Her Spirit

Hope Remains

herspirit — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 22:56:18 -0600

My husband and I have recently received one of "those calls," the kind you fear getting in the middle of the night but is more likely to come on an otherwise exquisite day when you are minding your own business. Drinking tea, perhaps, out of your favorite mug, the one you bought in Colonial Williamsburg, back when your father was still alive. Maybe you're "googling" vacation getaways or updating your Facebook page.

True Confessions of a Calendar Girl

herspirit — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 11:12:37 -0600

True Confessions: I have a calendar problem. Okay, I really have an "office supply" problem, having been known to buy pens, crayons, and notebooks every fall as if I were still at Hattie Casey Elementary School. Highlighters and mechanical pencils? Don't get me started. Nothing much makes me happier than the new Levenger catalog. It's embarrassing, but at least it's legal.

Role Reversal

herspirit — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 21:48:51 -0600

The players: Mother, who is 88, and me, her 48-year-old baby.

The scene: Mother's apartment at the retirement "village" where she lives in Mississippi.

The situation: Getting dressed to go out for lunch.

Mother: "Can you help me with this zipper? I can't seem to get it all the way up on this dress."

Me: "Sure, no problem. There you go."

Mother: "I used to help you get dressed, you know."

The Heart of Hospice: See for Yourself Tonight (Feb. 26)

herspirit — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 13:34:10 -0600

“You’re too sensitive,” said my father years ago when I told him I was volunteering with Alive Hospice. “That’s exactly the reason I want to do it,” I responded.

That enriching experience led me to work for Alive as well, in the community relations department. Learning what hospice really is changed my life. It helped me fear death less, and to claim the reality of the live cycle with renewed energy.

If the Spirit Moves...

herspirit — Sun, 21 Feb 2010 19:42:52 -0600

I am not a hand-waver. I am an Episcopalian. The most active we get in worship is a kneel or two, topped off with an occasional crossing of one's self after communion. Last week, though, I spent three days with people from all over the country (and a few from outside the United States) who were, as a group, much more physical than I when it comes to matters of God.

What Does Love Look Like to You?

herspirit — Tue, 16 Feb 2010 10:50:05 -0600

I spent many, many, many Valentine's Days all by my lonesome. One of the particular low points might have been when I was living in Washington, DC. I was in my thirties, unmarried, hadn't had a date in, well, a really long time.

Worth Repeating

herspirit — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 17:37:39 -0600

I do not pretend to understand any of what noted scientist Stephen Jay Gould had to say about "punctuated equilibrium" or "branching evolution" during his lifetime.

Does That Belong to You?

herspirit — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 23:01:47 -0600

A young father talks of this three-year-old child who has just discovered these two words: "That's mine."

Whether the object in question really "belongs" to the child or not (a toy, perhaps), the boy marks it as his by saying those two words over and over again. "That's mine."

"It can be anything," says the father. "His pajamas. A toy. My pajamas. The dog. Everything he touches seems to him to be 'his.'"

Interesting question, that. What, really, can we claim to belong to us and us alone? Anything that matters?

At a Standstill

herspirit — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 19:31:40 -0600

I am not a really physically active person, but I don't seem to like sitting still, either. That's just one of the seemingly conflicting aspects of my personality. Anyway, I've had to stay put more than usual lately, and I'm trying to use my downtime wisely.

I've been sick, with a head cold that will not let me be. My husband, Precious, is trying to teach me that "resting" does not do you much good if you are writing on your laptop, reading your Kindle, and responding to text messages.

Step by Step

herspirit — Sun, 31 Jan 2010 20:15:10 -0600

I was several steps behind a family on the staircase at Davis-Kidd in Green Hills Mall when I heard one of the three children begin screaming, "I can't see Mommy! I can't see Mommy!"

Immediately the father picked up the smallest girl and lifted her so she could get a glimpse of her mother, who was ahead of the pack with the other two young ones. The screaming stopped, the tears were wiped away, and the family continued toward the door.