A Love Letter To My Book Club

Post by J

Dear Literary Spirits,

Back in high school my choir sang No Man Is an Island:

No man is an island

No man stands alone

Each man's joy is joy to me

Each man's grief is my own

We need one another

So I will defend

Each man as my brother

Each man as my friend

I liked singing the song, but didn't really think its message pertained to me. If anything I probably thought the lyrics were a bit idealistic, being the cynical 17-year-old that I was. Shortly after high school, my then-boyfriend broke up with me and I remember defiantly telling my mother that I didn't need him anyway and that I didn't need anyone to help me. I even quoted Simon and Garfunkel: "I am a rock. I am an island." To which my very wise mother replied, "You are full of crap."

Of course, she was right. We need people - friends - to help us find the meaning in our lives, to help us find our way.  Sometimes a friend comes ready-made in the shape of a sister who is there for you all of your life. Sometimes you're lucky enough to find a friend whom you marry. And sometimes you're fortunate enough to stumble into a group of remarkable individuals that accept you, embrace your quirkiness, encourage your dreams, bolster your ego, and act as a sounding board for the thoughts in your head.

I am enormously blessed to have all of these types of friends in my life.

I've had friends over the years. I'm old enough to have had many friends. But can I just say here for the record that the relationship that I have with the women of my book club (I'm looking at you, Anne, Carol, Cory, Cora Lee, Sally and Stacey) is a precious and rare gift.

It began back in 2010 when I went in search of a little camaraderie, a little connection, and a chance to talk about a book I wanted to read.  What I found was so much more than that. And the book quickly became optional.

At first we were five and then six and then seven. We'd meet every four or six weeks - ostensibly to talk about a book we'd read. In reality, we'd talk about everything in our lives - sometimes we'd talk about everything but the book.

We talked about life. And death. And life after death.

We talked about our children and our parents.

We were supportive, and were supported.

Now I'm on the other side of the country and will soon be in a different country altogether. I've been busy building this new life and haven't been able to connect with my friends like I used to. But last weekend, they Skyped me in so I could again be a part of the conversation (okay, the book was mainly pictures and took about 20 minutes to "read," but still). Isolated in a new world as I am, I can't describe how much it means to me to know that my friends are still there and that I can still be a part of this amazing group of women that I admire, respect, trust, and love.

So a toast to you, my dear book club, my dear friends, on this, the eve of our 5th anniversary. May we have many more good times and excellent conversations.

And I'm not kidding when I say that we'd better be meeting on the beach in the Dominican Republic in about a year from now (for while no man is an island, each man's joy can include spending time on one). The mimosas are on me.

My besties (as the kids say), last summer.

New Year's Goals

Post by J

I'm not really a "resolutions" person, in that traditional "I resolve to change myself in the coming months so that I resemble someone else's idea of the perfect person" kind of way. Rather, I like to make a list of manageable goals for the year and then check off each one as it's accomplished.

This does several things for me: it provides both a little rush of anticipation for completing the task, and a smug sense of satisfaction when the task is actually done (and I love me some smug sense of satisfaction). More than that, however, a list of goals is a constant reminder that the goal is not really what's important. A finished project is great and all, but if my eyes are constantly focused on the horizon, I'm missing all of the beautiful and challenging details along the way. In a weird twist, a list of goals reminds me to take time to enjoy the moment, too.

So this year, my dear seester posted the following on FaceBook:

And because I love a pre-made list, I've decided to adopt this one and set these as my goals for 2015. There are nine items, and I could accomplish three simply by being in the Foreign Service (Learn a new skill - Spanish; Visit a new place - Dominican Republic; Try a new food - something in Santo Domingo, I'm sure), but this feels a bit like cheating. So I plan to accomplish all nine without counting learning Spanish and moving to the D.R.

The new year is a fresh slate, a clean piece of paper in the typewriter (how old am I?), an empty basket to fill with memories, and a bunch of other cliches. And I'm excited to get started.

And a happy 2015!

