Facade

1902474be6161ed7fa088914cd72e4b7We all enjoy the world of make believe. As children we listen intently to stories from the imagination and we never quite lose our thirst for enchanting tales. In the adult world tales of dragons and dead people who reanimate excite us even as we understand that they are not real. We humans enjoy flights of fancy and we have become expert at creating visions so detailed and true to life that we are able to suspend our disbelief and fully immerse ourselves in fictions that distract us from the grind of daily living. We build theme parks where we escape for hours into fantastic worlds with rides that both thrill and frighten us. Somehow we need entertainment that is part unbelievable and part akin to our own lives. It is as though the comedy and tragedy of existence is not enough to stimulate our thinking. We humans are extraordinary in our thirst for creative genius.

Mankind began artistry rather simply. People decorated their bodies with colors from the earth and festooned themselves with feathers, shells, horns and animal skins. Some extended their inventive urges to paintings on the walls of caves and the oral traditions of tales that recorded history or taught important ideas. We thought to develop alphabets and refined ways of scrawling notations onto surfaces that we might carry from one place to another. We improved our tools and even while we eked out survival we paused for moments of entertainment. There is no other earthly creature that does such things. Our history is one of wars and violence and humane progress. We enshrine heroes both true and make believe. We speak of man’s fatal flaws in stories so universal that they ring true even centuries after they were written. We face down our tragedies at the same time that we cloak them in facades.

The truth is often so horrific and difficult to face that we deal with it much better if it is presented in metaphors. We are able to think and react to a movie when we might turn away from what is real. A sympathetic hero or heroine allows us to suspend our prejudices and judgements for a moment so that our minds are free to consider new possibilities. We forget that the view that we see in a play or a film is usually made of cardboard and the technology of computers. We sometimes believe a well crafted story with a cast of brilliant actors more than we do the evidence that exists right before our eyes. Sometimes we have to escape from what is real to find the truths that we need to hear.

Shakespeare said that we are all actors on a stage. We prepare our faces and our lines before we emerge from our homes each day to interact with the audiences who expect certain behaviors from us. We think before we speak. We dress in accordance with fashion and the dictates of our jobs. We strut and compete to win the best roles. We aim to please so that we might earn the accolades and goodies that allow us to survive. Few of us have the courage to fully be our true selves wherever we go. We wait to reveal who we really are to those in whom we trust. We have learned that it is risky to be any other way but we secretly admire those among us who shoot the finger to conventions. It is difficult to keep up a facade.

Social media sites provide us with a forum for truth. They appear to provide us with freedom, power and anonymity. It is easy to type in the words that are struggling to leave our minds and then walk away. There is nobody standing in front of us when we hit the send or post buttons. We do not feel the fears of confrontation and yet our spontaneous actions are not without repercussions. Others feel just as daring and verbal jousts often ensue. As we tear down our facades of politeness the world becomes littered with commentaries and insults that hover forever as evidence of our frustrations. We want to be able to own our thoughts but experience has taught us that to do so is fraught with dangers. After we are burned we replace the masks that we wear for protection. We feign ignorance of our mistakes and sometimes even turn away from the discussions that gave us a false courage. We learn that nobody really wants to know our ideas nor do they value our opinions. We only make others angry when we speak the truth and most of us dislike the battles that follow

We instinctively know that much of what we see and hear is as unreal as the fiction that entertains us. We desire good news and so there are those who manipulate us into believing that they are the bearers of good tidings when all they really want is power over our thoughts and feelings. Only the very confident and strong are willing to stand their ground and take the abuse that comes from nobly shouting the truths that we find uncomfortable to hear. They are the stuff of legend. They often suffer for their honor. We see their like both in fictional heroes and reality. They are King Lear and Martin Luther King, Jr., Kaleesi and Rosa Parks.

We humans are a funny lot. We are truth seekers who live behind our protective facades. We are brave and cautious. We risk speaking honestly and we lie. We walk into danger and we run away. Our very natures and physiology prompt us to take chances and to protect ourselves. There is a constant tug of war between good and bad, bravery and cowardice. Like Batman we are one person in the light of day and another in the dark of night. We hate our facades but understand the need to couch our words and actions in acceptable forms of behavior. All of us are prisoners in some ways and free in others. The facades that we build protect us from misunderstandings and judgements. They give us an illusion of strength and security but we always know that they are not real. It is only when we are with the people who allow us to remove our masks and the fake fronts that we feel the liberation that each of us seek. It is called unconditional love and we crave it.

