The Other Side

March 28, 2020

As I reached for a coffee cup this morning, I was drawn to the other side of my cabinet.  Typical mornings have me going to the easiest to reach, right above my coffee pot; but today, I headed around the island and opened the door looking for a different cup.  My cupboard is filled with meaningful coffee cups. In these retirement years, I choose to live as if this were my last cup of coffee; so, if a vessel doesn't hold meaning...it doesn't make the cupboard.  There are cups from friends, some dating back to 1989,  and cups from nieces and sons and travels, and jobs and events.  I was surprised today when I choose a plain white mug from a set our son bought us when Matt and I were having some tough economical times.

Why go to the other side this morning?  Why a plain, white cup?  Is this simple, comfortable mug representing my longing for a simple, comfortable life I once knew?

The silence inside and outside of my house overlooking the Tillamook Valley is deafening.  No trucks hauling lumber and dairy products- just one of the sounds I'm used to waking to.  There are no humming tractors, no children's laughter echoing from the near-far neighbors' yards.  The birds are not even singing.   I am feeling more alone than I've felt in the last 15 days of the Corona Virus quarantine. I originally "chose" to quarantine knowing my health risks check too many boxes on the vulnerable list; then, a week into isolation, Oregon locked down. Many families are at home together with the dark cloud of unemployment.  I am alone as Matt is working six-day weeks and 8-10 hour days. Everyone is experiencing unprecedented changes and sacrifices.

Two weeks ago, the scenic Oregon coast had a beautiful spring weekend.  The sunshine invited residents from Washington, Idaho, and what seemed all of Portland, to flood here for some peace and beauty in a world that is anything but tranquil right now.  This sudden surge of humanity caused panic for those coming and those of us who live here. With the famous Tillamook Creamery closed and schools shuttered, we had a false sense that the coast was not open for business; but simply our home.   Restaurants were closed except for take- out; therefore, no restrooms were open.  We have two grocery stores and they had been out of many necessities before this onslaught of visitors.  People were everywhere.  They parked along both sides of Highway 101 as parking lots were inadequate for the number of vehicles jockeying their way to find a bit of space.  Retail workers were overwhelmed; many closed early.  No one was following the six-foot physical distancing guidelines we were told would "flatten the curve" meaning give our medical staff and facilities a fighting chance against this formidable enemy.  Our usual welcoming attitude became ugly, we showed the other side of us.

Having self-quarantined for over a week, I used our grocery app to order and had waited five days for it to be ready.  I ventured out with a mask I found in our first aid kit and an unexplainable sense of freedom. I knew I wouldn't leave my car but the experience felt equitable to being 16 again and that first solo trip with a driver's license. It was downright exciting!

As I approached Highway six, our gateway to and fro the Cascade Pass and on to Portland,  I was shocked to see the steady stream of cars pouring into our valley. I was shocked to know that others had not closed their rentals, that people were ignoring Governor Brown's guidelines, that all these people were not on the other side yet.  They simply had no understanding of what was at hand and what they should be doing.  They might have known it but comprehension was lacking.   As locals, we are well-aware of our meager 25 hospital beds and limited access to food and other necessities and yet locals were out too...like the world was not changed.... like there was no invisible enemy lurking in the air.   By Monday, the state had given visitors a 24-hour notice to exit the coast.  Most of the visitors left-unknowingly, leaving our shelves empty, and I fear, way too many droplets of Corona Virus in their wake.

Here we are two weeks later.  We are on the other side.  The other side of understanding how contagious and cruel this virus is, how it feels to quarantine in solidarity with a closed-down economy.  We struggle to work from home for the few that still have jobs, and learn to "home-school" our own children.  The empty highways, the boarded stores, the lack of sound is louder than sound itself.

I don't want to be on the other side.  I long to go back to the way life was in a free-wheeling America in a world where I sipped limoncello with my brother and sister in Italy among the great works of art and the gracious people...people now dying by the thousands. A world where going to the grocery store was a daily outing, playing MahJonng with friends was a luxury for non-busy days, and a trip to the beach held the sound of waves crashing, children laughing, and gulls calling to the wind.  A time when I could open my home to family and friends without fear of risking life.   Like the rest of us, I am forever changed on this unknown side of reality.

