I simply can’t resist sharing more Sun Tzu with you, especially as I unravel Taoist thinking for myself. A little bit about me: I’ve practiced martial arts and dabbled in healing arts for over eleven years and have been aware that both arts dip their philosophies in Taoism. So, in reading Taoist philosopy on both these arts, I was struck but not surprised by the emphasis placed on their similarities, i.e. they both deal with disharmony and both believe that the knowledge of a problem is also key to its solution.

For example, in The Book of Balance and Harmony (Chung-ho chi/Zhongho ji), a medieval Taoist work, states, “Deep knowledge of principle knows without seeing, strong practice of the Way accomplishes without striving. Deep knowledge is to ‘know without going out the door, see the way of heaven without looking out the window.’ Strong action is to ‘grow ever stronger, adapting to all situations.” (Art of War: an illustrated edition, trans. Thomas Cleary, introduction, p. 11)

Deep knowledge is to be aware of disturbance before disturbance, to be aware of knowledge of danger before danger, to be aware of destruction before destruction, to be aware of calamity before calamity. Strong action is training the body without being burdened by the body, exercising the mind without being used by the mind, working in the world without being affected by the world, carrying out tasks without being obstructed by tasks.

By deep knowledge of principle, one can change disturbance into order, change danger into safety, change destruction into survival, change calamity into fortune. By strong action on the Way, one can bring the body to the realm of longevity, bring the mind to the sphere of mystery, bring the world to great peace, and bring tasks to great fulfillment.

Taoist literature, then, strives to help develop special sensitivity and responsiveness to master living situations.

…Indeed, to be able to do something before it exists, sense something before it becomes active, see something before it sprouts, are three abilities that develop interdependently. Then nothing is sensed but is comprehended, nothing is undertaken without response, nowhere does one go without benefit (The Book of Balance and Harmony as quoted in The Art of War, p. 13).

Here’s a quote on martial arts:

In martial arts, it is important that strategy be unfathomable, that form be concealed, and that movements be unexpected, so that preparedness against them be impossible. What enables a good general to win without fail is always having unfathomable wisdom and a modus operandi that leaves no tracks. Only the formless cannot be affected. Sages hide in unfathomability, so their feelings cannot be observed; they operate in formlessness, so their lines cannot be crossed (The Art of War, p. 16).

On the heart, strength and adaptation:

“Using order to deal with the disorderly, using calm to deal with the clamorous, is mastering the heart…Standing your ground awaiting those far away, awaiting the weary in comfort, awaiting the hungry with full stomachs, is mastering strength…Avoiding confrontation with orderly ranks and not attacking great formations is mastering adaptation” (pp. 158-60).

On benefit and harm:

“Therefore the considerations of the intelligent always include both benefit and harm. As they consider benefit, their work can expand; as they consider harm, their troubles can be resolved” (p. 165).

On the importance of consistency:

“If you are inconsistent in your feelings, you will lose dignity and trust” (Wang Xi, p. 217).

I’m always struck by quotes and *when* they find me…choosing to believe there are messages embedded within them for me. Lately, I’ve been learning valuable lessons about knowing oneself, feeling confident about that knowledge and choosing to employ that knowledge towards transformation and not towards reaction. Reading the Art of War, then, is timely and incredibly thought provoking. I originally picked it up to glean wisdoms as to how to be an effective warrior in a war zone, whether it be the work place or dueling with challenging personalities. One passage, in particular, which struck me is this:

Thus it is said that one who knows the enemy and knows himself will not be endangered in a hundred engagements. One who does not know the enemy but knows himself will sometimes be victorious, sometimes meet with defeat. One who knows neither the enemy nor himself will invariably be defeated in every engagement. ~ Sun Tzu

It appears, then, that to be successful in life and living, one must know oneself and not allow oneself to be victimized by others. It’s an important lesson to learn, and it always pains me when those close to me still struggle with it. Recently, I witnessed someone close to me allow himself to be attacked for no good reason, and my hunch was that this occurred because he doubted who he was and what he was about for even a second. This, in turn, allowed the aggressive force to infiltrate, casting more doubt within him and breeding more fear than was necessary. It’s taken him some time to recover from the experience, too.

The lesson seems to be this: be so full of one’s own essence that it is simply impossible for others to invade. It’s a different story, of course, when one invites others into that inner space and quite another when people bully themselves in unannounced and uninvited.

