Wild Vine Climbing

There are these annoying wild vines that climb up and around every plant on our property.  They wrap themselves around, so that pulling them out is really impossible.  To pull out the twisty vine would mean you have to pull out whatever beloved plant it has wrapped itself around, which might be a rose bush, or a hydrangea or a hasta.    We have always found them to be unwanted pests.

I sat in the sun room one day and noticed some white blossoms at the very top of our large, old, tall lilac bush/tree in the back yard.   Lilac trees bloom in the early spring, so I was very confused about what I was seeing in the late summer.   It is a very tall bush.  By looking carefully,  I was able to tell that the white flowers came from twisty vines.  Gerry was able to identify them as wild morning glories.

After seeing them, and learning that,  I gained a really high level of respect for the wild morning glory, and its tenacity and determination.   I had never seen it flower before,  probably because it had not gotten high enough.   I so very much admire that plant's ability to find its way to the top, where it could become what it was supposed to be, a lovely morning glory.  There is a massive amount of intricately woven vines on the inside of the lilac,  the supportive base perhaps, the foundation.

Yesterday, I preached a sermon about the wheat and the weeds, and how there is a particular weed that grows which looks just like wheat.  You cannot tell the difference until it matures.   The weed can hide its true identity for a while, but eventually the true nature will be revealed.  You cannot sort out the wheat and the weeds until the harvest.

I feel like there is a similar kind of related lesson woven into the climbing morning glory.  The true nature of that annoying vine was not revealed until it reached the very top of the tree.!  What the plant was intended to be was finally revealed.

And of course, that is true of people too.   We can be annoying twisting pests sometimes, popping up in all the wrong places..   But when we find our way, our true selves,  what glory there is in all of that!   

The morning glory could not have made it without the support of the lilac.   It never could have bloomed.

Most of us could not have made it without the support of something, someone, somewhere along the way.  

 Friends, family, God, church, spouse, neighbors, love.

Not Prepared for the Love

This morning I preached at the Fayetteville United Methodist Church, from which I retired nine years ago.    I have been back a number of times before,  but none were like this.

Fayetteville UMC July 9, 2017

I was not expecting the warm and genuine welcome we received.   I was unprepared for the outpouring of love and hugs and appreciation.   I was overwhelmed by the positive feedback and comments about my sermon.   I had forgotten that unique and special connection between a beloved pastor and a congregation.  I was definitely that at the Fayetteville UMC today!

Perhaps most surprising of all were the comments from the new people whom I had never met before. They may have been the most enthusiastic of all!   One stranger came up to me and said forthrightly: "Well, I am impressed!"

I am not writing this blog to pat myself on the back.  I am writing it because I was so taken back to be filled with such joy.   Maybe there is nothing else quite like it---the relationship between pastor and congregation--and to be deeply appreciated for what you do, and for your effort.

On the way home, Gerry and I were discussing all this dynamic.  He commented, "Well, I suppose it is harder to sustain that, week after week."

I  am confident that I could do the sustaining for the worship part of ministry.  My greatest joy and fulfillment has always come from the research and preparation for preaching,  the writing of the sermon, and the delivery to the congregation.   But the truth is, those things make up a fairly small percentage of everything involved in ministry.

It is the other stuff that I could not sustain----the constant expectations,  the never ending demands,  the endless meetings,  the challenges of parsonage living,  the constant worry about finances,  the unexpected emergency,  the all consuming nature of the work and always being on call,  and on and on it goes.

Honestly, if ministry was about delivering a passionate sermon,  I think I could hit it out of the park every week.    But I am not very patient when it comes to the slow slow progress of change in the church.  I don't love committee work.   I am not really a party line person. I am not very good at confrontation.

I do not regret retiring.  I needed to do that for myself, to enjoy some years of relaxation,  to make family the priority, to live in our own home.

But today served for me as a reminder of all the wonderful parts of being a pastor.  It reminded me that indeed, my ministry there did make a difference at the time.

