A Thanksgiving Dream....

A Thanksgiving Dream ~ by Souvenirs From Our Journey

Attempting to describe our connection would take a long time. I still can’t quite believe how two distinctly different people in this place of good-byes could build the bond that we had. I guess it’s quite simple really: it was of God. We, of little understanding, probably have no business attempting to de...scribe such things… but I try anyway.

“Odd ducks,” she called us. She was a classy woman in her nineties, with a definite air about her—she would so HATE me saying that, but it’s true. Never would she let go of what it meant to be “a lady.” She had been a fashion designer and a classical musician. So many talents. Then there was me. Casual. Single with no kids. A lifelong tomboy whose fashion sense doesn’t go beyond knowing that any decent outfit must include either denim of fleece. She questioned me regularly about finding a boyfriend. And, in the beginning, she often asked how a “young girl” like me (in my thirties) would spend so much time with an old woman like her.

But… beyond all the differences was something much more important: our connection. The relationship began with a curiosity of how she often sat in her half of a nursing home room all alone. I knew there were two kids and several grandchildren. When I asked questions about them, I focused on the past. It seemed safer to focus on her role as mother in years goneby. Over time, I began to feel sorry for them because they didn’t realize that their family matriarch was pure gold. If they had known, they wouldn’t have left her alone so much of the time.

There was a pull in my heart. I simply couldn’t let her sit alone. I was hired to work at a nursing home--paid to take care of the elderly residents. It didn’t stop with taking care of her though; I began to truly care about her. When I wasn’t working, I visited often. Together, we turned this sad place of loss into something very different. Empty days of sitting were transformed.

One day, as we sit and talk, she attempts to clarify things for me. “I don’t always share with people the way I share with you,” she says. “I’m a very private person, but you’re just different.”

I know exactly what she means. I am a private person too. Statements such as this tell me something that I was beginning to sense already: this woman has some things to say, some messages to pass along before she can go. I have the strong feeling that I have been put here to listen.

The other employees question me frequently about coming on my days off, “Why are you getting attached? You should never get attached because they are going to die…”

I wish for them to know that it is an honor and privilege to sit and listen to this woman, but there is no way to convey it. There is no way to try to get them to understand this bond that I can’t quite understand myself. This has to do with being human…with acknowledging the impacts of a life well-lived, and recognizing the value of another human being.

+++++

The week of Thanksgiving, I stop into her room to check on her during my shift. She is peppy, just waking from a doze in her recliner.

“Guess what??” she asks excitedly, when she spots me.

“What?”

“I just woke up from a wonderful dream. I was fixing Thanksgiving dinner for my whole family. My parents…my husband and kids… my sister and her husband and kids. We were all there together. It was the most wonderful dream.”

“What were you fixing?”

“Oh… EVERYTHING!! All of the usual Thanksgiving foods. Stuffing, mashed potatoes, turkey. Have I told you that I hate turkey? I still fix it though. You HAVE to have turkey on Thanksgiving. My family eats it, but I don’t.”

On these days, when I am working, there is not time to linger, so I head for the door.

“That sounds great, Ivy. It sounds like a great dream.”

“It was. I am going to try to go back to sleep to see if I can dream some more.”

I go back into the busy hall where many others are waiting, leaving her in her half of the room alone. My leaving bothers neither of us though. We both know I will be back to stay longer. This thing called "life" is not yet over for her, and we won't pretend that it is.



Credit, The Forgotten Ones, Compassion for the Elderly....

Halloween birds....

Birds provide some of Halloween’s major symbolic overtones. You’d be hard-pressed to walk into a holiday superstore and not find owls, ravens and crows in the decoration aisle. We at Audubon find these darkly-plumed creatures to be friends not fiends, so how did these birds become associated with evil?

Crows and ravens have ebony feathers, a color associated with death and sin in Western culture.

Ravens and crows will eat carrion (dead animals) and in ancient times were observed eating the deceased humans on battlefields.

Some First Nation tribes of North America believe the crow is a shape-shifter and lives in a void of time.
Several European cultures nailed a dead owl to the front-door of their homes to keep away evil spirits.
In German mythology, witches didn’t ride brooms but ravens.
Swedes thought the harsh song of the crow was the voice of the dead who did not receive a proper burial.

Perhaps the most well-known tradition related to ravens, are the six kept in the Tower of London. If anything were to happen to the birds, the crown of England is believed to fall to some terrible fate. The first ravens that lived in the tower are said to have been attracted by the smell of the Queen’s executed enemies left to rot there.

