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Monthly Archives: October 2013

Why Thanksgiving is My Favorite Holiday and the “Thirty Days of Thanks” Begins November 1st

31 Thursday Oct 2013

Posted by purdywords in 30 Days of Thanks, Blessings, Cancer, Fathers & Daughters, Love, Memories, Perspective, Seasons, Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

30 Days of Thanks, November, Thanksgiving

When you arise in the morning, think of what a privilege it is to be alive: to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love.  ~ Marcus Aurelius

The month of November is a special time for me. For one, it is the month of my birth, and for that simple fact, I’m forever enamored with all things November and grateful for this life I am blessed to live. For most, November is the month that we set aside to give thanks for all that we have and for the freedom we enjoy as Americans. For as long as I can remember, Thanksgiving has been my most treasured holiday because of what it means to me to gather together with loved ones around a table boasting a traditional feast, first bowing heads in prayer, thanking God for the blessing of food, family, friends, love, and most importantly, that we’re granted another holiday to spend together.

During college days, Thanksgiving Break was often my first trip back home during any given first academic term. I’d travel the four hours between my Western Pennsylvanian college to my rural Ohio hometown either by van with my father at the helm on his way back home from a business trip, or by myself in the later years when I was fortunate enough to have my own transportation. My homecoming would always come in the evening, and to welcome me back, there was always a flicker ablaze from within the bellows of the red brick and brass fireplace central to our living room. The warming, spicy, cozy fragrances telltale of the season would be circulating throughout the glow of the house. After hugs and “hello’s,” I would immediately put on the tea kettle for my mom and myself, grab hold of our family cat, Muffin, wrapping her up in my arms and a warm blanket around my shoulders and gratefully nestle into my favorite spot on the worn velveteen sofa eager to crack open the spine of a fresh new novel I’d been dying to read. (I was always glad to have left a stack of college textbooks behind at school resting for a long weekend on the pine bookshelf attached to my desk in the dorm room I called home during the academic year). No matter the season of my life, to me, Thanksgiving has always meant coming home and slowing down, breathing in the biting grip of icy cool, crisp autumn air amid the hustle and bustle of life in general. I’m so grateful for traditions like the ones my parents were intent on creating for my family of origin–the type of traditions that are meant to be passed down through the generations. I’m thankful to be enjoying some of my favorite ones each Thanksgiving with my husband and children. (Whether they realize it now or not!)

Since marrying The Husband, we have been privileged to host a large family crowd on a great many Thanksgiving days. Last year, however, we opted out of hosting the large family gathering for a litany of good reasons. Since it was just the five of us for most of the day, I didn’t even roast a turkey! Instead, I chose an organic free range whole chicken, but made all our favorite traditional Thanksgiving side dishes and desserts (like roasted butternut squash and chocolate chip pumpkin bread). Because we had nowhere to go, the kids were happy to be able to stay in their pajamas and watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, move slowly about the day and not worry about if they were making a mess with crafts, toys, or on clothes for fear of guests arriving soon. I was grateful to have an intimate family holiday for once, but did miss having the mix of guests scattered throughout the house. For last year’s change of pace, I am grateful for the understanding members of our families who knew we needed the break from hosting this beloved holiday.

Three years ago, I was scheduled to have Baby Girl via a cesarean section surgery the day after Thanksgiving because she had been breach the entire third trimester. (I had a previous cesarean with The Boy.)  My mom took over the kitchen reigns that year assuming the role of Thanksgiving hostess as she had done for over thirty years as a wife and mother. The Husband, The Girl, The Boy and I joined my three siblings and their significant others at my mom’s place a mere three miles up the road after The Boy had a much-needed early nap. Part of the fun that year was that, although we had shared our third child’s gender after the twenty-week ultrasound, we kept Baby Girl’s name a secret the entire pregnancy until Thanksgiving night. As we were relaxing in my mom’s living room after devouring an amazingly indulgent feast, The Husband and I thought it would be fun if we let my family play a “guess her name” game hinting only at the first initial of her chosen name and then the era we chose it from. Together with those two clues, a litany of good name choices and even funnier ones were thrown out, but my younger sister finally won the game. (With a little help from Google, I suspect!) The other surprise on that Thanksgiving Day was that Baby Girl almost didn’t wait for her scheduled surgery! It was a close call! We had so much to be thankful for that Thanksgiving, but at the top of my list would be for my ever-generous mother whom after not getting much sleep the night before came over to sleep on our living room couch that evening just in case we would have had to head to the hospital in the middle of the night instead of our scheduled 7:00 AM arrival at the hospital for surgery; for my siblings who helped juggle the care of The Girl and The Boy the day after Thanksgiving while The Husband and I spent the day in the hospital welcoming Baby Girl, then after some minor complications, getting me well enough to see my family of five together for the first time; for my beautiful third child ever the surprise and miracle since we first learned of her life; and for The Girl and The Boy who were the first to call me “Mommy.”

