help, please.

I am in a desperate search for new music. Let me give you my love list, and maybe you can turn me on to something new and wonderful–either local to your area or an international unknown that needs to be heard.

I’m looking for a voice like Jewel, Sarah McLachlan, Lorenna McKennett, Shawn Colvin, Tracy Chapman, Tristan Prettyman. Mostly unplugged, lots of acoustic guitar, real blend of voice and soul and passion. For this search, Tori Amos and Paula Cole are too rough, too raw. Indigo Girls are good, but i’m in the mood for a solo artist.

Lyrics have to mean something, but they don’t overpower the music, and the music works seamlessly with the words.

Impossible? I can hardly imagine. I spent some time at our local record and tape traders earlier in the week, and I saw so many artists who looked like they were exactly what I was searching for, but I had no way of really telling.

I’m going to spend some time on iTunes and see what I can find. In the meantime, though, please send me a few ideas. And please feel free to ask the others in your blogging circles for their thoughts on this paralyzing conundrum.

Thanks to all!

rvw

I had been looking forward to–and dreading–yesterday for some time. you see, I spent all afternoon behind a microphone, first for a deposition I was required to give, and second for an interview with our local NPR radio station about Maryland Voices, our creative nonfiction publication, and the Maryland Writing Project.

First, the deposition. Without going into too much detail, which I believe I cannot do, our school system is being sued by one of our former teachers for teaching in a hostile work environment, among other things (you can read the Washington Post article about the lawsuit here). I am listed as a witness in the lawsuit, and the deposition ran nearly two hours as I was asked many questions about lesson plans, sharing classrooms, and teachable moments. I found the whole event to be an opportunity to tell the truth in the judicial process before the trial begins later next month, and I am glad that I was able to contribute truthfully to this lawsuit, where I could get it on the record that I am proud and honored to teach at my school and in this system. I will say this, though: every word matters, and it is extremely important that the words you choose wisely in such a deposition are not misunderstood or misused later in the depo. I found that, on more than one occasion when a follow-up question was being asked (usually five to ten questions later), I needed to either clarify or correct a misunderstanding of a statement made earlier in the interview. If I had not been so careful with my words or had not listened intently to the interpretations of my original responses, I can see how easily I might have mispoke during those follow-up questions, based on assumptions that I had been understood or clear before.

The second interview was a totally opposite experience. We just released the fifth volume of our publication, Maryland Voices, last weekend, and we’re getting good press about it. One of my student editors had the opportunity to read an excerpt from her story on the air, and I was interviewed about the publication and about the Maryland Writing Project.

I wish I had the power to flip the time spent on each interview. I would have loved to have spent 10 minutes in the depo and two hours talking about writing!

Being in that radio environment, though, thrilled me. I’ve always wanted to own a small radio station. I love editing digital audio, and so I imagine I would enjoy being a producer more than an interviewer. Maybe when my book sells and I sell those million copies, right?
Anyway….If you are interested in hearing the interview with WYPR, just go to their website, WYPR.org, and go here to the Maryland Morning page. If you visit their site any time after today, they’ll archive the show for download, so just make sure you navigate to today’s date, May 30. If you read this post before 9:30, you can log on to the site and listen to the program live. Our segment airs at 9:40 a.m.

Last night, as I made my usual 9:41 p.m. Starbucks run (grande soy chai latte, if you were possibly wondering), I was stung by the sudden fragrance of fresh honeysuckle that has just bloomed in the middle of our yard.

For the longest time, we wondered what that bush might be. Well, last night, it let us know in a full fragrant song that filled my night with a whirling merriment I have not known since I lived on a farm in southern Maryland.

Smelling that honeysuckle reminded me of so many things in my own life, but as I inhaled deeply time and time again, I tripped well beyond my own years and knew–just knew–that what I was experiencing was exactly what William Wordsworth or Henry David Thoreau had experienced so many years ago when they wrote their poetry and their prose about the romantic beauty held timeless in a newly blossom’d flower.

These are the moments when I get a greater sense of being a part of something much bigger than the world that surrounds me today. Such scents as bursting honeysuckle on a late spring evening connect us to something that we can only begin to appreciate if we take the time to inhale deeply, let the fresh scents fill us fully, and see the possibility of what beauty flows in the air, unseen to the eye, timeless to the mind, yet strongly passionate with the heart.

I shall keep these windows open to let the sweet smell of honeysuckle and the other dewy flowers fill this house, this soul, this heart with a song sung for centuries that reminds us all what glorious miracles are ever-present, if we awaken enough to let them find us.

Greetings, all:

First, let me thank all of you for your kind words, your emails, your cards, your everything. I am honored to know all of you, whether it be in person or online. All of you have made this passing much easier to bear, and I am very grateful.