With this in mind, I was struck by what Zhang Yu had to say on the topic:

A later chapter says that good warriors make others come to them, and do not go to others. This is the principle of emptiness and fullness of others and self. When you induce opponents to come to you, then their force is always empty; as long as you do not go to them, your force is always full. Attacking emptiness with fullness is like throwing stones on eggs - the eggs are sure to break.

Perhaps the overall lesson is to believe in ourselves, even during battle, and trust that our fullness will defeat any emptiness which rushes towards us. Perhaps, in that moment, if we simply breathe, we can conquer all things, leaving us more full like stones and less fragile than eggs.

Goodness! I’m sorry to be away so long, dear readers! Life has been a selfish dance partner as of late, keeping my card filled and whirling me faster than I knew was possible. Whew. I think the world has finally stopped spinning. Either that or I’ve now acquired the grace and balance of a dancer. I’m hoping it’s the latter.

So, I promised you an update and update you I shall. I think the detoxification was a success. I feel better and more grounded than I did 2 weeks ago…more energetic, spritely, nourished and agile. What’s even better is that this way of feeling has moved past the confines of my physical body and has flirted with the terrains of my mind and soul.

Getting more sleep certainly helped, as did cleaning up my diet. Of course, this isn’t to say that I *completely* resisted those homemade pumpkin flax cookies or the banana cake I made on the weekends. Granted, I *did* make them to share with others, but one HAS to try one’s own cooking or baking before sharing it with others, right? Hee, hee. If only you all could see the Chesire cat grin I’m wearing right now as I justify my noshing of said baked goods.

More seriously, though, I found that as I made subtle changes in my diet, my body changed, too. It performed better. It struck me as being more intelligent, probably because I was fueling it with foods still ripe with their own subtle intelligences. For example, instead of eating dried cereal with flax meal and raisins in the morning with soy milk, I switched to homemade smoothies made with frozen organic fruit, soy milk, flax meal and a delicious chocolate protein powder. I was amazed that such a combination would stave off hunger longer than all that fiber found in my morning cereal…leaving me feeling energized.

In the midst of all this physical detox, I realized something about myself, too. I discovered that the trick to detoxification, whether it be for the body or mind, is simply to observe all and to resist reaction.

I think to warrant one’s detoxification a success, one must play the role of the Observer. For example, one afternoon I noticed that my body was craving chocolate; however, I observed the feeling and let it go. I did not react but observed that my body was really just tired and was looking for a jolt of energy. With this intelligence at the forefront of my mind, I chose to slip into a nap instead of reaching for that tempting piece of dark chocolate. Welcoming the Observer into my life allows me to react intelligently to my life…I cannot be lazy about my decisions in this mode.

This practice, in turn, has allowed me to detoxify my work space. Those of you who follow this blog know that I consider the environment in which I work to be toxic and spiritually depressed. It’s filled with negative energy and souls in chaos. The result has been that I leave work feeling exhausted and just MISERABLE. However, practicing observation these past two weeks has allowed me to deepen my spirituality in surprising ways. Instead of reacting and allowing the drama there to affect me, I have chosen instead to observe it all - watching it unfold like a play. Because of this choice, the situation has been transformed. It has allowed me to pull myself from that current of illusions and chaos and feel peace.

It’s funny. You begin a journey with one goal in mind but end up on another one more rich and rewarding than you dreamed possible. Hm. I suppose this makes more room for pumpkin cookies, too, eh? (wink, wink)

I’ve been thinking lately about the effects stress has on one’s physical and mental wellbeing. In fact, if I’m being entirely honest, I’m *really* thinking about the effect it has on me - body, mind and spirit. Now that I’m in DC, I find that I’m almost in a constant state of stress and agitation. I feel stressed out at work. I feel stressed out when I maneuver DC traffic. I feel stressed out over my lack of interaction with the natural world. So, I find, not surprising, that I’m definitely stressed when I come home, sometimes needing hours to decompress.

Enough.

The amount of stress I face daily here was largely unknown by me until I returned to Montana recently and let it all go! I indulged in healing waters, the sound of silence, delightful conversations with friends, both old and new, saw family and laughed a heck of a lot. I felt lighter, happier, more free. And, this absence of stress made to pause to consider how much I DO carry around here and wonder what can be done to ameliorate the situation.