It would be glorious if we were to one day find that tolerance had become universal. How invigorating it would feel to know that each person might fully embrace his/her uniqueness without fear of being misunderstood or ostracized. We are working on reaching that point but still have a long way to go. Sadly our facades will have stay in place for now.

Kit Cat

kitcatclock-black-white-bgIt was an ordinary night when I walked into my kitchen to find a most disturbing scene. There strewn on the floor were eyeballs, a little black tail, and the broken body of my Kit Cat clock. My little treasure had somehow fallen from its place on the wall. I was so upset that I called for my husband to clean up the debris that lay from one end of the room to another. It was apparent from the number of pieces that my beloved little clock was forever gone. Even though the time piece was only an object made of plastic and a few carefully placed wires I was filled with great sadness.

To be honest I truly understand that there are far graver events unfolding in the world than the destruction of a silly little clock. I see the images of suffering, war and injustice on a daily basis and it most definitely bothers me. I know of family members and friends who are enduring frightening and painful illnesses or even the tragedy of loss of a loved one. A battered clock is hardly in the same league as these very real kinds of problems but that clock represented far more to me than might at first glance be evident.

Around the time that I was four or five years old my father went to Rochester, New York on a business trip. It was a rather lengthy affair and I recall feeling a bit lost without his presence around our home. My mom seemed distracted and lonely while he was gone. Somehow our lives were off kilter without him. Then as suddenly as he had left he reappeared bringing sunshine back to our days, along with a few gifts that he had carefully chosen for us. Among them was a delightful clock that made us laugh. It was one of the original Kit Cat clocks, a humorous black cat with a grin as impish as the one that my daddy so often wore.

My father proudly mounted the smiling creature on the kitchen wall where it kept up with the time and smiled at us with those great big cat eyes scanning one side of the room and then the other. A long black tail swung in unison with the tempo of the tick tock of time, telling us that life was going to continue merrily on now that our dad was back home. It was the perfect gift from our perfect dad and I so loved that cat who was as unique and funny as my father.

Our Kit Cat clock traveled with us wherever we moved. It was part of our family. It went all the way to California and back with us and maintained its vigil on the wall through births and illnesses and seasons. It was ticking away on the morning that I learned of my father’s death. It reminded me so of him that I found comfort in watching it continue with its duties even as I wondered why the whole world didn’t stop to share the pain that I was feeling.

The clock soldiered on with us and as I grew I found it to be less and less enchanting until the time came when I hardly noticed it anymore. At some point it must have finally quit operating properly because it disappeared from the wall. I never thought to ask my mother what had happened to the clock. It was just a silly old thing that could never have lasted forever. Besides, I would always have the memory of my dad grinning like a Cheshire cat as he so proudly presented his find to our family so many long years before. That was really all that I would ever need.

Just as we always do I went on with living, rarely thinking of the clock until one day I walked into a store and there on the wall was a display of Kit Cat clocks being as silly as ever. I think that my husband was a bit mystified at the sheer pleasure that I derived from seeing those happy little timekeepers. When I told him the story of the clock that had once lived in the memories of my childhood he listened with his usual respect for my quirks. Somehow he managed to realize that the clock had been a link to my father in a time when I most needed to remember how much delight my daddy had always brought to our family.

When Christmas came later that year I excitedly opened my gifts to find among them a brand new Kit Cat clock to hang on my wall. I was overjoyed and touched that my sensitive spouse had understood the significance that the little cat held for me. We began a new tradition with our clock that extended through the marriages of my daughters, the births of my grandchildren, and the years of change and growth in our family.

The clock kept perfect time but over the years the eyes and tail only moved sporadically, sometimes standing still for months and other times suddenly swinging back and forth as steadily as a pendulum. It still brought me the kind of joy that I had felt as a child. When I looked at that grinning little face I thought of how lucky I have been to be loved by a father that I hardly had time to know and a husband who has been at my side for over four decades. The clock was part of my history, a treasure that meant more to me than I might ever explain. When I saw it shattered into pieces the other night I felt a genuine sense of devastation. It was as though a part of me had suddenly been destroyed. I had to call my husband to dispose of the debris because I was unable to face that grisly task.

