Alexandersmap

    Category: Family

    • Our Sum of Moments

      “We are the sum of all the moments in our lives – all that is ours is in them: we cannot escape it or conceal it.” — Thomas Wolfe

      The interesting thing about seeing is that you can’t go back to being oblivious to the world around you. More to the point, you learn to see yourself as you are. And then you spend the rest of your days figuring out what to do about it.

      Figuring out how we got the way we are is a different story, and there are plenty of people who make it their profession to steer you down the path towards enlightenment on this particular question. Personally, I like to leave the past where it lies and focus on the bits I can control now. But there’s no getting around the fact that the sum of our lives brought us to this point. How that fuels the fire in our heart and soul determines where we go from here.

      I went to the wake of a kind soul yesterday, a man who always smiled when I saw him, and built a collection of family and friends who honored him at his passing. I reviewed the obligatory poster boards and digital display on the monitors full of his life memories. This wasn’t the sum of his life, but it was a good sample pack of the highlights. His hopes and dreams passed with him, but the momentum of his life was on display for all to see.

      Seeing ourselves as the sum of our moments, we recognize we’re still collecting. Still changing the story of our lives one memory at a time. Like stamps in a passport that shows where we’ve been, pictures and stories flesh out our past. Each face looking back at you is a part of the whole, and part of your whole, whether the ripple was large or barely perceptible. Each reminds us to move through this life with elegance and intent. To collect our own sum in our time. And share it with the world.

    • Destinations Are Where We Begin Again

      Ships go sailing
      Far across the sea
      Trusting starlight
      To get where they need to be
      — Josh Groban, Believe

      A challenging couple of years brings us back to Christmas morning 2021. We know it’s not over just yet, this pandemic, but we have optimism for the year ahead. Tempered by other challenges in the world, other realities at home. Life isn’t easy, it was only framed that way by our support system of family and friends and community. Generous spirits that touch our lives at just the right time. Helping us navigate the stormiest of seas. Relationships make life worthwhile. Belief in ourself begins to develop in our tightest circles, and carries us to destinations we never imagined when we began.

      May you have the opportunity to spend time with those who love you most today. Merry Christmas.

    • Assembly Required

      IKEA furniture has its place in this world. Like in my young adult daughter’s place. And maybe in my place too, should I downsize someday. And sure, there’s a certain pleasure that comes with building something yourself, but you’d better have the right tools or you’re in for a long day.

      I didn’t have the right tools.

      I had a cheap 4-way screwdriver and a cheap hammer. Standard twenty-something apartment tools. Technically enough to complete the assembly of a television stand and desk. Yet blissfully off the mark in efficiency. Still, it was a labor of love, wrestling with IKEA bits and turning it into furniture for my daughter. Like Christmas Eve years ago. Hours flew by on the floor with puzzles.

      Sure, I wish I’d had the right tools. And reading glasses might have helped my interpretation of hieroglyphic instructions. But it sure was fun helping her even without those conveniences.

      Just to see her light up in delight at her new furniture, as she begins her new life.

    • A Sprinkling of Alive Time

      “Is life too short to be taking this shit, or is life too short to be minding it?” – Violet Weingarten

      I spent part of the morning walking in the woods, seeking out the quiet reflections on an inky black pond nearby. October makes those reflections particularly brilliant and I wondered at my solitude with the water and foliage. Tourists drive so far to see the colors of fall, when it might be hiding in plain sight just through the woods.

      October brings a gift to those who wander outside in New England. To stay inside seems unforgivable for those of us who seek the truth in the palette. Life isn’t meant to be lived in shades of grey, so why must we limit perspective on the world? Yet I found myself inside for most of the afternoon yesterday, in a room with a grey color palette, tackling projects that a family member fighting cancer is unable to tackle.

      I was happy to do it. To contribute in whatever way I could. I’ve seen too much of this lately. The C word. The stealer of dreams. What are we to do with it but decide how to live with the options it leaves you? My gift for the patient was my time and a bit of applied skill to fix some lingering problems in the house. Were I able to fix everything.

