The Memory Keeper’s Daughter

After work yesterday, several of us met at Outback for a monthly book club meeting. I’m fortunate enough to belong to two book clubs, and this one is affiliated with work

Last night we discussed The Memory Keeper’s Daughter by Kim Edwards, a novel described by the Chicago Tribune as being “rich in psychological detail and the nuances of human connection.” That’s my kind of book!  As soon as I read the first page, I realized that I had read this bestselling book a couple of years ago. The image of falling snow and worsening weather conditions coupled with the expectant mother safely sheltered within the home are unforgettable images.  

For those who haven’t read it, I’m not going to give away the entire plot…just enough of the story to pose a question. A young doctor and his wife are expecting a child, and because of inclement weather, he and his nurse are the ones who deliver the child. A perfect baby boy, Paul, is born. Then, much to the surprise of the doctor and nurse, a second child is delivered, a baby girl. This tiny girl, however, has Down Syndrome, and the father makes a split second decision to send the baby away and to tell his wife that baby Phoebe died. Although it sounds callous, the book explains the doctor’s motives. He tells his nurse, Caroline, to take the baby to an institution, but ultimately she moves to another city and raises Phoebe as her own child.

The book made us think about family dynamics and family secrets. First there was the couple, madly in love with each other. Then the babies were born, and the father decided to keep a major secret from his wife, supposedly to protect her. After that, he was never quite the same, and hence, the two of them grew apart. She resented that he didn’t let her at least glimpse the infant who “died.” Paul, the son, was affected by his parents’ relationship and the “secret.” As years pass, events unfold, some good and some not so good. You’ll have to read all about it for yourself.

Last night we shared some family dynamics and discussed. how relationships can affect family synergy and dynamics over generations.  It’s fascinating to ponder such things and equally intriguing to listen to others’ examples. Another question posed by our “facilitator” was whether each of us had a secret that we had chosen to keep from our loved ones and whether that secret affected our families regardless of whether it was told or untold. Guess what? We all did…not as dark as the doc’s, but still….

We then dispersed, each of us thinking of our own lives and how they were intertwined with others…and of course of the events, both open and concealed, that influence our circles. What about you? Can you see the influence of certain events affecting your family, perhaps over more than one generation? 

Governor’s Midnight Run

I’ve had so many positive responses to the marathon postings that I decided to post one more. You folks who responded were mighty positive and encouraging, and I appreciate that; it makes me want to keep on keeping on. Tonight I thought I’d share two things, one about how I got started in the running craze back in the 1980s and the other about the motive behind marathoning.

My first husband and my two brothers used to run in races all over the state of SC “back in the day,” and my daughters and I would usually follow them around like groupies. One day as we were waiting for the men to come across the finish line, I noticed this older lady as she rounded the corner and ran towards us. She was wearing some of the shortest shorts I’d ever seen with panty hose, and her hair was teased, sprayed, and perfectly in place. Feeling something between astonishment and awe, I began talking with her, and she announced that she was 57 years old and that her husband and two daughters were somewhere behind her! She beat them all. I decided then and there that if she could do it, so could I. We went shopping for my first pair of running shoes that afternoon, and they were hideous but comfortable…orange with yellow trim.

Years passed, and one day my oldest child came home from college and announced that she and Michelle, a friend of hers, were going to participate in a marathon in Alaska. “Yeah, right,” I thought. She went on to tell me that several Coastal Carolina students were going to raise money for the Leukemia Society through an organization called “Team in Training.” She had my attention, and Carrie, Michelle, and I joined about 45 or 50 other people from the Myrtle Beach area in raising over $3,000 each for leukemia research, a feat that culminated in flying to Anchorage for the Governor’s Midnight Run on June 21, 1996. Bake sales, yard sales, raffles, car washes, and donations from friends are some of the ways we raised the money.

The marathon was phenomenal, and maybe I’ll write about that later. For tonight, I want to share the most motivating statement I picked up during our training. One of the trainers from another town joined our group one night and shared her experience in Alaska the preceding summer. She spoke of the blisters, shin splints, and overall weariness and also of the exhilarating feeling of turning a corner and realizing she had accomplished her goal. Here’s what got to me though. It fact, it still does. She said (I’m paraphrasing a bit), “You’ll feel tired and weak all over. Your feet will hurt, your legs will ache, and your lower back might even feel weird. But you know what? After a warm bath and a good night’s rest you’ll be as good as new. Your patients, however, the ones you’re raising money for, won’t be so lucky.”

The upshot of the above two stories is that I get out and get moving (although much slower) because I still can.  I do it for those who can’t. I do it in memory of those whose hospital bracelets Carrie and I wore that day in Anchorage, Carrie for her granny (my mother) and me for my friend Linda, both of whom lost their battles with cancer.