(Painting by Linda Apple)

What goes around comes around...

One day a man saw an old lady, stranded on the side of the road, but even in the dim light of day, he could see she needed help. So he pulled up in front of her Mercedes and got out. His Pontiac was still sputtering when he approached her.

Even with the smile on his face, she was worried. No one had stopped to help for the last hour or so. Was he going to hurt her? He didn’t look safe; he looked poor and hungry. He could see that she was frightened, standing out there in the cold. He knew how she felt. It was those chills which only fear can put in you. He said, “I’m here to help you, ma’am. Why don’t you wait in the car where it’s warm? By the way, my name is Bryan Anderson.”

Well, all she had was a flat tire, but for an old lady, that was bad enough. Bryan crawled under the car looking for a place to put the jack, skinning his knuckles a time or two. Soon he was able to change the tire. But he had to get dirty and his hands hurt.
As he was tightening up the lug nuts, she rolled down the window and began to talk to him. She told him that she was from St. Louis and was only just passing through. She couldn’t thank him enough for coming to her aid.

Bryan just smiled as he closed her trunk. The lady asked how much she owed him. Any amount would have been all right with her. She already imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not stopped. Bryan never thought twice about being paid. This was not a job to him. This was helping someone in need, and God knows there were plenty, who had given him a hand in the past. He had lived his whole life that way, and it never occurred to him to act any other way.
He told her that if she really wanted to pay him back, the next time she saw someone who needed help, she could give that person the assistance they needed, and Bryan added, “And think of me.”
He waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been a cold and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing into the twilight.

A few miles down the road the lady saw a small cafe. She went in to grab a bite to eat, and take the chill off before she made the last leg of her trip home. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside were two old gas pumps. The whole scene was unfamiliar to her. The waitress came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had a sweet smile, one that even being on her feet for the whole day couldn’t erase. The lady noticed the waitress was nearly eight months pregnant, but she never let the strain and aches change her attitude. The old lady wondered how someone who had so little could be so giving to a stranger. Then she remembered Bryan.

After the lady finished her meal, she paid with a hundred dollar bill. The waitress quickly went to get change for her hundred dollar bill, but the old lady had slipped right out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came back. The waitress wondered where the lady could be. Then she noticed something written on the napkin.

There were tears in her eyes when she read what the lady wrote: “You don’t owe me anything. I have been there too. Somebody once helped me out, the way I’m helping you. If you really want to pay me back, here is what you do: Do not let this chain of love end with you.”
Under the napkin were four more $100 bills.

Well, there were tables to clear, sugar bowls to fill, and people to serve, but the waitress made it through another day. That night when she got home from work and climbed into bed, she was thinking about the money and what the lady had written. How could the lady have known how much she and her husband needed it? With the baby due next month, it was going to be hard….
She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to her, she gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low, “Everything’s going to be all right. I love you, Bryan Anderson.”

There is an old saying “What goes around comes around.”

The mayonnaise jar and the coffee....

The Mayonnaise Jar and the Coffee

When things in your life seem almost too much to handle, when 24 hours in a day are not enough, remember the mayonnaise jar and the coffee.

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They all agreed that it was.

The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They all agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with an unanimous “yes”. The professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed!

“Now,” said the professor, as the laughter subsided, “I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things–your God, family, your children, your health, your friends and your favorite passions–things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.

The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, and your car. The sand is everything else–the small stuff.”

Spend time with your family. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner. Play another 18. There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. Take care of the golf balls first, the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.”

“If you put the sand into the jar first,” he continued, “there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children.

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the coffee represented.

The professor smiled and said, “I’m glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there’s always room for a couple of cups of coffee with a friend.”

The "green thing".....

The "green thing".....

~ in the queue at the supermarket, the cashier told the older woman that she sh...ould bring her own bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment ~ the woman apologised to him and explained, "We didn't have the green thing back in my day."
~ the cashier responded, "That's our problem today ~ the former generation did not care enough to save our environment !"
~ and of course he was right
~ that generation didn't have the green thing in its day ~

~ back then they returned their milk bottles, lemonade bottles and beer bottles to the shop ~ the shop sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled so it could use the same bottles over and over ~ so they really were recycled ~ but . . .
~ that generation didn't have the green thing in it's day ~

~ in her day they walked up stairs because they didn't have an escalator in every shop and office building ~ they walked to the grocery shop and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time they had to go two miles ~ but she was right . . .
~ that generation didn't have the green thing in it's day ~