And there is really no greater blessing than that!

Memorial Service--Chapter 10--Last Chapter

From the time we learned of Ronald Cartland's death on April 8th, until this time,  the Memorial Service was the best thing that happened, at least in my mind.   I wish the story ended there.   I suppose I have the option of ending this story with that one, which I think I will.

The thing that will go on and on, and frustrate, and infuriate, and baffle has to do with legal matters in several states, attorneys, and an estate.   It may take many months, if not more, to be resolved, and one can not even guess how that might all turn out.

But as for me,  I think that in my own mind, I will let this be the end of the story, as far as the death of Ron. The first goal, originally, was to view his body, which we did.  Then it was obvious we had to make arrangements, and have some kind of a service, which we did.

We opted to have a memorial service for him in his home town where he grew up.  We figured that at least, his brother Robert and wife Carol, and maybe a couple of their children would be present.  And I would be there, and my children.

We had a plan that we would meet at the grave site where Ron's parents are buried.   The small cemetery is attached to an old defunct church located on West Creek Road, about a mile or so from the old Cartland farm.

The service was scheduled for Sunday afternoon, May 7th, which turned out to be a very rainy and cold day.  A granddaughter commented that the rain and the graveside service and umbrellas looked just like in the movies.  I think she was right about that.

When I got there, there were already a good collection of cars, and I could not park very close in.  I had numerous things to carry, so that made it harder for me.   I had a small engraved stone marker, a container of flowers, my clergy robe in its bag, and an umbrella.  I was so grateful I had worn my boots!

I decided that my robe was a very important distinction for me on this particular occasion.  In my mind, it clarified that I was acting as clergy, and not really as ex-wife.   I know that it probably seemed odd for an ex-wife to officiate at her ex's funeral.    I chose to wear my robe to distinguish those roles.   It seemed natural to me,  doing what I do.  (or at least what I used to do)

It was so surprising and unexpected that there were quite a few of Ron's high school classmates in attendance at the memorial service.   While we, as family, had not seen him in 38 years,  those folks had not seen him in over 60 years!   I did not count the exact number, but I do know that between family members and classmates, there were over 30 people there,  which I could never have anticipated.  That made it so special.

I gave people a chance to speak, especially his children.  A few classmates did.  Michelle read two poems.  Neither Brenda nor Priscilla had much to say.

I had worked very hard to select words and liturgy that would be appropriate for someone I knew was not particularly religious.   I kept it positive, and talked about all the places he had traveled, and expressed appreciation his service to his country, and also for his being part of creating our family, for which we are all grateful .

He was treated with kindness and respect at that service.  I do think that he would have been pleased by his own memorial service.

I know that my daughters were very grateful for that event. Each one expressed deep appreciation to me, and also surprise at what I had been able to do there.

It brought closure. Knowing what happened to him, and being part of taking care of him in his death, was so much better than always wondering.    It brought a different ending to the story.

It brought him back home.

Affluence All Around --- Chapter 9

As soon as we entered the state of Maryland, things began to look differently, especially for my daughters, who have lived most of their lives in upstate New York.   There are any number of counties in NY which are economically depressed. Two out of three of those daughters live in areas or school districts which are underprivileged or under-educated or suffer from unemployment.

One daughter lives in Ithaca, which is a highly educated university town.  But calling it visibly affluent would be completely inaccurate.  There are parts which I would describe as "quaint."   There are a few modern suburban-like residential areas, but many of the older houses downtown have become student housing.    There is always a mix of the lovely homes and the poorly cared for ones.   The style of living is not homogeneous.  

As far as 60 miles out from the D.C. area,  we noticed how different things looked.  Everything in every direction was well kept and maintained,  modern,  new, manicured,  fresh.  The closer we got to the Washington area, the more affluent the surroundings became.   It was just so different from the area in which we live,  where down the road from a lovely new home, one could see an old camper parked in the trees, serving as someone's residence, surrounded  by junker cars.

