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Archive for October, 2024

Three Funerals in Three Weeks

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on October 15, 2024| Leave a Comment »

That’s too many. Even if we are on the wrong end of middle-age.

It seems quite frequently we lose another old classmate, friend, or extended family member. But this last round was rough.

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First, my partner lost his brother. 

He’d spent many years disabled after a stroke, but it still hit hard. Doesn’t it always? Yet when someone is expected to pass, we can find some solace in the memories shared with those left behind, the pics of our loved one cradling grandchildren, and the boisterous gathering of all the scattered family. 

The funeral passed in a blur, with my love doing his part as a pallbearer, in spite of still recovering from back surgery. He comforted his sisters in quiet corners at the dinner afterward. Hugs and tears all around. Then everyone dispersed, pulled back into the minutiae of the day-to-day. 

Until the next family funeral.

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A few years ago, I made the agonizing decision to leave a long marriage. 

I did not know where I would land that night. Someone’s couch? A hotel? But Miss Evelyn and her clan took me in and let me rent a property from them in the very small town where I taught. Most of her children, grandchildren, and even some of her great grandchildren knew me from school and events around town, but I had not met the matriarch herself. 

Evelyn took me into her great heart and nurtured me, just as she had her six children and all their offspring and friends young and old. I spent many hours next to her chair as she stroked my hair, and I talked through the hurt and confusion and grief that clouded over me. Sometimes we sat in silence, but genuine caring needs no words. It was then I understood why so many people adored this tiny powerhouse of a woman. 

The small Catholic church overflowed at her service, with every heart a witness to a life well-lived. At the country cemetery out on the prairie, the wind sighed through the old oak trees. Evelyn would fly from here, light and free, every task finished and all duties fulfilled. All is well with my soul. Go in love, Miss Evelyn, go! Catch the capricious breeze and dip up and over the grass and flowers, past the old church and the simmering heat into the depth of the bluest sky. 

We will remain here for a time, but we are well because you loved us so well. 

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Did you hear about Tony? 

My daughter called me on the day after to ask if I knew what had happened. Did my young friend change jobs? Move? That he had driven to the end of the road, literally, and taken his life did not compute. No, that can’t be Tony. I just talked to him not long ago. He’s a teacher, a giver, a musician, a dream weaver. He’s alive!

For several days I simply refused to believe it. I reviewed the last messages from him, looked at pictures of him, remembered our conversations about education, teenagers, travel, and a myriad of other things. Yes, I knew he struggled with depression, but he was climbing out of that. He had hopes of finding his soulmate someday and raising kids of his own. How had I failed him? What did I miss? His brother confirmed the worst.

At the funeral, his mother sobbed in my arms, and I had no comfort to give. I heard the rumbling of the priest’s voice during the funeral mass, offering prayer. I whispered the response, Lord, hear our prayer, but God felt far removed. The suffering of his family lay like a heavy blanket of sorrow over his assembled friends and students. I was an intruder in their grief because my own already engulfed me. I gripped the wet tissue in my hand and held on to a faint faith. Alleluia. Alleluia.

Inwardly, I screamed all the way to the gravesite. It is not right to bury a child before his parents! Has the earth reversed course around the sun, or day turned to night? All is not well in the universe when a young man of promise, who gave so much to others, loses his hope. The pallbearers placed flowers on the coffin, and a child in front of me played with his father’s shoelaces. 

Alleluia. Alleluia.

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© 2024 Joyce Martin. All rights reserved

Note: None of my content is AI generated. Ever.

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Grandma’s Last Gift

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on October 3, 2024| Leave a Comment »

The valley sloped down in a sweep of color and texture, rich even in mid-winter. The tiny white church rested on the facing hill, just visible through the bare trees. Behind me stood my childhood home, vacant but recognizable.

I could picture myself hurdling down the sidewalk in my wagon and crashing into the yard gate, or sledding down the hill after a good snow. We sheltered in the cellar during storms, and Mother made it a cozy and secure refuge.

This was home. And with me were my two brothers and sister. We all came to be here again because of Grandma. Grandma’s death had brought us all back to Missouri. We had buried her in the cemetery at the end of the valley, and we had lingered to visit the old farm and piece together our past.

Grandma, like many of her generation, grew up poor and hard. She lost her hearing and her mother to scarlet fever at the tender age of 7. When she married, she and Grandpa raised their children in the cradle of the Meramec River Valley in Missouri in the 1930’s. Times were hard, and Grandpa would hire out to work when he could, while they struggled to keep their own farm going.

Their community life centered around the church and school on one side of the valley. Neighbors shared their struggles when in need and bounty when they had it. They knew each others’ faults, many trials, and tiny triumphs. They were a family of common experience, isolated from a changing world by the hills surrounding them.

Grandma was often called out to serve as a nurse, working up her home remedies for those recovering from childbirth, fevers, and countless ailments she had no medical name for. She took pride in her reputation as a healer, but quietly resented her lack of opportunity to become a properly trained nurse. Over her lifetime, she developed an odd collection of superstitions, folklore, herbal acumen, and medical knowledge. We all learned not to mention any symptoms, serious or otherwise, around Grandma unless we were ready for a thorough treatment with one of her mysterious concoctions.

