On Talking to Claude

This puzzle was started on February 18, 2025, and hung around until Thanksgiving of the same year. I have never given up on a jigsaw puzzle, and with Claude’s help, I didn’t have to on this one.

Getting set up, ready to start. Feb. 18, 2025.

There are 1000 pieces, and only a 5″ by 7″ photo of this 1906 painting to go by. If I connect about 2 a day, I will be doing this for a year and a half. If I put in one piece a day, which is my current rate, it would take about 3 years.

I’m not even a big fan of “Water Lilies” or Claude Monet’s Impressionism. It just happens to be one of the puzzles I borrowed from my granddaughter Clara, and put off doing until now because of its complexity.

Still, it calms me to look at it and work on it, maybe like the water lilies scene calmed Monet. It’s an exercise in patience, and concentration, where you have to be “in the zone”, as you get into the painting/puzzle.

Sun and daylight are good to have. March 8, 2025.

As I study this, it’s almost like each piece is a brushstroke of color. I am helping to “paint” this cardboard replica of a large 35″ high by 37″ wide painting from 1906, which hangs in the Art Institute of Chicago. He was 66 years old when he painted this from his water garden in Giverny, France. He did approximately 250 oil paintings of water lilies in the last 30 years of his life.

As I look deeper, I see the structure the artist worked with. There is a repetition throughout the canvas and a chosen palette of varying hues-purples, blues, greens, with touches of yellow and pink.

I find myself talking to Claude, asking things like, “Now, where would that next color be?” and “What would you put here?”. The reference photo is very small, and not detailed at all, requiring a magnifying glass just to get a clue.

A little more progress. April 13, 2025, 11:13 AM.

Crazy, I know, it’s a jigsaw puzzle! But, I appreciate how this one item (among countless copies and printings on products) brings me up close to the painting.

And OH! What colors are in there! I think a piece is a purple and then I see blue purple and red purple, which makes me search for another section to place it in. Very slow going.

What does Claude care that I am having trouble matching the various hues? Sometimes, I feel that he does care, and is directing me to turn the piece, such as “make it horizontal, instead of vertical”.

And, sometimes, like magic, I walk by, pick up a piece, and place it down in the correct spot, barely looking. It seems to fly out of my fingers at those times.

Thank you, Claude, for the spots of pink that I was only able to see upon close examination. They were a hint to where pieces belonged.

On Sunday, April 27, I wrote this in my notes: Today I notice that I’m matching brush strokes as well as color, such as a swish of pale green or a dab of yellow.

Getting to know this puzzle! May 13, 2025. 3:48 PM. Omaha.

Claude, did you really just guide my hand to place this group of blue-green pieces near the top of the puzzle, and not the bottom where I had them?

Section that Monet told me to put here, near top of puzzle instead of bottom, where I had placed it. May 15, 2025. 10:01 AM.

The piecing is so difficult that I often think it fits. To be sure, I have to hold it up to the light and see if it’s snug, with no sunlight coming through. Because of my imperfect eyesight, even with reader glasses, I rarely know until that moment. This one works!

Holding a connection to the light to see if it’s the right fit (no light shining through). July 29, 2025, 11:00 AM.

In late October, the putting together becomes easier, as I work on it sporadically.

I’m astounded again at the colors! When the sun hits the piece I’m holding and lights up that purple-blue-turquoise, it makes me happy. As I work on this, I begin to see it as sky with stars instead of water with lilies.

To think that more than a century after it was painted, I can partake in the viewing of it through a puzzle on my dining room table with such enjoyment astounds me. Although, I like to imagine I’ll see it in person again someday.

On November 14th, Thanksgiving is 2 weeks away. While Dan is planning the menu and shopping, I am keeping at this, determined to finish, because we will need this table.

With Claude’s help, I did it!

Finished! November 26, at 1:13 PM. 22.5″ H by 17″W, The Fine Art Collection, 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle.
Claude Monet, Water Lilies, 1906.

Just for fun, an additional tidbit. I worked on a Van Gogh puzzle before this, but he didn’t talk to me.

Thanks for reading!

