Goodbye little buddy. . .

This morning, I held my Ragdoll cat, Jackson, in my arms as the vet helped him cross over the Rainbow Bridge.  Jack's various health issues over the course of his short life finally got the better of him and I made the very painful decision to let go.

The vet and I talked for a long time about the treatment Jackson could undergo today, and what the future might or might not hold for him.  And while, in matters such as these, I am the eternal optimist it was difficult to disregard what I knew to be true.  Jack would be put through a very extensive procedure with no guarantee that the condition would not return again, and again and again.  And the vet explained that when his death finally came, it would be an excruciatingly painful one.  So as much as I love to beat dead horses, I just could not deny that it was time to think of Jackson more than to think of how much I love the feel of him snuggling against my feet as I sit at the computer.

Jack was never the cuddly, sit on your lap kind of cat that I always wanted.  But he showed me great affection in his own unique way.  And we were buddies, he and I.  When I had my back surgeries, he would lie in bed with me, only leaving to grab a bite to eat or to . . . well, you know.  He never left my side.  When I was sick or sad or depressed (which I have been all too often in the past few years) Jack knew and he was my shadow.  While he didn't sit on my lap or in fact anywhere near me, Jack could always be found in whatever room I had wandered.  He would sometimes come up to me and give me a quick little lick on the leg or arm, as if to say, "Hey, I am here and I love you.  Things will get better, you'll see".  And of course, they always did.

Jackson's medical issues plagued him almost from the time he came to live with us as a 12 week old kitten. He was a regular at the local university teaching hospital (where all the rarest and most difficult cases end up) and I swear we have financed an entire wing of our local veterinary office with what we paid out in medical fees for Jack.  He was poked and prodded and stuffed with pills and liquids.  He had drops in his eyes and goo shoved down his throat on a regular basis.  In spite of it all, he retained his quirky personality and seemed to take it all in stride.

Jackson was the chattiest cat I have ever owned.  He would carry on long conversations with you.  I mean, real conversations.  He didn't just "meow" when he wanted food or wanted attention.  He would actually join in when people were talking and make his point of view known.  Sometimes we would be discussing some topic or another and Jack would be sleeping nearby only to raise his head up and yammer on for some minutes as if he wanted us to know that while he did have his eyes closed he clearly heard everything we said.

Mostly what I will miss is the feeling of his sleeping body lying on top of my feet late at night when insomnia grips me and I surf the Internet with no particular purpose.  His warm body and the sound of his breathing were a comfort as I sat, deep in the night, waiting for sleep to come.  He would stay with me until he felt me begin to stir from my desk and he knew that I was finally headed for bed.  He would run ahead of me and then stop and look back just to make sure I was coming.  When we got to the bedroom, he would leap up on the bed and anxiously pace up and down the mattress on my side of the bed while I changed into my pajamas.  Then, as soon as I was settled into bed, he would jump off the mattress and curl up next to the bed until I fell asleep.  Perhaps he understood that it was hard for me to fall asleep and if he was on the bed it might disturb me.  But each morning I would awake to find him curled up at my feet.

I will miss you, Jackie.  But I know you are waiting for me and one day you will again sleep at my feet.

A new beginning. . .and and ending

As a Director on the Board of San Francisco Samoyed Rescue, I wear many hats.  I do fund raising, I am a shelter coordinator, I do home inspections, provide temporary foster care and sometimes transport rescued dogs.  Today was a transport day.

Buddy, a three year old Samoyed, had been found wandering in traffic by a good Samaritan named Rina.  This kind woman took in this stinky, matted mess of a dog and she and her family opened their home to him.  They provided veterinary care, grooming, nutritious food and most import they provided love and stability.  They grew to love him and gave him a wonderful home.  Buddy, however, had one little quirk that proved very daunting indeed.  He could jump their 6 foot fence!

