All It Takes Is A Little Love

If I had to pick one decade that truly worked out well for me it would be the nineteen eighties. I was still cute and energetic and filled with reachable goals. I had finally understood that I was born to be a mom and a teacher, so I enjoyed every moment of every single day. All of my dearest friends were healthy and alive, and I had a calendar filled with engagements that kept me laughing and loved. My mama and my in-laws were just entering their sixties and seemed destined for many more years of good times with me and my husband and girls. My children were old enough to be more and more independent and together we had so much fun. Life was so idyllic that it came very close to perfection and fooled me into believing that it would always be that way. 

The eighties were when we went on camping vacations with our big canvas tent that sheltered us from rain and cold and critters walking through our site at night. We were all strong enough to hike for miles on treacherous trails that allowed us to discover breathtakingly enchanting views. We cooked and ate under the sky and told stories by a fire. We read and shared books on the long drives to places like Montana. We needed little more than a nylon bag with a few changes of clothes rolled up inside to be on our way. 

During the eighties I worked at a church and then in schools. I hit my stride in terms of confidence and always felt good about myself. I expanded my knowledge of the world with my friend Pat by my side. She introduced me to places and ideas that I had never before encountered even though they existed in my hometown. She was the big sister that I had always dreamed of having and we had such a jolly good time along with our children who became like siblings. 

We often went to see our friends Egon and Marita who were almost exotic in my eyes. Egon was from Germany, but he also had relatives in Norway. He spoke multiple languages fluently and his English was impeccable. Nobody would have suspected that he grew up in Germany. Marita was from Chicago and had a kind of Midwestern accent and outlook on life and politics. They both became members of our extended family, never missing a birthday or holiday tradition that we hosted. My children thought of them as their uncle and aunt. 

My children grew into teens with my friend, Linda, and her boys. We fit together like we were made for each other. The kids learned to swim with the same teacher. We all cheered for the Houston Cougars at parties where our children created games and shows. We had a tradition of taking an hour to actually leave once we had announced our good-byes. 

We lived in a wonderful house that we renovated and expanded to better meet our needs. It became almost custom built after all of the work was done. We loved our neighborhood and our neighbors who were the best people anyone might ever be lucky enough to have nearby. Bob and Carol and Dave and Betty looked after us and taught us how to be better people by example. We always felt safe and secure living near them. 

I never considered the changes that were to come after the nineteen eighties. My daughters went off to college one at a time. Eventually they married and moved away. Linda relocated for awhile in California. My neighborhood began to change while Bob and Carol and Dave and Betty showed signs of growing old. Over time i began to lose people one by one. First Egon died and then my mother-in-law. We moved to a new house in a new neighborhood near my friend Pat. At first we had just as much fun as ever together but then Pat developed cancer. She defeated it in the first round, but when it came back again she succumbed to its invasion of her body. 

Carol, then Dave, then Betty, then Bob died. Marita died too. Soon it was my mother’s time to leave us. My husband and I retired from our jobs. We still took vacations, but no longer in a tent. It was too uncomfortable sleeping on the ground. We flew around and stayed in hotels. We purchased a trailer to use when we needed a dash of nature. We didn’t take those challenging hikes anymore. Life is different now, but it goes on. I have adjusted to the new normal even as I quietly miss the people who brought me so much joy in the past. I am experiencing the inevitable circling of life. These days I most enjoy spending time with my grandchildren who are all grown up. 

I still have friends like Jenny and Eric, Adriana and Tim, Dickie and Tim, Millie and Dustin, Chrystal, Aimee and Tricia. Most of them are younger than I am, but wonderful nonetheless. Linda is still as faithful as ever and I take joy in seeing how great her sons have become. Covid stalled out many of my relationships but I am slowly piecing them back together. A dear friend Nancy will soon be moving back to town after being away for decades. I have rediscovered Kathy, a neighbor from my childhood. I have forged new friendships with my newer neighbors and with Dee and Stephany from my high school days. My father-in-law presently lives with me and my husband. I can pour out the secrets of my heart to my sister cousin, Ingrid. A new Carol calls me all the time to be certain that I am doing well. I teach mathematics three mornings a week.  Life is still good, just different. 