With each day that has passed since the funeral, I have felt the rush of emotions coming and going with no rhyme, no reason, no warning. But today, I immersed myself in myriad projects that made me feel good. I constructed the trampoline for my kids. We bought various yard ornaments and bird feeders to bring some new life to this once-tired yard.

In other words, I began my return to living fully with my family, to writing genuinely for me, to working on the final production needs for my book.

I’m emerging from the sorrow and am living my life a little more simply, a little more purposefully, a little more beautifully.

It’s a good feeling.

I’m taking a step back, though, and taking inventory of a few things. My health, my career in education, my general workload, what brings me energy and what takes it away….I’m taking a step back and thinking about how all of these things work together–or don’t.

I don’t know. It’s a good time to do this, though. It’s not like when I was 24 and my father died and I went charging through this life barbarically yawping Carpe Diem up and down the east coast. Times are different now. I’ve got a family, and I’m 42. When Dad died I could have thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail. Today, I struggle to make it around the block without feeling some kind of pain in my back or my legs due to my excessive weight.

So, times have changed, and they continue to change. But, it doesn’t mean that it’s too late to make a shift in my thinking and in my actions to bring about a better life for me and for those around me. I’d like to think that I still have a lot of living left to do, and taking care of myself is the first step in making it easier for me to do everything else.

So, I’m back. Back to the blog, back to the daybook, back to the classroom. I’m back to living, and I’m back to loving. I’m resurfacing with a new look on life, and with a greater appreciation for this time we have here on earth.

Let’s all enjoy it together as peacefully and as fully as we may be able to do in the coming days, months, and years, God willing.

Love to all,

Rus

We buried Mom today. It was a beautiful service, and we had our entire family back at our new house for hours of sharing wonderful memories.

I was also so pleased to see so many of my friends and my colleagues show up at the viewing and at the funeral. The support has been overwhelming, and I am grateful for all of your kind words, your support, and your love.

I also delivered the eulogy at today’s service. I’d like to share it here, so those of you who did not know Mom as well as others might know her a little more from these few words.

Ode to Mom, May 21, 2007

Well, Mom, what a long and magnificent journey it has been for you.

I don’t think that many on this Earth get the opportunity to experience so many different journeys, so fully, in one lifetime as Mom did. And, even if they do, I doubt many have embraced those journeys with such intensity and joy. For she certainly faced many events in her life where she could have simply turned away, given up, and let go.

There’s a reason why she didn’t, though, and I believe genuinely that it was in her celebration of life, in her celebration with God during her 81 years that made all the difference.

I remember during the late 80’s when Mom and I were having a discussion about Faith. We had touched on all the usual topics of heaven and belief in a higher spirit, but then she paused, turned away as if debating whether to go more deeply in the conversation. I waited patiently, wondering if she would decide to share, when she turned back to me and asked, “Why do so many Fear God? Why do they say I should fear Him? I don’t understand why I should fear Him when He does such wondrous things for us.”

I explained to her that I believed the word “fear” was actually meant to mean “to be in awe of” or “to have great respect.” At one time, it may have been used as a means of intimidation so that followers would be so afraid of God’s power that they had no choice but to bow down and show their respects to Him.

That’s not the kind of person Mom was. She didn’t fear; she loved. She saw God’s beauty in the outdoors on her many camping trips. I can trace them all the way back to 1959 where she kept notes on each trip: how well the weather behaved, how hospitable the hosts of the campground were, even how good the fishing might have been for Dad.

She saw God’s beauty in each of her children: Warren, whom she always saw as the great protector, the one who would defend her at all costs; Jim, who dedicated his life so selflessly first in the fire department, just like dad, and then in doing God’s work so that others may know love, comfort, and peace; Steve, whom she trusted unconditionally to provide her safety and security, both after Dad’s passing and after her own as well; and Cindy, her best friend, her shopping partner, her only daughter who knew how to make her laugh during the greatest challenges in her life, the one she drew strength from, even though hundreds of miles separated them. Mom always said that she could not have had five more different children if she tried, and that gave her the chance to love each of us that much more.

She also saw God as a provider of strength and courage as she decided to go back to school to get her Associate’s degree in Culinary Science. Here she was, approaching 50 years old, and returning to the classroom with students less than half her age. But she did this because she loved to learn. She loved to remain active. She loved to live. And she wrote about the strength that God gave her to pursue the things she most enjoyed.

And of course, sometimes that strength and courage spilled over to us. –Out of necessity. You see, even with Mom’s degree in Culinary Science, we sometimes found her food to be, well, more on the side of scientific experimentation than on culinary masterpieces.