If I have learned anything in my life it’s that distressing things happen and we somehow find ways to carry on with our journeys. After briefly grieving that my clock was gone I came to my senses and logged in to Amazon where I found a replacement to order. My new Kit Cat clock will arrive sometime next week to bring a new generation of joy and laughter into our lives. It will watch over our celebrations and comfort us in times of sorrow. It will stand as a sentinel and a reminder that sometimes all we have to do is smile and be a little silly to get from one moment to the next.

The Rock

10245585_10203403388626110_6869636648318012857_nI met a boy over forty years ago at my cousin’s birthday party. He fascinated me from the moment that he entered the celebration stylishly late. He might have walked straight off of a cover of GQ magazine with his cutting edge fashion sense but it was his confidence that caught my eye. He had only recently returned from attending Loyola University in New Orleans and he bore the international bohemian flair of the residents of that city. He was indeed quite different from the other attendees at the celebration and I was as drawn to him as a moth to a light, making a fool of myself as usual with far too much nervous idle chatter.

When he called me a week later and suggested that he’d like to take me to a movie I was dumbfounded. Somehow he seemed far too sophisticated to want to spend time with a bumpkin like me but he was quite sure of himself so I didn’t question his motives. Instead I decided to go along for the ride as long as it lasted.

He arrived at my house looking once again as though he had been hanging with the in crowd of high society, casually wearing a pair of madras slacks that had been tailored to fit him perfectly along with carefully polished brown penny loafers bearing no sign of the white socks that most of my male friends usually wore. A perfectly starched blue shirt topped off with a navy blue blazer completed his look making him appear to be the most handsome person I had ever known. I felt a bit overwhelmed and underdressed as I answered the door in my off the sale rack outfit from Penny’s. Somehow we didn’t seem to go together but I would soon enough learn that my first impression was so totally wrong.

We began a conversation on the way to the movie that would continue through the decades. We found that we shared so much in common that our interests overtook our social and economic differences. Superficialities mattered little as we talked as though we had been the best of friends for all of our lives. Ours was an exciting and easy flow of communication in which we were able to fill in the blanks for one another and anticipate what the next topic might be. I felt as though I had finally met my very best friend and I had only known him a few hours.

After that we became inseparable, spending as much time together as two college students might spare and still take care of business. Somehow I knew that I had truly met my soulmate even though I was incredibly young and naive. I was still quite shy with the world but never with him. I had grown up in an isolated neighborhood with a huge safety net just waiting to catch me if I fell. He had witnessed the vices of the Crescent City and his stories of his time there fascinated me but I was even more enthralled with his intellect. He possessed an uncanny ability to recall the smallest of details from the things that he had read. He was almost encyclopedic in his knowledge of history.

Ours was a whirlwind courtship played out against a backdrop of war and political intrigue. By the time that he proposed that we marry the easygoing world that had defined our childhood was forever gone. It had been replaced with dramatic cultural shifts that set fire to much of what we had once known. Some of those changes were far overdue while others only served to awaken our cynicism and sense of urgency. We felt as though we needed to hurry if we were to grab a slice of happiness in a world that had seemingly gone mad. We dove into a life together with full force and never once looked back with regret. It became a magnificent journey filled with all of the elements of a saga. Along the way we encountered the totality of the human experience and somehow managed to keep our heads above water no matter how crazy things became, always continuing our conversation and finding fun in even the simplest adventures.

Nowadays that boy is a man with thinning white hair. He long ago eschewed the call of fashion in favor of more practical and less expensive clothing. He is after all a husband, father and grandfather concerned with the well being of an ever expanding brood. He has little time or concern for outward appearances. He has become a practical man whose very existence is governed by a desire to keep his family safe and happy. He requires little more to feel content than to know that everyone is okay.

He is enjoying his retirement after years of hard work dedicated to making me and our two girls as comfortable as possible. He is still a romantic who looks at me with a special twinkle in his eyes. He is all in all a very good man whose entire focus has always been on our crazy extended family. He has spoiled me and our daughters not in a materialistic way but with unconditional love that has made us confident and strong. 