More times than they could count Buddy would escape from their yard and go on adventures around the neighborhood.  They tried everything they could to prevent Buddy from jumping the fence, but he was not to be denied.  Buddy was always pretty easy to find and would jump in the car when the family went to look for him.  His habit was trying, but the family was willing to deal with it.  Then over the months, Buddy became more reluctant to jump in the car when they found him.  He was harder and harder to track down.  The turning point came when Buddy was found in a busy intersection and was nearly hit by traffic.  The family realized that something had to be done to safeguard the little guy.

After much agonizing, the family contacted San Francisco Samoyed Rescue and asked if we could help place Buddy with a family who could meet the needs of this "able to leap tall buildings" dog.  After talking to the family and recognizing that there was really no way to keep Buddy in his present situation we were happy to help find Buddy a more suitable home.  The search for a new family began.

Buddy's predilection for fence jumping proved rather challenging.  Most folks have the standard 6 foot perimeter fence, so we knew it might take a while to locate a home that was safe for Buddy.  As a young dog, he was also high energy and would need a family willing to commit to the exercise required by this boy.  Buddy's current family said they were in no hurry to move Buddy and were happy to keep him with them, rather than with a foster, until the right home could be found.

Over the weeks that we were interviewing prospective families, I kept in regular contact with Rina.  I knew the decision to give Buddy up had been extremely difficult for her.  Her two children loved Buddy to death and they had invested so much time and energy into making a home for him.  They wanted to do right by him and had been taking such good care of him.  It was very painful for her - very painful.

Eventually a wonderful family with four daughters expressed a desire to adopt Buddy.  They indicated that they had 8 foot fences, a large yard and the wife was a stay at home mom.  It sounded perfect.  They met Buddy and fell in completely in love with him.   All that was left was the home inspection.  It seemed like this was going to be a wonderful placement for Buddy.

One of the other Directors went to the home of the prospective adopters to do the home inspection.  She found one of the fences to be less than 6 feet tall and the backyard was covered with foxtails!  Sadly, she informed the family that this would not work for Buddy.  The fences had to be at least 8 feet tall and as a long haired breed, Buddy simply could not be placed where the yard was full of foxtails.  It was so disappointing.

The next day we received a long and heartfelt email from the family that wanted to adopt Buddy.  They were willing to make any improvements necessary to make the yard safe and secure.  They would increase the section of fence that was less than 8 feet, remove all the weeds and and place bark and turf in its place. They asked for three weeks to get this accomplished.  This was a huge sacrifice because with four children there isn't a lot of "extra" money in the budget.  I was moved to tears by the sincerity of the letter and my instincts told me that this would be a home where Buddy would be loved and well cared for.  So we agreed to allow the time to make the yard "Buddy appropriate" and I advised Rina that Buddy would likely be transported near the 25th of July.

So. . .I picked Buddy up today.  Rina had put together a basket of things for the new family.  Toys and treats and grooming supplies for Buddy.  She also sent his leash and harness and bed.  Most touching, she sent a long letter (which I did not read) with all of the things about Buddy that they might need to know.  What he liked, what he didn't like - all about living with Buddy.  We completed the relinquishment paperwork and it was time to leave.  Everyone was holding back tears - Rina most of all.  She put him in my car and each of them gave Buddy one last hug.  Lord, I thought I would fall apart myself!  I waited for them to go back in the house before I pulled away.  It just seemed better that way.

On the long drive to the pick up point, Buddy was the perfect little gentleman.  He road easily in the car and never made a peek...or a bark.  We stopped for a potty break and water and then we were back on the road to our final destination.  The new family, the Bassmans, were to meet us at a dog park in Danville.  I arrived before they did and was able to allow Buddy to stretch his legs.  I watched the Bassmans pull up and saw the four little girls tumble out of the car and come running!  They were so excited to be taking Buddy home.  They had helped with the preparation and were over the moon that IT was finally happening.