My America, the one I call home, the country I love, no longer feels safe and secure.  It is vulnerable, more vulnerable than I felt during the Viet Nam War, the assassinations of the 60s, the OKC bombing, 911, or the economy of 2008.  I feel the loss of leadership and continuity. But more deeply the loss of caring, caring about all Americans, caring about our environment, caring for our health care and caring for the greater good.

 Hope lies not in our government but in our people. We have unlimited capabilities to care.  The gifts of love I've witnessed these past few months are nothing short of miraculous.  Dyson, from vacuums to ventilators.  Niki, from shoes to protective gear. The children and their thank-you gestures for those still out there in the virus-filled environment.  The musicians donating their talent to make us all feel a little better.  Friends sewing masks.  Foodbanks feeding the hungry. Young people volunteering to shop for the elders.  Therapists, faith leaders, universities, museums, and small businesses putting resources online to feed minds and comfort souls.

People are getting off their electronic devices and finding inventive ways to connect.  The image of Italians singing together from their balconies or Spainards exercising from rooftops will never leave me.  Choirs have found a way to harmonize together-separately.  How?  I know not but what comfort those beautiful voices bring.  Ping pong between apartments, happy hours over Zoom, trivia night with other couples, scavenger hunts in seclusion, virtual field trips-together.  The evidence that humans live for belonging and connection is penetrating the sound of silence.

On this other side, the outer silence is deafening; inside, I struggle to silence the screams. I am left to meditate on the gratitude I have come to cherish and the faith I've come to know.  I pray this other side, this horrible but heartwarming side, teaches us what we never knew we needed to know.  I hope as the death tolls decrease, the lungs of the world inhale fully once again and the heart of America, and everywhere, enlarges beyond our dreams, we learn.  I pray for cohesiveness, harmony, and a return to humanity.  In this, I have hope for this other side. 

Flipped Perspective

Back in my early 20s, a young man, I thought I'd marry, invited me to go to Vegas and see Elvis.  I'd never been to Vegas, never seen Elvis, and frankly, I was a Beatles fan.  But, I was also in love and girls in love do crazy things.
We drove from Tulsa to Vegas with not much time as I remember.  We still managed to stop and take some pics on the Hoover Damn, him in his black cowboy hat me in my halter top and long blond hair.  We were living large.   Young people didn't travel like they do today.  We had our nose to the ground and were intent on getting an education, good job, marriage, children and happily ever after.  It was simple:  hard work will pay off.  This trip was huge during my youth; different times now for sure.

Vegas blew me away.  I'd never seen a city so lit up and soon I was immersed in the glory of lights and sounds and marquis.  The goal was to see and do and drink as much as we could.  I have vivid memories of wearing a sheer top, crushed velvet hot pants and purple suede boots as I strutted across the casino carpets.  I was bra less, brazen, and bending to no one else.

Elvis' performance was some kind of charismatic that I had never experienced.  He convinced me the title KING suited him and had me screaming with the best of his fans.  The rest of the weekend was foggy; but, I remember returning home with pneumonia.  Live hard, play hard-isn't that want we do with our 20s.

This past weekend, my husband of 30 years and I returned to Vegas.  This time it was to find a place away from everything to gather our boys.  Our whole family hadn't  been together in over six years and we just wanted us to reconnect in a neutral zone away from jobs, homes, and all the responsibilities of normal life.  Vegas is anything but normal.

Our boys are now in their 20s and 30s.  Their idea of Vegas mimics my views of Vegas in my 20s.  Personally, I can take about 48 hours in that city now-there is just too much craziness.  However, I wouldn't have missed seeing my daughter in law enjoy her virgin visit, my three boys have a guys night out, the two shows we saw, my husband's elation as he came off the roller coaster, or those family conversations we had.  I would do that anywhere, anytime.

This I know for sure.  As we age our perspective changes.  I would be appalled at a young girl looking and acting like I did in my 20s...in fact, I was pretty shocked at the young women I saw and their great lengths to get attention.   My health is far more important than alcohol now.  And I'll take family over strangers any day.  I still enjoy and respect the talent which is bountiful in Vegas shows: but, other than the consistent entertainment, all of my perspectives on Vegas have changed.