With appreciation for gifts and sharing of puzzles,

Shirley

A Boy and his Boat

As our boats move away to winter storage, my thoughts are moving to another time in our life pre-boats.

Our oldest son, Bryan, bought a fishing boat. It was the year 2000, he told me today when I asked about this picture. He remembered because it was before Clara, his first child, who was born in 2002.

He came to show us, pulling into our driveway.

His father had an opinion. It was too soon to splurge on a boat!

Now, Bryan was in his mid-20’s, out of high school, and college, recently married, with a full time job (both he and his spouse). They were buying a little house in midtown Omaha, and re-paying school loans. It almost made sense that this was not the right time.

However, fishing is a passion he inherited from his Grandpa Leny (my dad) and Thelen uncles.

Dan did not understand. He just didn’t grow up fishing. He enjoyed other recreational activities.

They had words, as fathers and sons do, but a father’s wisdom is no match for a fisherman’s zeal.

At one point, Bryan said, (half joking?), “Fine! Then I won’t give you a ride in it!”

That’s about the time I wanted a picture, and asked him to hop up into the boat. I was proud of him asserting his independence (as I am of all our children).

In a way, he was living out our family motto, “Don’t be a Scaredy Cat”.

Years later, Dan and I thought it appropriate to name our speedboat after it. It’s a gentle reminder to take it easy in the wild lake traffic. One family member (the only one to take an official course in driving a boat) ignores that-she likes to go FAST!

If you laughed at our motto, you might laugh harder at this photo, (taken by Amy Farha Neary): grandkids acting out with dismay at the marina’s misspelled paint job (it was re-done), or faking the role of true scaredy cats.

An update to this story: Amy told me that after she graduated from Pharmacy school, she told Bryan to get a different car. He was driving his dad’s old red Honda. Instead, he came back with this boat that could only be pulled by Amy’s car!

Boldly going forth,

Shirley

Walgreens; it’s a Walk in the Park

You may know that I like to walk. Many years ago in our first Omaha nighborhood, near 55th and Jackson, I met up with 2 other walkers for an hour long, 4 mile urban hike at 6 AM. We had an understanding that we would never give a wake up call to each other. We would just show up or sleep in. It remains one of my life’s happiest episodes. We called ourselves “The Walkie Talkies”, so named by our super creative member, Nancy.

I love a good walk. There is never a time that I regret getting outside for a walk, short or long. I especially like it when there is a purpose – to get groceries, a haircut, or go to a Dr.s appointment at the NE Med Center.

Lately, since our neighborhood grocery store (Wohlners) closed last September, I’ve enjoyed shopping at Walgreens. Yes, Walgreens! For me, it’s a 5 minute walk through Turner Park, and a couple of street crossings (with reliable and fast “Walk” lights, or more accurately, a walking figure).

Still, you must be wary. Some drivers are in their own world. Some may politely wait for you to cross, but an idiot behind them thinks they’re too slow, so lays on the horn. I apologize. I should not call them an idiot just because they somehow can not see the reason the car in front of them is not moving (me).

They SHOULD see me. I try to carry my little orange “Whispering Roots” (an Omaha aquaponic nonprofit) bag, or wear a brightly colored scarf that blows in the wind. Can you see me now? Ha ha!

I lose my cool sometimes too. When the honking is insistent, I throw my arms up in their general direction and pantomime a yell. I don’t want to create too much chaos.

Anyhow, it’s a joy to find certain necessities of food or drink at my neighborhood Walgreens.

Here are some of the items I found and carried home:

A dozen eggs, Greek yogurt, a can of Contadina chopped tomatoes, Jiff creamy peanut butter, Starbucks coffee, a pound of butter, a jar of roasted unsalted peanuts, OJ, and a Savignon Blanc (which required the worker to unlock the display refrigerator-no problem).

Walgreens had Quaker oats and M&M’s for this favorite recipe.

Another time, I bought security business envelopes and one heavy pack of printer paper in the office aisle.

The freezer case had ice cream and frozen blueberries for me. I love them on my homemade granola.

It also had tortellini, something I had never bought before. I was thrilled!