Marathon Memories

I’m busy up to my eyeballs, and yet I just spent 45 minutes teaching a colleague how to start her own blog so how can I not spend just a few minutes adding a little update to my own blog? There’s a ton (really) of stuff I could share, but I think the most significant item is the big weekend event: the Myrtle Beach Marathon and Half Marathon.

 As in years past, thousands of participants converged at the intersection of Robert Grissom Parkway and 21^st Avenue in the predawn darkness to stretch, chat, drink water, and ponder what was ahead. As I looked around at some of my compatriots, I couldn’t help but wonder if they were thinking about their race strategies, their shin splints, last year’s time, or even the huge breakfast they planned to consume after the crossed the finish line.  

Shortly after listening to the National Anthem, the starting gun fired, and the front runners were off. Those like yours truly in the back of the pack didn’t move for several seconds, and then we began inching our way forward in fits and starts. Even though I was not prepared for it, I had to jog the first three miles or get left behind, but after that I switched back and forth between a fast walk and intermittent jogging. As in the past, the absolute best part was the several miles down Ocean Boulevard. Why? Because the sights and sounds are spectacular, and you’re still strong enough to enjoy them.

Nearly a week later, I’m still thankful for the young African American woman who sang aloud to the tunes on her Ipod; she pepped me up. I’m also grateful for the hundreds of volunteers and onlookers for their support and offers of refreshment. The cheering section outside of Starbucks was especially encouraging. And the cowbells…we liked them too. About the refreshment angle, nothing beats the taste of cold, clean refreshing water when you’re thirsty…nothing. (I also like the sound of the paper cup plunk when it hits the pavement). Special thanks go to the MB Police Department, the Red Cross, and the race organizers for jobs well done.

The only complaint I have about the entire weekend was the $5 that the manager at Captain D’s tried to charge my sister-in-law for parking in the parking lot at 8:00 in the morning. It’s not like too many patrons were going to be eating shrimp for breakfast, so we figured the motive had to be pure unadulterated greed. All she wanted to do was find a vantage point to spot her husband and support the other thousands of walkers, joggers, and runners. Shame on Captain D’s. 

Naturally, all was not perfect. I had my challenges along the way, especially with new shoes and old socks. After stopping and readjusting the socks several times, I finally took the left sock off and sort of jog/limped in. Oh, and I had a bad cold (still do) and had experienced a long night of insomnia. Still, I finished in a reasonable amount of time and was happy to do so. Anyone who feels like whining during an event such as this only has to be passed by a wheelchair racer one time to feel much better about her painful feet.

I’m wondering about all of the participants who ran beside, in front of, and behind me. Are they, like me, planning to give it another shot next year? And what about those of you who’ve never done something like this but might want to? If I can do, anyone can.

Myrtle Beach or Bust

Have I mentioned that I’m participating in the Myrtle Beach Half-Marathon this weekend? This will be the 5^th time; in the previous six years my brother Mike and I went the whole distance, 26.2 miles. A few years ago because of time constraints and our aging knees, we decided that 13.1 miles was sufficient. He runs, and I walk and jog a little. Last year our brother Dave and one of his sons joined us for the event (see above photo), but this year he won’t be making the trip to SC on marathon weekend. My son-in-law Rich, however, is joining us, and he will be running the entire distance. He and my brother have the “no pain, no gain” philosophy whereas I like to savor the sights, sounds, and yes even the little aches and pains. Is pushing oneself to the max a guy thing? Seems to be the case in my family.

About the sights and sounds, we start out under the stars and moon at the intersection near Broadway and Pelican Ball Park, and before the gun is fired we listen to the National Anthem. It’s amazing how the chatter and small talk cease as soon as the anthem comes over the loud speaker.  Then “Bang,” the gun fires and we’re off. It’s usually tough going for me at the beginning since everyone is running and not walking, and walkers will be either run over or left behind.

The best part (even better than crossing the finish line) is crossing King’s Hwy and catching the first glimpse of the beautiful Atlantic Ocean. Talk about a peak experience! No matter how many times I see the ocean, that first peep is always a huge thrill. After getting to Ocean Boulevard, we turn right and continue our trek for maybe five or six miles, and all along the way, there are people on both sides of the road to cheer and encourage us. I don’t think they realize just how much the participants appreciate that support. Plus, this is the best-marked race I’ve ever participated in, and there are mile markers with “times” at every mile. Volunteers providing water and sports drinks are out in abundance and the Red Cross is stationed at various posts along the route and at the end.

As we cruise along the boulevard, there are hotels, restaurants, and fun looking shops all along the way, a virtual feast for the eyes. Oh and of course, there’s the Atlantic on the left in case one needs a little psyching up. Finally, the miles on the boulevard end and we’re back on King’s Hwy along with the tourists, places of business, pancake houses, and encouraging crowds. At this point we’re probably ten miles into the race (?), and I’m feeling pretty tired. I know, however, that the end is just beyond the church, the elementary school, Mr. Joe White Avenue….and then the finish at the ball park.

