October Love

Her love was used, much like a baby's tarnished silver rattle. No longer bright and shining, but mottled and blemished with pain and longing. His, even after all these years, still fresh. They met in the October of their lives, after so much had gone before. Could they find love with each other? He, wise and practical; she, scattered and impulsive.

They met online. Seeking long-term love and commitment, they both claimed. Their affair began with sweet words exchanged, leading to long love letters in which they professed their undying devotion, their desire for one another. There were powerful emotions and hormones with neurotransmitters surging through them both. They became literally obsessed with one another.
But there were disappointments in the beginning. She was demanding, he was unavailable much of the time. He was steady, she was flighty. He was focused on the target, she could think only of kissing him for the first time. They argued, they fought; leaving them both exhausted and drained. Their fights were over meaningless things. He would change plans, thinking little of it, while she would be devastated by yet another delay in their first meeting.

But they did damage, those fights. Fights always do damage even when both parties say all is forgiven. The pain remains, latent, waiting for an opportunity to surge forward and say "see, no way can we find love at our age. It won't happen. It cannot happen."
So they waited. Nervous hope and and anxiety plagued them both before that first meeting. They tried to communicate their feelings, neither was successful. And so they waited.
She fantasized about him. Thoughts of his kiss created a near-constant state of physical arousal. Feeling the moistness between her legs embarrassed her. Her post-menopausal state completely forgotten; she reveled in these new sensations. She felt as though she was floating in some other-worldly place, feeling only his imagined kisses, the hardness of his body pressed against hers.
He thought about her too. He wanted to believe she was the woman he had been waiting for. But how could he really be sure? She's nuts, he thought to himself after yet another stupid argument in their new romance. She is completely unreasonable, he thought to himself. "How does she not understand how important my work is? Why can't she be patient like me?" It was beyond his understanding.
The sun was setting low with rich orange flames, tentacles of light stretching across the horizon. He walked slowly along the waters edge, remembering those early days. "I was ready to give up, ready to walk away." Tears filled his ancient eyes as he looked toward the house and thought about that crazy blue-eyed girl who had so taken his heart away. He wondered about her, as he often did.
He wondered, where had she come from? "Why was I so drawn to her? And why, dear Lord, why did she drive me so crazy? What exactly was I supposed to do about that woman? The woman I loved so much, but with a fiery personality that scared me a little? What does a man do when the love of his life is so frightening?"
As he approached the window, he could see flame from the hearth flickering and it warmed his heart as much as it warmed the room within. Smoke curled in the air as it emerged from the chimney, the brisk smell of an early winter, he thought.
He reached the door and stepped inside. Music was playing softly in another room, and the aroma of fresh-baked bread filled the air. Stepping out of his boots he stared across the room in quiet thought. "I wonder what would have happened if things had been different?" he thought to himself.
His reverie was broken by a sudden outburst of singing. He turned and saw her there as she broke into song along with the radio and a smile crept across his face. She is still crazy, he thought. "My crazy, beautiful love" he thought. It had now been 32 years since they met. He remembered her face the day they married. He remembered her promise to him. He remembered that she vowed to love and cherish him always. And she had done exactly that. They had many highs and lows over their time together. Now, as he looked into those blue eyes he first fell in love with, he thanked God.

Faith?

I cannot teach you about faith my brother. It’s essence defies clear understanding; ambiguity surrounds it. Yet this is the essence of faith. Faith derives not from rational logic but from that for which no rational logic exists. No rational logic explains the love between this man and that woman, nor between those two women nor those two men. Rational logic is inadequate to explain love and thus to explain faith for faith is love and love is faith; separate yet intertwined. 

I cannot see salt in sea water yet I know it is there, as I know faith is there; a tautology explains it. “There is evidence of the salt,”  you say? “Taste it and see,” you say. 

I say drink in the flavor of faith. Taste it. Swirl it around in your mouth. How does it taste ? How does Hope taste? Or Love? What is the flavor of desire? Is it not part of the spice garden that is the soul? So it is with Faith brother. So it is.