I know that I am blessed, but I cannot help but think of the golden years of the nineteen eighties. I am older wiser and grateful for that time when it felt as though I had reached perfection in my life, the days when Pat would call and tell me to put on my shoes because we were going on an adventure. I can still hear my mother driving up to my house and honking the horn because she was ready to go shopping or to visit the beach. I can feel the warmth of the hot tea that my mother-in-law made to accompany the incredible conversations that would ensue.  I see myself sitting in my front yard with Bob and Carol and Dave and Betty and I am so thankful that I had the privilege of knowing them. I truly became the person I am today with the help of them all. Those eighties really were fabulous!

When I was still a wee girl of about five years old a busybody neighbor lady complained to my mother that I was kissing all of the little boys who lived on my street. I don’t recall doing that, but I suppose it would not have been too unlikely. At that time in my life kisses were nothing more to me than a sign of affection. Kissing the boys would have been akin to kissing one of my little brothers. Sadly the woman’s accusation and my mother’s embarrassment over it suddenly made me very self conscious, as though I had done something terrible. I hate to think what would have happened if I had punched those boys in the noses instead!

In the first grade I got an invitation for a birthday party from a guy in my class named Peter. I was actually surprised because I had hardly even spoken to him. My mother supposed that he had invited everyone in the class just to be fair and polite. Anyway I attended the celebration mostly to because my mother thought that it would be rude to turn him down. 

I was surprised to see Peter’s home which in my mind was a mansion. It was a stately two story building with more square footage and rooms than I had ever before seen. During a lull in the activities Peter invited me on a tour of the place and to my horror, when we were away from the other guests he gave me a quick buss on the lips and confessed that he liked me. I really didn’t know how to handle what had happened, so I just ran back downstairs in shock leaving Peter alone and disappointed. I hope I did not ruin Peter’s special day too much.

I suppose that technically either my smooches with the boys on my street or the encounter with Peter  might qualify as my first kiss, but I like to think that such a grand designation only belongs to the first truly romantic kiss. If that is the case, then it would be a long while before I found myself locking lips with someone who sent me over the moon. That honor goes to the man that I married. 

The crazy thing is that I somehow knew that I had found my soulmate the first time he very softly brushed his lips against mine. I felt a kind of zing that I had never before experienced. In fact, most of my dates had been of the “one and done” variety because those kisses at the end of the evening had always felt as hollow and silly as the one I had shared with Peter. I did not want to pursue the relationships because there was just nothing there. 

I suppose that it was not really my future husband’s kiss that knocked me off of my feet as much as the almost instantaneous feeling that I had met my soulmate. I was generally shy about opening up my heart to anyone, but on our first date I told him things that not even my very best friends had heard. I had a sense that I was totally safe with him. Over time my instincts would prove to be right on target. 

The eternal question is whether a physical or emotional attraction comes first. I suppose that we are all a bit shallow when it comes to looks, but ultimately it is the essence of a person’s soul that captures our hearts. When there is a spark of kinship that first kiss becomes memorable and meaningful. 

I remember cautiously telling my friends that I had met the man of my dreams after only a single date with my future mate. I had never before felt so completely comfortable with anyone. To say it was love at first sight would be trite, but I do believe that we both saw something in each other that matched us better than any of those computer dating sites. 

I have a friend who lost her husband after caring for him for many years. She was quite exhausted by the time his life ended both physically and mentally. She had been grieving for him even before he died. When he was gone her life was quite empty. She had spent so much time caring for him that she did not know what to do with herself. Eventually she joined a group that matches older couples with one another.

Much like me in my youth she went through a period of one date disappointments, but eventually encountered a man who seemed to be perfect in every way. The first time they met each other they talked until long into the night. Because they were both retired they spent the next many days together realizing quickly how much they had in common and how comfortable they felt with each other. They were engaged and married within a few months and have lived happily ever since. 

