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Taking a Sad Song, Making it Better

~ Discovering joy amid pain

Taking a Sad Song, Making it Better

Category Archives: Travel

The Summer of Collected Memories

23 Wednesday Sep 2020

Posted by purdywords in Acceptance, Blessings, Change, Coronavirus, COVID-19, Family life, Inspiration, Intentional Living, Memories, Motherhood, Parenting, Past, Peace, Personal Challenges, Perspective, Rest, Seasons, Simple Living, Simplicity, Stress & Anxiety, Thankfulness, Travel

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Coronavirus, Living intentionally, Seeking joy, Simple Joys, Summer 2020

“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.” – John Lubbock

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/32939-rest-is-not-idleness-and-to-lie-sometimes-on-the

Facing a litany of summer let downs due to COVID-19, I became insistent my family, in our conscious efforts to slow down, mask up, and stay home, would still have a long list of positive memories. Oversimplified and less monumental than summers prior, it was imperative we gathered a collection of sweet, tangible experiences of our own to hold and enjoy. But, first, we would allow ourselves the space to mourn our personal disappointments: the canceled annual vacation, refunded summer camps, no pool days, declining offers to gather, not visiting loved ones with vulnerable health conditions, avoiding crowds and community, only attending virtual mass, and sorrowfully missing our friends and family. Then, we would rest and appreciate the slowness, embrace this time of stillness and isolation, and despite the litany of mourned losses, we would find a way to make the best of it—together. Although, at the beginning of this summer experiment I had rampant doubts about how we would pull it off, I believe we exceeded our goal and succeeded in our efforts to “discover joy amid the pain.”

Once virtual schooling came to a halt, my husband and I scoured Airbnb for in-state cottages and cabins to our liking, in our modest price range, and declared 2020 would be the season of locating the quaint and hidden gems nearby. The fruits of this idea did not disappoint. Intentionally, we spaced our bookings apart so we would have one adventure to look forward to every month of the summer. We filled in the downtime with ease by including treks to local parks, camping in our yard, gathering for family game nights, and letting the days unfold on their own. The choice to have a combination of planned getaways and unscheduled stretches of time spent at home attributed to a quite happy and wholesome break. By allowing ourselves the occasion to branch out toward sections of the state we’ve not visited before, and returning to the areas we favor, we discovered newfound delight in local exploration and realized ourselves more in awe of our awesome state and enamored with the town we live in.

Another unexpected advantage to the pandemic summer was the making of an outdoor retreat tucked away in the woods on the property where my husband grew up. Frequently when visiting my father-in-law, we’ve walked the area together—especially in the winter months when the overgrowth has fallen and our boots can crunch atop the frozen earth. The freedom we found this summer allowed my husband and children to embark on a project together, and they set about clearing out a more direct path from the house to the forest, lining the grassy lane with bits of wood and rock, and making the connection between the house and back property a more delightful experience for everyone involved. Now the children can roam and run free between the yard and faraway wood without the distress of thorny entanglements or fear of getting lost. The joy in carving out this special place has allowed us to share with our kids the type of summer fun we fondly remember having—hot summer days spent in outdoor intrigue, hours gone investigating the natural world, making outdoor revelations on our own, and finding a piece of oneself that can only be uncovered under the shade of a tree, breathing in the fresh air, one’s skin soaking up some Vitamin D. The chance to gift a piece of our past to our kids, to allow them to encounter for themselves the unhinged joys of a simplified and rural encounter, was an unexpected blessing of the summer—a highlight all of us agree upon.

Creating this hidden world for our family to treasure was also an opportunity for peaceful reclamation. Shielded from the cacophony of worldly anxieties, the forest cover has comforted and cocooned us as we dealt with the stressors surrounding and threatening us on a daily basis. Within the personalized hollow, we could forget it all for a little while. We hung up our hammocks between the trees as our Boy Scout practiced and refined his outdoor skills, our youngest daughter worked to identify plants and wildflowers and took polaroid pictures of whatever drew her eyes into focus, and our youngest son walked the length of logs, climbed atop piles of dirt and debris, and gathered sticks and rocks. Nearby, my husband delighted in working to improve the nature-given space, and I indulged in a new novel, read between the camp chair and a hammock, and wrote in my journal. We lit fires and ordered pizza for dinner, looked up at the sky and marveled at the blue, and listened to the symphony of sounds of rural Ohio as we bathed under the light filtering through the trees above us.

