Back in touch

It's nearly five years since I posted to this blog. I'm more than a little embarrassed about that, especially since I require the students in some of my college-level journalism classes to create and maintain blogs. ("Do as I say, not as I do" ...)

The past five years saw the grandchild we were raising returned to his parent's care. These years also saw the arrival of two more grandchildren. I was present at both of their births. Remarkable.

These years saw the passing of one of my four big brothers, but my mom turned 102 last summer and is in reasonably good health.

I've spent a semester teaching in London since I last posted my thoughts here, and that experience -- in 2014 -- enriched my life in ways I'm still discovering. More about that another time.

What finally moved me to pick up where I left off with this blog is something said by an old friend I hadn't heard from in awhile -- namely, that she missed reading my newspaper column. I'd heard it a few times before, sometimes from people I didn't even know, but this time it really struck a chord. I realized I miss writing that column.

Still, at this stage of my life, I prefer to write on my own schedule. I've had enough of deadlines.

So here we go again ... getting back in touch and hoping life has been kind to you.

On hold

That's me. That's my life. And that's this blog.

Maybe later, when life isn't as demanding.

Thanks for taking time to read what I've written.

They paved paradise ...

My mother has a habit of pointing out new developments in my hometown and saying, with a wistful voice, "There used to be the loveliest woods there."

Then she'll sigh and add, "Not anymore."

A much younger version of myself would grow exasperated at such moments. After all, that new shopping mall or condo complex was a sign of progress, right? And it's not as if the world was about to run out of trees.

Sheesh, Mom.

Last week, an older version of myself passed what used to be a lovely strip of land at the base of a wooded hill, land that looked as if it had been untouched for a lot longer than I've been around. Given that it's located at the far west end of a roadway that sports a local miracle mile, the land was like an oasis.

But as I drove past there last week, I saw bulldozers mowing down scores of trees and peeling back the brush and turf. There will, one day, be a family recreation center there, one that includes batting cages and a go-kart track. And I know some people will consider this progress.

But when I think of that land now, I hear my mother saying, "There used to be the loveliest woods there."

Not anymore.

Grace under pressure

I was on my way out of a grocery store late this afternoon, clutching a few bags of items I'd need to make dinner, when I passed a young woman with two small children. She was moving her many bags of groceries from one of those huge shopping carts with an oversized toy car in front -- for the wee ones sit in -- to a regular cart (you're not supposed to remove the toy-car cart from the store).

All those groceries plus two little kids, who were probably tired and hungry and, perhaps, in need of a potty break.

I marveled at the young woman's energy and at her calm, controlled manner.

Parents don't get much credit for the kind of juggling act I witnessed at the market today. Too bad. They should give out medals for bravery to any parent who manages to shop for groceries while keeping two little people in line -- and lives to tell about it.

Weathering parenthood's storms

Someone I know lost a child recently. The child was grown, but I doubt that made the loss any easier to face. The news hit me the way it always does when I hear that someone is living a parent's worst nightmare: I wanted to grab my own two children and hug them until they squirm.

When our children are small, dependent on us for their very existence, we parents believe we'd do anything -- anything -- to protect them. We might even believe we can protect them from all that life throws at them. But in time we learn there are limits to what we can do.

Sometimes, as they grow to maturity, our children choose paths that put them at risk, a choice we struggle to understand (and perhaps never can). It's a painful reminder that our influence on them has its limits. Still, we keep trying to guide them.

And we keep hoping that, in time, our children will grow to become people who can weather life's storms and live full lives as decent, loving people.

It's a blessing to be able to watch it happen.

Heaven help those who never get the chance.

Not dead yet, Part II

Not dead, but definitely in a bit of a writer's funk. I've been consciously avoiding this blog because, well, my brain was tired. It still is, though a bit less so after a week off from teaching.

It didn't hit me until I was out for an after-dinner walk today that I need to take this blog in a direction that, put simply, matters more -- both to you who take time to check it out and to me. I don't intend to become overly serious, but I do want to take a look at some of the things that trouble me as well as things that inspire me or make me laugh. I do so in the hope that my thoughts will prove of some use to people who find themselves struggling to get through their day.

Like what, you might ask. Like the number of us who, though just a few years away from retirement, face the humbling challenge of raising a grandchild.

Like the number of us who have witnessed the self-destructive behavior of young people in our lives and struggled mightily before realizing that we can't change them -- only ourselves and our reactions to them.

Like being the daughter of a remarkable lady who, at 97 years and seven months, is still in reasonably good health but who I know is not going to live forever.

No, I won't be turning this blog into an advice column. Wiser minds than mine are just a few mouse clicks away.

But I do plan to reflect more on the very human situations that can drive us up the wall or, I hope, make us more compassionate people with more giving, grateful hearts.

Wish me luck, and please check back in a few days. I promise you: I'm not dead yet.

Warm food, warm heart

OK, I admit it: I microwave ice cream.

It started when I had a particularly sensitive tooth. I nuked a small dish of ice cream, just enough to turn it into a pile of glop I didn't have to bite into to consume.

I never looked back.

I microwave cereal, too. Blame it on that tooth. Despite being one-fourth German, I don't like to start the day with cold food.

German breakfast, as I experienced it the first time I visited some relatives there, is apt to consist of cold cuts and cold slices of cheese. Yum.

When one of my relatives visited the U.S., he had just two complaints: how quickly "the dollars" disappear, and all that warm food Americans serve for breakfast.

Microwaved cold cuts, anyone?