusalem born fiancé in a ritual presided over by her Christian pastor and his Jewish rabbi.
It is not just the Chinese who have taught me “Within the four sea all are brothers and sisters.”
Among those evil convictions is the scourge of prejudice. I grew up with seriously erroneous stereotypes and prejudices. I recall that when an adult from another branch of the Lutheran Church joined our particular branch of the Lutheran Church we described the process as “adult conversion”. I was not even allowed to compete in softball against the neighboring Catholic parochial school lest I become contaminated by their heresies. I could nor possibly imagine that a black person would ever be smart enough to be a lawyer. Persons whose sexual orientation was anything other than straight were evil misfits to be identified only by sexist slurs and to be avoided at all costs.
Jews were, of course, completely outside the pale and I was fed all the usual stereotypes. I had never met a Jew. I do remember being told that a Jewish merchant had opened a store in the near-by county seat and I mused, “I wonder what a Jew looks like? Would he just naturally charge me more for his goods because I was non-Jewish?”
It took me entirely too long to change. That change was facilitated by (among other things) some wonderful encounters with Jewish persons. I recall that when my wife Jane and I were living in Hong Kong she was diagnosed with a possible cerebral aneurysm. We were ordered back to the States immediately. Because of my involvement with The Hong Kong International School word of our distress reached the American community. I had been home from the hospital only a matter of hours before the phone rang. The voice on the other end said, “Mr. Kieschnick, my name is Jacob Rothstein. I don’t know if you remember me. We met a few weeks ago. But I have heard of your wife’s medical situation. She needs the best neurosurgeon in the world. He is at Mt. Sinai Hospital in New York. I will introduce you and he will see your wife the moment she arrives at the hospital. And”, he added, "should you need help with paying for those airline tickets or for your wife’s medical care, just let me know. I will be pleased to assist.”
Later I conducted a Clergy Effectiveness Seminar for the Chaplains of the US Air Force. It was not surprising that the Protestants and also the Catholic chaplains asked me to join them for noonday prayer. What I appreciated especially though was when the lone Rabbi there invited me to join him in his prayer rituals, at the end of which he presented me with a gift copy of his personal prayer book, a book which I treasure to this day.
Personal contacts kept coming. When I served The Lutheran Schools of Metropolitan New York there was almost always a law suit or a threat of one for one our 51 schools. I always knew exactly whom to contact, namely, probably the best school law attorney in the state, Howard Capell. He always had time. And for me and many of my colleagues, a great deal of it was pro bono. “I care about your mission and your service to those urban kids” was all the explanation he chose to give. He is still one of my closest personal friends.
In all my dealings with the state or federal education offices I found personal and professional support from the Orthodox and the Reformed and from Agudath Israel.
Then it got even closer. One of our sons married a Jewish woman whom we love dearly. Next month a granddaughter will marry her Jerusalem born fiancé in a ritual presided over by her Christian pastor and his Jewish rabbi.
It is not just the Chinese who have taught me “Within the four sea all are brothers and sisters.”
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
And the Little Moments
My wife Jane still has that little book called “Select Songs for School and Home “: It has a Concordia Publishing House copyright date of 1922. I guess it is more than 70 years ago that I learned one of the songs-and it still resides gently in my consciousness. A few of the lines read: “Little drops of water, Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean And the beauteous land.” Next verse: “And the little moments, Humble though they be, Make the mighty ages Of eternity”
I have been reflecting on a few of “those little moments” today. I have had a bunch of them this week. I wasn’t even out of the sanctuary yet on Sunday when a friend stopped me. “Hey. Mel, on that trip you’re taking to China in a couple months. Got your ticket yet? Just send me the confirmation number and I will use some of my Frequent Flyer miles to upgrade you to Business Class. (What a nice moment.)
On Monday we took an excursion to the Anza Borrego Desert. I stood among the cactae, the unusually bountiful and beautiful spring colored flowers, the expanse of sand and rocks and hills - and for just a moment I was in contact with eons of time, the change from ocean floor to desert, the Indians, the Spaniards and us all. (For just a moment I was in touch with the ages of the universe.)