If I look at how I’ve been living lately, I think the very things I do to try to heal the stress in my life might just be adding to it. For example, in order to save time when I come home from work, I’ve been popping frozen foods into the microwave and calling it “dinner”. I’m *sure* this is not giving me the proper nutrition I need! Also, I’m quite positive that because this food is not living, it has lost much of its raw intelligence and may actually require my body to work harder at processing/absorbing it. Here’s another example, because I’ve been skimping on sleep the last several weeks, I am not in the best shape emotionally to handle the ordinary stress in my life, not to mention the extraordinary. Things always seem worse when one has not gotten enough rest, and I attribute much of my down mood here to lack of sleep and real mental rest.

EEK. Just thinking about it all makes me cranky.

Now comes the fun part. Okay, dear readers, I’ve decided to let you in on my plan to reduce stress in the hopes that you’ll help keep me accountable. I’ve decided that for the next two weeks, I’m going to embark upon a plan to reduce stress and increase my personal health in the following ways:

First off, I’m going to get no less than 7 hours of sleep a night. 8 is preferable, but I’ll take 7. I’m tired of feeling, well, TIRED.

Second, I’m going to eat raw foods and increase the amount of fresh fruit and vegetables I’m intaking. My hope is that I’ll feel more alive, lighter and balanced on Monday, September 17.

Third, exercise, while important, needs to be more than just a 5 mile run. With this in mind, I’m going to make sure I work in meditation, tai chi, yoga and pilates. I find that these activities generally increase my energy and don’t leave me feeling sore and depleted like a hard run does.

Four, cut out all caffeine from my diet, including that found in tea. I typically don’t drink a lot of caffeinated products, but lately I’ve been sipping more coffee than I’m used to, and I really don’t know what it’s doing to my body.

Five, make sure I’m journaling, painting, writing more often. I need to bring in more “play” into my daily life.

Hm. Seems like a good place to stop for now. I’ll definitely keep you posted on how I’m feeling and what I’m learning. In the meantime, feel free to check in to make sure I haven’t sneaked any ginger cookies or coffee!

Before I left Montana, Justin loaned me his copy of The Art of Teaching by Jay Parini, accompanied, of course, by a knowing smile and a “I think you’ll enjoy this book”. He was RIGHT. I devoured it this past week and noticed two things about myself. First, how much of the book I identified with and second, how much I miss teaching.

Parini’s right when he says:

“Teaching-again, like writing-is a brave act of self-presentation, and with every new class, the need to reinvent oneself is vividly, even scarily, at hand. In fact, good teachers have no choice but to consider their public selves in a calculated fashion…The classroom is a form of theater, and the teacher must play various roles, often in an exaggerated manner: wise man (or woman!), fool, tempter, comforter, coach, confessor. And that is just for starters” (p. 6).

Now that it’s late August, ’tis the time I usually return to the office to draft new syllabi and gear up for another year in the classroom, interacting and learning from my students. It’s strange for me not to find myself in the academic arena this year, especially after a bonny year at the University of Montana. The work I do now is challenging and it makes me think and problem solve. However, it doesn’t capture me like teaching does. There’s a sense of excitement in stepping into the classroom, armed with corny jokes and energy to plow through the classics and world issues; it feeds me in deep ways. I dress to impress my students, carefully pulling together outfits which match not only my mood but also the mood embedded in the literature I plan to cover that day.

Teaching also allowed me to be of service to my students. They, in turn, allowed me into the hallowed cathedrals of their minds. I got to be all the things Parini mentions, but I would also throw “comic” to the mix…not only for the sake of alliteration but also because I have a secret penchant for the stage. I have been known to strut around deep in thought, stand on chairs, hold an impromptu yoga lesson (when I notice too many yawns in my audience) and meet in coffee shops. I do all of these things to keep my students guessing and to show them that learning can happen anywhere, sometimes most fruitfully outside the proscribed parameters of our classroom and syllabi.

Like Frost, I, too, “hate academic ways”. In his words:

“I fight everything academic. Think of what time we waste in trying to learn academically-and what talent we staunch with academic teaching.”

I suppose that I would consider myself a bit of a rebel in my approach to teaching. I feel it should be partly scripted and partly spontaneous. There should be a wildness and unpredictability about it. Justin once asked me what my teaching style was and before I could even think, I blurted out with the “teach by the seat of my pants” method. Of course, I *do* prepare, but I also trust that I’ll impart just the right knowledge at just the right time.

Parini adds to this when he says:

“I often feel that the wildness has gone out of teaching, a wildness that pushes students to question basic assumptions, about themselves and the world. It is much safer to rely on “content,” to believe that if students have studied a certain sequence of texts, have taken notes and sat exams on this material, that they have somehow moved closer to being educated. In truth, it is having a stance toward this material, a tone, a manner of address, that matters more” (p. 88).