Today is that man’s birthday, the final year in his sixth decade of life. He just celebrated with a trip to his favorite part of the world, the Rocky Mountains. He spent time with me and friends doing the things that he most loves. I still see that young lion that I met so many years ago whenever he smiles at me. He is a beautiful man that I was fortunate enough to encounter. He has changed my life in ways that I never thought possible and I am all the better because of his influence. I should be giving him a gift on his special day but somehow it always feels as though I am the eternal recipient of his favors and his love. He is the rock upon which all of us who know him depend.

Happy Birthday, Mike. I can only hope that there will be many, many more.

Hope Chests

art_61133_0-1a1a1achesthopettleadWhen I graduated from high school fifty years ago I received a coupon entitling me to a miniature Lane cedar chest. The idea behind the promotion was to get young ladies and their parents into the store where they would see the full sized models and consider purchasing one as a special gift. Back then coming of age for many girls meant owning a “hope chest” that they would begin to fill with special items that they might later use in a future home once they were married. In a sense it was a way of creating a kind of dowry.

I only took the freebie chest which I turned into a container for trinkets like campaign buttons and old pins but I dreamed of one day having one of the beautiful full sized wooden boxes with its enchanting interior cedar aroma. My dear sweet husband eventually bought me one when I graduated from college and to this day I use it to store blankets and seasonal items. It sits in one of my extra bedrooms looking as shiny and new as the day we brought it home and I hope that it will one day become an heirloom for one of my children or grandchildren. 

Most girls today would scratch their heads in confusion if someone were to ask them if they have a “hope chest.” The idea of storing away linens in anticipation of getting married soon after high school would sound quaint and outdated to them. Instead they dream of careers and putting first things first like getting an education and building a resume. Marriage is a distant goal that is way down on their checklist of things to accomplish. Besides, a registry at Bed Bath and Beyond will be sure to bring in all of the needed items when its time to think of settling down. At least in this country the “hope chest” has mostly gone the way of the buggy whip and arranged marriages. With a woman in contention for president it is doubtful that we will ever again see teenage girls lovingly accumulating linens for a future homey nest.

So much has changed over the decades. Raising girls is far different from the past. My granddaughter is as comfortable on a robotics team as she is getting a pedicure. When she speaks of the future the idea of husbands and babies is rarely mentioned. Instead she dreams of producing films or doing scientific research. She has enough confidence in herself that she would even consider running for political office. She has little idea that such goals were once thought to be beyond the grasp of women. She senses that the only barriers to fulfillment of her dreams might lie within her own heart but she is determined to stay strong and compete with her male counterparts on equal footing. She pushes herself to go well beyond expectations and proves time and again that she is made of steely stuff. Amazingly she is far from being alone. Women everywhere are accomplishing feats that might have been unimaginable back when I was her age.

There are now more women graduating from universities today than men. They are represented in virtually every field of endeavor. Women from the USA dominated the summer Olympics. They head multi-billion dollar corporations and hold the highest political offices in countries across the world. They have evolved quickly into movers and shakers. They are housewives if they choose or stock analysts if they prefer. There seems to be little territory that they are unable or unwilling to conquer and yet there are still vast swaths of the world where they are thought to be the inferior half of the human race. It is an enigma that their domination continues in some corners even as they rise above the forces that have traditionally held them down in others.

I can only hope that the evolution of women will continue in the places where their plight seems the most hopeless. There have always been pioneers among us who dared to go where no women had gone before. They were unwilling to accept the norms that were so irrationally used to define them. Marie Curie engaged in scientific research in a time when female thoughts and opinions were rarely considered. Amelia Earhart strode into a traditionally man’s world and demonstrated the potential of the future. Abigail Adams dared to engage her husband in political dialogue on an equal footing. Such women and the many others whose names we may never know pushed past barriers to create paths that today’s young girls take for granted. Hopefully there are people like them working to overcome prejudices in places where their rights are sorely limited.

As women chart new courses and eschew the old ways of doing things new questions and problems arise. Any woman who works understands how difficult it is to take care of business and a family. Time, resources and energy are stretched thin in a balancing act that is far more difficult than it may appear. With a generous income a woman has the option of employing nannies, maids, landscapers and other helpers to ease the load of responsibilities but most jobs don’t provide enough money to afford such luxuries. It falls on the women and their partners to shoulder the tasks together and studies demonstrate that the ladies are still doing much of the heavy lifting at home, especially when it comes to the children. It is up to us as a society to begin to educate both our girls and our boys in the new ways of doing things. 