Yesterday I played golf with a new golfing buddy. For months we had been challenging each other about who will beat whom when we finally play. As we got to the last holes and I just needed a couple pars to shoot my age and I was lining up a long putt, I actually felt this new partner rooting for me to get it home (A simple, yet warm moment.)
Just few minutes ago we had a simple lunch. I once again made a tuna salad. Once again I had to ask Jane what she wanted and didn’t want in the salad. And she, oh so gently, told me for the 125th time” just tuna, celery and a little salt.’ No reminders about how often she had told me that, or any half humorous comment on long and or short-term memory. Just another repetition of what she has told me so often. (Another little moment to give a gentle positive stir in the soul.)
“And the little moments, Humble though they be, Make the mighty ages of eternity.”
I have been reflecting on a few of “those little moments” today. I have had a bunch of them this week. I wasn’t even out of the sanctuary yet on Sunday when a friend stopped me. “Hey. Mel, on that trip you’re taking to China in a couple months. Got your ticket yet? Just send me the confirmation number and I will use some of my Frequent Flyer miles to upgrade you to Business Class. (What a nice moment.)
On Monday we took an excursion to the Anza Borrego Desert. I stood among the cactae, the unusually bountiful and beautiful spring colored flowers, the expanse of sand and rocks and hills - and for just a moment I was in contact with eons of time, the change from ocean floor to desert, the Indians, the Spaniards and us all. (For just a moment I was in touch with the ages of the universe.)
Yesterday I played golf with a new golfing buddy. For months we had been challenging each other about who will beat whom when we finally play. As we got to the last holes and I just needed a couple pars to shoot my age and I was lining up a long putt, I actually felt this new partner rooting for me to get it home (A simple, yet warm moment.)
Just few minutes ago we had a simple lunch. I once again made a tuna salad. Once again I had to ask Jane what she wanted and didn’t want in the salad. And she, oh so gently, told me for the 125th time” just tuna, celery and a little salt.’ No reminders about how often she had told me that, or any half humorous comment on long and or short-term memory. Just another repetition of what she has told me so often. (Another little moment to give a gentle positive stir in the soul.)
“And the little moments, Humble though they be, Make the mighty ages of eternity.”
Monday, March 15, 2010
Lahore, Pakistan: Pain, Pleasure and Prayer
The headline screams: 43 Killed in Pakistan Blasts. The story gives the details. Suicide bombers hit a military section and the crowded market known as the R. A. Bazaar in Lahore, Pakistan. I read the details of another wave of violence carried out by Islamic extremist. Even though I am removed by time and distance from the place and the events, I hurt inside.
Twenty years ago I was in that Lahore bazaar and in recalling it my mind floods with pleasant memories. I had done a series of workshops in Karachi with school, business and religious leaders from around the country. As I neared the end of my stay my host offered to fly me to Lahore. A class member said her uncle lived there and would be my host. And what a gracious host he was. He welcomed me to his home. Dinner was set before us and his wife who cooked it hurried back into the kitchen for it was deemed inappropriate for this woman to be in our presence while we ate. As I got better acquainted I told my host that I enjoyed the meal. And I asked for permission to personally tell his wife that. He agreed and said it was okay for me to have a conversation with her- with him as interpreter.
The next day was tour day. My host showed me the marvelous centuries- old beautiful sites of Lahore. He took me to the famous Shalimar Gardens. While there he explained that it was the hour of prayer so he took out his prayer mat, knelt on the grass and prayed.
We shared our faith with mutual respect.
Later he offered to take me shopping for some take-home souvenirs. To my surprise he invited his wife to join us. She watched me but said nothing as I bought a small brass vase to take home. Then she disappeared. A little later she returned with an identical vase. “These would make a nice pair,” she said.” I think your wife would enjoy these side by side.”
When I left the next day she came to say good-bye. Her husband translated for her. She asked him to thank me: I was the only non-Pakistani male with whom she had ever
spoken. Together they gave me a peacock feather as a symbol of a brief but beautiful friendship.
And now I read of that beautiful city being blown up in the name of God. My prayers go to a God of all creation, whom I know desires peace upon earth.