Another thing I was thrilled to find was a package of olives. That’s something we rarely have in the house because I’m the only one who eats them.

What more could you want? I suggested to a worker that a bowl of simple, fresh fruits (apples, oranges, bananas) would be fabulous. She said that corporate wouldn’t do that because of the items’ expiration date, which made me laugh. But she would ask.

Some people don’t like it that I walk to shop. They think it’s dangerous somehow, with traffic and maybe strangers asking for change. I work that out by going at less busy times of traffic, and by being watchful.

I like the new signs outside the store. They say something like “No loitering or panhandling. Cameras are on”.

One time, as I was leaving, there was a person who could not read the signs, or willfully ignored them. Hector, at the checkout, went out to explain that the police would be called if he continued to hang around and ask customers for a handout. I appreciated that.

This Walgreens is no longer open 24 hours. The workers told me that has helped to keep the riffraff away.

Before I started getting a few groceries at Walgreens, it was the only place in town for a certain man’s favorite hair product, Vitalis super hold hairspray. Then, it disappeared and could be found nowhere. The company stopped making it. Just for fun, I looked it up on ebay. Yikes!

Other times, I found little Christmas gifts and cards. When I hosted a lunch for my quilting friends at The Cottonwood Hotel, I requested that we be set up in the Orleans Room, at the poker table. We weren’t going to play cards, but I had fun setting a brand new deck at each place, purchased you know where!

There were interesting themes to choose from. This one alligns with my stargazing hobby.

That’s enough about walking and shopping in my neighborhood. I hope you can enjoy the satisfaction of getting a few items at a little store within a short walk, wherever you live.

Onward,

Shirley

I Left my Heart in Arizona

After sunup, a walk along Arcadia Dr., toward Camelback Mountain.

This morning, I woke up from a dream about throwing on some clothes and going for a pre-dawn walk around the Royal Palms Resort at the base of Camelback Mountain in Phoenix, like I did every morning last week.

The complimentary coffee was set up in the MixUp Bar. To get there, I enjoyed a path of sofly lit cobblestones, lined with fragrant rosemary, and adobe walls. Water fountains were quietly bubbling. A few orange trees shone in the darkness. Mellow accoustic music was wafting around me. I was happy. Even the moon was smiling, with Mars above it.

An item I noticed for the first time, at 6:15 AM on Feb. 11, 2025.

I brought my own ceramic mug because I knew that my to-go coffee was not going far. There is a cubby with a fireplace carved into a corner of this lounge. I have gone to it for many years now, maybe 15 to 20 years. I happily share it with other resort guests, but, by going very early, I most often am alone.

I sat and stared at the fire, at the rustic wood floor, and all other design aspects, like the copper tabletops, of this Spanish Mediteranean villa. Sometimes I read. I usually just enjoyed. This year, I saw the detail on the menu cover, and savored its spareness, which still got the message across: this is a place to get a drink.

Rustic floor of the MixUp Bar, Royal Palm.

MixUp Bar, Menu cover, Royal Palm, Phoenix.

Lit up Palms line the drive, 6:39 AM, Feb. 11, 2025. View to the Southeast.

My sleep brought me back to AZ until I woke up, when I realized that I was actually in the below zero winter of Nebraska. Sigh. There would be no warm walks today.

Content to live in both worlds, the dream and the reality!

Hope you are also,

Shirley

On a Walk Through a Cemetery

Voices came to me as soon as I stepped out of the car. Looking around, I saw that mine was the only car parked on the pathway. Scary. I also saw that I was the only person standing in the area.

It was a windy afternoon. The talking I heard must have been people’s voices carrying on the wind from the nearby businesses’ parking lots.

This was last Sunday, September 15. I had been looking for something to do and realized I now had time to go do what I always wanted to do-walk through a cemetery and read the tombstones. I thought while the weather was nice, I’d get a little exercise and entertainment combined, plus a history lesson.

Where I chose to go, in Spirit Lake, Iowa.

I went there for those above reasons, but also to try out an aluminum foil technique that I had read about in the Coon Rapids Enterprise newspaper. With a damp sponge or a small flat brush, it is possible to emboss tombstone engravings on to a thin sheet of aluminum foil.