I completed the adoption contract with Mr. and Mrs. Bassman and went over a few items - calling to change the microchip information, feeding schedule, etc., and took a few pictures and then I decided it was time to leave the Bassman family with their new member.

While I had no emotional investment with Buddy, it is always hard to hand over a dog to someone you really don't know.  Whenever there is a hand-off I find myself having an emotion somewhere between elation and worry.  As I drove away, I thought about Rina and her family and what they must be feeling.  Most times, when we rescue a dog, it is from a shelter or the dog is relinquished by an owner that does not want the dog anymore (something I have never understood).  I am usually thrilled to be rescuing the dog from the situation in which I find it.  This rescue was really different.  Buddy's family loved him.  They loved him so much that they gave him up in order that he might be safe and secure.  Their act of unselfish love overwhelmed me at that moment.

 

In Judaism, we have a word for the unselfish love Rina and her family showed to Buddy.  It is the Hebrew word, "chesed".  The word is difficult to translate into English, because there really is no English equivalent.   It is most often translated at loving kindness.  Chesed is central to Jewish values, ethics and theology.  It is a virtue that contributes to "tikkun olam" (repairing the world) and is the foundation of many personal mizvot.  Chesed is so important it is said to one of the three pillars upon which the world stands.  One of our great Rabbi's said that the Torah begins with Chesed and ends with Chesed.  Rina and her family are examples to all of us.

I sent a short note to Rina to let her know that Buddy was safely delivered to his new family.  I tried, again, to emphasize that she had done the right thing and that I understood how much they loved Buddy in order to make the sacrifice they made.  I don't know if my words helped.  I ask God to wrap His arms around the family tonight.  I asked that He protect them and be with them.  They very least they deserve is comfort.  To my way of thinking, what they deserve is a place in heaven.

Feeling blue. . .

I have often wondered where the colloquial idiom, "feeling blue" came from.  When we say we are feeling blue, we mean that we are sad or depressed.  We reach for the cookie dough ice cream and schlep around the house in our favorite t-shirt and pajama bottoms.  I like to put Steel Magnolias in the DVD player so that I have a legitimate excuse to cry when I am feeling blue.

From a purely scientific point of view, blue is one of the pure spectral colors having a wavelength of about 450-475 nm and a frequency of about 631-668 THz.  As an amateur photographer, I am aware the blue of the sky has a correlated color temperature of 5600 on the Kelvin scale and is a "cool" color.  The sky is also blue due to "Rayleigh scattering" of the sunlight from the atmosphere which tends to scatter blue light more than red light.  Blue is also considered one of the additive primary colors on the traditional Red, Yellow, Blue color wheel.

The word blue comes from the Middle English word bleu or blewe, words of Germanic origin which appears to have meant "pale, pallid, wan, light-colored; blond; discolored; blue, blue-gray ".   Few words in the English language are as idiomatic as the word blue.  In addition to the idiom "feeling blue", consider the following: 

Once in a blue moon

Blue in the face

Out of the blue

Blue blood

Talk a blue streak

Black and blue

A bolt from the blue

Blue collar

The boys in blue

Blue eyed boy

Blue blazes

Baby blues

To blue pencil something

Blue chip

Give up the blue line

Blue around the gills

Vanished into the blue

I actually found over 100 idioms that used the word blue.  Why do you suppose we love to use the word blue so much?

Blue is one of the most popular colors of both men and women.  It is a color that is associated with trustworthiness, dependability and commitment; perhaps the reason police uniforms are blue?  Blue is the color of the sky and of the sea.  It is perceived as constant in our lives.  It is the color of calm and coolness.  It is a favorite color of spas because it calls to mind feelings of calmness or serenity.  The color blue is known to lower the pulse rate and body temperature.  As for myself, I find it utterly impossible to feel sad when I stand on the beach in Lahaina and look out upon the blue ocean.  I can only feel peace and contentment as I sit on my patio and look up into the clear blue skies of late spring.  And is there anything more comfortable and familiar than an old pair of blue jeans?