I don’t think I will ever forget the day we moved Mom into her own apartment after Dad died. I remember most of my brothers were there, and we were working like ants, making a military march from the truck, up the steps to the third floor, then back down again to pick up the next load. It was like this for a good while, but everything changed the minute she defrosted the “mystery meat” and served us a complimentary dinner.

Now, we would never disrespect Mom by telling her that her cooking was a little less than worthy of the Culinary Science degree she earned. But what happened, rather naturally along the military march to and from the apartment, was that the word spread that a dumpster, clean out of mom’s sight, was just a few yards to the left at the end of the street. I don’t think she ever realized that we were a little slower in getting her belongings up to her new apartment, although she did comment on how hungry we must be, as she needed to refill our plates every time we came back upstairs.

All I know is that we were lucky she never peaked her head out to see that our military march had become a triangular trip from truck to apartment to dumpster, all in good stride.

We may have feared the food, but Mom never feared God; she embraced Him. Let Him fully into her heart. Let Him do His work through her so that others may benefit from such Excellence in Love.

On the day when Mom became a member of St. John’s in October of 2001, Psalm 100 was printed on the inside of the bulletin. This is the same Psalm that we all considered to be highly appropriate to share in her passing. How fitting that such a Psalm would capture the essence of Mom’s beliefs:

Psalm 100 begins,

Shout joyfully to the Lord, all the earth.

Serve the Lord with gladness;

Come before Him with joyful singing;

Know that the Lord Himself is God;

It is He who has made us, and not we ourselves;

We are His people and the sheep of His pasture.

Isn’t this the way Mom embraced all of life, though? Her life with Dad was a magnificent journey in every way, and when he passed away in 1989, she mourned his loss genuinely and fully. I had the good fortune to take several trips with Mom after Dad passed away. We went to Florida, New England, and Canada. We talked about the essence of life, of seizing the day. Carpe Diem we would shout joyfully together in the mobile home, navigating the winding curves along the King’s Highway throughout Canada, having no idea where we were headed, but taking it all in nonetheless.

And when Mom emerged from mourning our father’s loss, she once again felt great joy that God had led her to begin a new journey with another individual who had also just lost a spouse of many years. Together, they forged a new relationship that strengthened so much that my own children saw Charlie as their grandfather, a great man who loved their grandmother very, very much.

Mom wrote about how happy she was listening to her grandchildren run the model trains with Charlie in the basement. The woops of laughter as they all enjoyed the simplicity of life in a full-blown city, scaled down to fit nicely on the smoother side of a 4 x 8 piece of plywood.

That’s all it took. A few smiles, some good laughs, and always a lot of love.

Then a few years ago, Mom started taking a different type of journey. In 2005, she was diagnosed with cancer, and from her hospital bed, we had to break the news to her that, without treatment, she had maybe three, four weeks to live. It was the hardest thing I think we might ever have to do, but my brother Steve spoke so strongly, so confidently to her, letting her know that she could still take control, still fight this, and still live maybe another year or two.

After Steve had finished, she looked around at all of us, firmed her upper lip, and said, “I’m going to lick this cancer.” And for those two years, that’s exactly what she did.

At first she set small goals: the first to make it to the day Kohl’s Department Store opened in Lutherville. Mom was a shopaholic. And when that day arrived in August of 2005, we covered the event like it was the Media Story of the year. It was her first milestone, and she laughed when we were all done, telling us that her next goal was to make it to her 80^th birthday.

Soon after Kohl’s, I remember taking her to chemo treatment one day, and she and I looked around the waiting room. We were surrounded by individuals, young and old, battling cancer just like her. The difference was that, in many of these people’s eyes, you could tell that they had lost their fight to live.

She leaned into me and whispered, “Don’t they know that they are still alive? Isn’t that something to hold on to?” I nodded, and after Mom went into the room behind the blinds for her treatment, I peaked in every once in awhile to see her, getting chemo, looking patient, maybe even a little anxious. After her treatment, I asked her what she was thinking about that whole time, and she replied, simply, “Why, spending the evening with Charlie in Atlantic City, playing the slots all night!”

And that’s exactly what she did. From Chemo to Kohl’s, to Wegman’s to Slots, she spent each moment enjoying life to the fullest.

Even in her final journey, when the chemo treatments could do no more and Mom became too weak to leave her bed, she still reflected on the good, on a life well-lived, on her faith in God, where there was no fear, only joy for what God had provided her along the way.

Indeed, until the very end, she did Shout joyfully to the Lord, all the earth. She did serve the Lord with gladness.