Economic necessity forced the little family to eventually leave the country and move to the big city of St. Louis. Steady work and modernity beckoned. They lived frugally, but they had enough. Later they moved further out to the suburbs. But in all those years away, home always meant returning to the connections and memories of the little valley.

Grandma and Grandpa had 3 children. Grandma outlived her husband and my mother and uncle. She lived a long time, serving as a grandma and neighbor to many. She could be stubborn and superstitious. She had a capricious and mischievous sense of humor. She loved kids because she still wanted to act like one. She was a teller of tales, mostly embellished with each telling, which made them all the more interesting.

She hoarded everything from fabric to old magazines, and canned enough fruit and vegetables for an army division. She knew the old ways of making soap and making do, but she adapted to the new ways too. For a time she drove the winding Missouri roads with a speed and fearlessness that belied her age.

Age and illness finally caught up with her, and in her 90’s she had to be placed in a nursing home. She scarcely recognized even those closest to her and lived within a confusion of past memories and current experiences. We were grateful when she eased out of this life and into another. Grandma would not have wanted to linger in a fog of dementia.

Life is circular. My mother had married a young man from the other side of the county, and they came to live in that same valley that follows the way of the Meramec River. They spent years there, cradling the growth of their young family. I was the youngest of 4 children, and we moved from Missouri when I was 3. My memories of that time are snapshots in my mind, vivid but fleeting and few. The family stories fill out the gaps in my recollection of that time and place.

To stand in the yard of the old farm house with my grown siblings was a moment of exquisite meaning.  It was the closest I have been to the beginning of who I am in this world.

Grandma’s life spanned almost an entire century and touched hundreds of souls.  It gives me hope that we can all live in a way that brings good to the world. Thank you, Grandma, for this last gift.

© 2024 Joyce Martin. All rights reserved

Note: None of my content is AI generated. Ever.

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You may also find my writing on joyous Road on Substack& Joyce Martin on Medium

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Porch Sittin’

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on October 3, 2024| Leave a Comment »

It’s about time someone wrote some instructions for porch sittin’, which is becoming a lost art, especially among folks who rush about in a hurry all the time. Be forewarned. Porch sittin’ is not a sport. It is not competitive, and everyone is a winner.  Most people can achieve a high level of success in porch sittin’ with minimal effort. In fact, arriving at and maintaining a condition of total lack of exertion for a prolonged period of time is the ultimate goal. 

Any porch with room for sittin’ will do, whether the domicile is in the country or the city. A front porch, back porch, side porch, balcony, patio, or stoop will all do just fine. A view of the neighbors’ may be preferred by some, as keeping tabs on their comings and goings may add to the sitter’s pleasure. A sitter can choose a lawn chair, rocking chair, bench, swing, or a step for sittin’. Dawn and dusk are prime times for porch sittin’, but any time works well too.

Reading the newspaper or a good book is certainly encouraged when a sitter is sittin’ solo, but only as a means of winding down. Activities like crocheting and whittling are likewise acceptable, as they keep the hands busy and the tongue free if company is about. Cards or dominoes are fine, but an intense level of competition can be detrimental to the porch sittin’ process of relaxation. Taking a refreshment of personal choice is almost essential, and having it in hand before sittin’ down is recommended (with refills nearby). 

After all the practical details are tended to, a porch sitter can concentrate on the fullest porch sittin’ experience. Considering the way things are in our hustle-bustle world, porch sittin’ is an excellent way to step off the fast track and watch the train go by, so to speak. If we’re always in motion and never see how fast we’re going, we can’t see the progress we’ve made or tell in what direction we’re headed. We might solve a few more knotty problems in the world if we all did a bit more porch sittin’ and a little less jostling and shouting. 

Some of life’s most momentous events, such as marriages, business ventures, and career changes have their beginnings while porch sittin’. Either we first conceive of them while in our contemplative state, or share our first thoughts of them while porch sittin’ with our loved ones. The porch generally provides a better place for sharing those things that are too momentous to toss out in passing. 

Porch sittin’ is all about perspective. When we’re porch sittin’, we’re looking out at everyone else, and not in on ourselves. We’re sittin’ still, and the rest of the world is speeding by. Porch sittin’ requires consideration and reflection on where we’ve been and where we’re going, and most importantly, where we’re at right now.

How do we tell if we’ve achieved porch sittin’ success? Well, that’s the beauty of it. That state of ultimate relaxation is different for everyone. For me, I consider it a success when the birds and squirrels take me as part of the landscape. My worries leave my mind, and contentment seeps down into my bones. Regret and sadness ease into memory. Time hovers between early and late. Life is what it is, and that is enough. 

Take my advice if it’s been a while, and try porch sittin’ again. I’ve found that indulging in this particular activity won’t increase my bank account or my IQ. It won’t make me or my better half more attractive or more accommodating. The problems I had when I sat down will still be there when I get up. In fact, porch sittin’ won’t change anything, except maybe me. We have nothing to lose and much to gain. Happy sittin’.

© 2024 Joyce Martin. All rights reserved

Note: None of my content is AI generated. Ever.

Thank you for reading! Please subscribe below!

You may also find my writing on joyous Road on Substack & Joyce Martin on Medium

You may tip my writing at: https://buymeacoffee.com/joycemartin

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