“God does not exist!” you exclaim. “There is no evidence.” My brother, absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. It is simply absence of empirical evidence. You do not require empirical evidence to support love for your spouse nor your children nor your friends. Why do you require it to support faith in a greater power than we?

It is not that God is a vengeful or a punishing one. We are graced with choice and free will. Nature is nature and will not be tamed by God or man. Bad things happen to good people and good things happen to bad people. God did not cause either. He neither prevents nor causes the things that happen to us. Rather, He keeps our souls safe regardless of the good and the bad we experience during our earthly journey.

“There is no afterlife,” you say. “I died and came back. I saw nothing. No one was there. There was not even darkness. Only absence.” Absence. My brother, this is not evidence of anything at all. It is only absence and who are we to define or explain it?

For the faithful, life’s darkest moments, most frightening moments, are made bearable through faith. “Though I shall walk through the valley of death, I shall fear no evil for thou are with me. thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me” (Psalm 23: XX). During these times I have felt the Holy Spirit overwhelm my soul with strength and love. The Holy Spirit did not cure me, the doctors did. The Holy Spirit gave me the strength to survive. Absent the Holy Spirit, I might have died simply because I was too weak to bear it.

So my brother, do not discourage the faithful. Do not denigrate faith. For many, it is through faith alone that they survive each day. Why destroy someone’s hope by casting doubt on their faith. You do not feel their faith any more than you feel each individual’s love for another. It cannot be seen and that is as it should be. Faith is believing in the absence of evidence. Evidence, in fact, obviates faith. 

Faith does not come easy nor to the feint of heart nor the weak-willed. Faith requires tremendous commitment, focus, and strength. To believe in what one cannot see is the very nature of faith and requires the greatest of courage. Faith is courage manifest.

Technology and Corporate Training

The definition of technology is broader than most people think. While technology resources are often thought to be digital tools, technology is defined as anything that helps accomplish a task. In the world of corporate training, new technologies become available almost daily. However, uninspired corporate training specialists often obtain as many new digital tools as possible under a misguided belief that if the technology is new and shiny, then certainly it must be more effective.

There is no single tool that solves every problem for corporate trainers; they require a strong background in adult learning pedagogies (e.g. ADDIE, andragogy) and be well-versed in a variety of digital tools. Whether designing e-learning, blended learning, or instructor-led training seminars, the appropriate use of relevant technology is a critical factor.

Recently, I designed several online learning modules to provide asynchronous training for state legislation related to public procurement of goods and services. Because the training was delivered online, I used a popular authoring tool (Articulate) to create the module. However, in order to use the tool effectively, I also required multiple software tools to create the interactions necessary for participants to gain the required knowledge to engage in public procurement.

I also used non-digital tools. I interviewed multiple subject matter experts, I studied legislative code, I used pen and paper and later a word processing tool to outline the course and I used presentation and flow-charting software to create the necessary graphics. For a finishing touch, I sought out training images appropriate for the course in Creative Commons, an open source image database. Combining these traditional and digital technologies resulted in an effective learning solution for state procurement agents while minimizing the overall cost of providing training.

Managing costs related to technology technological advancement is a critical focus for leaders. While technology continues to advance almost daily, the nature of technological advance is slower than most realize. Many new technologies provide only a new veneer for existing technologies. The development of the mechanical pencil provided a new veneer to the existing technology of using lead to write on paper yet it was a true technological breakthrough. Similarly, smartphone technology was not first introduced by Apple. Rather, the first smartphone technology was introduced by IBM in 1992 and was the first technology to meld the functions of a cell phone and a PDA (Tweedie, 2015). Rathar than an example of true technological advance, the iPhone provided a new veneer for an existing technology.

Letting Go

Dedicated to those who are left behind...