Twenty years ago I was in that Lahore bazaar and in recalling it my mind floods with pleasant memories. I had done a series of workshops in Karachi with school, business and religious leaders from around the country. As I neared the end of my stay my host offered to fly me to Lahore. A class member said her uncle lived there and would be my host. And what a gracious host he was. He welcomed me to his home. Dinner was set before us and his wife who cooked it hurried back into the kitchen for it was deemed inappropriate for this woman to be in our presence while we ate. As I got better acquainted I told my host that I enjoyed the meal. And I asked for permission to personally tell his wife that. He agreed and said it was okay for me to have a conversation with her- with him as interpreter.
The next day was tour day. My host showed me the marvelous centuries- old beautiful sites of Lahore. He took me to the famous Shalimar Gardens. While there he explained that it was the hour of prayer so he took out his prayer mat, knelt on the grass and prayed.
We shared our faith with mutual respect.
Later he offered to take me shopping for some take-home souvenirs. To my surprise he invited his wife to join us. She watched me but said nothing as I bought a small brass vase to take home. Then she disappeared. A little later she returned with an identical vase. “These would make a nice pair,” she said.” I think your wife would enjoy these side by side.”
When I left the next day she came to say good-bye. Her husband translated for her. She asked him to thank me: I was the only non-Pakistani male with whom she had ever
spoken. Together they gave me a peacock feather as a symbol of a brief but beautiful friendship.
And now I read of that beautiful city being blown up in the name of God. My prayers go to a God of all creation, whom I know desires peace upon earth.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Morning Newspaper Antidote
Reading the morning newspaper can lead one to a feeling of sickness. The one I read yesterday is a good example. The lead stories were about the discovery of the body of a missing teen-ager. This came just days after the discovery of another one. Both from the near-by relatively small city of Escondido. Moving from local news to national was not more uplifting: “Kidnap Victim still Missing.” “Dr. and Wife Accused of Killing Dozens” “Drunk Driver Kills Teen-ager in Car Accident”. I try the international section and you know that story: “Car bombing in Baghdad, IUD Kills 12 in Kabul, Anarchy in Somalia, Starvation in Darfur”. My whole body and soul scream for for relief.
I find it. I say good-bye to visiting friends. They have with them their 50-year-old mentally retarded daughter. For 50 years they have cuddled her, taught her, nursed her, been patient with her, helped her smile. Then as I leave my apartment I see one of our neighbors entering another door. “Oh”, she tells me, “Mary has not been feeling well. I am bringing her some food.” I take my morning walk. A young father is jogging along- side his dog and is pushing a wheelchair. It holds the slumping head of his son, severely deformed, unable to walk. But the father’s stride is confident exuding care. “Beautiful day for a walk with my little one” is how he greets me. As I return to my house after the walk I see Chuck patiently, oh so patiently, walking to the dining room with his wife whom I know to have Alzheimer’s. He greets me with a cheery ,“Good morning. Isn’t this a nice day!” Jane and I have our morning prayers and at the end she says, “Just give me one more kiss. I love you so much!”
So, yes, I will continue to read the daily newspaper and more importantly, I will also look for those body and soul restoring antidotes of love, patience, care and respect.
I find it. I say good-bye to visiting friends. They have with them their 50-year-old mentally retarded daughter. For 50 years they have cuddled her, taught her, nursed her, been patient with her, helped her smile. Then as I leave my apartment I see one of our neighbors entering another door. “Oh”, she tells me, “Mary has not been feeling well. I am bringing her some food.” I take my morning walk. A young father is jogging along- side his dog and is pushing a wheelchair. It holds the slumping head of his son, severely deformed, unable to walk. But the father’s stride is confident exuding care. “Beautiful day for a walk with my little one” is how he greets me. As I return to my house after the walk I see Chuck patiently, oh so patiently, walking to the dining room with his wife whom I know to have Alzheimer’s. He greets me with a cheery ,“Good morning. Isn’t this a nice day!” Jane and I have our morning prayers and at the end she says, “Just give me one more kiss. I love you so much!”
So, yes, I will continue to read the daily newspaper and more importantly, I will also look for those body and soul restoring antidotes of love, patience, care and respect.
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