A DAY FOR PLEASURE

Bridge St., Lambertville, NJ

I drove to Lambertville, NJ today for an outing.  How indulgent it feels just to write that.  When in our lives can we take off for a day of pleasure?  Well, today I could. 

My father began work at age 18 and stopped at age 64.  Almost 50 years of hard work, some years back-breaking hard work. He produced castings of molten metal in a foundry. As a lawyer, I know now that there wasn't a day when he couldn't have been injured or killed. Then he got laid off at age 40 and went to college.  After another 24 years as a school librarian he retired on a teacher's pension.  My mother taught too.  I remember him telling me he would wake up and say to my mother, also retired, "What shall we do to pleasure ourselves today?"  It might be gardening, or shelling, or golf.

I told this to my sister-in-law recently and she responded,  "I would say, what can I do to pleasure others?"  But they're the same, aren't they?  Sometimes pleasuring others is how we pleasure ourselves.  Baking brownies for grandchildren is not a chore.  My mother handmade quilts for everyone in the family. 

But today I pleasured only myself.  I drove 30 minutes through New Jersey countryside to the Delaware River.  On one side lies Lambertville, NJ and on the other New Hope, PA.  I walked the Raritan Canal and browsed in both small towns. 

Canal, Lambertville

Another post-vaccine day to be appreciated.  I hope we are all finding these.  New places, old favorites, something that pre-vaccine we were prevented from doing safely. When I had to travel for work a day like today was gold.  You may be at that stage.  When I was home with little ones a day like today wasn't even a daydream. It was diapers, cuddling, no money and never a meal out.  Now it's different. I don't have any lessons to draw.  Just, let's take care of ourselves and each other. I hope your life is good.                        Nina Naomi

 

 

 

A PLACE TO STOP, THINK AND WONDER, PART IV

Still Life with Apples on a Sideboard, 1900-06, Cezanne

After all these months of pandemic fears, even the idea of standing before the great works of art in a museum has been like a Star Wars "galaxy far far away." But we're on our third sojourn in Princeton, New Jersey where my husband is a visiting scholar. And the museums here about have vaccination and mask mandates.  I won't harm or be harmed; it's wonderful!

 

I barely know where to start.  But start we have.  The first week we ferried into New York from Atlantic Highlands, NJ.  That's the place I go to scavenge sea glass from the flotsam of the city ("Hobbies are Wonderful," May 16, 2018; "Candles and Your Best Bone China," Feb 9, 2017). What a thrill to approach New York from the water.  I know, this is ordinary for many, but not for me. 

 

Showing our vaccine cards, masked and elated, we entered the worlds of modern and contemporary art. The MoMa (Museum of Modern Art) had an exhibit on Cezanne sketches.  I could live in those rooms.  We saw one sketch I had bought a copy of long ago from my college bookstore.  Over many moves, this little print survived from our first graduate apartment to our present house-but-one.  I wish I could find another reproduction.  We had never seen the original before.  How is it that seeing this piece became such a special moment?  It makes me believe in art as solace, as transcendent, as in some ways more alive than life.  

 

Olympia, 1875, Paul Cezanne

 

The next week we drove just an hour from where we're staying to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, you know, the one with the "Rocky Steps."   We spent the day in French drawing rooms and cafes with Renoir, dance studios with Degas, lovely papered boudoirs with Matisse and Bonnard, at sideboards with Cezanne.  What a wonderful visit!  I could linger and feed my soul forever. 

 

Girl Tatting, 1906, Renoir

 

After the Shower, 1914, Bonnard

This is not an everyday occurrence for me; rather a thirst intermittently quenched.  These days feed my soul, my heart, my mind.  The broad open curated rooms of a museum filled with the works of artists who have labored to record their vision, for me are as profound a place as the canopies of nature.  I wish I could express my gratitude in terms worthy of the gift. But I cannot.  With appreciation, Nina Naomi

TODAY A CHILD DIED

Today we learned that friends lost a grandchild.  She was five years old and was hit by a car and killed.  The grief is immeasurable.  I cannot think of a single word of comfort.  Nor thought of comfort.  Unfair and without reason.  Nothing is adequate.  Nothing justifies such a loss.  

We know this happens all over the world, from starvation, stray bullets, abuse . . . .  When I see headlines, "Mother's Boyfriend Kills One-Year-Old," I want to turn away; the bile rises in my throat.  

These friends are people of faith and will endure.  But right now they must be asking why.  Why endure such pain?  Their loss, the parents' loss, and the child's own loss.  Her very life disappeared into the ether of eternity.  As a Christian myself I admit, there is no consolation; eternal life should come at the end of a long sojourn here on earth.  Not suddenly in the midst of a five-year-old's bicycle ride. 

Sometimes we simply must say "not fair," "not comprehensible," "not what God meant to be."   I know God grieves with this family.  I know God was there at the moment of the soul's passing to welcome this child to His side.  To love her as much as her parents do.  But it will be a long time before anyone can live with this grief in any way that hurts less than a knife in the belly.  

When our son died, a grown man but still young, that was the way I felt.  As if a knife were forever twisting and hollowing me out.  I didn't see how long anyone could survive that way.  But we did.  Over the years we became able to give thanks for his life and leave the trauma of that 9th Floor hospital room behind.  We became better at being parents who lost a child.  I don't know what else to wish for this family.  

Her name is Allie.  I don't have permission to say it, but I know without asking that they want her name remembered.  They will long to hear it spoken as the years pass. So if you pray, add Allie's family to your prayers.  