A few weeks ago, my kids donned masks on their faces and strapped backpacks to their bodies, climbed the stairs into their school bus and chose seats near one another, then waved good-bye to my husband and me as they drove off to the start of a new school year. I see a difference in each one of them and it’s not just their sun-kissed cheeks and golden highlights, not just the inches and pounds added to their frames, not just the new shoes and crisp uniforms. I believe the difference is apparent because they’re shining from the sound interconnectedness between them, made stronger from the calmness and maturity they’ve gained, are restored by the ability to be resolute and resilient in anxious times, and fully renewed from having spent a season seeking joy in the minuscule moments of life.

A new time has emerged now, and I’m looking forward to what discoveries await us in the autumnal season. I know there will be more silver linings to weave into our familial story, sweet memories to create together, and small, not insignificant, moments to cherish. As 2020 comes to a close—thankfully so—I’ll spend the next few months measuring the milestones, maintaining the closeness, and continuing to make the best of this unprecedented time by demonstrating to my kids how gratitude is possible even on the worst days and remaining intentional about reminding them: all we have is today. So, let’s live it well, while we can.

We have grown dull toward this world in which we live; we have forgotten that it is not normal or scientific in any sense of the word. It is fantastic. It is a fairy tale through and through. Elephants? Caterpillars? Snow? At what point did you lose your wonder of it all? – John Eldredge

https://www.outofstress.com/finding-joy-simple-things-quotes/

Grateful for Strange Moments of Grace: Days 9-17 (30 Days of Thanks)

17 Sunday Nov 2013

Posted by purdywords in 30 Days of Thanks, Catholicism, Change, Fathers & Daughters, Memories, Past, Peace, Prayers, Siblings/Sisters, Travel

≈ 1 Comment

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30 Days of Thanks, Chance encounters, Fate, Life and loss, Martha's Vineyard

In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration:—feelings, too, Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man’s life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love…. ~William Wordsworth, 1798

Fate, Chance, God’s Will – we all try to account for our lives somehow.  What are the chances that two raindrops, flung from the heavens, will merge on a windowpane?  Gotta be Fate.  ~Robert Brault

Have you ever been given a mesmerizing glimpse of the past? Perhaps, you had a chance encounter  in your dreams that upon waking you felt like you had experienced the hand of the Divine working through your mind and in your heart? Have you ever seen the past in someone else’s eyes?  Well, I have. Something so wonderful and unexplainable happened during my vacation on Martha’s Vineyard in September. It is still one of the strangest moments of my life. And ever since, I can’t seem to put the encounter out of my mind or figure out the meaning for why it happened.

My mother, younger sister, and I attended Saturday evening mass together at the charming and quaint Our Lady Star of the Sea Church in Oak Bluffs. It was not a packed crowd that evening, so we had plenty of space in our pew. It was a beautiful night, and my mom and I were both so pleased we had made it to Confession right before the beginning of mass. It is still one of the most profound, memorable sacramental moments of my life. Nonetheless, the Confession was mild compared to what was about to transpire about halfway through mass.

As the congregation stood together in prayer, I noticed my younger sister bow her head down and let out a sigh. As I glanced her way, she opened her eyes wide and whispered, “Look over there,” jilting her head to the right.

“Do you see that man over there? Do you see him?” she asked with in a panicky voice. “He looks just like dad! Look at his profile. And his nose!”

Be still my heart, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She was right! It was our dad. It couldn’t be, truly, since he had died from small cell lung cancer eight-and-a-half years prior to our vacation. We stood with eyes transfixed on this man, this spitting image of our father. It was unreal and seeing him felt so strange.

As we continued to steal glances at this stranger, we realized that not only was the man the exact likeness of our father, but he seemed to embody all of our father’s gestures and quirky traits. He was exactly what I envisioned my father would have looked like if he could have lived beyond his fifty-seven young years and be with us on the Vineyard that very night. Tears begun to sting my eyes. It really was that profound.

It’s strangely emotional to feel such affinity for a complete stranger. For a brief moment during this incredible mass, I felt a pang of jealousy toward the woman sitting next to my father’s doppelganger. Obviously, it was his loving wife, but I did not like her sitting there next to “my father.”

It was a confusing mass. I couldn’t stop staring at this man. I studied every mark of his freckled, wrinkled face. His eyes—oh my goodness!—his eyes were the same shade of brown! The same almond shape, even! When the man turned to the left, I could see that he had the same droopy skin fold over his eye that my father had! His hairline, the largely pointed nose, the thinner lips–all of his physical traits–right down to his attire–was my dad to a tee. If this wasn’t enough, I about passed out when he rested his face in his hand with the pointer finger up near his temple—the same restful stance my father had for as long as I can remember.