Before closing this, I feel that I must mention the motley crew that I’ll be a part of. Old, young, short, tall, chubby, thin, male, female, and every race and ethnic background will be my companions along the way. Not only do people come from different parts of the United States, but they also descend on the coastal city from other countries. One year I met a woman whose goal was to run a marathon on all continents. She was 67 and had just gotten started in the sport. I LOVE watching the people I walk/jog with and behind and have struck up so many conversations with dozens and dozens of fascinating folks. I know this year will be no exception.

I’m looking forward to Saturday morning by the sea. Wish you could be there with me and the other thousands who’ll be pounding the streets of Myrtle Beach.

  

Leftover Bread

Another insight from the 14^th chapter of Matthew. I’ll make this post short, a postscript to the previous one. After feeding the huge crowd of 5000-plus people, the leftovers were gathered and put into twelve baskets. In Chapter 15, after feeding another large crowd, they collected enough leftover fragments to fill seven baskets. I don’t know what the disciples did with these leftovers, but I think it’s significant that the gathering of these fragments/scraps was mentioned in both situations. Could Christ be teaching us about provident living?

I think the reason I noticed it tonight is because before dinner I threw away half a loaf of bread…and it wasn’t even moldy. Hard and stale, yes…and yet I’m sure there was a way I could’ve used stale breadcrumbs. Now that I’m thinking about it, I know I could be a lot less wasteful. Couldn’t we all?

Praying in Public

I’m pretty familiar with the many stories and characters from the Bible, but that doesn’t keep me from being enlightened with the “aha” experience on a frequent basis. Within the last couple of weeks or so one of my blogging buddies and I were discussing praying in public. I’m willing to pray anywhere and any time, but I’m reluctant to make a big deal about praying in a restaurant.

I usually play it by ear, and depending on who my dining companions are, I’ll either say a silent prayer or bow my head while someone prays aloud. Sometimes the people I’m with want to hold hands around the table, and I’ll acquiesce to that as well. My little grandson loves to do that and will often say, “Let’s make a circle.” Gotta love that!

However, I sometimes find myself wondering what exactly it is that God wants. In the New Testament, Christ warns us about praying aloud on the street corners to be seen by others, and I interpret the street corners as “in public places where you are sure to be seen.” He further instructs us to retire to our closets to pray, and setting the example, Christ often escaped to mountains, desert, or gardens when He needed to talk to God.

Anyway, my blogging buddy directed me to Matthew 14:15-21, the verses that tell the story of Christ feeding the “five thousand men, beside women and children.” What did he do before breaking the bread and distributing it? Verse 19 tells us that, “looking up to heaven, he blessed, and brake, and gave the loaves to his disciples, and the disciples to the multitude.”

I’ve read that story numerous times, and yet I’ve never really paid that much attention to the “he blessed” phrase. Words worth remembering…and an example worth emulating.

The Widow’s Mite

Okay, I’ll admit that I’m a Romney fan. I also like Hillary and Obama, and I DO NOT like Huckabee. There’s just something about his affable nature combined with his dark staring eyes that scares me. I’d call him a wolf in sheep’s clothing except that that wouldn’t be very Christian of me. Oh heck, I’ll do it anything, especially after what I heard this morning.

What I heard was part of his speech last night that took a swipe at Romney and his millions and gave praise to Huckabee with his shoe string budget. The remark had something to do with the importance of the widow’s mite, and two hours later I’m still wondering exactly what he meant. I know he was referring to his funds compared to Romney’s, but I still don’t get the clear connection. Call me dense, but I thought the widow’s mite was deemed important because she took all that she had and gave it to the temple.  To the temple…to God.

Is that what Huckabee’s saying? That he’s giving all that he has to God? I’ve seldom heard him mention God at all. So maybe he’s saying that despite the fact that his coffers aren’t as full as Romney’s, his ”widow’s mite” went further and counted for more? But wait, I’m confused again. Are we talking about contributions to God or to a campaign?

I’ve read that Huckabee dropped out of seminary after a year, so maybe he has the widow’s mite story confused with something else…or he’s missed the meaning entirely. Or I’ve missed the meaning of the story. Or I’ve misunderstood Huckabee’s reference entirely. It just seems to be that an ordained Baptist minister would choose a better scripture to describe his contribution to the campaign. 

I firmly believe in speaking kind words to and about others, and yet there comes a time when a person must speak up against wrong doing…and wrong saying. What was it that Edmund Burke said? Something about all that is necessary for evil to prevail is for good men (or women) to say nothing.