Or, as Jane Austen once mused, “Run mad as often as you choose, but do not faint.” So, too, should it be with teaching. Take paths, which some may frown upon because they’re “outside the box”, but always retain some semblance of control in your wild ramblings.

The point is that we’re all teachers in some capacity or another. Many of us DO find ourselves in the classroom, but my hunch is that many more of us teach in the school of life.

The trick now is to remind myself that I’m still teaching and learning…the stage is simply a new one, set in an unexpected place. Still, I yearn for the life of academia and hope one day to return to those sacred university grounds, populated with eccentric personalities merging and thinking together in diverse ways.

“Listen to the sound of silence…” I think Simon and Garfunkel were really on to something!

I’ve been ruminating on and chewing this concept of silence all day today, as I’m learning it’s a rare commodity here. Living in DC, even in the middle of the night, I hear the dissonant strains of the symphony conducted by the mighty Beltway. In my office, I hear every conversation which passes amongst my co-workers. In my apartment, I hear the banter of my roommate and her boyfriend.

Sometimes these sounds are comforting, especially if I’m feeling lonely. Ultimately, they make me crave the total absence of sound, if even for a few moments.

I’ve been privileged to have experienced this absence of sound just a few times in my life and felt filled and caressed by each experience. The first time I noticed it was when I went out to Montana with my sister, Manna, for the first time. I think I was 14 or so. Anyway, Seeley Lake was so quiet, especially at night, that it actually spooked me at first. However, after conquering my fear of silence, I felt lulled by Nature’s chorus of greebs, loons and owls and the wind as it sailed through the pine trees surrounding our aunt’s home.

Then, after I graduated from college, I went down to Australia to spend time with my sister, who had been in school there. One of the most memorable things we did was to hang out with the Aborigines at Uluru (think Ayer’s Rock), go on walkabouts with them, hear their stories and witness their customs. One night, Amanda and I went on a camel ride through the desert and I was struck by the silence which found us. What floored me was that I could actually HEAR the sound of the sand shifting under the weight of our camel’s feet as she treaded along in caravan.

A few years past that, I found myself in Israel’s Negev desert, camping with the Bedouin. Here is an excerpt from the journal I kept during my stay in the Middle East:

“Since we were stationed on a cliff, we saw simultaneously the sunset and moonrise. Both were equally gorgeous. The moon was dusted with periwinkle, indigo, rose and light hues of pink - almost candy coated. The sun, with its vibrant oranges and reds, was rich. Standing there on top of that cliff, enjoying perfect silence, and being surrounded by so much stark beauty, I felt overwhelmed. There is a sensuality to the desert with its hot air continually caressing one’s naked skin and finding still more skin, unrevealed, to tease. I felt truly alive, completely happy and at peace with the world.”

Living in Montana for the past year was a precious gift filled with silence and muted natural murmerings. I yearn for it so often these days and find that I must go within to play in it. It is only through yoga and meditation that I can swim in silent places and revive myself. Only then do I feel restored and ready to face another day of honking horns, sirens, traffic and the raised, excited, caffeinated voices of all those who live here.

Those of you who have silent places near you, enjoy them while you have them…they are more restorative than you know.

And so the journey to find new places absent of sound continues for me here. Stay tuned…I’ll let you know what I discover.

There has been much movement in my life as of late, and I’m only now catching up on blogging it all. Thanks for being patient, dear readers.

This past week, I’ve found myself surrounded by poetry and community, and I’ve been touched by both. Sometimes we think we know why we get uprooted from the places we love, but I’m finding those reasons are never the true reasons. For example, when I learned that the University of Montana could no longer keep me in Missoula, I fell into a bit of a funk. How was it that the place that finally felt like home could not find a way to keep me? As my family can attest, there were many tears and gnashing of teeth over the knowledge of this. Okay, *maybe* it wasn’t that dramatic, but it felt like it!

Then I learned that Justin was headed to London to pursue his Ph.D. Ah, ha, said I. The reason behind my transplant must not just be about a bigger paycheck but it also must be about being geographically closer to him. Yes! That’s it! Cheaper flights! More money in my pocket to pay for visiting! Eureka!

And, I’m quite sure that these are some of the reasons behind the universe’s desire for me to be in DC. The exciting news is that I’m still learning and discovering other reasons ushering in my journey back East. One, I think, is the spiritual community I’ve joined in Georgetown. For many years now, I’ve been drawn to Spiritualism; however, the places I’ve lived have not had churches there and so that desire has been left largely unfilled…until now.