The daughters expressed their envy of the affluence around us.    I will admit that everything looked attractive.  But I am sure that one pays some kind of a price for that, not the least of which would be an unbearable amount of traffic.

The whole area did seem much more civilized than the haphazard hamlets and antique villages which surround us in central New York.

But I don't recall feeling envious of that environment.  I like being closer to nature.  I am not fond of crowds.  I appreciate a slower pace.

I am very very happy right where I am.

The Rehab Center--Chapter 8

Ron spent his last three months at Burke Rehab Center where he interacted with much of the staff on a daily basis.

I had talked with Courtney on the phone, in the process of planning our trip to the area.  We needed to make three stops on Monday---at the Cremation Center,  at the Rehab Center, and at Ft. Belvoir.

I originally asked if we could plan to see her around 1:00.  She had a doctor's appointment at 1:30, so I was worried about missing her, so I asked if there was another person's name she could give me.  She said:  "You don't understand.  All you have to do is show up and people will come pouring out of the woodwork to see you all."   I'll admit that I did not really understand that comment,  but took it to mean they were interested and curious.

We actually showed up much earlier than anticipated, which is a good thing, because we spent quite a bit of time there.

They put the four of us in a conference room.  And indeed, dozens of people poured in to meet us.   I gather all of that is because they never had such a case before.   a) of a person who professed to have not one single significant relationship in his life   b) of a person for whom they had to search for weeks to find a next of kin   c) of a family of daughters who had not seen their father in 38 years.

As we all spilled our stories,  everyone kept saying--'you should write a book.'   It was apparently a very interesting story to them.   They brought out his possessions.....his wallet with a driver's license and photo, some savings bonds, and a laptop computer.   Michelle immediately expressed an interest in the laptop.  I gather she shares one with her husband at home.  It went into a tote bag, and she held it from then on out.

We were fascinated by the photo ID of him.  Priscilla had brought some photos to show the people there of him in his younger, healthier days.   We wanted to see pictures of him when he was old.  They wanted to see pictures of him when he was young.

He had obviously had really excellent care for his last three months by a group of caring and dedicated people.

We learned that even before he came to their Rehab, he was already on oxygen.   He had improved significantly and expected to be released soon, though he would need oxygen wherever he went.   Courtney told us that he was very anxious to get back to Texas, because he needed to do his taxes.  It was already March, and he was concerned about that.  She also said that he was also very anxious to get to his car.  In fact, he was due to be released on a Monday, and when Courtney went home for the weekend, she expected to come back and help with that.  Only, he had an episode over that weekend and passed away.

Courtney said she was totally shocked to hear that news.  Despite his medical problems, it was unexpected, which probably means that he was not expecting it either.

No one ever knows the day or the hour.

It comes when least expected.

The Car- Chapter 7

When we visited the Rehab Center,  they gave us a key to his car, which we understood was parked at Ft. Belvoir, in front of the Guest Housing center.   We had been told it was parked in a Handicapped Parking space.  We found our way there, wondering what we might find.

We saw the car immediately parked in the handicapped space.   It had a Texas license plate.  It was a shiny, practically new car, which was the last thing we expected.  A Ford Taurus with 4000 miles.

I immediately tried the key in the ignition. Not a sound came out of it.  It had been parked there for at least four months, so that was not surprising.   Since we brought jumper cables,  we tried to pop the hood, but could not find the lever that you push in order to lift it up.

I went inside to talk to the people at the guest house desk.  They knew we were coming.  The man who was the manager said that he had many boxes of Ron's things in storage.   That was a shock.  There were four of us and our suitcases in Brenda's car.  No room for boxes.   Ron's car appeared to be equally packed.  The trunk was full, too.

All four of us were rummaging through different parts of the car, from the items in the trunk, to the items in the glove box, to the large duffel bag in the back.   At first, it seemed from the documents in the glove box that perhaps the car was a rental.  How in the world would we deal with that?