Protecting Children

Just a few quick ramblings about children in America. Yesterday I heard that McCain vowed to protect the rights of the unborn. While I applaud him for this, I want to hear him and all of the other candidates state that they will protect the rights of babies and children, born and unborn, rich and poor. So many of the pro-life lawmakers do all they can to stem the tide of abortion but then do little to improve the lives of these precious little ones once they are born…often into the homes of abject poverty or to parents who simply cannot feed or clothe them adequately. And let’s don’t forget the single mothers whose ranks are swelling by the hour. Who is helping with these children?

It’s a complicated issue, for sure. And yet I KNOW that children raised in poverty have a tough go of it (understatement).  The United States has one of the highest infant mortality rates in the industrialized world, and often socio-economic factors are at play.  Food, clothing, shelter, health care, medicine, and education are some of the areas affected by SES, and often our legislators know little about how so many of America’s poor children actually have to live. One in six lives at or below the poverty line. Without nutrition, bodies and brains can’t develop normally. Without health care, health issues are exacerbated. Inadequate housing and overcrowding contribute to childhood accidents.

There are no easy answers. I’m just saying that we all need to vow to protect the rights of the already born as well as those of the unborn. And we need to encourage our leaders to do the same thing.

Lunchtime Lesson

One day this week I walked in the lounge area at work and spied a young woman typing fast and furiously on her laptop. I’d seen her in there a couple of times but had been reluctant to interrupt her. On this particular day, however, I did. 

“Are you writing a paper?” I asked.

“Actually,” she responded, “It’s a novel.”

“How exciting!” I exclaimed. “Tell me about it.”

She told me a little about her work and then added that she had been a avid blogger until she realized that it was keeping her away from the novel. Since that realization, she’d worked steadily on her novel (I’m tempted to tell you the catchy  title, but I better get her permission first). 

Anyway, I was listening to her and thinking that I wished the chicken bog (you Western readers might have to look that one up) would hurry and get warmed up so that I could take it back to my office and nibble at it while blogging. At that exact moment, however, I decided that the blogging obsession needed a recess. If this young woman could diligently use her lunch hour to write, then I could too.  I then took my delectable lunch to my office, shut the door,  and churned out five pages of a “project” that I’ve had in mind for months.

All that to say that while I LOVE blogging, it’s quite time consuming, and it takes me away from some personal projects that I need to move ahead with. I am still going to read your blogs daily and will write one every few days, but I MUST focus on other writing.

Thank you, Young Woman with the Long Dark Hair. Your advice turned on the switch that ended my procrastination. Just as soon as I check out a few of my blogging buddies latest posts, I’m going to….

First Recollection

This week in my human development classes, we talked about memory, and one topic was infantile amnesia. For some reason, most people don’t remember anything that happened before they were 2 or 3 years old. Why we don’t know. It could be that the hippocampus, a brain structure instrumental in episodic memories, isn’t developed until then. Then again, the fact that infants aren’t yet proficient in language could be a factor. In any case, that’s not the purpose of this post. The purpose is to share my earliest recollection and a little about the person who was part of it.

 I was probably around 3 years old, and I was sitting in the back seat of a car listening to my mother and her mother exchange small talk as my mother parked the car. She said something to my grandmother and then got out of the car. I’m not sure where she was going, but I wasn’t alarmed because I knew she’d be back. My brother Mike, however, became extremely distressed. He began to cry as if his little heart was broken, and I reached over and put my arm around his shoulder, whispering that everything would be fine…that our sweet mama would be right back.  It seemed like it was just the two of us. My grandmother was a great gal, but she didn’t seem to be involved (in my memory at least) in comforting Mike.

That’s it. That’s the first recollection. Some psychologists feel that the first memory is significant in telling us something about ourselves and our current relationships, lifestyle, and perhaps even self image. They encourage people to recall who was in the memory, and just as importantly, who was not.  Maybe I’ll write more about this another day.

 Today the purpose is to write about Mike, my little brother. He’s funny, smart, and extremely good looking. (Both of my brothers are, but this is about Mike). He’s a marathon runner, a CPA, a devoted husband, a doting father and grandfather, a Sunday School teacher (currently covering the Old Testament), a great speaker, a sharp dresser, an avid reader, a good dancer (hoping he and Lisa will dance at Paul’s wedding next month), and an interesting, multi-faceted person. He can always get the crossword puzzle words that I miss. Oh, and he looks so cool in bow ties.

And get this. Even today, if he’s upset, I’m upset. I’m also protective. If one of my own children were to say something like, “I saw Uncle Mike wearing yellow polka dot running shorts,” I’d say, “So?” First memory. Mine’s of my brother, and it has significance to my life today. What’ s yours? Come on and share. Maybe we can figure out what it means.