      Sundays in October offer another gift, the gift of sports. The pursuit of athletic excellence in your chosen sport. In New England we have many choices in October: The Head-of-the-Charles regatta, college sports, pre-season Bruins and Celtics, the second month of football with the Patriots, the postseason with the Red Sox, and unique for 2021, the Boston Marathon run in October instead of April. That’s a lot to choose from if you enjoy sports. In my family we enjoy sports.

      So I didn’t mind watching the Patriots game out of the corner of my eye while working under the kitchen sink. I didn’t even mind the two trips to the local box store for supplies, because the radio play-by-play guys were better than the national television play-by-play guys. Professional sports are a very nice distraction from the cold reality of managing cancer instead of eliminating it. And the Patriots and Red Sox served up a couple of nice wins when the family needed them. They collectively watched the ebb and flow of the games, focused on something besides the elephant in the room.

      Memento Mori. We all must die. But accepting that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t fight like hell for our alive time while we have it. To sparkle in brilliant vibrancy in the face of the long truth. On a sparkling day of foliage and athletic performance, we celebrated our alive time for the gift that it is.

    • There All Along

      For the last few weeks Orion has greeted me in the dark beginnings of the day, reminding me that he’s been waiting all along for me to see him again. Like an old friend, mostly, who has entered the scene after some time away. Or maybe we are the ones re-entering the scene.

      So much of our lives is there waiting in the wings for the moment when we turn our attention back to it. Old books sitting on a shelf, old friends you haven’t spoken with in years, old neighborhoods that framed so much of the way you look at the world, old lines from movies or lyrics from songs that remind you of a moment long ago when things seemed simple. Sometimes these things come back into our lives, but often they’ve been there all along.

      Orion reminded me to look for what I often miss. I see Orion and look for Taurus, and then smile at memories of long walks with a curious dog who saw things in the night that I could only guess at. That dog is no longer here, but his memory is still with me, waiting to draw a smile or a grimace… or sometimes both. You can miss someone that’s long gone, and you can miss them when they’re right in front of you.

      My father suffers from dementia, and I wonder if my memories will fade the way his have. Will I still remember the names of my children, or will they be lost the way my name is to him? It’s hard to imagine an existence where I don’t, yet see it happen over and over with the generations before ours. Will I remember to look up at the sky and know Orion? The future is never guaranteed, and our memories are fragile things. And so, it seems, are we.

      Sometimes we can’t control anything at all, but we can reach out and let them know we’ve been here all along. I suppose that’s about all we can do in the end. Look up and say “hello, it’s nice to see you again”. And make the most of that time together while we have it.

    • Make it Now

      How have I not made a note of every word
      You ever said
      And time, is not on our side
      But I’ll pretend that it’s alright
      – Mumford & Sons, Beloved

      Each conversation, each moment of insight and full awareness of another’s presence is a gift twice given; now and in our memories. Life is a series of such exchanges, one after another from our earliest recollection to our last fading moment before we leave this world in the hands of those who carry on without us. The people who make us feel most alive are those who embrace this exchange, leaving us more energized than we were in the moment before.

      Our time together is brief and fleeting, and each moment matters. When we finally see this, we squeeze as much meaningful engagement as we can from our relationships. For some, it’s too late in the game. So why not begin immediately, with the urgency that life demands?

      We tell each other to stop to smell the roses, but what of lingering in conversation a moment longer? What of hugs that take the breath away and smiles that spark the light in another’s eyes? What of quick notes and calls out of the blue? Time is not on our side, friend. If not now, when?

      Make it now.

    • Among the Trees (for Pops)

      When I am among the trees,
      especially the willows and the honey locust,
      equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
      they give off such hints of gladness,
      I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

      I am so distant from the hope of myself,
      in which I have goodness, and discernment,
      and never hurry through the world
      but walk slowly, and bow often.

      Around me the trees stir in their leaves
      and call out, “stay awhile.”
      The light flows from their branches.