There is a first kiss that may mean little and then there is a first kiss that sends a tingle down the spine. That kiss is not the reason that two people forge a relationship together. It is only a sign that the relationship is real and meaningful. That kiss fits like a perfect pair of shoes and feels like a million dollar pair. That is the kiss that lights the fires of love. 

It is still dark outside and the rest of the household is sound asleep. This is the time of year when the sun rises a bit later. We will retrieve the early morning sunshine again when we revert to standard time, but for now I am enjoying the solace of being alone in my favorite place inside my home watching the sun slowly come to life while I sip on my tea and eat my morning repast. 

I have perfected a ritual since I retired that calms my soul and helps me to see life through a rosier lens than when I was rushing around each morning to travel to work. Now I revel in the quiet that brings me peace of mind before my part of the world fully comes alive. It is a time for mediating and praying and thinking and creating. It is the precious “me” time that I need to tackle whatever comes later in the day. 

Sometimes I just sit and listen to the silence. I concentrate on my breathing and the gift of life that I have enjoyed. I can’t hear my heart, but I know that it is working and I suddenly feel the miracle and wonder of simply being. It is a glorious way to start the day, a time for introspection and thanksgiving. 

I was laughing with my daughters the other day. I wondered aloud why all of us, including my husband, are such introverts. We heal by being alone in a calm place where we are free to simply exist for a moment. I asked them if they thought that we were genetically inclined to introversion or if they believe that their father and I created an environment that nurtured their introverted traits. We finally decided that it was a bit of both. 

Even when my girls were babies I most enjoyed the feeding times that happened in the dark when they awoke with hunger pangs and roused me from my slumber. While it was tiring to lose my sleep, it was also quite beautiful to be alone with them hearing only their suckling sounds, their baby coos, and their breathing. Everything felt safe and comforting in those moments. We shared a closeness that imprinted our devotion to each other for all time. 

When they grew older we were all still mostly silent at the start of each day. We felt each other’s presence without much spoken acknowledgement. Mornings were slow and easy with unspoken understandings that we loved deeply. We did not need or even want boisterous greetings or salutations. Hugs and kisses and smiles were our way of awakening, not words. We could sit side by side and know love. 

My father-in-law has come to our house to recover from surgery, an almost deadly bout with Covid, and the death of his second wife. We hope he will agree to stay permanently but he is sending signals that his intent is to return home again. I think of him in the early morning and worry about his future. I also laugh at how different he is than my husband and I. 

Each morning my father-in-law comes to breakfast with a loud and cheery greeting of “Good morning!” I doubt he realizes that he jolts us with his enthusiasm, but we will never tell. We understand that he is the ultimate extrovert. He thrives on surrounding himself with people. He loves to begin long conversations before our brains are ready for such things. Breakfast is filled with lights and discussions and chatter as is all of the rest of the day. 

Now I set my alarm and arise earlier than ever to give my mind time to experience its usual routine. As long as I have my quiet time I am okay with my father-in-law’s cheery talk. I understand that he needs the company of people to heal as much as he needs medications and physical therapy. I grow more well in my alone time, but he does better surrounded my people. He loves parties while I prefer my cup of tea all by myself. 

I have learned how to adjust. I still manage to enjoy my morning rituals. Because my father-in-law retires for bed quite early, I find myself also falling asleep not long after he has retired for the night. That allows me to arise long before the rest of my neighborhood or household comes alive. I still have the moments that I need to successfully jumpstart the day. I am revitalized and ready to take on whatever surprises come my way.

This particular morning I am thinking of a sweet young man who only recently became a member of my extended family. He was a beautiful soul with a million dollar smile. We were all happy to welcome him into our fold. He and my cousin married and eventually became the parents of an adorable baby boy. Their life together were only beginning, but it seemed to be heading in a wonderful direction filled with so much love. 