Post by J

A new way to ring in the new year for us:

Celebrating Christmas on January 1 (including imbibing mimosas. which I admit is not new),

A trip to Ford's Theater to see A Christmas Carol, 

Lincoln's box at Ford's Theater

a visit to Arlington National Cemetery, 

I can't imagine how many wreaths are necessary ...

a few excellent meals at restaurants around town (Old Europe, Founding Farmers, and Ted's Montana Grill), 

R and I toasting the new year at the Old Europe Restaurant

L and H, looking great for 2015!

a whirlwind trip to visit grandma that included 7 hours in the car, 

~ No photo available ~

and numerous, numerous rounds of board games at our small dining-room table. It was action-packed and we had a marvelous time.  I sure love those girls.

We 4

Feliz Navidad!

Post by J

Noche de paz, noche de amor, 

Todo duerme en derredor. 

Entre sus astros que esparcen su luz 

Bella anunciando al niñito Jesús 

Brilla la estrella de paz 

Brilla la estrella de paz

~Silent Night in Spanish

Night of peace, night of love,

All around are asleep.

Among the stars that spread their light,
Beautifully announcing the baby Jesus,

Shines the star of peace,

Shines the star of peace.

Last night, R and I attended the Candlelight Christmas Carols service at the National Cathedral in Washington. The choir sang beautifully, the purity of their voices washing over us and seeming to linger in the rafters and the corners of the church. I closed my eyes a few times and sat with my hand in R's, his fingers warm against mine, marveling at this unexpected blessing, this feeling of peace.

We hadn't planned to attend the service; originally I had thought that we might go to a performance of Handel's Messiah at the Cathedral earlier in December. After searching for tickets, however, I realized that the December 23 Candlelight Service would fit into our schedules better. Ticket prices were nominal ($4 each), so I purchased two in early December, knowing that if our plans changed we wouldn't sacrifice too much if we weren't able to go. But I'm so glad we went.

We joined the other congregants and sang five traditional carols, the last of which by candlelight: O Come, All Ye Faithful; O Little Town of Bethlehem; Joy to the World; Once in David's Royal City; and Silent Night. The choir sang additional carols in between readings, and the Reverend Canon Gina Gilland Campbell delivered the homily, the main message of which was "deliver the love of Christ every day - not just at Christmas." Although I don't consider myself a religious person, I love tradition and the service was beautiful. We all need reminding of the possibility of fellowship and peace.

What could be a better Christmas gift (or gift at any time of the year) than peace? With so much craziness in the world, so much violence, sadness, and loss, peace almost seems like magical thinking. 

But Christmastime makes me believe it's possible.

Angel by Abbott Thayer, National Art Gallery Washington DC

Dreaming in Spanish

Post by J

I am overwhelmed by my resources!

I'm about to begin week 8 of Spanish school, which means I'll be one third of the way through my course by the end of the week. I go to sleep thinking of Spanish phrases and wake up conjugating verbs. 

I had my six-week evaluation on Monday of last week, and am exactly where I'm supposed to be: 1+/1+ (read more about what this level means here). This is a real relief to me, since F.S.I.'s approach to teaching a language is very different from what I had all those years ago at the Defense Language Institute, and I wasn't sure I was progressing at an adequate rate. It appears that I am - hurray!

It does seem that all R and I do is go to school and come home to study. We go to the grocery store on Saturday or Sunday, but really, we don't do much but study the Español. We've worked ourselves into a rut and honestly, it's getting a bit monotonous. So yesterday we trekked out to the National Portrait Gallery and enjoyed a few hours gazing at the art and reading about amazing Americans like John Eliot. Fortunately for us, the Italian Embassy here in D.C. was having a celebration at the museum while we were there, so we were exposed to a little culture from a foreign land, too.

Christmas is fast approaching and R and I are looking forward to celebrating a week late when H and L arrive for New Year's. It will be nice to take a break and get out into the real world again!

Milagro

Post by J

The last few weeks have been challenging. Not only am I learning a language from absolute zero (okay, I guess I did know how to count to 10 when I started), I received yet more bad news from home about a week after my uncle passed away.