~ back then they washed the baby's nappies because they didn't have the throw-away kind ~ they dried clothes on a washing line not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts ~ wind and solar power really did dry the clothes !! ~ kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing ~ but that old lady is right . . .
~ that generation didn't have the green thing back in it's day ~

~ back then they had one TV, or radio, in the house ~ not a TV in every room ~ and the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchie not a screen the size of Wales ~ in the kitchen they blended and stirred by hand because they didn't have electric machines to do everything for them ~ when they packaged a fragile item to send in by post they used a screwed up old newspaper to cushion it not polystyrene or plastic bubble wrap ~ back then they didn't fire up an engine and burn petrol just to cut the lawn ~ they used a push mower that ran on human power ~ they exercised by working so they didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity ~ but she's right . . .
~ that generation didn't have the green thing back in it's day ~

~ they drank from a fountain when they were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time they had a drink of water ~ they refilled their pens with ink instead of buying a new pen ~ and they replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade had gone dull ~ but . . .
~ that generation didn't have the green thing in it's day ~

~ back then people took the tram or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or rode in the school bus instead of turning their mums into a 24-hour taxi service ~ they had one electrical socket in a room not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances ~ and they didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest take-away ~
~ but isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful the previous generation were ~ just because they didn't have the green thing back then ? ~

~ with love and respect for all generations ~

The golden box...

Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night.
The funeral is Wednesday."

Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.

"Jack, did you hear me?"

"Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack said..

"Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you were doing. He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over 'his side of the fence' as he put it," Mom told him.

"I loved that old house he lived in," Jack said.

"You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man's influence in your life," she said.

"He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be in this business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important...Mom, I'll be there for the funeral," Jack said.

As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown. Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.

The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more time.

Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time.

The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories.

Every picture, every piece of furniture....Jack stopped suddenly...

"What's wrong, Jack?" his Mom asked.

"The box is gone," he said.

"What box?" Mom asked.

"There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell me was 'the thing I value most,'" Jack said.

It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.

"Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack said. "I
better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom."

It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. "Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days," the note read.

Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention. "Mr. Harold Belser" it read. Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope.

Jack's hands shook as he read the note inside.

"Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully
unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch.

Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover. Inside he found these words engraved:

"Jack, Thanks for your time! -Harold Belser."

"The thing he valued most was...my time"

Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days. "Why?" Janet, his assistant, asked.

"I need some time to spend with my son," he said.

"Oh, by the way, Janet, thanks for your time!"




Author Unknown....

Cherokee words...

River, called the "Long Man" in Cherokee, is seen as a living creature reclining with its head in the mountains and its feet in the shoreline.

In contrast to the Mayan/Aztec symbolism of Water, the Cherokee River is a focused, moving, living thing. It also has the dual meanings of an open pathway, as in river traffic, and a barrier to land traffic.

Long Person (River) is seen as both a community of life and a single living entity; focused power, constant motion.

The word for FRIDAY in Cherokee means “they wash”: laundry, but also oneself. When River Day falls on a Wash Day, it amplifies the message that it’s time to clean ourselves up, clean up our surroundings, and stay in constant motion .

River days are thought to be bad for surgery or any condition involving bleeding, because of the aspect of an unstoppable flow.

Symbolically, it is ultimately the River of Death, which we each must cross to reach the blessed lands of the ancestors. In the sky, this is represented by the Milky Way.

We are all made of stars. In Cherokee belief, the departed souls arise into the sky to become stars, and it is from the stars that souls come to earth to be born as children.

The planets, stars, and constellations, the "Star People" showing their faces at the birth of a child, speak to his or her strengths and weaknesses and to destiny's role for that individual.

The link between the People and the stars, between Earth and Heaven, is so strong that it's even claimed that our ancestors came to earth "from the Pleiades." At the end of the Seventh World, it's said that we will return to our home in the sky.

Oral tradition tells that the calendar is really 22 different cycles, which are overlaid to form a complete picture of the influences on any given day, such as a birth date.

While these overlapping calendars clearly derive from the same sources as the Olmec, Mayan and Aztec calendars ( no surprise, since Cherokee oral history says our ancestors migrated northwards from and through those areas) there are significant differences of interpretation and symbolism that give a uniquely Cherokee perspective.

A traditional Calendar is still used in parts of the eastern mountains, especially east Tennessee and Kentucky. It clearly derives from Olmec-Mayan-Aztec sources, and its progression provides a framework for understanding ancient Cherokee tradition and the links to Central America where the Cherokee believe that they have ancestors...