Football, Soccer, Dads, and Coaches -

 My title sounds like the title of the song from Wizard of Oz - Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!  - and to be real - this could have been the most scary part of watching grandchildren's sports this fall. 

Last year we watched a father berate and belittle his 14 year old son and the football coach multiple times, to the point of him being asked to leave the field and not return the rest of the season. And there were plenty of those sitting on the bleachers applauding him leaving, not applauding the behavior. 

Gratefully, this has not been the behavior I've seen at all these past 6 weeks as Scott and I have watched 6 grandchildren and their various sports. 

The first game of the season was 8 year old Asher's first football game. This was early September, families spread out on the sidelines on blankets, snacks, babies, shade umbrellas, relaxed and enjoying the late summer sun and the game. Fathers were standing along the boundaries holding up yardage markers, cheering their boys on, coaches on the sideline and in the field with the boys, showing and nudging the boys in their prospective positions. And no swearing, no yelling, no shaming, only loud-voiced hurrah's, atta-boy's, good-job son's. I wondered if this was first-game highs; it was almost surreal watching the dads high-fiving each other, joking about their sons new-football antics, and cheering, encouraging, bum-slapping these boys on. I kept waiting for the coach to throw his hat down on the ground and cuss, and he did throw his hat on the ground and jump up and down at every good play and each little mistake - and not a single ornery word from his mouth. And I thought - this ain't real, next game we'll see the true colors of these dads and coaches - patience will lag, they can't perform this way all season. 

Same thing with 10th grade Matt and 4th grade Layne's soccer games - families settling in for the day to watch multiple games, moving as the sun moved, from one shady spot to another. 

And same with Ava's and Tempest's junior high cheer squad - families sitting on the hard bleachers with their umbrellas shading them, visiting, pausing long enough to cheer along with the girls - Our team is "clap" dynamite, tick tick tick tick, BOOM, dynamite. And then sitting back down to wait for the next cheer and for half-time to watch these girls perform for 5 minutes in the field. (And by the way, this happened at Asher's game too - parents coming to watch the moments the girls cheered, even when there were no sons on the field). 

Senior Tyli's games were a little different - she's on the drill team, and their dances were prior to the HS football games and during halftime; so glorious to watch her dance her heart away, fully supported. And to keep us at the game for most of it, our nephew, Easton, is the star wide-receiver. Yet again, parents were amazing - going to great lengths to be there for their sons and daughters, and to be there nice. 

The season is wrapping up, with playoffs these next few days. Last Saturday we were at Asher's football game -  the coach of the other team was tossed off the field by the refs, yet parents didn't cheer or boo him, just watched. Another time a boy on the other team had the wind knocked out of him, and every single boy on Asher's team knelt down, until he could get up. Who taught these boys to "take a knee"? The sidelines of Asher's team was overflowing with parents and siblings, cheering these cute boys on, and participating in the cheerleaders' Boom Dynamite's. 

After the game all the parents ran out to the field and created an arch for the boys to run through, with loud applause. I nearly had tears in my eyes, seeing this solidarity. 

I waited to leave, watching - carefully, to see if demeanors or mannerisms changed. The coach was kneeling next to a smaller player, energetically talking with him. I thought, Uh-oh, true colors. And true colors they were - he was telling the young boy how proud he was of his hard work, how awesome the little boy had played and improved and taken the game serious. The coach thanked the boy for allowing him to be his coach! These dads were consistent, all season long. They did not change. 

And to that - I am so grateful for these men - phenomenal dads, including three sons who diligently cheered on their sons and daughters, wearing school colors, wiggling to their daughter's drills and loudly encouraging their sons. I think we're in good hands. 

Thanks for the greatest autumn ever! Looking forward to basketball season! 

                                    

Time for an Introduction - Breast Cancer is the Reason -

 11 years ago I found a lump in my left boob. That lump is the reason I've been blogging for 11 years, with more than 1000 posts since then. 

My niece, Calais, who has a tattoo'ing business in Logan, UT, wanted to highlight me and my story this month. Her pics, narrative, and my story, are a good way for me to introduce myself to those of you who have read portions of my blog. 

Here you go: 

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CyRAxK3uQxp/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA%3D%3D

John O'Donohue - And Quiet

I like poetry (not love, not adore), and there are a few poets who touch my soul. John O'Donohue is one such poet. 