This looked interesting, so I saved the clipping.

As I walked (with sunscreen, hat, and my sunglass readers), I searched for good candidates. The heat became sweltering, so I aimed for the trees and the shade.

The ground was hard and uneven, but still well kept up and mowed. It looked like a lush green lawn in the distance. Not wanting to risk a stumble, I had to watch my step because of indented areas and little hills. It was another opportunity to keep me sharp, paying attention to my surroundings. Vigilance keeps me on my toes!

A few familiar names caught my eye, but no connections that I knew of.
Then I saw a last name of a person who is now very sick.

Was this a premonition of what I was fearing?

Or a prediction of the near future?

I tried not to think about that and moved on.

I focused on what I came here to do. I experimented with a foil casting. The wind made it difficult to hold the foil flat, so I tried a very small section. It worked! However, I hadn’t planned a way to transport the foil sheet and keep it from wrinkling up, which would erase some of the transfer.

Next time, I’ll bring a cardboard portfolio (2 sheets of large cardboard, duct taped together at the top and one side so I can slide the foil into it).

My eyes saw new things here, so it was a success. I’ll go back and try the foil casting again. A brother-in-law’s grandparents are buried here (his mother grew up in Spirit Lake). I can search for that grave.

I’m sure to see a few more that touch my heart.

Here are some from this excursion:

Whose? When? I want more information. Still, its simplicity makes me think.

Fascinating life summary. He Filed the 1st Claim on West Shore of West Okoboji.

I know and love someone who fits this description.

Shirley

On Caring for Mom in Hospice

It’s been more than 10 years since this episode in our lives. I’ve been thinking about another little story from that time that I can not write about now because I don’t have all of the facts. While looking for that story, I found this one.

I feel that time’s poignancy often, as both Mom and Marty have passed away (Mom in March, 2014 and Marty in Oct, 2014).

Here’s what I wrote on 3-29-2014:

I woke up this morning thinking about our last days with Mom, in our family home in Carroll, IA.

Specifically, I was thinking about my brother, Marty, reading out loud to her from a children’s book. He had randomly picked it up from a stack of books in his basement. It was about a mouse family in a garden setting, which made us adult children laugh.

He held her hand, and caressed it sofly while he read. It was so comforting to us to walk by and see him and hear him doing that. It was also nice to go in and sit in a folding chair by him for a few minutes while he read.

My younger brother Marty was going through his own cancer treatments. He knew this was serious. However, he always had a way of lifting us up with humor and lighthearted topics.

Then, I was doing dishes and singing softly to myself “Who’s the one who tied your shoes when you were young and knew just when to come and see what you had done? Mama, oh Mama.”

Singing and BJ Thomas always soothes me.

Shirley

Oh No, Vertigo!

“Spin Cycle”, Studio Art Quilt, Cotton, by Miriam Nathan-Roberts, 1998.

Last night, I told our daughter that we are all vulnerable, thinking about how a health episode can change plans.

I didn’t tell her then that I woke up at 5AM with a severe episode of vertigo, while still in bed. This changed my plans for the day. What I had planned was to go in early for a fasting blood draw for my annual physical next week.

Instead, I stayed home because I wasn’t sure I could use the elevator (we live in a condo); would it make me dizzy?

Also, could I drive safely? I decided it was better to wait for another day this week.

So, I moved gingerly throughout our home, doing laundry and dishes, baking bread, making a small painting, napping and showering. It happened a few more times that day. I tried to do knee exercises laying flat on my bed. Oh no, Vertigo! I grabbed the covers and held on as the room spun around me, waiting for it to pass.

The point is, we have to keep moving if we can. We might not like how we have to adapt, but we accept it, and hope it will be temporary.

It had been about a year since I last experienced this. It comes on suddenly, and makes me mildly nauseous until I talk myself out of that. Inner ear crystals are the culprit, moving away from their usual position keeping us balanced.

I do have a certain way of dealing with the dizzyness; I look straight ahead, with no sudden head or eye movements up or down.

