Know your bliss, you’ll rarely miss.
Eyes stay on the prize.
My husband Richard passed away three years ago tonight, but I find myself celebrating in a way.
Sure his life was cut too short, and his early onset dementia was cruel, yet most of his days were good ones.
It seems Richard knew how to live well.
His life was never a rich one monetarily, but it was in experiences, accomplishments, and in his work with the arts community.
Richard also knew how to laugh.
And mostly, at himself.
The first time I met Richard at a dinner party, he was already making the others guests hysterical while describing a crazy New Year’s Eve just spent with an elderly aunt in Boston.
And Richard would always be the first to chuckle at the graduate school pictures of himself from the 70’s with his long brown hair, skinny torso, and Barnaby Street bell bottom suits.
By the time I met him a decade later at the party, he was sporting instead a marine cut, balding white hair, and a slight Santa pot belly masked under preppy flannels.
I believe I admired most Richard’s ability to share his loving heart with others.
And often to those with the greatest need.
Richard was the first to mention the idea of adopting a very special 12 year old girl from Russia. And did he ever LOVE to spoil this girl after our adoption was finalized and we all came back together to the U.S.
That special girl grew to become one very special lady. She, along with her young family, came over today for a belated Christmas celebration.
We had a joyful time dancing in our family room and I hadn’t thought about today’s anniversary until she pulled out one of Richard’s old graduate school photos from her purse. I then glanced briefly at some later photos of Richard on the book shelves behind her and smiled.
Perhaps in this last week of 2016, I should now be thinking about jotting down my resolutions for the new year.
Like lose that extra ten pounds or find the best job ever.
But I don’t really need too.
I’ve just realized my resolutions have been right here behind me in my family room, and in bold, ever since I down sized into my new home.
Just three short words can say it all, and I will practice them every day.
“Live, laugh, love.”
Sounds like a whole lot more fun than going on a diet.
And after all, life is just too short.
My sister and I weren’t particularly close growing up, but she gave me the best gift I’ve ever received when I was four years old.
She taught me how to read.
My grandmother had already laid the foundation by teaching me the alphabet. One sunny August day I helped Grandma decorate her grade school classroom in a small Minnesota town. I was assigned the job of neatly taping each of the brightly colored letters to the walls while sounding them out.
A few weeks later, my bored eight year old sister Nancy peered at me through her blue rhinestone glasses and decided to lead me to the basement for my first reading lesson.
It was a rainy afternoon and the room smelled musty and of heavy spray starch.
Mom was ironing Dad’s shirts nearby while watching her favorite soap, “As the Word Turns” on our black and white console TV.
But she abruptly rushed over and turned down the volume when she saw us. Mom sensed something important was about to transpire.
“Now sit down, and pay attention,” Nancy instructed me as I slid into one of Grandma’s old cast iron and walnut desks saved from a prairie one room school house where Grandma had taught previously.
My sister then placed a dog eared copy of her favorite ‘Dick and Jane’ book into my hands.
We read the book together, with me slowly sounding out each syllable and every word on the pages.
In just an hour, Nancy deemed me a reader. Just like her!
And I still am a reader today.
My sister now lives in Colorado Springs, but we communicate frequently. Our calls and emails are often full of book recommendations.
And on her visits back home to Minnesota, we always visit bookstores as unfortunately there are none left in her town.
On my recent birthday, I realized it’s been more than five decades since I received that special gift of reading from Nancy.
I just opened the gift she sent.
It’s a chain, with a tiny turquoise bound book hanging from it just waiting to be read.
It seems our love, and a mutual love for reading is a gift that still binds us today.
I was having one of those ‘Bah Humbug’ moments.
I’d just lost a mitten while shopping for my kitten.
I had been busily stocking up on emergency supplies at the store up the hill as a winter storm was coming.
Buying replacement mittens definitely was not on my shopping list.
But kitty litter, bread, milk, and lots of chocolate were. And all were fortunately within easy reach of the Santa cookie tins and one available smiling clerk humming “Let It Snow.”
I’m thinking their placement was geared towards keeping my spirits bright.
However, it didn’t.
I soon caught myself uttering another “Bah Humbug.”
Christmas fell off the top of my favorite holiday list way back when I was six.
That was the year the new doll smell and curly blonde hair of a baby doll delivered by Santa attracted the attention of our young beagle. Our dog thought she made the perfect chew toy.
The doll and my Norman Rockwell holiday were never quite the same.
It seems the annual arrival of frigid sub-zero weather with the holidays hasn’t helped my attitude either or all that crazy commercialism and greed.
Even family celebrations have grown a bit more bittersweet year by year.
It’s hard to forget the Christmas Eve when my late dementia stricken mother stared at her grandchildren across the dinner table and blurted out, “So who are you?”
Or the memories of sharing hospital meals of wilted salads and frosted Christmas cookies with my husband while he was in hospice three years ago.
But things really are beginning to look up.
Even in a year when peace and joy seem a bit hard to find.
Luckily, I just found that favorite mitten.
And I’m playing Santa for a few seniors, an animal rescue group, and the young children I work with.
I’m also hoping to share many more last minute smiles before the big day.
You see I once saw a flying Santa in the skies do the same.
It happened a few years ago.
I’d awakened at 6:00 a.m. to hysterical laughter on a holiday flight returning from Amsterdam.
The plane was packed full of travelers of all colors and nationalities. Many didn’t speak English.
It didn’t matter.
Everyone was looking up at the same movie screen smiling, sharing just a few brief moments of comfort and joy.
As well as those chuckles.
This time of year, no matter your beliefs, perhaps that’s what matters most.