In Hindu mysticism, the color blue represents the 5th chakra, Vishuddhi.  Vishuddi is the chakra of the throat.  It is known as the purification center and is the chakra of communication expression and judgement.  It also associated with the god Vishnu, the preserver of the world.  In Christianity the color blue is associated generally with purity and in Catholicism in particular it is the color of the Virgin Mary.  In Islam blue is the color or religion and is often used in decorating mosques.

As a Jew, I am aware of the strong connection that the color blue has to my religious history and customs.  The Torah commands us wear tzitzit (those long fringes on the corners of tallit) on the corners of our garments and to weave within these fringes a "twisted thread of tekhelet (blue)".  The great Rabbi, Maimonides claimed blue was "the clear noonday sky, the Rabbi Rashi said it was the evening sky.  Several other rabbinic authorities point to blue as the color of God's Glory. When my ancestors were wandering in the desert with Moses, many of the items in the Mishkan (the portable sanctuary the tribe carried from place to place) such as the menorah and other sacred vessels were covered in cloth of blue.  The Ark of the Covenant was likewise covered in cloth of blue when it was transported.  Blue is the color of Hannukah.  When Israel achieved statehood she chose blue for the Israeli flag and the Israeli coat of arms.

There are a number of blue foods that I enjoy.  While I don't really care much for blueberries on the whole, I do love a fresh from the oven blueberry muffin.  Blue M&M's are my favorite.  Blue corn chips are funky and fun and fun when served with black (which are really blue) bean dip.  Blue Gatorade is great when I am sick.  Blue jello shots are a wonderfully wicked memory from my single days.  And if one really needs a blue food fix, one can always break out the blue food dye. . .blue mashed potatos anyone?

I have blue, in some form or another, in almost every room in my home.  It figures largely in the rooms were I spend the most time doing the things I most like to do.  It makes me feel happy and relaxed and creative.  I like blue.  I like it a lot.  If I redecorated my house, blue would still be part of the landscape.

So, back to the original question.  Why do we say we are "blue" when we are sad.  Why has that empty aching loneliness associated with lost love become an entire genre of music called "the blues".  Billie Holliday describes it best when she sang:

Am I blue?
Am I blue?
Aint these tears, in these eyes telling you?
How can you ask me am I blue?
Why, wouldn't you be too -
If each plan
With your man
Done fell through?

There was a time
When I was his only one
But now im
The sad and lonely one...lonely

Was I gay
Until today
Now he's gone, and we're through
Am I blue.......

It is true that blue is linked to rain and storms and in Greek mythology, the god Zeus was sad, he would cry causing it to rain   and he would send down a storm when he was angry.  Maybe that is the origin.  Or it could be from the "Blue" laws which were designed to enforce religious standards, especially the observance of Sunday as day of worship and rest and a restriction on Sunday shopping - now that would make me really blue!  I am sure the color blue put Marie Antoinette in a serious funk as it was the color of the French revolutionary forces!  She definitely had a case of the Breton blues.  But, the nearest I can come to an explanation for the term is from a custom among old deep-water sailing ships.  If the ship lost her captain or any of the officers during its voyage, she would fly blue flags and have a blue band painted along the entire side of her hull as she returned to her home port.  The crew was said to be "blue".  Why they chose the color blue - that I haven't been able to learn.

None of this will likely cause me to stop saying that I am feeling blue when, in fact, I am.  But I really think the color blue has gotten a bad rap.  It is a great color.  I adore it.  I am wearing it as I type this.  I just wanted the color blue to know that I don't think it is a sad color.  Quite the contrary.  I would be very, well blue, if there were no blue in the world.