During the next night, it happened twice, as I changed positions. Apparantly, I don’t have to be on a ladder or tower, as in this 1958 thriller film (below). Lucky me, it comes on when my eyes are closed and I’m safe in bed.

The next day, I did get in for that lab work. Dan wanted to take me. I suspect that was because of the breakfast out possibility, as well as him being a very good caretaker.

The NE Med Center is an exciting place. It’s a huge inner city facility, with new buildings, walkways, busy traffic (cars and pedestrians). We went very early, 7:00 AM. Dan stayed in the car in the parking garage, enjoying his coffee and cell phone news in there.

I went inside and took in that whole experience, observing:

The active hallway, with patients, medical staff, and cleaning crews, walking in 2 directions.

The line in the waiting room, checking in, where a sign tells us, “Please don’t line up in the hallway, come on in.”

The person checking me in, not smiling, all business, until I thanked her by name as I left (her nameplate was on the counter). She gave me a big smile.

The old man who smiled at me as I came out of the blood draw room-maybe it was because I smiled at him first? Or perhaps it was simply acknowledging the camaraderie of our shared experience.

New signs lined up along a wall, “Wheelchairs Park Here”, one sign above each space. This reminded me of the new signs in an Okoboji neighborhood: “Golf Carts Park Here”. Both places are organizing transport vehicles.

A patient and I started a conversation as we were leaving. She was very turned around on her directions. I said, “Don’t ask me, I have vertigo”. Ha ha, I didn’t really say that, but I was on hyper alert for it to occur and grateful that it didn’t.

It was a rainy dark morning. We thought going home for breakfast would be best, until Dan said, “It would be nice to have someone else make our pancakes.” I agreed.

The place he had in mind was The Saddle Creek Breakfast Club (still at its original location along Saddle Creek Road, since 2017, and planning a move soon).

Everything made me happy there.

SCBC, 1540 N. Saddle Creek Road, Omaha, NE.

What I especially liked:

Being in a neighborhood where you park your car a block or two away, and step out onto grass because no sidewalk is there (normally I love sidewalks).

The packed interior-we got the last table for 2 in the back corner, my favorite spot anywhere.

The music. I recognized a Sublime song and Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl”. Both brought back pleasant thoughts. The first, driving Conor in the car pool, and the second, when Brandon was born in 1976, I saw that music video on the hospital TV.

The food, the coffee, our friendly server, and the view out the window, it was all perfect.

When we got the receipt, I saw their slogan at the bottom, “Good morning, Honey Bunny”, with an outlined bunny drawing. Delightful.

Sign at soon to be new location for SCBC, in Countryside Village.

Is my vertigo cured? Probably not, but it left me for a few glorious hours this morning. Who would have thought that this ordinary day in Omaha would elicit such happy feelings?

Yours till Niagra Falls,

Shirley

On Sunday Mornings

The other day, my daughter-in-law passed on to me a prayer that her grandpa had just sent to her. It was the Prayer of St. Francis that begins with “Make me a channel of your peace.”

I immediately started singing it in my head. This whole prayer was put to music in 1967 by a South African songwriter, Sebastian Temple. We sang it at high school masses, and it was part of our wedding music in 1972.

My favorite version.

I thanked her, and said that it would be my daily prayer reflection. It got me to thinking about faith, family and Sundays. This near 80 year old California grandpa had sent it to a 41 year old Denver mom, who sent it on to me, a 71 year old Omahan.

In this mix, is a 20 year old daughter, a college sophomore who posts weekly from her church in Colorado a simple, joyous greeting, like “May the Lord be with you and keep you in His perfect peace today.”

This elicits uplifting responses from all ages. One, an 80 year old Phoenix relative regularly answers something like “Have a peaceful week”. It’s nice to see that connection.

Growing up, Sundays were about many things: rest, church, cinnamon rolls, and the comics, which we called the funny papers.

“Funny Papers”, studio art quilt, Shirley Neary, 2000. Hand dyed and inkjet printed cottons, reverse appliqued. 38”by 29”.