I’ve only been going to this particular community for the past two weeks, but I’ve fallen in love with its message and people. In many ways, the teachings remind me of those inherent in Buddhism. For example, we meditate to connect to the divine; we seek to expand our awareness; we yearn to be of service to others, etc…

I listen to each week’s messages with an open mind, and they just feel right to me. Even better, after the services, we all gather for a few hours of fellowship over homemade goodies, tea and some kind of yummy dessert! The people I encounter radiate love and kindness. I bask in it and find that this energy fills me up, sustaining me for another week of work. The community at this church is so entirely relaxing and comfortable - it feels like home. Today, as I chatted with these good folk, I found myself thinking, “Self…Justin would LOVE this! My friends, like Liz, would LOVE this!” Now, I just need to get them to visit during a weekend so they can experience this place for themselves.

What strikes me as fascinating about these encounters is that the church draws a largely African American audience, and, as one of the few Caucasians in the group, I feel as if I’ve been adopted by these strong African American women who call me “baby” and “honey child”. I have much to learn from them! O, but they ARE wise!

They call me the “writer” there, which I find kind of humorous as I haven’t published anything yet. THEY all tell me it’s just a matter of time, though. (wink, wink) Still, their messages are powerful. Over our meal tonight, one woman looked at me and said, “So, you’re a writer!” I paused and replied shyly, “Well, it’s what they say.” With a great “hmph!”, the elderly woman next to me stopped her feasting and with great fanfare exclaimed, “Child! You have to claim that! Yes, you ARE a writer!” She was right…I *did* have to claim that, and it was a powerful lesson in learning to accept my gifts and talents and, perhaps, even my destiny.

My hunch is that this community I’ve found will not only cradle and support me, but it will also open the doors in other communities which I’m destined to know. May I be able to return their warmth, strength and hospitality.

Now THAT, my dear readers, is an incredibly brilliant and amazing thing!

I wonder which communities you have for yourselves and what lessons they’re teaching you!

I finished Barghouti’s book I Saw Ramallah recently, and I want to share some of the passages which really made me pause and think on what he was expressing.

About the telephone:

“The details of the lives of all whom we love, the fluctuations of their fortunes in this world, all begin with the ringing of a telephone. A ring for joy, a ring for sorrow, a ring for yearning” (p. 127).

About feeling like a stranger in another land:

“Life dictates that the stranger acclimatize every day. This might be difficult at the beginning, but it becomes less difficult with the passage of days and years. Life does not like the grumbling of the living. It bribes them with different degrees of contentment and of acceptance of exceptional circumstances.” (p. 131).

About the pillow:

“The pillow is the register of our lives. The first draft of our story that, each new night, we write without ink and tell without a sound. It is the field of memory that has been plowed and fertilized and watered in the darkness that is ours. Each person has his darkness. Each person has his right to darkness. These are the scribbles that come to the mind without order, without structure. the pillow is our white cotton court of law, smooth to touch, cruel of sentence. When it has received our heads, crowded with joy and contentment or loss or shame, the pillow becomes a conscience. The pillow is our daily Day of Judgment. A personal Day of Judgment for each one of us who remains alive. An early Day of Judgment that does not wait for our final entry to eternal peace…the pillow claims nothing. A microphone may lie. Tender words of love, pulpits, figures, letters, reports, preachers, leaders, doctors, a mother - may lie. The pillow is woven out of truth. Truth as a secret, hidden by the calculations of daytime” (pp. 180-181).

You just have to love the Dalai Lama. More and more now, I find myself turning to his teachings to bring me comfort and peace during my haitus on the East Coast.

How odd and serendipitous was it, then, when on the first day of my new job, I came across the following words of the Dalai Lama:

Everything that endures involves more than one.

‘Tis a very simple statement, but it packs an incredibly strong message. American culture prides itself on its independence and, even as children, we, its people, are taught to be independent, too. I think about self-help books or do-it-yourself home repairs, etc… Women, especially, were taught by second wave feminists not to need anybody, especially men, for anything. Think about the slogan from feminists involved in the first wave of the movement (also heard in a U2 song), “A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.”

My point is that Americans strike me as very solitary and, often, lonely people.

Growing up in a semi-rural section of Ohio, people in my community always marveled at our Amish neighbors and their understanding of the Dalai Lama’s message. They have endured as a community because they think like a community. When one member of that community loses a barn or house due to a fire or other catastrophe, all the Amish men and women get together for the day and hold a “barn or house raising”. With each person working alongside others, they manage to accomplish feats which take mainstream Americans months to complete.