By now, I had rolled out a large cart on wheels filled with boxes of belongings.  I immediately noticed that the hood was now open, and the man from inside the building, the manager, was helping the girls put on the jumper cables.    I asked them how they had managed to get the hood open.  Brenda had Googled it, and up popped a demonstration from U-Tube.  I laughed!

I think it was Michelle and I who went through the boxes.  I remember that because there were a couple of things she wanted to save and see if her husband could use them.  They were mostly personal items, socks, trousers, books, peanut butter,  silverware, and that kind of thing, which we had no choice but to discard.

Meanwhile, Priscilla was going through the file folders with financial information.  I saw on her face that she almost fainted at what she saw.  There was a financial account worth quite a bit of money, certainly far more than she had ever seen in her financial life.  I could literally see the hope that bubbled up inside her.  That kind of money would make a really tremendous difference in her life!  The question was:  Was there a will?  Were beneficiaries designated? Who might those have been?

The car started and the battery charged. We thanked the kind gentleman who had helped with that.   Now, we are anxious to depart and get back to the hotel to have a good look at the items in the files.
Priscilla drove that car, and clearly the brakes sticky from that amount of time sitting.  Two of us were in one car, two in the other, and we stayed together until we got back to the hotel.

Suddenly, things have changed.  Originally, this was about viewing the body, making arrangements for cremation, having a memorial service.

Now, it is clearly going to be about legal matters, legal fees, probate court, paperwork, uncertainty.   Anything at all could happen.

Not Entirely True---Chapter 6

This morning I remembered what I felt, so what I said before---about not feeling anything was not entirely true.

In the process of learning of his death,  I actually felt many things.   One was amazement that we even found out about that,  which happened only through the efforts of some very good people.

In the process of viewing his body,  I did not feel very much, other than shock at the realization that I would not have recognized him at all.   He had aged by many decades, of course, but also was half the size he once had been, due to long term illness.

Then, there was the aftermath of finding various belongings at the Rehab Center,  at Ft. Belvoir temporary housing,  inside his car,  inside the folders in the duffel bag.    There were many pieces of paper, jottings in notebooks, income tax returns, pay stubs, mementos from travels,  military forms, bank statements,  books,  and so forth.

But other than business cards, mostly of people he had encountered during his last 6 months in Virginia,  or hotels, or dentists, there was no evidence of any personal relationships. Could that really be possible?  And I will admit, that it all made me feel very sad,  for him.   It was sad, because it was such a waste.   It could have been so different.    And I also felt angry at the choice he had made for his life.   That had inflicted a lot of pain on others.

Of course, we did not have paperwork that went back much further than 20 years. There was some paperwork from the late 1990's, as I recall, medical records of a heart valve repair.   That still leave approximately 20 years unaccounted for, about which I know nothing.   So perhaps he did have personal relationships that did not show up in the folders in his car.  Still, there were no names, no phone numbers, not a single photograph.

But I have gotten ahead of myself here.

Each step of our journey was more fascinating than the last, but none more exciting than finding his car at Fort Belvoir.

That is an experience I will never forget!

It was not at all what we expected!

The Viewing-Chapter 5

This was not like a regular viewing,  which usually involves a lovely casket and music and an inviting setting, with the deceased person properly attired, etc..  Our viewing was really just an identification session.  We were in a small room off to the side.  Along the wall were various kinds of boxes you could purchase in which to keep the ashes.

The person with whom I had made the arrangements was not there on Monday, so we were dealing with a different person.  They were not quite ready for us.  It was almost as if they were not expecting us.  We waited until they had him ready.

The Cremation Services office, or business was just one of a number of businesses along a mini-mall.  It did not look like any funeral home I had ever seen.   I did ask what we should expect to see, and the employee indicated that he would just be on a gurney, and he would be covered with a sheet, except for the head.  Not having seen him for so long,  I would never have recognized him in a million years.   The four of us gingerly entered the room,  in that quiet uncertain way one acts when in the presence of death.