When we were very young and lived on a farm by Breda, Iowa, going to church resulted in a reward for us kids. I told that story in the following art piece:

A stitched St. Bernard’s Church, from a photo I took. Candy images printed on cotton. Machine quilted.

Mom would make cinnamon rolls on Sundays. Now, we were living in Carroll, which meant we could walk to church. The older kids, (of which I was one, being the oldest), were allowed to sleep in, and go to late mass. When we got back, there was a warm breakfast of an egg and cinnamon roll.

In Mom’s handwriting. This is it, nothing on the back.I guess every homemaker in Iowa knew the rest of the instructions.

In 1977, when The Commodores came out with Lionel Ritchie’s song, “Easy” (like Sunday Morning), I couldn’t relate. Sunday mornings were not about ease and relaxation. They were hectic, and filled with obligation, or guilt.

We had 2 little boys then, and went to mass separately. Later, with 4 children, we all got presentable and went as a family. It was frantic. Somebody always had a paper route, with an adult helping. Often, we were responsible for Donut Sunday (at St. Margaret Mary’s), which was fun to do, going downtown to Petit’s Pastry shop to pick up the order.

That presentable issue created challenges. Could the boys wear a tee shirt? Yes, maybe, but without slogans. A collared shirt was better. Were jeans acceptable? They were not, in the 1970’s and 80’s. There were definite rumblings among the parish members about these choices, almost like gossip.

The best we could do; we were a casual family. Conor had just fallen moments before, so he’s still hurting from that.

In Mom and Dad’s time, of farm life and big families, they dressed up for church. My Aunt Jan tells me this story: “We would throw everything down the stairs on Saturday to prepare for Sunday mass, such as ironing the boys’ shirts and polishing the shoes. Near the finishing of that chore, Lenus would exchange his shoes for Dad’s. Then, Mom would say we missed polishing Daddy’s shoes.” He was a trickster!

Polished shoes photo, found online. Lenus, my dad, was 3rd oldest of 11 children.

One time, Mom and Dad were visiting us in Omaha from Carroll. On Saturday afternoon, we went to the Steamboat Bertrand exhibit at DeSoto Bend. The Bertrand sank on April 1, 1865, when it struck a submerged log in the DeSoto Bend of the Missouri River. The items recovered are what’s on display.

It was a very hot summer’s day. All of us were in shorts.

On the way home, Dad suggested going to the 5PM Saturday mass, fulfilling our Sunday obligation. He said it would be nice to wake up on Sunday morning and relax. I protested that we weren’t at all dressed for church.

We went and sat in a somewhat hidden side row, with me a little embarrassed, but happy to have an “Easy Like Sunday Morning” ahead of us.

If you would like to share any comments or photos from your Sunday mornings, please do!

Peace to you,

Shirley

On Getting Older; Being Younger

Today, I’m reading a novel where the child asks his father what it’s like to get older. I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately. I guess I was thinking about it back on June 9, 2010 also when I wrote this:

Young mother, young father, young child. That was us in 1973. One year into marriage, family and continued college life. Part time jobs, intramural games for Dan, dance classes for me: Modern (which involved getting up on a chair) and Arabic (also known as belly dancing) through the “Y”.

Small dwelling. A mobile home purchased with my parents’ co-signing the loan. It cost $2,000.00, and that included the deck extension. We moved that home from Breda, IA to Towncrest Mobile Home Court in Iowa City, IA.

Young marrieds next door arguing loudly and throwing dishes at 2 AM. Me selling Avon door to door. Dan janitoring at Hillcrest boys Dormitory (now demolished). Me, getting a full time job at University Hospital in the File department, after dropping out of college. Dan, picking up our son, Bryan, from the sitter after class, and bringing him to visit me at work, placing him up on the counter for a bit.

Me taking tennis lessons over my lunch hour—Imagine! Some days watching soap operas in the break room with co-workers. Every day eating my home packed lunch.

A move to Omaha in 1975 for Dan’s new job with a $12,000.00 annual salary. I would never again take a full time paid job. But I always knew that I could if I had to, or wanted to.

My evening Organic Chem class was a favorite. The professor set up a coffee bar, with powdered creamer; such a treat!