Balenciaga as a means to God

I traveled yesterday to San Francisco to see the Balenciaga and Spain exhibit at the De Young Museum. Coco Chanel said of Balenciaga, “He is the only couturier. He is the only one who knows how to cut a fabric, and mount it and sew it with his own hands. The others are just draughtsmen.”  While walking through this marvelous exhibit and looking at all beautiful pieces that were representative of his long and brilliant career, these words came to life for me.  Balenciaga created clothes that are classic and timeless.  So many of his designs could be worn today.  He understood how to dress a woman's body.  He understood fabrics.  His clothes are truly works of art which reflect his deeply rooted connection to his country, his culture and his religion. 

Balenciaga created 93 collections before he closed his fashion house in 1968.  Just as Alfred Hitchcock made a cameo appearance in each of his films, there was alway one black dress that was cut and sewn entirely by Balenciaga.  One of the exhibit pieces, a jacket and skirt in the blackest black I have ever seen, was cut and sewn by him.  The jacket had only one seam!  The fabric was molded around the shoulders and had one zigzag seem in the center of the jacket.  I stood, for the longest time, in complete fascination.  How does one do this?  How does one even consider it?  

Balenciaga apprenticed designers that went on to become famous themselves such as Oscar de la Renta, André Courrèges, Emanuel Ungaro, and Hubert de Givenchy.  His creations, which often resemble sculpture, must have been created in much the same way.  I stood and imagined myself in Mr. Balenciaga's atlier watching the master at work. 

I next toured the Pulp Fashion - The Art of Isabelle de Borchgrave at the Palace of the Legion of Honor.  Ms. Borchgrave, who is a painter by training, has created a collection of historical costumes entirely from rag paper.  Her creations are taken from early European paintings or iconic historical dresses from museums around the world.  She paints and manipulates the rag paper into astonishing realistic renditions of original fabrics.  I was struck by the careful attention to detail, imagining how tedious and time consuming it must have been to create these amazing pieces.

Finally, I visited my favorite fabric shop - Stone Mountain and Daughter in Berkeley.  This store is a mecca for true sewists.  They carry everything from the simplest cottons to exquisite woolens.  They have an incredibly large selection of silks of all kinds and their linen selection is amazing.  I selected a pattern which was a recreation of a 1940's blouse (having been inspired by Balenciaga's earlier pieces).  I found an beautiful linen/cotton blend by Echino in purple which resembles a vintage print.  I am anxious to begin my project.

By the time I arrived home, the Sabbath was fast approaching.  It had been a day filled with physical beauty; of are and of creativity.  It was a healing day for me, a day that I was able to put aside my sadness at Boris' departure.  It was, it seemed to me, a day that which was not a spiritual one at all and I tried to quiet my mind and prepare to light the Shabbes candles.  I lit the candles and said the prayers but I was unable to completely remove myself from the beauty I had seen that day.  I wanted to escape to that world, to create something physically beautiful.  It felt very wrong to be thinking these things, yet the thoughts were inescapable.  I decided to sit and do some reading to try to focus on things spiritual rather than temporal.  I pulled a book from our library by Robert C. Fuller, and came across the following passage:

"Spirituality exists wherever we struggle with the issue of how our lives fit into the greater cosmic scheme of things. This is true even when our questions never give way to specific answers or give rise to specific practices such as prayer or meditation. We encounter spiritual issues every time we wonder where the universe comes from, why we are here, or what happens when we die. We also become spiritual when we become moved by values such as beauty, love, or creativity that seem to reveal a meaning or power beyond our visible world. An idea or practice is "spiritual" when it reveals our personal desire to establish a felt-relationship with the deepest meanings or powers governing life".

It occurs to me that the love of beauty, in any form, is an acknowledgement of the abundant blessings which have been given to us by our creator.  Whether it is the beauty of creative mind, the beauty of a sunset, the beauty of a child's laughter, the beauty of the Torah or the beauty of tradition, recognizing that beauty is a way of saying, "Thank you for all blessings you bestow on me".  Perhaps God understood that I needed to focus less on what I had lost and more on what I have.  And while a museum exhibit of couture clothing might seem an odd way to interpret his message, I believe that my day of seemingly shallow pursuits was God's hand on the steerage of my course.  

Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything that is beautiful; for beauty is God's handwriting - a wayside sacrament.  Welcome it in every fair face, in every fair sky, in every fair flower, and thank God for it as a cup of blessing.  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Saying goodbye to Boris

In January of this year, I became a Member-at-Large of the San Francisco Samoyed Rescue Board of Directors.  While I have volunteered throughout my life for various animal welfare groups, this is my first foray into serving on a governing body.  San Francisco Samoyed Rescue was founded to help Samoyed dogs who, through no fault of her own and for a variety of reasons, find themselves homeless.  SFSR also helps owners who cannot afford veterinary care for their sick or injured Samoyed.  As dogs come into rescue, they are fostered by volunteer families until they can be placed in a permanent home.  Recently, we had a dog come into rescue who my husband and I volunteered to foster.  His name is Boris.

Every dog that comes into rescue has a story.  Most are sad, some are tragic.  Sometimes the dogs are unwanted.  Sometimes they are sick or injured.  Sometimes they are the victims of benign neglect.  One cannot help feel a variety of emotions during the rescue process including sadness, anger, hope and even rage.  Every dog that we rescue touches my heart in some way.  Mostly, I feel good about being able to place them in loving homes with people who can not only take care of them, but who understand the needs of this very special breed.  Sometimes you wish you could do more.  But as Edward Everett Hale said, "I am only one, but I am one.  I cannot do everything, but I can do something.  And I will not let what I cannot do interfere with what I can do".  So, once a dog goes to his permanent home, no matter what his circumstances when he arrived, there is a collective "Woo Hoo" and we move on.  That was before Boris came to live with us.

Boris' owner was the victim of a reversal of fortune, an all too familiar scenario these days.  His owner had to move to his mother's ranch after losing his own home and Boris was banished to live in the barn after being a house dog for all of his four years.  His owner reached out to us and surrendered Boris, although it was extremely difficult for him.  When Boris was picked up, his owner was teary-eyed and looked as though he had been punched in the gut.  I suspect that Boris represented the last vestige of his former life and having to give Boris up was the final signal that the life he once enjoyed was now, officially, over.  I expected Boris to be lacking in house manners.  I expected that he would have forgotten any obedience or house-training he might have once known.  I expected the normal stressed, confused and distrusting dog that we often encounter in rescue.  I never expected the gentle soul that crossed my threshold.

Boris is a love bug.  He is gentle and sweet boy.  He looks up at you with eyes that are full of trust.  He is desperate to please.  He has impeccable house manners.  He doesn't jump on furniture uninvited.  He doesn't jump up on people.  He does not table surf.  AND he is completely housebroken!  He took to our female Samoyed and our two kitties right away.  Taking his lead from Sarah, our Sammy girl, he got the drill down pretty quickly.  Before we knew it, this blithe spirit had touched our hearts in ways we could not imagine.

Boris follows us from room to room.   He WANTS to be around us every second, lying at our feet softly snoring away.  Yet, he will go outside and stay if told to, finding nondestructive ways to occupy himself.   He hears the leashes being removed from their hooks and off to the front door he goes where he patiently sits, waiting for us to "hook him up" and walk out the door.  He adores riding in the car, and while he prefers to ride shotgun, he willing jumps into the back of the SUV.  He is extremely quiet with the exception of his soft "woo woos" when he tells us how happy he is - and he is happy nearly all the time.  He is just about the perfect dog.

So, hubby and I started talking about adopting him.  He fit so well into our "pack" and was just an easy dog to have around.  We talked about our upcoming trip to Santa Barbara for our daughter's graduation from UC and that we would have to make arrangements to board him with the same lady with whom Sarah was going to stay.  It just seemed, well. . .a given.  But then kismet intervened.