Waiting. Waiting for death. I have been waiting a lifetime for this moment and now it draws near. I am not in pain, although it hurts to breathe. So many thoughts fill my head, but I cannot speak. I never imagined myself lying here. Tubes attached to help me breath, more tubes drip drugs into my withering body and they muddle my mind. I wish I could say all that I feel. But it has never been so, why should now be any different? Why does God give us thoughts and feelings for which mere words are so very inadequate? Thoughts and feelings that simply cannot be expressed in any human language...perhaps in the divine, but mortals may never know.

What I feel now rises beyond the limitations of speech. My life truly has passed before my eyes as they all said it would. I close my eyes and feel the bright sunshine of my youth; I reach for the sun and my hands clasp around something wet and cold. I open my eyes to see my regrets manifest in that cold, wet, grey, clump in my hands. I throw it to the ground in violent rejection! Why should I feel regret? I have lived the life I have lived; I have done the things I have done; I have said the things that I said. They are all a part of me. Who is to say which part is good and which part is not. I embrace it all.

I long to let go of this withered husk. But something is holding me back. I wish I knew what. I have said my goodbyes; I have done and said all I can say to the loved one's who sit anxiously nearby waiting for me to release these earthly bonds. I long to reach out to them. To tell them I am at peace and they need not mourn. That instead they should celebrate my life and the memories we shared. But it would do no good. They will mourn as mourners do. They will say they are prepared for my death, but that is nearly never true. Nothing prepares us to experience death, our own or that of those we love.

Death changes everything. It leaves a hole that despite every attempt to fill it remains a yawning and gaping chasm. It is meant to be so, I think. But in the efforts to close the gap, we learn more, do more, become more than we were. Before death entered our life. Before we knew of the burning, searing, pain of loss. Why must it be so? I was taught that through death I would be reborn. I was taught that only when a seed dies could it become something new. I was taught that death is only the beginning. But can it be true? After 50 years as a florist, I have seen this cycle repeat countless times. Am I a seed? Will I too fall to the ground to become something anew?

I have said I do not fear death, but am I really being honest about that? Everyone fears the unknown, why should I be different. I have met people who claim to be ready for death and they pray for the end to come. Can it be said that anyone is ever really prepared for death? The finality is almost beyond understanding. A poet once wrote, "I am now ready to embrace death, without this withered old apple core, this husk.” This part of her poetry has stayed with me all these years and I wonder. She wrote of the of "the pain it must of have cost some dazzling sun to enter the limited body of Christ,” and it makes me wonder of the pain, the dazzling pain, it costs each soul to shed the limited body of this life.

My time is here, the die is cast; there is no turning back now. I long to let go, but there is a part of me left holding on, wishing it were not true. I pray for the Lord to embrace me in his arms as I enter eternal life.

Reflections of a Spinster Aunt

My father once said, “My memory of the event is perfectly clear. I cannot, however, vouch for its veracity.” While I suppose he was trying to point out there may be flaws in my own memory of an event; these days, memories are all I have. I have been sitting a long time here at this precipice of clarity and insanity; sometimes I think it may be time to let go. I fear that I already have.

I knew a woman who wanted to do a research project on successful women. I believe her question was whether women can be successful both in the office and at home. Her opening bias, however, was a mistaken premise. She assumed that a woman who has achieved professional success and who is also permanently single and childless, must have chosen one over the other. But I can say that was never the case with me. I would have been successful professionally regardless of my personal choices. It is in my nature to work hard and I have made a point of personal growth. But there is no long lost love out there for me. There is no one I left behind. No one who “got away.”

The choice between a husband and family or career was never one that truly presented itself to me. The men with whom I had relationships, with few exceptions, were grossly unsuitable for me in one way or another and our relationships never reached the stage of pledging a lifetime commitment. I was usually able to see their faults in time not to make that particular mistake, albeit seldom in time to avoid serious pain, angst, and betrayal. The betrayal was the worst. I never could understand how easy it was for someone to lie. But that they did. Relentlessly. Some choices just make themselves.