When the strange man arose stiffly from the knees to make his way to the altar to receive the Eucharist, I was startled furthermore. His posture was as my father’s had been—a rather tall gait, slightly bent shoulders, longer arms than you would have expected on such a build, with a walk that seemed more like a glide as he set about on his way toward receiving the Lord in Communion.

Was I imagining all of this? Surely not, if my sister saw it, too. She was the one who first noticed the man. And my sister is lovely, but not one to spark with emotion even over strange encounters such as these.

Trying to get myself to pay attention to what was going on during mass, to prepare myself to accept Communion with reverence, to stop staring like a fool, I shook my head and willed myself to look away. I couldn’t. All I wanted to do was catch another glimpse of this stranger who took on my dad’s physical body—and to somehow meet him, touch him, even. It was clear I was having some kind of bizarre overtaking of my faculties in the presence of God and this stranger.

All of a sudden, appalling feelings of anger overtook me. Horrifying thoughts passed through my clouded mind–thoughts that convinced me my father had never died years ago. In fact, I let myself venture that what really had occurred was that my father was truly sitting in that pew in front of us, that he was attending mass, too, but ignoring his real wife and two of his children! Because instead of dying, I said to myself, my dad had actually left us all to mourn his death while he has enjoyed a leisurely life on Martha’s Vineyard for all these years gone! I was enraged!

I have no idea how I thought my dad would have pulled off this kind of illusion, but for a moment, I was convinced. Convinced! The audacity! See, there was no other explanation to the phenomenon of the man sitting ahead of us at mass, the one who looked so much like my father.

Trying to get a grip on my emotions before I stood up for Communion, I came to my senses, realizing that my ill thoughts were nothing but the result of purely wishful thinking on my part. How easy it would be to forgive my father for such betrayal if only it meant he was still alive and well and that we could embrace and talk once again. Forgiveness would be easy if only I could have my father back in the flesh.

After Communion was over, I wanted nothing more than the rest of mass to end–and swiftly.  I have never wanted or needed to rush through a mass before. But this was no ordinary mass. Once the priest gave the blessing, and after he and the altar servers made their way down the middle aisle toward the front of the church, I left my belongings where they lay in the pew and headed straight toward the familiar stranger. I needed to talk to him, ask his name, find out for myself if he knew me, too. If I didn’t take the opportunity to approach him then, it would feel to me like the entire moment never happened. And I could not take that chance.

I’m not sure if my sister and mom were beside me when I went up to the man, or if they held back in our pew to watch their crazy sister and daughter take a chance charged only by pure emotion. However, I walked right up to that strange man, and gently touched his arm if only to get his attention. When he turned to me he, of course, smiled my father’s smile with my dad’s teeth!

Being that close to the man overwhelmed me like nothing ever has. With my right hand over my heart and choking back the tears that were pouring from my eyes, I managed to say, “Excuse me sir. Uh. Hi. I’m so sorry, but I must ask you your name? It’s not John is it?”

“No, dear, it’s not,” he replied, a little confused by my asking.

“Oh, well, I have to tell you,” I continued, convinced I was staring in the eyes of my aged father, “you are the spitting image of my late father. It’s overwhelming, really” And this is when the trembling began.

“Oh, your poor thing,” said his kind wife as she placed her wrinkled hands over mine. I could not believe I was carrying on like this before a set of strangers!

“My sister, mom and I saw you a few pews in front of us and we haven’t been able to keep our eyes off of you since. We can’t get over how much you look like our dad. It’s unbelievable!” I managed to tell him through tears that were borderline deep sobs by this point. I was completely beside myself with emotion.

“Ah, thank you, thank you,” he said to me with a tear in his eye. “He must’ve been a wonderful man.”

“He was, he was,” I agreed as I wiped my tears away and managed a smile. “Thank you.”

“God bless you dear,” his wife said before they were on their way. The man looked back at me once more and smiled my father’s smile. What a gift.

Still with hand over my heart, I let the water works flow and took this chance meeting as a sign that my dad was with us in spirit on that trip. So, I wrote his name in the memorial book at the front of church before my mom, sister and I headed out to enjoy our last night on the island along with my older sister who was waiting for us outside and had her own bizarre encounter story to share.

Maybe my dad needed our prayers that night. Maybe God wanted to unite us all in a divine moment. Maybe it was purely coincidence without any deep meaning attached to it. Who knows? What I do know is that in some fateful way, we met my father once again in the face of a stranger and it was a moment filled with sadness and joy–one I hope to never forget. Strangely, it may have been the best part of the vacation.