Boris accompanied me to a Samoyed specialty show where our rescue had a booth.  Samoyed are always their own best ambassadors and we like to have potential "adoptees" with us at our booths.  I told the two other board members who were helping to man the booth that Darryl and I were thinking about adopting Boris and they both encouraged me to do so.  But in the late morning a couple came by our booth and asked if they might "meet" Boris.  I took him out of the exercise pen and I could see at once that they were quite taken with him.  But gosh...who wouldn't be.  I spoke at length to this nice couple and learned that they had previously owned Samoyed.  They had also recently lost their 15 year old Collie boy and were still grieving his demise.  I then learned that the lady had worked with her dogs in therapy, visiting local hospitals.  Suddenly, I realized that this was exactly what Boris needed.  He needed a job that would take advantage of his sunny disposition, his gentle nature and his love of human contact.  The couple asked if they might fill out a pre-adoption application.  I told them it would be a great idea, and I made an appointment to do a home check.  This was wonderful, amazing, perfect. . .and my heart was breaking.

The home check could not have gone better.  The couple had the financial means to provide the best of everything to Boris.  The home was clean and spacious and the grounds, of nearly a half acre were beautifully landscaped.  Lots of trees for shade and a huge lawn to run and roll in.  They would, without doubt, provide a excellent environment for Boris.   More important, they obviously were smitten by him and he seemed to like them as well.  We made arrangements for Boris to return in a few days where he would take up residence in his "forever" home.

Today was the day Boris went to live with his new family.  Hubby and I took Boris to his new home.  We spent some time watching him check out his new digs, and play with his new "sister", Dee Dee, a blind 8 year old Collie.  We completed all of the "business" of the adoption and then I picked up my keys to leave.  Boris, who loves to ride in the car, ran to the door after me.  He sat, looking up at me with his big round eyes in expectation.  I bent down and hugged him and told him that he could not go.  Of course, he did not understand.  And it broke my heart.  I got out the door as quickly as I could because I could feel my eyes stinging from the tears that were about to erupt.


Hubby and I didn't talk much on the ride home; each of us lost in our own thoughts about this special boy that had lately inhabited our home and our hearts.  My intellect understands that this is absolutely the perfect situation for Boris and that his new "parents" will love and care for him in the manner he deserves.  I just wish someone could explain all this to my heart.  I feel like crap right now.  


Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.  ~Kahlil Gibran   

A begining. . .

In the liturgy of Yom Kippur there is a passage that speaks of they ebb and flow of our lives.  The passage tells us that getting from the beginning of our lives to the end of our lives will not be easy.  It is a caution and and an encouragement for the road ahead.  It reads:

Birth is a beginning
And death is a destination.
And life is a journey:
From childhood to maturity
And youth to age;
From innocence to awareness
And ignorance to knowing;
From foolishness to discretion
And, then, perhaps, to wisdom;
From weakness to strength
Or strength to weakness -
And, often, back again;
From health to sickness
And back, we pray, to health again;
From offense to forgiveness,
From loneliness to love,
From joy to gratitude,
From pain to compassion,
And from grief to understanding -
From fear to faith;
From defeat to defeat to defeat -
Until, looking backward or ahead,
We see that victory lies
Not at some high place along the way.
But in having made the journey, state by stage,
A sacred pilgrimage.
Birth is a beginning
And death a destination.
And life is a journey,
A sacred pilgrimage -
To life everlasting.

I always find this passage comforting because it reminds me that we are all travelers.  It reminds me that whether by design or by accident my journey has taken me places that I never thought I would go.  It reminds me that who I am at this moment is not who I will be tomorrow, or perhaps an hour from now.  It reminds me to take a deep breath, close my eyes, still my heart and just be in the moment.

And so, I begin my blog - my postcards from home - to memorialize my musings, to laugh at myself and to share my journey with those who care to tag along.