Going back to school at UNO (University of Nebraska Omaha), living in a Benson apartment, then house, 3 more children, a big 96 lb. dog, and lots of neighbors/friends to meet. Getting a degree while settled into our 2nd Omaha house in west Omaha near 120th St. Discovering quilts and gardening along the way to add to general creative, artistic outlook on life. Laughing often, with Dan and kids, at Dan, at kids, at myself, and by myself thinking about Dan and kids.

First quilt, “Soft Hearts”, 1994, donated to Essential Pregnancy Service.

One of my first gardens, trying to re-create a rainbow.

1997, a family move to Long Island, New York, at age 45—our big adventure.

1998, coming back to Nebraska after 1 year and an ethically challenging experience. Tears all around. Some called it a Baptism by Fire.

Somewhere, back in N. Y., I got older. I no longer moved without thinking about it. I was active as ever, but now I was more AWARE of my movements. I felt like I had to chart my course each day to stay on track.

Like telling myself this: I will get up, go shower, go downstairs, make coffee. Along the way, pick up lint on the carpet (sometimes), open blinds, walk to laundry room. Anyhow, I no longer just DID things. I now had a heightened awareness of each action.

Enjoying excellent health, I thought it was due to my nutritious eating, early AM walks, and optimistic outlook. I really didn’t understand illness and disability.

So, now at age 57 (in June, 2010), how humbling it is to have a painful knee for no apparent reason, and not to be able to keep up with fellow travelers at the airport. I’m on every moving sidewalk, standing still, and every escalator.

No dancing on this trip, inconceivable!

Note: On 9-23-2010, I wrote that the awareness of knee soreness is still there, but I’m walking up steps, around NYC for 2 days, and dancing a little. I think it’s getting better!

Shirley

On Praying

Entry door handles, St. Michael the Archangel Church, Munich, Germany, 2014

A few years ago, when my friend Teri asked me to pray for a special intention, I responded with, “Yes, of course, my every breath is a prayer.” She thought that was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. This made me wonder where those words came from. Did I hear it, or read it somewhere? Or, was it original to me?

Growing up Catholic, I know the prayers to say. Some of them are the Our Father, Hail Mary, Bless us O Lord (before meals), and the Rosary for really big wishes from God.

A simple prayer we used to say often around the house was this: “St. Anthony, St. Anthony come around, something is lost and it must be found!” It usually worked.

While Dan and I were raising a family, our prayers were somewhat by the book, memorization and instruction. Going to Mass was expected and we all went together.

Later, when the kids were teenagers, I felt myself transitioning and praying with deeper meaning and more frequency. Some of it was in short bursts as they were leaving to go to school, or a job, or a game or a RAVE (scary thought). I’m sure they never witnessed me stepping out on the front porch and making the “Sign of the Cross” as they drove around the corner.

When my parents became sick in 2011, at 79 years of age, and passed away months later, it was so life changing. I transformed my praying to the uncomplicated “May God be with us” and “Thank you God for being with us.”

It was easy to say, and I said it so often, that it became an enormous comfort, and it still is. This personal, silent prayer is a way to practice my faith and get me motivated sometimes when I don’t want to do a “must do”.

I find myself saying it as we are discussing things of life (or death) at family reunions, or in the grocery store aisle with a favorite friend. I say it silently when a loved one goes away, and before I go away. Often, I ask Mom and Dad to be with me also.

My Grandma S. used to say something like, “See you next week, God willing.” At the time, I thought that was so depressing to hear her say that! Did she think she was going to die in the next few days? Now, I actually think it was her prayer showing trust in God’s plan. She was so joyful and grateful for each new day.

Proof that Dad is still with us, and the reason for Faith.

Dad’s favorite fishing place, Nelson Park, in Iowa, now has a bench to memorialize him. On the day it was installed, my brother, Marty, took this photo, because he liked the trees and the still water. It was only later that he saw Dad’s face reflected in that calm water (upper right from the bench, wearing a hat and sunglasses).

So, as I get older, I may be praying even more because there is so much to pray for. I just hope I don’t start saying “God willing”. I don’t want to scare the grandkids.

Shirley