I'm saddened by the money being thrown into gambling while  hunger and drugs fills the streets.  I can't differentiate between the hookers, dancers, and tourist girls; they all look wanting.  Smoke, and drugs permeate the air while beautiful desert landscapes surround the city.  The contrast causes my body to tense.  The city that once excited my senses now violates them.

I'm sure our perspective comes from the inside out.  In my sixth decade I am confident and comfortable in myself.  I know making someone else feel good about how they look is much more important than the way I look.  God's landscape is more miraculous than anything man made.  Peace and happiness doesn't come from a drink, but from self.  And it is important to make time for family to reconnect...even if it's in Vegas.

Life Story

Currently I work for an organization, City Year, that truly values people.  I don't mean as "workers" even though that is important to the success of this service orientated non-profit, I mean the human aspects of me as a person and not just an employee.  One of their traditions is to invite people to share their life story to inspire others.  As my granddaughter would say in her peppy quick -step tone:  "Guess what?"  Seattle chose me.

Between working on professional development sessions I'll be delivering there next week, I have been doing some real Pat's Pondering about what you say when asked to tell your life story.  I have spent the last few days of reaching back to memories, stories, and antidotes I might share trying to revise, edit, analyze, organize, think about myself.  Do you know how hard that is?  I am the person on a plane who can listen to the stranger next to me all the way across the country and not share even so much as my name.  I have always felt I learn more by listening and thinking.

Most of my sharing about myself comes in funny stories for social events; I love humor.  This audience is a room full of magnificent 18-24 year-olds with their whole life ahead of them.  They have chosen to spend this year giving back to their communities.  It feels like I learn so much more from them than they ever could from me.  The invitees, a staff of dedicated professionals just a few years older, will be there as well; believe it or not, they look to me for guidance and expertise.

How did I get here?  Here to this place where I have lived long enough for someone to think they can learn from me.  A place where, no matter what your story is,  you will be accepted.  A time when thinking about how you live your life is honored.

And how do you cull 62 years of stories into an engaging 30 minute talk.  This will take some pondering.  This may be one of my biggest challenges ever.  So, stay tuned, I have a story to share...when I get time.  :-)

The Extra Room...and leisurely breakfast

https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/1090039

Yes, that's a link to our new business.  We are renting our mother-in-law apartment on airbnb.  The apartment has had various guests over the past six years.  It has been put to good use for visiting pastors, cyclists giving their efforts for cancer, mom's friends, and of course family time and again.  But most of the time it has just been an extra room and it has been an expense rather than a resource.

Since updating it a bit and putting it on airbnb, we have enjoyed the people and the income. Our first visitors were a co-worker  and family.  They helped us see what we had forgotten to include in our "all inclusive kitchen" and reminded us of how nice it is to share the things with which God blessed us so richly.

Later, came a dear little family:  mom, dad, Polish exchange student, and two adopted African girls who came to explore the coast and kayak.  The mom and girls filled the house with music as they practiced on our piano.  This group of five reminded me of times before our empty nest when we had a home of five filled with love and laughter.

A greenhouse salesman spent the weekend.  He comes to Oregon often and enjoys different parts each time.  The whole time he was here I worried he would think I should take better care of my flowers.  He didn't.  He just sat in the early rising light with his coffee and admired the view.  Some people love to visit, others to be left alone.  All agree this is a great place to rest and relax.

As I write this we have three more groups coming over these next two weeks from LA, OK, and WA:   one a single woman, one a retired couple, and one a grandma and grandson who run their own bnb.  There's an excitement in the air as we smooth spreads, stock the refridgerator, and sweep the porch.  Hosting on airbnb makes me feel like it can be Christmas every day. Who is coming next?

A-Bliss-ia

My perfect granddaughter is named Alysia.  When ever we get to spend time with her, we call it Grandparent Bliss and recently we got to spend a whole weekend with her in Rhode Island where she lives with her mom.

We have been fortunate to have her at our house the last two summers.  Living in a rural area, our little LA glitter bomb relishes the snakes in our garden, learning archery with Grandpa, riding in the lawnmower cart, and making dandelion chain necklaces.  She loves being outdoors and has the most creative spirit--she made a fishing line from long grass and a stick!