O Lord be with this family.  Help them survive this unspeakable loss.  Let the love that enfolds this family grow as they cling together bearing this tragedy. Come to them when they cannot seek you.  Help their faith protect them from despair as they look at the years ahead without this precious child.  And in your kindness help us all face death and tragedy as part of our humanity.  This we ask in the name of the suffering Christ who opens his arms to all who cry out and accepts their pain as his own.  Amen.

  

THERE'S MORE TO COME AND SOME OF IT WILL BE BEAUTIFUL

Let's  take advantage of our boundless imaginations.  All we need is a spark.  A spark is an idea that kindles and grows.  When it catches hold it comes from within.

A belief in eternity is the greatest comfort there is.  Our sacred space is where we find God.  If we stay still God comes.  I know that from experience.  At the same time, when we hold sacred company with ourselves,  even when alone we are whole.  

Remembering that almost everything needs time to grow,  we can  stop rushing.  We find our balance in uncertain times by treating ourselves as we would a friend.  Caring for ourselves is not self-indulgent.  It is caring for one of God's gifts.  

Today is a crisp sunny day. My husband and I were at the Jersey Shore eating sandwiches at the edge of a river with family.  Food, family and an open day.  Such are gifts to be accepted and opened at once.   Let's never resist a sunny day.  Rather, we should fill up our senses.  When we take time to be a little mindful of our surroundings we are rewarded.  Today there were boats and soft waves and children.  It's true that some days just carrying on is a superhuman achievement worthy of applause.  But not one with sun, family and food.  On those days even a damaged soul or despairing heart can heal.  No matter where we are in life there's more to come.  And some of it will be beautiful.  

 

MAKING A LIFE FROM SCRAPS

My mother made quilts.  She created her own designs and also improvised. Quite a few belong to me.  I'd like to take the worn pieces of my life, the scraps so-to-speak, and see what I can make.  A kind of emotional quilt, since I can't sew.  A new me out of whatever is old, torn and broken.  Actually I've been working on that for awhile, arranging the bits and bobs of my life into a workable me at this stage of my life. The quilting metaphor fits perfectly.  As we all know, if our mothers can do it, so can we!  

Pattern:  Right now we live in a small apartment in a lovely college town.  The furniture is sparse and lighting dim.  The windows have shades and there's a fire escape out the back where we can sit.  I've added plants and fresh flowers in jars, taper candles in soft colors, and twinkle lights where corners are dark.  The fruits and veggies are in bowls on the counter.  We can walk into town and to the museum, past old white houses and overgrown gardens.  Yesterday I bought hair clips at Urban Outfitters and a calico face mask on the street.  Today we ate pasta outdoors at a table that nudged the curb.  The storms are over and the weather fair.  

This is our Fall sojourn and we are lucky to be here.  All of us are lucky.  We're surviving the pandemic and making our way.  We're appreciating each day and finding moments of warmth and contentment.  There have been more scraps to gather lately, more remainders to stitch together to make a life.  But isn't the quilt of us coming along nicely?  I love being here; I love being anywhere.  

                       In peace, Nina Naomi

 

 

 

AMIDST THE CHAOS, SIMPLICITY AND STRENGTH

 

Lately things have been a bit chaotic.  Have you felt that? We're spending Fall in a furnished apartment in New Jersey, our third sojourn here, due to my husband's profession.  We arrived to major northeast storms and flooding from Hurricane Ida.  Our nephew lost his business.  Back in North Carolina, there was a school shooting and our grandson was one of the lock-downs and evacuees. His first experience with the death of a peer.  Such grief for that family.  California, long the mythological promised land of temperate climes and free spirits, is still ablaze and charred. I think we're all looking for strength.  

My go-to in times like these is something simple.  I know, simple doesn't solve those losses that are part of being human--Stage IV anything, death, mental illness.  But solving needn't always be the goal.  Often the goal is surviving, or persevering. Coping. Or facing with grace.  And there simple helps.  Absolutely bizarre,  but a cup of tea helps me live with sadness.  Holding hands with almost anybody helps. My husband, a grandchild, a quick touch with a friend. The friends who are helping our nephew shovel out the mud and ruination help, emotionally as well as physically. 

Knowing that feelings ebb and flow is a comfort when times are hard.  Knowing that thoughts aren't facts.  Neither are emotions.

Sometimes it helps to reflect on the times we've felt strong.  At my age, what I've survived is amazing.  More than I ever expected to. It also helps to take note of comforts, big and small.  Sleep, enwrapped with the one we love, gives great solace. It drives out fear. Sleep itself is the great healer. So is remembering the times we've been stopped in our tracks by the beauty of an ordinary moment.  It might be a sunset, or a flower in the leaf litter no bigger than your thumb.  Last night I saw a fox eating supper on my walk after dark; pure serendipity. 

Being loved should always be cherished.  I saw my brother today and he has loved me since he was sentient, and me him. Being loved includes by God and by yourself, God's creation. That's something I didn't learn till late.  I will turn on the news tonight and there will be something bad, followed by something bad.  The assault of the nightly news. ABC ends with a feel-good story but who's fooled by that?  But then?  A nourishing meal, lighting candles, maybe a movie or good book, folding laundry, checking tomorrow's schedule. It's chilly here in New Jersey, so warm pajamas. List your comforts.  Because we can do this.  

With love, Nina Naomi