That Girl

Ev and I tried to get on a tennis court yesterday. You would think on a Saturday, just as college football season is getting into full swing and both the Cubs and the Sox have scheduled games, that we might be able to get on a court for a half hour or so. No such luck. We managed about 5 or 10 minutes during change overs-- just enough to see Evan's righteously evolving ability, but not enough to say we played tennis yesterday.

So, it was a quick jog to the busy play area. And jog we did. Evan made me run from the tennis courts to the play area, something I don't do anymore for a couple of reasons, legitimate or otherwise. But the play area is always fun for Evan and there is always a good mix of parents present to supervise and insure against bullying and the insane fearless risk-taking so common among young kids. And that's where it happened:

Sitting there with racquets and tennis balls in hand, minding my own business, watching Evan play on the swings and twirl down the corkscrew, when all of a sudden she just shows up. Boom. She walks over, beautiful reddish brown hair, smokey grey eyes, gorgeous cardigan sweater and coordinated pants, and plops down right next to me. Frankly, it made me a little uncomfortable but she was all about showing me her camera and wondering how it worked. It wasn't long before I'm thinking how great it would be to come home to a girl like this every day.

Of course it wasn't long before the guy that was with her came over to stand right next to us, like, duh, I get it already. Surprisingly, he let her stay for a bit, seemingly not at all jealous or worried. Obviously the confident type.

She ended up leaving with him-- and her mom, and her grandmother. Even so, it was nice to realize I still have that effect on girls-- even if they're all of 2 years old.

I had a daughter like that once. Cute as she was at two, she's only gotten better with age. But I like to think she'd still perch next to me on a park bench-- if only she had the time.

Heading West

I write this as I am seated in row 43 on a westbound 757 en route to Portland, Oregon. Not much of a seat for a grand but it’s what you get when you have to go-- and go now.

“Heading west” is an old expression for those who have departed. And so it is that I am presently headed compass west, to gather with my family and pay respects to my dear sister Lois who passed away earlier this week.

Lois was my oldest sibling in the family of eight children in which I am the youngest. She was a generation removed from me, old enough to be my mother; she was out of the home and a teacher on her own by the time I tumbled onto the scene. In fact, she has always remained quite a bit removed from me. We took great joy in one another but we had a bridge between us that always stood in place. For me, as with several of my older siblings, she was a living testament to a past I never knew, the upbringing I never endured, the relationship to young parents I never knew. If I wanted a glimpse at what life might have been like had I been born in 1936, to young first-time parents married just 2 years, I needed to look no further than my big sister Lois.

There are lessons to be learned from a much older sibling, lessons in how to, or how not to, live life. Lessons easily ignored but never too late to revisit, to relearn. Lois was among the fortunate to have lived a life filled with friends and family, several of whom were able to sit with her as she slowly set off for the west. And a loving husband who stood by her literally to the very end.

So much life. So much joy. So much pleasure taken in being a participant rather than an observer. All good lessons. The very best. So much to teach me and those around her. Life lessons—in living and in dying.

I should be so lucky-- and so wise-- as to now take time, look within, and learn those lessons she so generously demonstrated.

Farewell dear sister.