There have been so many wonderful Thanksgivings in my thirty-plus years of life. One particular Thanksgiving will be forever etched in my memory–the last Thanksgiving I shared with my dad before he died from a sixteen-month-long battle with small cell lung cancer. Although he was on the downward spiral of his life that November, I was so glad that we could add another holiday together. My unmarried siblings, my husband and I all came from our corners of the world and gathered for what would be the last Thanksgiving we would share as a family together with my mom and dad at their home. That Thanksgiving Day was a solemn one as my dad, who would normally eat his fill, could barely make it to the table and once there, moved his food around the plate in front of him without care, without taste, without interest. Apologizing, he excused himself to my parent’s bedroom. After a much-needed rest, he joined us once again in the living room, although mostly immobile at this point. Although there were tremendous melancholic tones to that holiday, we did have football, board games, too much wine drinking (by some and not enough by others), and one of the clearest, star-sparkling late autumn skies that I can remember seeing in quite some time.

On Black Friday, our family–not the wake-up-at-midnight-to-shop-crazy-sales-type family– moved our focus directly toward Christmas–our dad’s favorite holiday–geared toward the task of helping our mom transform her home from an autumnal atmosphere to the epitome of “Merry Christmas” down to the tiniest detail. We left no holly jolly decoration unpacked. If it existed, we found a place for it. While we decked the halls, our dad was keenly focused on putting up the Christmas tree, but soon felt that he didn’t have the energy in him to engineer the task all by himself like he had every prior year. So, we sent him to back to his bedroom for another nap. While he was asleep, we ate Thanksgiving leftovers and reminisced. The tears were wiped away in time to greet our dad again when he felt well enough to join us in the makings of Christmas. Now that he was at his maximum energy level for the day, that meant helping him assemble the perfect tree. After all, it would be his last one to enjoy.

All my life, my father was a traveling salesman which meant he was home very little. For most of my growing-up years, he was having to travel across a few states ten months out of the calendar year in order to cover his sales territory, as well as attend sales conferences and various mid-season meetings, presentations, and such. We missed him but understood the reasons he was gone and grew used to having him in our lives Thursday nights through Sunday afternoons. All the time our dad was on the road–pre-cell phone days–he never missed a phone call to us–not one night that I can remember.

Once my dad made his way home for the winter season, he soaked up all things Christmas. The Type-A personality that made him genius in his career was focused on obsessing over every Christmas tree we had in our home. I can remember one year he set about cutting down that year’s beautiful pine. He brought it home and realized it was too tall. So, after sawing the trunk down a few times, hauling it inside the house, placing in its red and green metal tree stand, situating the tree in the perfect spot in the center of the picture window in the our front room living room—after literally hours of effort—he decided he liked “another tree” better! He went about unwrapping all the twinkling lights he’d already wrapped around the interior and exterior branches, unraveled the Christmas tree skirt from the base of the tree, and tossed the lot in the middle of the multi-shaded brown carpeted living room floor because he had decided that our seemingly beautiful soft green pine wasn’t good enough and he was determined on going out for a better one! I’m not sure if my mom intervened or not during this moment of temporary insanity that came over my father; I’m not sure if we let him trash or donate this idyllic tree and head out in hot pursuit of another one. What I do remember is my father’s spirit for Christmas and for us, and the intensity he felt every new December. With every onset of Advent came my father’s insistence on giving us a perfect Christmas right down to the tiniest detail—even going so far as chopping down multiple trees until his satisfaction had been met, and our hearts had been won. My father’s insistence stemmed only from love—I knew this then and still feel it today—and from the hope of recreating the type of Christmas he had always wished for, but he never had as a child.