Irish, often thought of as a poet, priest, philosopher, even a mystic, O'Donohue is just a few years older than me, yet died, mysteriously, in 2008. 

I think of O'Donohue as a quiet man, one who perhaps spent more time in his head - solitude and silence, nature, as his balm, rather than crowds, and it seems that his writings have attracted similarly. 

This past week I was to attend a conference for my endorsement from my faith group (something all chaplains must have), and rather than attend in person (body and soul aches) I chose to watch it on my phone, and spend that time in solitude; I just needed that "no people" time. As well, October brings me to my knees, automatically causing me to reflect on where I am, where I was, where I want to be. And this is best done in silence, when I'm working on a project, and can be peacefully in my head rather than noisily in my head. 

O'Donohue wrote: 

"When you cease to fear your solitude, a new creativity awakens in you. Your forgotten or neglected wealth begins to reveal itself. You come home to yourself and learn to rest within. Thoughts are our inner senses. Infused with silence and solitude, they bring out the mystery of inner landscape."

And so, I pulled out my sewing machine, some fabric, and created, while listening to the conference, while being at home with myself, resting. Recharged. 

Today, I called a client, she was having a tough morning, and said I was an answer to her prayers. She spoke of the disappointment she tries to skirt around, disappointment at not being able to accomplish all she wanted to before cancer hit her, not being able to do what she loves, because of neuropathy, and struggling to "be," after spending so much of her life "doing." And I commiserated with her; life definitely changes for anyone who is diagnosed with a life-threatening disease, and for their loved ones as well. 

As we finished our call, I opened a blog I read, cupofjo.com, and in a recent post, read this piece by O'Donohue, and was reminded, again, just how his words are affirming and consoling. I sent this to her; it spoke to me, I hope it reaches her. 

This is the Time to Be Slow

This is the time to be slow,
Lie low to the wall
Until the bitter weather passes.

Try, as best you can, not to let
The wire brush of doubt
Scrape from your heart
All sense of yourself
And your hesitant light.

If you remain generous,
Time will come good;
And you will find your feet
Again on fresh pastures of promise,
Where the air will be kind
And blushed with beginning.

Pause, be still, listen, heal, slow down. 

 

Broken Glass -

 The Glass is Already Broken

'You see this goblet?" asks Achaan Chaa, the Thai meditation master. "For me this glass is already broken. I enjoy it; I drink out of it. It holds my water admirably, sometimes even reflecting the sun in beautiful patterns. If I should tap it, it has a lovely ring to it. But when I put this glass on the shelf and the wind knocks it over or my elbow brushes it off the table and it falls to the ground and shatters, I say, 'Of course.' When I understand that the glass is already broken, every moment with it is precious." (Jason Kottke 4/24/15)

My weekend was crazy - from Friday afternoon to Monday evening, it was non-stop go. And yet as hectic as it was, I kept thinking of this narrative - the crisis were not of my doing, and hence, they could not be my undoing. Nothing is perfect; seldom do things go as planned. 

Freedom in that thought - if the glass is already broken, if the message has already been released, if the cry for help has already gone out, if the game has already been canceled, if the process has already been put into play, then I will not try to micromanage or repair, but rather, recognize that with each precious moment of attempting to change is a lost moment. Every moment is precious, whether it's with myself, my grandchildren, my husband, my friends, my aunt, my uncle. 

What is shattered is shattered, and stepping away from the broken-ness into the savoring of what is, can bring such peace, even as I'm sweeping up the broken glass. 

9/11 -

 I received an early morning text from my friend, Shirlene. She wrote, "22 years! We were walking, talking (solving all the problems in the world) and enjoying our friendship bond that we created." We were together when the second tower was struck, and rather than going for our morning walk, we spent our morning stunned, eyes glued to the news. 

For ten years I collected approx 500 stories from folks with their memories of 9/11, which were then donated to UVU's folklore collection and to the Library of Congress, where folklorists and historians collected a snapshot of real-time real-people, history-in-the-making. Interesting that there are adults now who did not witness or experience elements of the Twin Towers Disaster and its repercussions. There are people who don't remember airports without strict security and screening. And I would imagine it may be the same when we talk about  March, 2020, when the world stood still. 

This clip touches my heart. What would your message say to one of the people who lost their lives during this tumultuous time period? What would you say now to those who have no recollection of this time? 

Is CPR Truly the Best Choice?