      And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
      “and you too have come
      into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
      with light, and to shine.”
      – Mary Oliver, When I Am Among the Trees

      A year flies by, doesn’t it? And beneath it all, carried quietly, my own grief and sense of loss. Buried so that others might bear their own.

      You knew the trees and taught us to see them too. And you taught us the simple joy of being alive while there’s time. And, as Mary Oliver puts it so much better than I, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine.

      Today, among the trees, we’ll remember you again (as if we ever forgot). To feel you stir in the breeze and see the mischief carried on in the eyes of those who knew you best. We’ll close this one chapter and begin the next, knowing you’ve never really left us. Not really. For you’ve filled us with light.

    • An Allegiance With Gravity

      Rivers and stones are forever
      in allegiance with gravity
      while we ourselves dream of rising.
      – Mary Oliver, Mysteries, Yes

      How do you explain yourself when someone jokingly asks you the question, “You don’t watch TV, what do you do?” I heard that question yesterday, smiled and said I keep busy. For how do you tell someone who is so deeply focused on one thing that you choose to use your time in other ways?

      In a bit of indulgence this week, I purchased some beautiful new Petzl crampons. This is a nod to supply chain challenges in the world, to the changing seasons and anticipation of winter hiking, but also an acknowledgement that I just can’t get out there to hike right now. For now, anyway, I’m investing my brief, fragile time in other ways.

      I visited the homes of three family members this week (including the television fan’s), each with some work that must be done and nobody to do it. In each case, knowing that if I’m not doing the work it’s going to get punted down the field indefinitely. So instead the hiking gets punted, at least for a little while. Autumn hiking is too crowded anyway… right?

      “What we think or what we know or what we believe is in the end of little consequence. The only thing of consequence is what we do” – John Ruskin

      I dream of rising: Of winter hiking and digging these new crampons into an icy incline. Of traversing beautiful ridge line. Of travel and visits to faraway places. And (sometimes) of finally watching some program I’ve heard so much about from people in the know. But for now there’s work to be done. And at the moment I’m in an allegiance with gravity.

    • Until We Are Not

      The singular and cheerful life
      of any flower
      in anyone’s garden
      or any still unowned field—
      if there are any—
      catches me
      by the heart,
      by its color, by its obedience
      to the holiest of laws:
      be alive
      until you are not.
      – Mary Oliver, The Singular and Cheerful Life

      We all have gut punches along the way. Moments of bliss interrupted by the fiercest of reality checks. Moments when you question the unfairness of it all. Look around at the world and you’ll find plenty of examples of it today.

      What do we do when we catch our breath from this gut punch?

      We generally find a way to carry on. To make the most of our brief time together. To spin up just a little more magic in the world, if only to reflect in the glow it creates between us. To be alive until we are not.

      There is only this.

    • To Leap in the Froth

      May I never not be frisky,
      May I never not be risqué.
      May my ashes, when you have them, friend,
      and give them to the ocean,
      leap in the froth of the waves,
      still loving movement,
      still ready, beyond all else,
      to dance for the world.
      – Mary Oliver, Prayer

      It’s been almost a year now, and I think of you when I come across a poem like this. You were a dancer, covering a dance floor with the same elegance and ease that you’d use in a tricky conversation. And sure, you were equally at ease leaping in the froth of the waves not all that long ago. Measuring up to that standard hasn’t been easy, friend, especially in this pandemic and the lingering bitterness of political strife. You’d navigate that more easily too.

      There were times over the last year when I could have used your perspective on things, but then again, I can hear exactly what you’d tell me in those imagined conversations. So we press on, doing what must be done, leaving that stuff to sort out another day. And honor your memory with action, humor and a healthy dose of friskiness.

      When I pass, sprinkle my ashes in the ocean on an outgoing tide. Life is movement and a dance through our days. I don’t want to rest in peace when it all ends, but to skip across the waves to the ends of the earth. And there, maybe, we’ll meet again.