In her final hours, my brother Jim and I sat by her bedside and looked at how peaceful she lay there. Days before, she whispered of being with our Dad and with her sister Lorraine, and Jim and I wondered what this last journey from Earth was like for her, to be so peaceful in this parting.

Really, though, all we need to do is look at the second part of Psalm 100 to understand:

Enter his gates with thanksgiving,

And his courts with praise.

Give thanks to Him; bless His name.

For the Lord is good;

His lovingkindness is everlasting,

And His faithfulness to all generations.

To all generations.

Finally, I offer this: Years ago, Mom wrote a note to me and asked me to share some important words at her funeral. I am honored to fulfill her request:

Mom wrote:

“If I’ve learned anything in my life, it is that we should never stop loving each other. My children are lucky to have such wonderful families, and I want all of them, especially my precious grandchildren, to remember to always cherish and enjoy life, to love one another without judgment, and for goodness sake, to always stay in touch with each other. I love you all. I always have, and I always will, from here, from heaven, forever.”

Eileen Westervelt, May 12, 1926 — May 17, 2007

I don’t think I have ever been so sad, yet so honored, in my life.

The passing of my mother was not an immediate thing, nor was it ugly in any sense in these past two years that she battled cancer and lived more fully than I can imagine ever doing. She passed away as I believe she deserved: a graceful, peaceful journey where she left this world slowly, gradually, and entered a new peaceful world on the other side of all that we know to be true here on Earth. We all had our chance to say goodbye when she was aware of what was happening, and then we had our time with her as she left us slowly, breath by breath, until her final exhale at 12:10 yesterday morning.

My brother and I had a very special hour with her less than three hours before she died. The room was dimly lit, quiet despite the sound of the oxygen generator running in the next room. In this, my final hour with her, there was a greater, almost indefinable spirituality that I experienced, where we spent much of the time in silence, wondering where she was in the journey, what she was experiencing as she left this world and entered a new one.

There was no fighting on her part, nor was there sadness beyond the immediate realization of losing our mother. Instead, there was a certain honor to be with her at this time as she let go.

When my father passed away 17 years ago, I struggled on so many levels with his death. But Mom has shared with us the greatest of gifts in her final days. She has allowed us to be a part of her passing, and it is an experience that we will never forget; it is an experience that will always fill us with a greater love for life, for family, for all that is genuine, for all that is true.

hello, all:

whfere to begin. . . .

I’m listening to the LOVE soundtrack from Cirque de Soleil show featuring the remixed work of the Beatles. I’m in my classroom still, as I have not yet had the chance to set up my little e-world in my office in our new home.

It would be ridiculous to list all of the challenges my family and I have faced in these past 5 weeks. Just ridiculous. I might be a deep person, but I’m not the type who likes to go on and on about the things that aren’t going my way. We all have our stresses, our trials, our tribulations, and I know it’s what we do with them that defines who we are.

I’ve been gone for this block of time simply b/c I didn’t want to write about these things. I don’t want to go on and on about the stress, the sadness, the grief. Too much good goes on all around us regardless of the hard times that fall upon us; I choose to see those good things as often as I might be allowed.

So: We’re moved into our new house. Our scaredy cat is over with us now, too, after having to trap him like some wild beast. Our boxes are still filling the back porch and family room, but that’s ok. I’ll unpack more tonight.

Mom’s in her second week of hospice, and she is straddling that veil separating this world from that other heavenly place. I wonder if she will make it to her birthday on Saturday and Mother’s day on Sunday. Sunday marks the two-year anniversary of when she became a DNR patient. We were sure we were going to lose her that morning. She proved us wrong for two good years, God bless her. But the cancer has spread too deeply within her, and she is letting go.

My brothers and my sister–we’re all going through this a little differently. Someday, this will make a good post.

Through all of this, the lives of our children continue to move in wondrous directions. I couldn’t help but smile last week when, on the ride home from gymnastics, my oldest daughter (she’s almost 11) asked me if girls ever teased me when I was her age.

“Oh, yes. Very much so. They would chase us around the playground, and when they caught us, they would either kiss us on the cheek or claw us. There never really seemed to be any reason to whether we got a kiss or the claw.”

She giggled at this and proceeded to tell me how she and another girl hide various things of some of the boys in her class. She tells this story like it’s a wonderful secret, and she giggles with an excitement, an electricity that only the coming of adolescence and puberty can bring.

And in that moment, I was reminded that the tough times are always present. Sometimes they are a little closer to us than we might prefer, but the same is true with the good times as well. Sometimes, they might be a little distant, but with an open heart they run to us, wrap around us like that warm blanket just out of the dryer.

Comfort in the smallest of places.

keep finding the good, friends. There’s a lot of it out there that’s just waiting to wrap itself around you.