During the last Thanksgiving weekend we would share, my perfectionist father actually allowed his first son-in-law–my husband–to assemble the artificial Christmas tree that had belonged to our family for years by then, and he supervised the effort with very little criticism! I think of this moment, my dad sitting in his Queen Anne corner office chair watching my husband align each evergreen piece properly and deliberately, and I remember I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with them because the entire scene brought on feelings of such remorse and finality. I thought, “If dad can’t or doesn’t want to put together the Christmas tree, then he really must be dying. This must really be our last days together.” Funny to think on that time now and how he had been dying in front of my eyes for thirteen months prior to this moment, but this singular event is the one that did it for me. Seeing my father “pass the torch” on to my husband, giving over the task of constructing the family Christmas tree, only solidified for me the reality that my father was truly dying and wouldn’t be sharing in anymore holidays with us. I worried that he might not even make it to see the presents underneath that year’s tree.

Once the day-after-Thanksgiving tree received my father’s seal of approval in a thumbs-up fashion, my husband collected my siblings and me, telling us that the tree was ready to be trimmed. Before we began, my dad hollered out to my mother to “put on some Johnny Mathis” referring, of course, to the Christmas CD that will forever be our family’s Christmas mantra. With the music playing and the lights dimmed, my father was able to equally partake in our family’s last pre-Christmas ritual by taking to the multitude of cardboard boxes at his feet marked in his left-hander’s scrawl “XMAS”. As he cut open the cellophane-taped lids that upon opening revealed bunches of aged newspaper filling, my father took to unwrapping our family’s history in Christmas tree ornaments placing them directly in our hands. With every trinket and treasure he unwrapped, he set about a trail of rediscovery. I saw it in the glistening of his eyes that he was reliving the past with each ornament he found and trying, with all that was left of his might, to fasten his heart tightly around all the good memories we shared as a family. As he passed each ornaments to my siblings, husband, and to me, we searched a little of our memories, too, and for the perfect branch upon which to hang our lives, careful to place the most sentimental ones in his sight.

There’s not a Thanksgiving that goes by that I don’t think of my dad and I’ll be forever grateful for the twenty-nine Thanksgivings and Christmases I shared with him.

~

As I’ve done in years past, I’m participating in the 30 Days of Thanks campaign that begins on November 1st, and I hope you will join me in the effort. You can participate in any way or means that works well for you. You don’t have to blog, tweet, Facebook message, or even talk about your participation in the 30 Days of Thanks challenge if you don’t want to!  If only you speak your gratefulness in your mind and heart, then the point of this gratitude movement will grow.  Myself, I’m choosing to post my thoughts and reflections of thankfulness here, and will utilize other modes of social media to get the message out to the world (namely, on Facebook and Twitter). This simple path to foster an attitude and community of thanks truly is a happiness inducer. And I can speak from experience that it will help each one of us to stop for a moment and take note of the countless blessings we enjoy especially during what can be an overwhelming, even sad time of the year for many of us. Trust me, you’ll have trouble naming just thirty things you’re thankful for in the thirty days. And if that’s the case, then please keep the momentum going during the often thankless days of the upcoming holiday season. (And, if you feel compelled to do so, you might as well continue counting and naming your blessings and gratitude throughout 2014!)

During the next thirty days, I hope that November’s inherent beauty brings about many special times for you and the ones you love. And I hope your grateful heart increases thirty-fold with each passing day. Be thankful. Be blessed.

A perfect season, a time to heal

24 Thursday Oct 2013

Posted by purdywords in Catholicism, Change, Friendship, Peace, Personal health, Perspective, Prayers, Seasons, Stress & Anxiety, Tough days

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Anxiety, Crosses to bear, Prayer, Season of autumn

Some of your hurts you have cured/And the sharpest you still have survived/But what torments of grief you endured/From the evil which never arrived.

Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.