This young and seemingly healthy man died suddenly from a cardiac incident while my cousin attempted to revive him. His death has shaken me and reminded me once again how fragile and precious life is. I know I can handle my extroverted father-in-law even with my introverted personality. It is only a matter of timing and keeping my ritual of meditation intact. After all, what life is really all about is celebrating each moment that we have. I know I must treasure his “good mornings” because one day I won’t hear them anymore. I hope my father-in-law stays with us. I think we need each other.

A dear friend of mine stopped over to visit with me on her way to Fort Davis, Texas recently. When she spoke of her excitement about going there I thought of my own visits to the little known place. It is a tiny but enchanting town with an interesting history associated with the fort that once served as an outpost as settlers moved west. What really impresses me about the area is the wide open sky that fills with stars on cloudless nights. It is quite a site for anyone who lives in a crowded city with so many lights that most of the stars become invisible to the eye. We often forget that they are there whether we are able to see them or not.

In Fort Davis the stars seems to fill every inch of the nighttime sky. It is a breathtaking sight for anyone, but especially for city folk. We have forgotten, or perhaps never even seen such splendor. Watching the heavens is a spiritual undertaking. It’s difficult to feel anything but awe and to gain a sense of one’s place in the universe out at Fort Davis. Somehow the grandeur of it all is a humbling experience. 

Fort Davis is fittingly quiet. It has a few restaurants and hotels for tourists who, like me, tend to be desolation freaks. There is a beauty in the wildness and solitude of the area. There is something philosophical and comforting about just quietly enjoying the sounds of nothing more than the wind or the crooning of birds. Then night comes and the sky lights up with stars.

There is an annual event called the Texas Star Party that occurs every year. People come from all over the world with their campers and tents and telescopes to partake in a love fest of the heavens. My brother and sister-in-law have spent almost every May of their married lives among to amateur and professional astronomers who go there. Only Covid had enough pull to keep them home. 

One year they took my grandson, Ian, with them. He became an overnight convert to studying the heavens. He has never forgotten what he learned, the people he met, or the passion he felt for being part of something bigger than just our little planet. He’s off for his first year of studying Aerospace Engineering at the University of Notre Dame. I suspect that he wants to help develop ways of exploring the universe to unlock more and more of its secrets.

Near Fort Davis is the University of Texas MacDonald Observatory that is perched high on a hill. The drive to the top is lovely in itself, but seeing the huge telescope seemingly in the middle of nowhere is rather amazing. There are tours there as well as educational offerings. I always have an other-worldly feeling whenever I am there. As with every other place in the area there is a kind of reverential quietness about the place.

Not far from Fort Davis is a town that has become a haven for artists of all varieties. Marfa, Texas is the perfect kind of place for developing creative projects and meeting kindred spirits. In addition the town is known for sightings of strange lights. Orbs of sometimes blue, sometimes red, sometimes white randomly appear in the night sky. They have often been called “ghost lights” and at other time they have been attributed to encounters with something from outer space. For the most part they remain a bit of an unsolved mystery that scientists attempt to explain with various conjectures. For tourists and locals it seems to be more fun to think of them as something paranormal.

Another quaint town within driving distance of Fort Davis is Alpine, Texas which is nestled in the Davis Mountains. We had an adventure there in the long ago when Jimmy Carter was President and gasoline was scarce. We had been driving in the desert for hours and were running low on gas. We drove for what seemed an eternity without encountering a gas station. As we nervously watched our gas tank creep slowly toward empty we rejoiced at the twinkling light of Alpine. 

We coasted down the mountain road on fumes wondering if there would even be a service station open that late at night. Luckily we found one before we were completely out of fuel. Then we searched for a hotel. It was very late, but one of the signs was flashing that it had a vacancy. We secured a huge and very clean room for a ridiculously low price. Before long we understood why it was still available when a long train zoomed no more than five feet away from the wall on which our bed stood. It was the first of many trains that busted through town all night long. 