Has fate ever touched you so deeply? When have you been overcome with emotion by a chance encounter?

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

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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? 

Cause I’m leavin’ on a jet plane/Don’t know when I’ll be back again

23 Saturday Mar 2013

Posted by purdywords in Mothers & Daughters, Siblings/Sisters, Travel

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Love of travel, Mothers & Daughters

A sister can be seen as someone who is both ourselves and very much not ourselves – a special kind of double. ~ Toni Morrison

Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee/Calls back the lovely April of her prime. ~ William Shakespeare

In September, my mother is treating my sisters and me to a girls’ getaway weekend. On Sunday, we are getting together to vote on the destination. Each of us presented two different options and then we dwindled the list down to the two places we are voting on. Our final decision rests between San Francisco, CA and Martha’s Vineyard, MA–both equally enticing destinations, if you ask me.

It’s been over a decade since I traveled to The Vineyard on a whim one early summer day. A few years post-college graduation, I lived near Boston, MA. My work took me up and down the New England coast and inland, still. I covered much ground in a short period of time. I’m forever grateful that I took the chance to start my career in such a historically-rich, interesting, and beautiful part of the country, one for which my heart was already fond of. Because I once lived a mere 26.2 miles from Boston as an elementary school aged child, I remained akin to the culture, language, and beauty of this part of our amazing country. Back when my family dwelled there, my parents were intent on showing us the cranberry bogs nestled in Southeastern, MA, the crimson and orange leaves in all their glory at parks along the way to Plimoth Plantation, the white city lights and quaint treasures nestled snugly inside unique shops in Faneuil Hall Marketplace, and the sheer exhilarating mounting of intense excitement that comes with being a spectator at the start of the Boston Marathon. I was blessed with parents who loved history as much as they did the great outdoors. Oh, how New England tugs at my heart, still! To me, there’s nothing like the sights, smells, and sounds of the landscape and life uniquely New England.

On an opposite coast, San Francisco lies not without sentiment, I must admit. A different sort of freedom and nostalgia tugs at my heart for its surrounding waters, balmy sea air and of course, the distinct coolness factor representative of this Californian dream town. I found myself right in the heart of this incredible city as I began a new job and life in Massachusetts. My new employer hired me just in time for their annual sales meeting that was being held in San Francisco and I couldn’t believe my luck! Not only was I moving back to Massachusetts which I had always dreamed of, I was now flying to a city I’d only read about but knew I would adore. As I flew to California for the very first time, I was immediately enamored by all the Bay Area had to offer. Thousands of miles away from my beloved Massachusetts, it didn’t take long before I fell in love with an entirely new city. This expounded love for a city I had no connection to felt so different, unreal, even. It didn’t feel anything like cheating, or disloyalty. Actually, I recall it felt exhilarating and freeing to have found another place in the world where I felt completely at home. On the red-eye return flight, I imagined that over the next few years, with the opportunities that awaited me just with this new job in an industry I knew I was meant for, I conjured up all sorts of positive thoughts about the incredible American cities and towns that awaited exploration and newfound love in their own right. It was a dream come true, really—being single, free to travel on a whim, working diligently at my job that took me to places near and far—seeing America with innocent eyes. In the time that followed, I felt that it was easy to fall in love with almost any city or town as long as I looked for the good around me. This love wasn’t trite or inexperienced, but born of interest and excitement. So, I let my heart lead me up and down, inside and out all of New England. My love for new towns accompanied me from coast to coast and to almost all of the 50 states in-between. What I’ve realized in the years that have past by is that I was given a gift most people only dream of as I was able to garner so much about this incredible country of ours just by the mere act of employment—and that’s a freedom I will cherish forever. During my pre-motherhood years, I returned to San Francisco a few times more, explored a little deeper and wondered how I might ever be able to dwell in a city with the most ideal climate I’ve ever known.  No doubt the allure of the Bay Area hasn’t changed since my first visit, and I believe that there’s always room to fall head over heels in love all over again with such an ideal place on the map.

To be honest, I will be truly happy to return to either one of these choice destinations. Sure, there are logistics to consider (length of travel, The Husband’s work schedule flexibility, and of course the length I can be away before my three kids reach total meltdown mode or I’m missing them more), but ultimately, I will be happy with either way the vote may sway. What may be more interesting, however, is how well my two sisters, mother, and I will travel together. And that, well that’s a story best saved for another time!

“Cause I’m leavin’ on a jet plane/Don’t know when I’ll be back again” (John Denver)

  • purdywords
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