When we picked Alyisa up at her after-school day care, we asked what she wanted to do during our time together.  Being adults we were thinking museums, movies, historical experiences, and other various learning opportunities.  Alysia's answer:  "Playgrounds, I want to go to playgrounds."

Our GPS listed parks, so we headed to the nearest.  Turned out to be a historical site with a walking path and one room school house.  Our journey took us over logs and hopping off benches, balancing on a stone  wall and collecting sticks.  It was perfect. 

The Elizabeth Gray Garden and Paradise School






But, alas, there was no playground equipment, so how could Alysia show us her new monkey bar tricks or her perfected forward roll?  And so we continued looking for other parks. 

Next, we found an old, old playground with a cement slide.  Matt, having raised all boys, told Alysia she would love the hard ride down.  She didn't.  I think we were at that "playground" around five minutes.   We also found a nice neighborhood playground where Matt thrilled the kids with fast spins on the old fashioned merry go round and Alysia impressed us with forward rolls and balance beam work.   We headed to the beach.  Our fearless granddaughter was ready to jump off the seawall onto a tiny rock-filled piece of sand.  Grandpa reviewed the concept of "sneaker waves" which left Alysia unimpressed.  Wanting to preserve her life, we headed for pizza and ice cream.  She was "starved to death" as was evident from the meal she devoured.  Next, it was off to find Walmart and pick up some toys for the motel room.  Deep decision making behind us we left with cards, a jigsaw puzzle, some plastic thing for her wheeler- ja -bob, and a coloring book.  None of this was opened as after Grandpa read the bedtime story we all fell quickly to sleep from playground overload. 

Alas, a new day and more playgrounds to explore.  Saturday started with a trip to IHOP for the making of a girl-faced pancake.  Matt was determined to explore Fort Adams.  There we did a one and 1/2 mile seawall walk; the fort having started its last tour of the day, we settled for the walk around.  Alysia hopped along finding treasures and asking if it would ever end.  I think the frozen lemonade grandpa bought made it all worth it.
And more playgrounds on Sunday.

We hit the Y playground where our adventurous girl climbed the rock wall and slipped on the monkey bars.  Ouch!  But we survived that to munch down a McDonalds happy meal, by request of course.  We actually repeated the playground visit by the IHOP as it's one of Alysia's favorites.  Turns out one of her friends was there; she is a friend seeker, everywhere, anywhere...a social butterfly much like her daddy. 

At Dunkin Donut we stumbled upon the Police Parade.  Matt loves the bagpipes and Alysia and I found a seat along the curb to watch the seemingly endless display of vehicles and bands.  We bought her a pony and watched as it became real in her hands--real like the Velveteen Rabbit, loved in the hands of a little girl.  

Sunday was bittersweet as we knew our time was quickly drawing to an end.  At the beach Matt and I found some lobster to satisfy our seafood desire.  Alysia opted for a hamburger but enjoyed watching the lobsters in the tank.  Tears began to flow and our girl shared missing us...even before we were gone.  Heart wrenching to leave a little girl with tears welled in big blue eyes.

Before this trip to Rhode Island, I had the opportunity to visit our grandson Riley in Tulsa.  Funny, but we ended up at the park/playground as well.  He was not interested in the playground equipment at all; in fact, I thought he was just going to sit.  A rain-made pond gathering at the end of the parking lot changed  the scene.  We spent hours together cracking open the pecans he collected along the walk to the park.  They made perfect  boat hulls.    The puddle of water became a lake, the leaf sails took wind, a pirate war emerged.  I watched his crafty hands, marveled at his quick imagination, and traveled back in time at the sounds coming from the pecan gun boats.  The spittle-boom sounds created from a little boy's guns transformed me.  At some point,  I swear Riley  morphed into his dad and I was reminded of another little boy's pretending.  

Being a grandparent is bliss. It takes  shape in the simplest of things: playgrounds, pancakes, pretend--it doesn't matter.  It is just the moments, holding on to them for dear life.  Because this time, you are sure they will pass quickly and you know they will never come again. 

Three and four quickly became seven and eight