I still believe that family is at the heart of society. Ultimately we need children to forge the future. In our enthusiasm for freeing women to develop all of their talents we also need to remember to honor their efforts to raise the next generation. As a society we cannot be guilty of underestimating the value of a happy and loving home. While the modern family may not look exactly like the one that grandma knew the basic needs and foundations are still the same. Today’s parents are quite busy juggling hundreds of objects in the air  and we need to consider innovative ways to make their struggles less difficult while supporting their choices as well.

Traditions come and go. Our daughters are still romantic and dream of finding true love just as in fairytales but they no longer see themselves as extensions of their soulmate’s dreams. They have become equal partners who support one another in reaching personal goals. If they were to have something as old fashioned as a “hope chest” today it would be filled with roadmaps to grand possibilities and adventures.   

Angel Wings

angelwingsA man was laid to rest this week. There were no banner headlines marking his passing. Only his family and those few who were his friends or coworkers knew of him. There were a smattering of comments about him on Facebook and the newspaper held the usual kind of obituary outlining the essential elements of his life. He was quiet and unassuming and so too was his final memorial.

I first met Michael when he was still a young boy, a teenager only nine years younger than I am but who at the time seemed to be from another generation. He was the only son of my next door neighbors and I mainly saw him coming and going from school and outings with his friends. He was always polite and helpful, quite pleasant, and I liked him even without talking much. His was a blended family melded from the union of two people who had each been married to someone else. All together there were five girls and Michael who had been born in France while his father served in the Air Force. I never really knew what became of his birth mom but I learned soon enough how much his second mom truly loved him. I suppose that it was inevitable that she would because Michael was so sweet with an oh so genuine smile.

Michael followed in his daddy’s footsteps and joined the Air Force as soon as he could. He loved planes and flying, something that he also inherited from his father. He was one of those people who always tried so hard but seemed to be stalked by bad luck. Somehow he never let the setbacks get him down. Each time life dealt him a blow he got right back up and began again.

He eventually found great solace in God. His faith was joyful and profound. He was so happy to know his savior that he proclaimed his newfound faith to the world. He was lit up with a fervor that wasn’t always understood or appreciated. He wanted to share what he had learned so that everyone he knew would feel the love that had made such a difference for him. At one point he actually lost a job because he refused to still his voice when it came to proclaiming the word of the Lord. Luckily other employers were more understanding of his fervor and he proved to be a remarkable worker who gave his all to his jobs.

Everyone who knew Michael loved him. He possessed a generous spirit much like his mom and dad. He was never particularly concerned with hoarding earthly treasures as much as making certain that the people he encountered would be okay. He loved unconditionally and believed totally in salvation and forgiveness. Even when people hurt him he was willing to take them back into his heart.

After Michael left home I didn’t see him that often. He always came to the big family celebrations that his parents held. The ever growing family would crowd into their little home and fill the air with their laughter. When his father began to grow weak from his own illnesses I often saw Michael mowing the lawn or doing other tasks around the house to help his parents. He’d always wave and smile just as he had done when he was still a teenager.

I moved from the old neighborhood almost twelve years ago. At first I lost track of everyone but through the power of Facebook I found members of Michael’s family one by one. I was saddened to learn that his father had died. He was such a good man who took care of all of us who lived near him. I found out that his mother had moved to east Texas and on one occasion when I was camping I was close enough to her new home to go see her. She was as hospitable as ever, stuffing me with all of the wonderful delicacies that she is known for creating in the kitchen. Since that time I read all about various family trips and parties and emergencies. It was with great sorrow that I heard that Michael was dying in the hospital. It somehow didn’t seem right that someone so young was being taken from those who loved him so. 

Michael was taken from this world far too soon. He was only fifty nine. He suffered more than most. The pain in his final weeks was almost unbearable but he saw it as a small price to pay for the eternal glory that he was convinced he would soon share with God. He was certain that his heavenly home would be far grander than anything that he had acquired on earth. He assured his wife, his children and his grandchildren that he would always be watching over them even when he was gone and that one day they would all be reunited in heaven.

Now Michael is free of pain and hurt. He is flying high above us with the wings of an angel. Those who knew him will surely miss him. He was a good man. All of us should have someone like him in our lives. Rest in peace, gentle soul. You have surely earned your reward.