 This article: The Hidden Harms of CPR, needs to be read by anyone who may think providing CPR to a loved one (whose heart has stopped and they have coded) will bring them back to life and give them a great quality of life. 

If the person who is needing CPR is in poor health, has a weak heart or weak lungs, or is in their waning years, CPR is not a life-giving offering. 

I've seen the repercussions of last-minute, code-called, CPR, and the trauma not only caused to the patient, but to those being forced to administer CPR and the patients loved ones is devastating. Heart-wrenching. 

This statement, from the article, is something my Palliative Care team shares with patients and their families nearly every day: "Reversing a death is not the same as restoring a life."

If you do not have a DNR/DNI in place on your fridge and your health records, please consider doing so. 

Again: The Hidden Harms of CPR, written by Sunita Puri, author of That Good Night: Life and Medicine in the Eleventh Hour, which is also a powerful read. 

Letting Go - and a great couple of videos as proof -

 "Anything you can't control is teaching you how to let go." 

~Jackson Kiddar

This summer has been an interesting exercise in letting go, letting go of control. I really like things planned out - to know what to expect, to be prepared, to have things figured out, before I take the leap. I've often said, I rarely fail, because I don't even think about doing things that I may fail at - control?

One evening a couple of days after the one year anniversary of my mom's death, I sat on the deck watching a storm come in. I saw the clouds moving from the west across the sky, bringing wind, and dust. I watched the evergreens in the neighbors yard sway, noticing their flexibility as the wind passed through them again and again. I made myself comfortable on the couch, turned on my brother's Spotify station, and listened to his surf music. The deck became a wooden planked raft on the sea of newly cut grass. Pollen, dust, and heavy raindrops blew through the deck and pounded the grass. 

This is where I would have stopped, would have controlled, would have gone inside, out of the storm. And yet I decided to let go, surrender to the storm, and be present. 

It was an incredible storm; I watched the gray clouds move by, the sea of grass stand straight, and the watered bushes sparkle with the now evening sun, shining on them, again, from the west. And to my east, the storm was gone, dissipating as it moved through the canyon, over the mountains. 

I had made it through the storm, I didn't control it, I let go and observed, and in being the spectator I learned I don't have to walk away to control, I can let go, and allow the waves to take me wherever they may. 

Transition here - 

So when it came time to plan our family vacation, and one of the places we wanted was no longer available, my natural urge was to "figure things out." And, eventually, the simple answer was, "get another place." And then figuring out meals with only a tiny fridge and a microwave - the answer was, "no biggie, simplify," and we had great meals and too much food. I let go of any expectations of crafts and games (even though I brought an entire tote of these), because disappointment is not an emotion I like to carry with me. And another storm ridden through, observed, delighted in. 

However, as calm as I could be about expectations - 

Our car died on our way to Idaho the end of July, died as we coasted into the Hyundai dealership in Idaho Falls, but was failing from Blackfoot on. And there wasn't a damn thing we could do, and the only fault was that of Hyundai's team that created failing engines, and we spent three hours with local folks figuring out how to get on to our family vacation, how to get our bikes there (brand new trailer hitch and bike rack on the car), how to get the car fixed, etc. And as Scott listened, I controlled the one thing I could, my approach to these strangers who were also our rescuers (6 months to replace, in Idaho). 

We left the dealership with a handful of new friends, a pickup, our bikes, and only a few hours of lost time. 

We were able to enjoy our bikes on a couple of "rail to trail" rides, and the time in Idaho was delightful. As we rode through potato and wheat fields, sagebrush and golden sunflowers, surrounded, right and left by fields panoramic views of the Tetons, trestle bridges used only by bikers, looking into green-drenched canyons cut deep by streams, enjoying being together, leaving control behind and allowing the moments to guide us. 

The rest of the summer has been similarly - thankfully, joyfully, experiencing, not enduring. 

A few weeks ago I was sitting outside with a friend, when another storm came through. We made the decision to sit and watch. As the wind blew through the trees, and the dust colored the sunset, I looked west - and the sky was a brilliant blue, through the trees the bright pink sun was winking at me. Another storm - learning to stay. 

My lesson is this - letting go, choosing to let it go, is damn freeing, and yet it is a type of control, surrender to win, is that same control, choosing when to control, when to win, when to walk away, when to stay the storm.     

                                        Scott was totally enjoying this drunken dude's dancing. 

                                                             He definitely endured this storm.