~ quotes by Ralph Waldo Emerson

There has been an acute attack on my nervous system during the last few weeks. For good reason, mind you. But, still. It’s debilitating—all the worry and allowing my imagination to run rampant and wild to places that more than likely, will never be. It’s an evil cycle when these objectionable fears get the best of me. They increase my stress level by taking a gripping hold and strangle out the very best of my being. I’m slowly fighting my way back by working through it all—in tiny steps—and trying to figure out why all of a sudden my anxiety is on the rise. A few significant events have occurred in my personal life, in my family, and physically. So, I have narrowed down the culprits and am focusing on paying better attention to my physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual health. Last month, I invited my capable and compassionate therapist back into my life and already she’s helping me to clear out the clutter in my heart and mind.  I’m finding more light and hope now, and for this, I am grateful.

Question: Is it too personal—maybe too much?—to write so openly about my grief and the anxieties that riddle my life? Does it cross some imaginary “don’t go there” line by writing about the anxieties I feel? I certainly hope not. I hope by writing about my struggles that I can offer a light to someone else dealing with a challenging time. If anything, the writing is cathartic. And my struggles won’t be in vain if I can offer hope through my pain.

My worries are real, but the scenarios I dream up are not. I have to keep reminding myself of that fact and, if possible, read more Ralph Waldo Emerson (as the quotes, above, suggest)! I’ve always believed him to be so wise; his words just make sense. What I’m trying to remember—especially on the more difficult days—is that I can only control so much. A simple notion to comprehend for most people? Yes, I understand this to be true. But, for me, I’ve always needed the gentle reminder: all that can be expected of me is to arise with the best of intentions to make the most of the present day that I’m blessed to live.

I find that it’s also good practice to contemplate that no matter how awful I feel—be it physically, emotionally, mentally or spiritually— I’m not alone. However heavy my burdens feel upon my shoulders, I know of so many others facing far greater struggles than I am right now. It’s so important to not discount my personal struggles, but rather, try to gain some holistic perspective in spite of them. Being Catholic, I also try to focus my pain and anxieties toward Christ. He helps me to carry my daily crosses and lifelong ailments, and is my spiritual answer to so much suffering going on in my own soul and in the world around me. When I’m in a suffering state, I also try to offer up my troubles for those in far greater desperation. Lately, I’ve been turning away from my own self and praying more for some special people in my life who are going through some tough times beyond imagination.

About eight years ago, I started a life-changing, life-affirming practice: sponsoring an Indian child’s educational and basic needs through the help of the Christian Foundation for Children and Aging. My sponsored friend, now in her early twenties, is working toward her educational goals and dreams for a better life. Despite the hunger, poverty, and lack of resources she and her family and friends face on a daily basis, her letters come to me frequently. As a breath of fresh air, her words are laced with nothing short of positivity and joy. She is a skilled artist and the drawings she includes with her translated letters are an added bonus. To receive such creative and heartfelt greetings from someone I’ve never met, well, that’s a type of beauty and grace beyond measure. This person—this beautiful young woman dwelling across the world feels like another daughter to me. If ever I am offered the chance to fly to India and meet this sponsored friend and her family then I will welcome that chance to embrace her as my own. If you’re looking to “do more” may I gently ask you to consider sponsoring a child or adult through CFCA’s project? Not only is CFCA’s mission incredibly organized and worthwhile, the entire experience changes lives. To read more about how CFCA works, the mission of the organization and more, please visit http://www.cfcausa.org/AboutUs.aspx.

Today, I’m also reminded of the true struggles facing some dear friends of mine—close to my home and heart. The Girl’s best friend from preschool suffers from a severe case of epilepsy and has been in and out of the hospital too many times to count since diagnosed as a toddler. It seems like the last two years, especially, have been one long hospital visit, with countless tests, breathing tubes and IV’s, multiple surgeries, and more medication adjustments to figure out why she is struggling so much with her disease. This young friend has had to endure more procedures and physical invasions—at such a precious, young age—than most of us will ever need to withstand in our lifetime. This beloved friend of The Girl’s is in a Children’s Hospital ICU right now as I type suffering from aspiration pneumonia and recurrent seizures. She has been there for most of the week. Her devoted, amazing, super-human mother never leaves her side–in or out of the hospital—and is on her way to sainthood, if you ask me. Her father, siblings, and extended family are incredibly resilient and strong, as are the extended friend network they’ve built over the years who pitch in to help out any chance they get to lessen the burden in what seems like a constant, endless cycle of crisis. These dear friends of mine have been through so much and I feel helpless most of the time except when offering prayers of support, words of encouragement, and the occasional gift card or meal. If anyone deserves a miracle, this family does. So, I’m asking that if you’re the praying type, please pray for this sweet girl and her beautiful family. Prayer is a life-changer, too.

