Gifts for You

Our humanity comes to its fullest bloom in giving. We become beautiful people when we give whatever we can give: a smile, a handshake, a kiss, an embrace, a word of love, a present, a part of our life...all of our life. ― Henri J.M. Nouwen, Life of the Beloved: Spiritual Living in a Secular World

Chilly

Tiny Dog does indeed enjoy the warmth of a person.

Wouldn't it be marvelous if I could wriggle into someone else's jacket and snooze there, too? Yes. Yes, it would.

Death Letters

Herself's family members have a tendency to try to plan for every possibility:  life insurance, wills, and related documents are all meticulously put into place.  Her Father in particular is very organized; periodically (and especially before any overseas travel or medical procedures), he double-checks all his paperwork and then revises and re-sends a letter containing all the current relevant information to Herself and her siblings.  They all affectionately refer to the document as "The Death Letter."  It's a bit like having an umbrella -- if one carries an umbrella, it seems that it's less likely to rain, and if it does rain, one doesn't get as wet.  Similarly, if one attends to all ones bits and pieces, it seems that it's less likely that one will need to use one's will and related documentation, and even if one does (or rather, one's heirs do), it'll be easier on everyone involved.

It's the time of year when everyone is assessing their respective Death Letters, including Herself.  She's gotten all the paperwork organized, and all that remains is to review and revise the personal letters she has written to be distributed in the event of her demise.  Always sobering, to contemplate one's own mortality. What statement does one leave for one's loved ones, for them to wrap around whatever memories they choose to keep?

Hopefully, the letters will be unnecessary for a long time.  And in the unlikely event that they are, Herself hopes that the paltry words she finds will be enough to let the people of her heart know how much they have meant to her.

Brotherly Backbone

This morning, Herself's brother had surgery to address a spinal issue.  Word is that the surgery went fine, that he is in recovery, and will be seen by other family members soon.  We hope that the procedure will bring him relief, lessen his pain, and improve his quality of life.

Earlier, Herself's Father sent a photograph from pre-op -- Brother's familiar face smiling above the standard-issue hospital gown, the IV already in place.  He was holding hands with Dee, a former college girlfriend turned into lifelong friend, who has been a rock of fortitude for him.  We were so very glad to see Dee there with him. Having a hand to hold pre-op is absolutely essential, Herself thinks.

Herself looks at the picture, and is just a tiny bit heartsick. She remembers the last time she saw Brother in a hospital gown:  it was three decades ago (or more) when Brother had his appendix removed. The years have gone by in the blink of an eye, and she regrets not making efforts to be a better and more communicative sister after they grew up and went their separate ways.  Perhaps this is a reminder that she needs to try harder, starting now.  That's what she'll do.

One time when they were very young, the family dog tangled with a porcupine while they were all at the primitive summer farmhouse for a weekend.  Brother took charge of the siblings:  he inspected the medicine cabinet, selected what he believed to be appropriate bandages and other supplies, and handed the items to Herself and their younger sister.  He then led them, a worried band of tiny children, down to where their parents were removing the spines from the dog's muzzle. He was reassuring and helpful -- a caretaker even then. That is how he was, and is, and always will be. He's a kindhearted soul.

The summer farmhouse is long gone, as is the family dog (who, back then, made a complete recovery from the encounter with the porcupine and went on to bark down woodchuck holes for years and years afterwards).  Brother lives several states away now.  He is never far from Herself's heart, though.

Heal well and quickly, Brother Mine.

Technique is Immaterial

The following conversation transpired yesterday evening in the kitchen.

Herself (turning on music and dancing a wee bit while doing chores): Remember, one thing that a lot of the ladies really like is when a guy is willing to dance.
Offspring the Third:  Willing to dance badly?
Herself:  Technique isn't important - it's the willingness to dance that's important.
Offspring the Third:  [dances out of room].

They were listening to Bruce Springsteen, Hungry Heart. Enjoy.

Show Me

Today's earworm:  Brave, by Sara Bareilles.

Nothing’s gonna hurt you the way that words do
When they settle ‘neath your skin
Kept on the inside and no sunlight
Sometimes a shadow wins
But I wonder what would happen if you

Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave...

Show me how big your brave is. 

Kintsukuroi

I think that perhaps, the same is applicable to people who have broken, and have mended.