I never made a conscious choice not to have children yet I never had any. Now it’s too late for so many reasons. My age and health considerations prohibit adoption and my energy level does not exactly match the needs of a troubled foster child. I believe there is a plan for me. I don’t believe in the randomness of fate as some others do. Clearly my path does not involve motherhood. Instead, I have been blessed to touch many live and to have many lives touch me. They say the whole is equal to the sum of its parts, but that’s indadquate. The whole is equal to the product of the interactions of its parts. Thinking about the vast web of the interactions which produced me; it’s difficult to find anyone to blame or praise. Life has, and will, unfold as it should.

Climbing the Mountain

Somehow I always knew I would write about that day. The day I learned there were mountains to climb and that I was here to climb them. The memories and lessons from that day so many decades ago have stayed with me, reminding me of what I am capable of, if only I tried. I must warn my reader that while it seems like yesterday, just as my father once said, "My memory of the event is crystal clear; the accuracy however, is not something I can verify!"

It had been a hard year for our family. Losing momma the prior fall changed all of us. Everyone had found ways to draw inward rather than sharing their grief and the impact on the eight children was profound. At eleven years old, I was the youngest and perhaps the least able to understand the changes rippling through my family. In an effort to draw us together, Dad planned a fishing trip in the peaks of Wyoming along the Platte River. Most of the kids were there, along with our grandparents, aunt, uncle and two cousins.

Being several years younger and possessing the lethal trait of being a girl, I was left out of some of the activities of the older boys, including climbing the mountain at the bottom of which we camped. I remember my brothers and cousins telling tales of their exploits as we sat around the campfire one night eating the days catch. I remember wishing I could be like them. That I could be strong and have courage like them. I thought if only I could be like my brothers then maybe I would not feel so sad. My brothers, it seemed to me, were everything I wanted to be.

The morning was clear and crisp with a light mountain wind making goose pimples rise on my forearms as Grandma brushed my hair into two long braids. The boys had all disappeared for the day, heading up the mountain and into the river in equal numbers. As the remaining adults tended to the camp, Grandpa approached, silently handing me a stick of Juicy Fruit.

You had to hand it to Grandpa. A simple care-free man with a high-pitched giggle, I believe there were few things in life that Grandpa thought a piece of Juicy Fruit couldn't make better.

"Hmmm, seems to me those boys been doin' a lot of braggin,'" he began.

"Yeah, they always think they are so special...they never let me come along," I offered.

"Whatcha say you and me go teach those boys a thing or two?" He fired off with a wink and a grin. And then he headed toward the mountain.

Running to catch up with my 71-year old grandpa, he said, "You and me are gonna climb that mountain."

Amazed at the idea, I followed close behind. The climb up and then down that mountain served as the foundation for one of the most important lessons I have ever learned. Having reflected on that day I feel it has since gained in profundity what I have since gained in years. In some ways it reminds a bit of the hero's journey. My own hero's journey—the first of many to bless my life.

We were silent as we began our journey, as if in unspoken agreement the sounds of the mountain were all we wanted or needed to hear. And there were sounds. The music of the aviary crowd kept our spirits light and the occasional rush of wings as a small flock of birds took off from a nearby tree kept us alert. There were other noises—ground squirrels scurrying on the ground and a variety of other critters going about their day. After 20 minutes or so, Grandpa stopped and said "It's time we stop and reconnoiter.” When grandpa said it though, it sounded more like “reekahnotter.” We stopped to rest as Grandpa looked around to see which direction looked best. Besides up that is!

I later learned that technically, Grandpa needed to stop every 10-15 minutes to catch his breath—he was 71 and a former smoker—I imagine the mountain air was getting to him. But I didn't see any weakness at all in my tall, free-wheeling Grandpa. At our frequent stops he said we were stopping to re-evaluate our situation. He explained that it was good to have a plan; in case you get lost, he would add. "Ever' so often you gotta take that plan out and look at it. You gotta make sure it's still leadin' the way you wanna go."