~

As God’s perfect season falls upon us, I pray for stolen moments of time of which to rest and rejuvenate the many facets of body, mind, and soul. I welcome the chill in the air—even better with a steaming cup of tea to wrap my chilly fingers around–as I face whatever comes my way. With the strength of my faith, the support of my loving family and friends, my writing to fulfill me, and an endless list of books to lose myself in during the early darkened nights ahead, I know the season will be a more joyful, fulfilling one. As October’s days come to an end, the poetic words of Emily Dickinson come to mind as I reflect on the cleansing beauty this season has to offer:

Besides the autumn poets sing,
A few prosaic days
A little this side of the snow
And that side of the haze.

A few incisive mornings,
A few ascetic eyes, —
Gone Mr. Bryant’s golden-rod,
And Mr. Thomson’s sheaves.

Still is the bustle in the brook,
Sealed are the spicy valves;
Mesmeric fingers softly touch
The eyes of many elves.

Perhaps a squirrel may remain,
My sentiments to share.
Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind,
Thy windy will to bear!

~ Emily Dickinson, “November”

~

What has helped you to gain perspective during difficult times in your life? How has a friend helped you in a time of need? Are you currently in need of prayer support? Can I pray for you?

A Mother’s Reflection on Rest and Rejuvenation

01 Tuesday Oct 2013

Posted by purdywords in Blessings, Mothers & Daughters, Peace, Personal health, Siblings/Sisters, Travel, Uncategorized, Writing

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Martha's Vineyard, Relaxation, Vacation

“What is the scent of water?”
“Renewal. The goodness of God coming down like dew.”
― Elizabeth Goudge, The Scent of Water

 

An excerpt from my journal, dated September 16, 2013:

Soon, I head out on a much-needed vacation that was masterminded by none other than my mother. She and I, along with my two sisters will be on an early morning flight tomorrow. And in less than two hours from our departure point, we will land in the city I love so dearly. After gathering our small amount of belongings, I will rent a compact car, and together, we will travel south to the lower peninsula of the state. After filling ourselves with a nutritious and indulgent meal and quite possibly some lattes and dessert, we will board a ferry-boat headed for a notoriously quaint and hip island.  Once the 45-minute sea voyage has ended, we will disembark from the lower deck of the passage boat and find ourselves, a mere 3.1 miles from port, embarking upon the final destination of our journey–and to a home that we will claim all for ourselves during the next five days and four nights before us.

On this north-eastern island, I have no plans except to spend overdue quality time with my mother and sisters and find a way to relax and reinvigorate myself, rejuvenate my health, and recharge my inner-battery. During this time, I will write and read, walk and partake in a yoga class or two, visit bookstores and island shops, perhaps indulge in a deep tissue massage or facial, go sight-seeing through all the touristy island haunts, photograph what catches my eye, subsist on fresh seafood and seasonal fruits and veggies. And dare I say it? Sleep in. However lofty my vacation plans, the only truly important goal I hold for myself this week is to come back home a noticeably calmer version of myself.

Am I blessed beyond compare that I can take a half-week to just be still? To spend whole hours in solitude in order to find a way back to myself? To know that I deserve this time to be alone, but in the company of my kin? Absolutely. And I eagerly anticipate getting there, backed only by the comforting notion that this mini-vacation is coming true only by the multitude of sacrifices of my husband, children, and especially, my mom.   

 ~ 

Stay tuned as I “write the island” in my forthcoming blog posts. Until then, I would love to read your comments. And, I am curious to know:

Have you ever visited Martha’s Vineyard? If so, what was your most treasured memory of the island?  If you haven’t been to Martha’s Vineyard, tell me then, where have you vacationed to purposefully recharge yourself? Also, what are some ways that you reinvigorate your mind, body, and spirit throughout the year when a vacation isn’t possible? 

  • purdywords
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