On the way there, the girls asked me if I was going to say anything, and I agreed that I could say a few brief words and a prayer.

We did slowly and uncertainly draw nearer.  After I took my first look,  I moved down toward the feet and Michelle moved in closer to the head.   My foot accidentally bumped into the wheel of the gurney below and made it move unexpectedly.   Michelle jumped out of her skin and squealed in shock and surprise.   Then, we all inappropriately burst out laughing,  because that was so unexpected, and funny.

I did thank him for some good times, and for helping create the family that means so much to me.  We all said the Lord's prayer together.  They appreciated my words, and there were tears.

After the viewing, we all agreed that we should have the ashes sent to the funeral home in Newark Valley, because we would have a memorial service there.

At first, we could not figure out what we should do with the ashes.  The only one of us who actually wanted to keep them was Michelle.  Somehow, the whole process for her was a healing, a closure, the filling in of an empty hole.   Clearly, she had been the one most affected by his abandonment.   Finding him, having him back in her life, meant so much to her.

I was asked by a couple of friend how I felt.  Honestly,  I did not feel very much emotionally. In any crisis, I go into the task-mode of figuring out what needs to be done, and making a plan, and carrying out the plan.    I supposed my many years dealing with death as a pastor also played into my lack of emotion.

Whatever I had needed to work out emotionally,  was work that had been done long ago.   Largely, I had left all of that behind.  I have been very happily married for a long time now.   Other than occasionally wondering what happened to Ron, and wondering if we would ever know the answer to that,  I did not think of him very much at all.

I would never in a million years have imagined that we would be the ones to take care of him in his death.  

Mostly Silence-Chapter 4

I never talked much about my divorce.  Not to friends or family or even my three daughters from that marriage.  There was so much of what followed that I did not understand myself.   If someone doesn't understand a thing themselves, then they cannot explain it to others.

The marriage was clearly over.  I think we both knew that.  I was actually the one who eventually left, taking the children with me.  After many false starts and stops,  I got an apartment for us, and he actually helped me move out of the place we had shared.  He was clearly relieved.  I think being married and being a father was never a good match for him.

The real mystery is not in the divorce.  The thing that cannot be explained is why it is that after that, he chose to completely abandon his entire family.  Take me out of that equation.  He had a mother who had been so good to him and loved him.  He had a brother.  He had three children.  Nieces and nephews.  But he left without explanation.  He did not even come back for his mother's funeral.

After the divorce, on Christmas day in 1979, I took the three girls to Grandma's house,  because their father was going to be there and of course, they wanted to see him.  I have checked with them, and they have little memories of that. Only the oldest has some memory, which was not positive.  He did not really interact with any of us.  At any rate,  that was the last time that we saw him.

Then came the phone call all the many many years later, out of the blue, that he had died.

We had all speculated about where he had been, what he had been doing.  His brother Robert may have had some insight into that.  But our speculation turned out to be spot on.

I thought maybe he could have re-married,  worked, had more children.  When he "retired" from the Army he was only 43 years old!  There was no evidence of any of that.

But the trail of paperwork in his car confirmed our suspicions.  He had been traveling from military base to military base, staying at guest housing.  He would occasionally catch a military flight, and go to Hong Kong, Thailand, Germany, Costa Rica.  There was an assortment of coins from various places.

When he was not at a military base, he would stay for six months or so at the equivalent of a Motel 6, only it was called Studio 6.  He had a permanent address in San Antonio, so he could register a car, do his income taxes.   The permanent address was actually a UPS box, that gave a street address and "Suite 101" as the 'permanent' part of the address.   He had been a counter-intelligence agent in the Army, so he knew how to do those things, be invisible, not traceable.   Also, he always dealt in cash, with a debit card.  He had no credit card.

I didn't know what to say about the children's father.  About our divorce.  About where he was.  And so mostly, I said nothing.  After a while, you can just push away all those memories from a time long ago, that has nothing to do with your life now.