What might we be able to accomplish in this world if we suddenly decided to invite others into our lives and work together to accomplish our dreams and goals? What kind of enduring legacy might we leave behind?

The Dalai Lama’s words have resonated with me on another level, too. I think about my relationship with Justin and what an adjustment (though a very good one) it has been for me to let Justin into my world, to invite him to roll up his sleeves alongside me and get his hands dirty. Let me explain. I have been called “Superwoman” by my family and friends for years now because I have this uncanny ability to get many things done in a short period of time. I laugh about this nickname with them, but what I don’t share with them are the many sacrifices I have to make in order to get these things accomplished. What they don’t know is that this “Superwoman” is tired of being “Super”…she wants a sidekick…hm…make that partner…someone with whom to journey through life’s “kazams” and “pows”!

Growing up, you’d never hear me say the words “I need”. Along these lines, I also usually eschewed offers of help (unless I was at the end of my tether), thinking that in order to be considered “strong”, I had to prove that I could do things all by myself.

Thank GOODNESS I grew out of that way of thinking! I bring this up because this is yet another lesson I have learned from Justin - that it’s okay to say things like “I need”. What a relief because I really do need him!

My hunch is that very soon Justin and I will become more than just individuals, and I’m excited for the work we’ll do together to help this world of ours to expand and grow. I’m happy to hang up my cape and join hands and lives instead.

Hm….of course…if he *wants* a cape, then that’d be okay, too. (wink, wink, babe!)

 

On Sunday, August 12, 2007, my paternal grandmother, Muriel Mae McGannon, graduated from life and passed on. Below you’ll find the small obituary which ran about her:

McGANNON, Muriel M., 82, of Warwood Avenue, Wheeling, died Sunday, August 12, 2007 in Wheeling Hospital.

Muriel was born October 1, 1924 in Brooklyn, New York, a daughter of the late Robert and Agnes (Devlin) Fales. She was retired from the former Reichert’s Furniture Store, Wheeling and was a member of St. Joseph Cathedral, Wheeling.

In addition to her parents, Muriel was preceded in death by a daughter, Kathleen Sworden; two brothers, Robert and Warren Fales; and a sister, Joan Munoz.

Surviving are her sons, Edward M. McGannon and his wife, Catherine of Medina, Ohio and Kevin McGannon and his wife, Susan of North Ogden, Utah; a sister, Roberta Lee of Long Island, New York; a grandson, Kevin Michael McGannon of North Ogden, Utah; and two granddaughters, Kelly McGannon of Washington, D.C. and Amanda McGannon of Chicago, IL.

There will be no visitation. Funeral services and interment will be private and held at the convenience of the family.

Memorial contributions may be made to either the American Cancer Society or a charity of the donor’s choice.

Though I wasn’t that close to her, her passing still has affected me in ways I didn’t expect. I’ve been rather emotional this week - crying for what seems like no reason and feeling incredibly exhausted. I feel more restored now, especially now that I’m beginning to sleep through the night again. And, I’ve been struck by the kindnesses of others, especially those shown to me by my new co-workers, going out of their way to sign a card expressing their condolences. Even though I’m in the beginning phases of knowing them, I get the sense that they are all really good people.

What do I remember about my grandmother? I remember that she made the best mashed potatoes of anyone I ever knew. I remember that she was spunky and fiercely Irish, even in her own quiet ways. I remember that she was made of tough stuff to have endured the tragedies in her life as she did, namely, losing a father when she was just 15, leaving a loving family behind in Brooklyn to follow the man she loved to West Virginia.  

After learning the news of her passing, I hopped into the car and met my father in West Virginia to give him a needed hug and to help with the arrangements and closing of her estate. What I further learned about her was that she never wanted to burden or bother anyone with her troubles…that she cared deeply for those around her (frequently bringing her worse off neighbors plates of food)…and that, most likely in dying, she achieved greater peace than she ever knew in this life.

My only regret is that I never got the chance to know her as a woman - to learn how she really coped with the tragedies in her life, as well as the dreams she had for herself.

Though I may not have known her well, what I do know is that I carry bits and pieces of her with me daily. For example, the fact that through her I inherit a legacy of spunky, Irish women filled with moxie and wit. Knowing her, she would encourage me never to lose my voice and to do good for others.

I plan to do so, Gram.

May your journey go smoothly elsewhere and know that I love you!

You shall be missed.