I love far west Texas where people are few and the heavens are the major attraction. It is a very special place where nothing much matters but quiet and the serenity of the stars. It is a place that puts the rest of the world into perspective. It’s worth a trip there for peace of mind. While you’re there you might want to also make a wish upon a star. You have many from which to choose.

I am a rather uncomplicated person. If you think you know me, it’s a good bet that you probably do. I am quite open about who I am and how my life has unfolded. I don’t keep deep dark secrets. If I have a flaw, it might me that I am a bit too honest about myself. I have found that trait to be a somewhat off-putting to many people. I have nothing to hide, so I don’t mind admitting to mistakes that I have made or owning up to my foibles. I don’t have to worry about being caught in a lie, because I don’t make things up. I own up to my indiscretions and do my best to work being better. 

Sometimes I’m known to blurt out what I am thinking before taking the time to reconsider my words. I don’t ever intentionally set out to hurt anyone and I never quite recover when I realize that I have done so. I feel very guilty if I think that I have inadvertently made someone unhappy. I do my best to apologize and make up for such transgressions because I understand that words can sometimes come across as weapons. 

I used to hide the sorrowful aspects of my life, but along the way I learned that it was alright to admit to being weak at times. I have found that asking for help is often the most courageous thing that I might do. I also know that there is always someone who benefits from my story of survival. I use my life as a teaching moment. 

I’m mostly optimistic but there are certain things that make me anxious. I worry about the divisions in our country and the fact that we aren’t as good at allowing different opinions as we once were. I fret over the health and safety of my family and friends a bit too much. If I have an obsession it is wanting the people that I love to always be free of pain and suffering which I know is totally unrealistic.

I have a different relationship with God than many folks. I think of Him or Her as my spiritual confidante. I talk to God the way I would my most trusted friend. I have found great solace in the meditations that I spend in the presence of God’s love and wisdom. I can’t possibly see God as vengeful or only willing to help those of a particular religion. Somehow I sense that God loves us all, no matter how awful we may appear to be to ourselves or others. 

I only stole something once when I was about six years old and I atoned for that sin for decades until someone finally told me to just accept that God had forgiven me many times over. I pay my bills and my taxes on time even when it hurts. The IRS is free to audit me at any time and I will not be afraid. I have absolutely nothing to hide.

I love a good laugh and I admit to chuckling over raunchy humor. What I don’t like is making fun of someone. I’ve never found that kind of joke to be anything but verbal abuse. I see each person as a lovely gift to all of us. Nobody deserves to be made to feel bad about themselves because of immature insults or bullying. There is nothing funny about that.

I love to learn and enjoy sharing my knowledge with others. I worry about folks who are unwilling to accept scientific facts or clear evidence. I can’t really understand why so many prefer to cling to conspiracy theories rather than truth. It saddens me to see that sort of thing and makes me wonder how we teachers have failed so many. 

I love family and would give up everything I own for any member of my great big clan. Things and money are of no importance to me other than for the purpose of feeding and housing me. No object has the value of a single individual. I can’t understand people who are selfish and unwilling to share what they have. 

I suppose that to many people I am incredibly naive because I truly believe in all people. I don’t leave my doors wide open at night to tempt a thief, but I tend to think that those who do evil are either very mentally ill or have somehow been treated so horribly in their lives that they are filled with rage and don’t know how to behave. Perhaps they are simply desperate. I know that some people do such horrific things that we have no alternative than to punish them somehow, but I also believe that while they are incarcerated we should spend time and effort attempting to rehabilitate them when possible. Even better is to find such souls and work with them before they go as far as to ruin theirs and the lives of others.

I suppose that the truth is that I am a rather boring person. I just rock quietly along hoping that I am making a difference to someone. My greatest desire is for the people I know to understand that I love them and that I am here for them. They don’t ever have to worry that they are bothering me or asking too much from me. I will honestly let them know when they are asking too much of me. I hope that they know that I enjoy them just the way they are.

For me, life is really good!