My older brother called on Wednesday night (November 12) around 7:00. As soon as I saw the caller ID, I knew something serious had happened, because my brother never calls me. This is what he said:

My dad has had a bad cough for a few months. He's gone to the doctor at least three times because of it, primarily because he coughs so hard he loses oxygen and passes out. The doctor, unfortunately, did not seem too concerned. He listened to Dad's lungs.  An x-ray was taken. The doctor did not find anything unusual, so basically dismissed my dad and his complaint.

On November 12, Dad started coughing. He decided to stand over a trashcan and spit out whatever resulted from his coughing attack. The coughing became severe and my dad passed out. And fell. On his neck.

He regained consciousness and was in a lot of pain. He decided to try and tough it out and crawled to his chair where he thought the pain would ease. It didn't. Fifteen minutes later, he called my brother's girlfriend and asked her to take him to the hospital.

"Hang on," I interrupted my brother. "Shouldn't he have called an ambulance?"

"He said he didn't want the expense of an ambulance," was my brother's reply.

So, after an excruciating ride to the emergency room, the ER doctor ordered x-rays. One look and my dad was life-flighted to Denver. So much for saving the expense of an ambulance ride.

After more tests and an MRI, Dad went into surgery on Thursday morning. The surgery took hours, and my sister and younger brother and I were pretty much in the dark the entire time because HIPAA prevented the hospital staff from speaking to anyone but my older brother. And they weren't giving my older brother much information, either.

As a result of the surgery, my dad has two fused vertebrae and two wounds, one in the front and one in the back of his neck - a testament to the extent of the surgery. Amazingly, after only a few days, he was released from the hospital on Sunday, November 16. He is in a neck brace and is expected to make a full recovery.

The surgeon said he couldn't believe Dad had walked to the car and had been driven to the hospital without sustaining further injury. He also said that Dad missed being paralyzed by a millimeter.

Milagro is the Spanish word for miracle.

Me and Dad, August 2014.

No Words

Post by J

Life was moving along at a predictable pace until this past weekend. R and I spent a Saturday in Annapolis with good friends whom we hadn't seen in many years. We moved from our apartment into a larger unit in a different complex closer to downtown. We completed our first week of language training. I was starting to establish a routine that I expected to continue for the next several months.

And then this past weekend. I received a call from my close friend back in Wyoming, telling me of heartbreaking, incomprehensible news. Our friend's son, in college studying art, was at a party on Halloween and tried to break up a fight. He was punched in the head, fell and hit his head on the street curb, suffered a traumatic brain injury, and died. He was 21.

I didn't know him well. I had met him a few times and knew him mostly from hearing his mom talk about him. Through her, I know he was kind. I know that he was loving and giving and good to his parents and his brother. I simply cannot make sense of this and my heart aches for this family. They were close and supportive. They loved each other. And now there will be a perpetual absence that this boy should have filled with his life. There are no words that will comfort, no words to console. I'm crying and praying for them, but I feel so inadequate and powerless.

And yesterday, I learned that my uncle had passed away. My dad's older brother (by 14 months) had gone into the hospital a mere three weeks ago, unaware that he even had the cancer that would take his life. The consolation is that he didn't linger in a state of suffering.  He was nearly 80, but speaking from experience, it's never easy to lose a parent - at any age - and my heart goes out to his children. He was always kind to me, always interested in what I was doing, in what was going on in my life. Of my dad's seven siblings, this man was the one he was closest to. I will miss him, but I know my dad will miss him more. And this means that my dad has lost three siblings this year.

So. Two deaths in two days, at opposite ends of life. By some measure, one makes sense, while the other never will.

Certainly, any problems I think I have pale in comparison to what these families are suffering. I have no right to complain. What I have is an obligation to honor them by living my life to my best, highest self. To never take for granted the opportunity I have to live in this world and try to make it a little better for others. Because life is tenuous; it can be snatched away - little by little, or in one cruel yank. You just don't know.

All you can do is to tell your loved ones how important they are to you. Call your daughter just to hear her voice. Call your son to listen to his troubles, even if you've heard them all before. Visit your uncle or your mom or your grandma and hold his or her hand. Connect with a friend who may need you. It's all you can do and somehow, it has to be enough.