His death brought a lot of that back.  Opened a floodgate.

For a while, following his death, he re-entered with a vengeance and dominated everything.

Road Trip-Chapter 3

It was Palm Sunday.  I was liturgist at church.  I had not wanted to miss that obligation and opportunity at worship.   After that, I left immediately for Brenda's house.  We all decided that it would be best if she does the driving.  She has a new car, and would be less nervous in unfamiliar driving areas than I would be.   We were all meeting at Brenda's house to go together on this road trip to Virginia to view the body of their father, about whom they remembered little, and knew even less.

So I am driving to Brenda's house, down a very familiar highway driven hundreds of times.   I suddenly realize that ahead of me on the road is an Army convoy.  I am slowed down by their presence in front of me.  I see some irony in the Army presence, as I am on my way to see an Army veteran.  I haven't seen an Army convoy in 25+ years on this road.  There are no military installations anywhere around.

It strikes me that this is symbolically some kind of a military escort.  Strange.  Very strange!  It must mean something, since it is happening in this context.    I take it as some kind of a blessing, a salute perhaps to the veteran who has died.

We all assemble at Brenda's,  pack the car and hit the road.  Naturally, a big topic of conversation centers around what to do next.  We have been told by Cathy that a military burial at Arlington Cemetery is a possibility.  I think one of us had looked that up on line and learned that an Arlington Burial requires a copy of a certain military form, testifying to an honorable discharge.  At that point, we had no idea exactly how or where to get that form.

We also discussed the option of having a Memorial Service in the cemetery where his parents are buried, in the town where he grew up, Newark Valley, New York.   If we do that, there will at least be some family members there.  Robert, his brother, would want to come, and his children, perhaps.  We go back and forth on those two options for quite a while.  In the end,  making another trip back to D.C. for a military burial seems challenging, since we are on the way to spend several days there trying to figure out what to do, and personal time for the three who work.   Besides, it is not as if he died in action.  He had been retired for 38 years.   We begin to lean toward the Newark Valley option.   I have planned ahead and have the address and phone number of the Newark Valley funeral home, in case we need it.

What an unusual trip!  Having a mother and three grown daughters all going on a trip together seemed a once-in-a lifetime event to me.   On the journey there, we had lots of laughter and good times together.  

We discussed the things we had learned from Courtney at the Rehab Center.  He was there because he was struggling with COPD, and was weak and not able to walk , apparently.   We also knew that they had his wallet and bonds.  His wallet had a considerable amount of cash in it, and the three bonds were worth a considerable amount of money.   We began to wonder what we might find in the car.   The car was one of the big unknowns.

For one thing, it had been sitting there for a long time, and probably would not start.  (And so we took jumper cables with us).

It might have 200,000 miles on it, and not safe to drive back to New York.  We might have to make arrangements to junk it.

There might be other belongings of his in the car.

All in all, we did not really know what to expect anywhere along the line.   Not at the viewing, not at the Rehab Center, not at Ft. Belvoir.

But at some deep emotional level, it felt like taking care of him in his death, somehow made up for the fact that he did not take care of us in his life.  There was some strange kind of reverse redemption in that.

Although he had disappeared, and clearly had not wanted to be found, it seemed the right thing that we would appear and do what needed to be done.

Two Angels-Chapter 2

There were two women in Virginia who were helpful, kind, amazing angels who helped us in various ways.  One was Courtney who interacted with Ron at the Rehab Center where he spent his last three months.   She interacted with him there frequently, along with many other people.

The other was Cathy who only interacted with his body at the hospital.  Apparently Ron passed away in the ambulance between the Rehab Center and the hospital.   Both Courtney and Cathy worked very hard for a long time to find a next of kin.

Courtney saw him regularly, and kept asking whether or not he had any family.  He said he had no one.  At one point, he did confess that long ago he had been married and had daughters, but that had nothing to do with his life now.  So Courtney knew there had to be someone out there somewhere.

