Hello dear readers,
Are you feeling some of what I’m feeling which is. Wow! It’s the beginning of November and in a few weeks, it will be another new calendar year. I love Fall. I love all seasons, and yet, sssshhhhh, don’t tell Winter, Spring, and Summer, but something touches my heart a tiny bit extra when Fall knocks. (smile)
Like Spring, when I feel that I’m eagerly awaiting the slowness of the trees to bud their greenery for the summer, and then poof, it’s May and everything is green, I find the same thing as Fall knocks. I’m eagerly awaiting the breathtaking color changes and then poof, the leaves are down, my husband and I are clearing leaves out of our yard four, five, or six times (grin!), and I sense Winter will soon knock on the door as the sweatshirts and sweaters whisper yay! And my soul dances in joy feeling the coziness that comes from the gift of chilliness.
Always that dance of grace between opposites. Warm. Cool. Spring. Fall.
And light that always radiates in the dim and dark. True to the take your breath away views Nature offers, cameras never seem to capture the views that only Presence truly experiences. Yet, I still try, and I peruse the photos in gratitude that I can return to a recollection of the sensation I felt in the moment. Like walking in our unlit bedroom, witnessing the sun glistening against the leaves, shining a radiant light through the window.
And I stood between both, centered in the promise that there is always Light.
May the radiance of Light always dance with you.
Wishing you a peace-filled start to your November.
The Creases Now Speak
Mary
The quote next to Mary’s name in her senior class yearbook reads I never realized until lately that women were supposed to be the inferior sex. Words spoken by Katharine Hepburn, who was also known for being headstrong, independent, and outspoken.
I am going to be just like her, Mary vowed. To her best friend Debra, her sister Patricia, her boyfriend Johnny. Most of all, to herself and the walls of her bedroom, each time she slammed her door shut in disgust at her mother who seemed anything but Katherine. Docile, helpless, and dissident. Or more like shrinking, Mary thought to herself each time she witnessed her mom jump up from the table, hurrying to wait on them during a meal.
More than once Mary’s father would get that displeasing tone in his voice insisting apologize immediately to your mother when Mary would speak her mind about how she wasn’t going to wait hand and foot on anyone. She wasn’t going to be “Suzy homemaker”, and she certainly wasn’t going to marry a man who sat at the head of the table as if he was king, and his wife was his staff.
Mary went to college, but unlike her friends who went so that they could find their husbands, Mary attended so that she could begin experiencing her independence. She didn’t want to teach or to be a nurse, as was the path most women chose. Mary wanted to have a job in one of the high-rise office buildings dotting the Chicago skyline. Or New York City. Or San Francisco.
On her own. No Johnny. No parents. Her sister Patrica could come with her if she wanted to, but Mary knew she wouldn’t. Patrica would make their mom proud by getting married, having children, doting on her family, waiting on whoever Patricia would find to be her king.
Exhibiting the traits of her role model served Mary well while earning her degree in business management, a field dominated by men like her father. Meeting room tables and desks in which kings sat, expecting staff to follow their every command. Mr. Ward, her boss, was different. Mary got a job in downtown Chicago in a large corporation as an executive assistant. From the moment Mary began working for Mr. Ward, he sought her opinions.
Instead of telling her what to do, he asked her how she thought something should be done. When he asked her to scribe and type up letters, he also explained the business impact in the communications. Headstrong in his own right, Mr. Ward wasn’t afraid to be unconventional. On more than one occasion he asked Mary to join a lunch with the knights of the round table, as Mary liked to think of the group of men gathered to make business deals over quiche Lorraine and a bourbon on the rocks.
To the men, Mary was there to scribe and be pleasing to the eye. To Mr. Ward, Mary was there to learn the inner workings of business for the day when she would be the queen at the tables of boardrooms and her corner office desk.
It is how she meant Henry, her husband. An ambitious, handsome, not needy man who wasn’t threatened by Mary’s independent nature and business acumen. They had the same goals. Become vice presidents in their respective companies. No children. Travel abroad. An apartment on the 18th floor overlooking Lake Michigan. Not wait on each other.
Mary’s mom never came to visit them in the city. Mary tried, offering to take her mom shopping or to a nice restaurant. Mom, you deserve to have someone serve you a meal for once. On the other end of the phone Mary would hear a soft sigh as her mom tsk tsked about fancy places and how Mary should save her money for a rainy day. Then she would change the subject and her tone of voice, the delight unmistakable as she would tell Mary all about the latest things her two nieces were doing. Stephanie is earning all A’s and has become quite a young lady. Patrica says Stephanie is showing quite an interest in learning how to cook. Jessica came over last week and helped me in the garden. She really has a green thumb.
Mary can’t remember when her mom stopped asking when Henry and she were going to settle down and have children. Her mom never expressed her disappointment in words. Only in sighs and tsk tsks when she would tell Mary about a church member the congregation was praying for who was unable to conceive. Mary didn’t know what was more disturbing. That it seemed the end of the world if this person couldn’t have a baby. Or that this individual found it comforting to tell an entire church something so personal.
Mary wonders how her mom would react to her recent news if she were still alive. Would she be empathetic? Would she offer to come over and take care of Mary? Would she tsk tsk at the prospect that Mary could die, and her only legacy would be the money she bequeathed to her sister, niece, and great nephew?
Breast cancer. Stage IV. It has spread to your lymph nodes. Usually, one to pay attention to every word in the conference room, Mary only heard radical mastectomy, chemo, 10%. And Henry’s words with as much confidence and conviction she is certain he exhibits in every business acquisition. You don’t know my wife, doctor. She WILL be the one to make it 11%.
When they got home, Henry kissed her on the forehead as he asked her where she would like him to order take-out. Her cancer is simply another business problem to solve, and in his mind, they will win this deal, too.
Mary reached for the Eathai menu, swallowing the words she most wanted to say to Henry that she couldn’t recall ever saying out loud.
I need you.