The trip up the mountain was uneventful as far as trips up the mountain go. When we reached the top though, things got really exciting. Leaning over the top of the mountain looking down on our tiny campground, Grandpa let out a high -pitched "YEE-HAH!!!!". I could see Grandma below holding her face in her hands lamenting, "Oh, Harold..." as she realized where we had disappeared to that morning. I screamed "YEE-HAH” too and we each had a fresh stick of Juicy Fruit.

We spent time exploring the top of the mountain, finding souvenirs in the form of animal skulls and some bird feathers. But as all good things must end, it was time to head back down the mountain. And that’s where it got a bit dicey. The path we took on the way down wasn't the same as the path we took on the way up. It was decidedly scarier and much steeper than I remembered from the first leg of the trip. I grew anxious and while afraid of acting like a "girl,” I let Grandpa know I was very scared.

"Virginia, the gin of the Ocean! Don't you know I won't let anything happen to you?" he bellowed. This was a phrase he frequently used with me but I may never know why.

At one point, the only way down from one rock peak was for us to reach over to a nearby tree and climb down. This was more than I could handle. I was an overweight, un-athletic 11-year old and the idea of reaching over and hanging on to that tree was beyond me. Before I knew it, Grandpa reached under my arms, picked me up and carried me down that tree. It was probably only a few feet, but the way I remember it, I think it must have been at least 10 feet. We made it down the tree safely and from there it was not much further back to our camp. By then we were both pretty tired; as on the way up, we remained silent.

Returning to camp, I think poor Grandpa collapsed on his poor arthritic legs and couldn't walk for several hours! But later that night, it was Grandpa telling of our courageous experience climbing the mountain. "Not bad for an old man and a little girl, eh?" He slapped one of my brothers on the back and headed off to bed.

Grandpa never once mentioned the incident in the tree. Not to me and not to anyone else. What he did do was to remind me of our exploits each and every time I saw or spoke to him for the rest of his life. "How about you and me go climb a mountain?" he would ask.

I learned several lessons that day:

•   I can do whatever I set my mind to doing

•   A little help goes a long way

•   Sometimes plans change

•   Assistance often comes from unlikely sources

•   Strength  and courage means different things to different people

•   A stick of juicy fruit  can make almost anything a little better

Many years later during my final visit with Grandpa, I reminded him of that day.

At 91, he was no longer able to physically care for himself after a bad fall the previous winter; Grandpa was a resident of the Vinita Retirement Home. I visited him there in the months before his death and was deeply saddened by what I saw.

My Grandpa’s ever-sunny disposition had been replaced by a pale, thin look I didn't remember ever seeing before. It was a look of pain mixed with resignation and a touch of despair. A look I didn't fully understand until I saw it on my father's face as he neared his own death decades later.

When I arrived, it took him a few minutes to realize who I was and that I had driven from St. Louis to see him. I remember him thanking me from the bottom of his heart; a moment that continues to fill my heart with love as the years go by. We were silent at first. He was very hard of hearing and it was difficult to carry on a conversation.

Looking around the small room, it seemed like a mini version of his home where he had lived for the past sixty years. His red chair was in the corner; he always preferred sleeping in it than in his own bed. Somethings never change I suppose. A 5 x 7 color picture of him and Grandma dominated the nightstand and the room smelled of the soap he had always used with his shaving brush.

After a bit, I nearly yelled "Hey Grandpa!"

Startled, he mumbled and snapped, "What?"

"Let's you and me go climb a mountain, huh?"

A smile slowly spread across his face, eyes opening fully and becoming less dull in the moment; his dancing blue eyes briefly lighting up the way I remembered. Taking my hand, he whispered "Thank you, thank you," as he again faded back into a pain-filled, half-conscious state. I kissed his forehead and left. He died several weeks later. To Grandpa I say, "Thank you, thank you."