Cathy interacted with his body regularly, and was particularly interested in what happened to him because of her connection to the military.  He was a veteran.  She was an 'army brat'.  Her father was a veteran, and various other family members.  She did not want to see him end up with a 'pauper's burial', whatever that would involve.

So between them, and officials at Fairfax County, including a lawyer at one point, they searched. We were not as hard to find as he had been for us.  Eventually they ran upon Michelle's name, who had repeatedly looked for him via the internet.   Somehow they managed to find her current married name, and called her.  And she had them call me, because she knew they would want my help. Thus began the flurry of phone calls among the sisters, me, Ron's brother, Cathy, and Courtney.  Courtney later said that Michelle had "left the train of breadcrumbs' that allowed them to find us.

His body had already been in cold storage for almost three weeks.  Cathy wanted to know if the daughters would like to view the body.  I could not imagine that.  Priscilla didn't seem to have a clear answer to that.  Michelle immediately said yes, and then Priscilla realized that since she had not been able to see him most of her life, she at least wanted to see what he looked like in the end.  So we determined that we would make the trip to Virginia to view the body.

All of this happened on a Saturday afternoon.  I told Priscilla that we could leave on Sunday after church, and go to Virginia, do the things that had to be done on Monday, and drive back home on Tuesday.   In the end, once that decision was made, my oldest daughter Brenda also decided that she would make the trip with us as well.

I made arrangements for cremation, for the funeral home to pick up the body, for them to have it ready for us to view on Monday morning.  I made the arrangements for us to stay in a Holiday Inn Express not too far from the places we had to go----the Cremation Services Center,  the Rehab Center and Fort Belvoir, where his car had been parked for a long time.  I made all those arrangements.

Courtney had told us about the car.   We imagined that it would be an old clunker, and we would have to find a way to get rid of it.  I had researched some salvage places in case we needed to have it towed away.  We contacted the Guest Housing quarters where he had been staying, and told them we were coming.

Cathy and Courtney both were a big part of this story.   When I think of them, I am reminded that there are more good and kind people in the world than there are bad and evil ones.

A New Direction-Chapter 1

I need a distraction.  I need a new direction.   I notice that it has been six months since I last wrote a blog here.   So much has happened in that time.  Not the least of which is a new president, about whom I am not pleased, but about whom I read too much, see too much, listen too much.  Too much of my time and mental energy is used up in that dark world.  I want to be free of that.

I need a diversion from the world of politics.   Maybe writing would help.  I haven' t been doing much writing for quite a while.  I have given up any further writing ambitions, and also, I gave up writing my blog.

Let writing do its work and distract.

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Maybe I will start a story here.  A true story, one that happened recently.   I can remember the exact date.  It was April 8th.   It was a Saturday, and I had gone out running errands around town, not far from home.   Of course, it is actually a story that began all the way back to 1967.

When I returned home, there was my daughter Priscilla.  Gerry's arm was around her, and she was crying.  When I came into the room, she blurted,   "I just found out my father has died."

I was married to Priscilla's father from 1969 to 1979.  We had three daughters.  Then there was a divorce.  Neither I nor any of the daughters have seen or heard from him since 1979.   Suddenly learning of his death 38 years later was quite a shock.

A flurry of phone calls ensued.  They went the rounds from Priscilla to Brenda, from Michelle to me, from people in Virginia where he died, to his brother Robert, to Michelle, to me, to the rehab center in Virginia, and so forth.  There were apparently phone calls from a lawyer in there some where.

Ron was his name.  Now we know that he died in Virginia.  All of us were resigned to the fact that we would never know what happened to him.  He was not find-able---meaning everyone had "searched" the internet for years, sometimes even paying one of those People Search Places.  There was just nothing there.  Perhaps he did not live in the United States any more.  Perhaps he had died years ago.

And yet, suddenly, in his death, he re-enters our lives.