Looking for your comments

Saturday mornings with Lucy will be on hiatus for two weeks. The next column is due on Friday, May 26 (yes, I know, it is weird, Saturday morning’s column is published on Fridays).

As always, your feedback and comments are welcome. I have topics that are pretty dear to my heart – helping the last, lost and least, responsible pet ownership, a healthy relationship with the environment are some of them. I would love to hear about topics you want to see addressed.

Some of the things on my heart these days are – the wounded in Iraq, service men and women coming home, often with severe injuries, their lives forever changed, but do we read their stories? The answer is no, at least in my part of the world (Florida).

How can we get involved, how can we help? Do we know how their families are impacted? I want to write on this topic. I want to follow their stories, make a difference in their lives, bring awareness to their communities so their neighbors can get involved. There’s a ton of research that has to be done, and doors yet to open. I could use help.

Other things – why do hummingbirds fly right by my beautiful feeder and go for the pentas instead? What’s wrong with the feeder that looks like a red apple? It caught me.

And, what are boundaries in our lives, what does that mean, and how do they bind us and set us free?

Your turn to talk to me. I’ll make the coffee, you bring the conversation.

Peace,
Lucy

A Letter to My Mom

Dear Mom,

If I lived nearer to where you are, I’d take this letter to your gravesite. They say that everything people leave at the National Cemetery, letters, mementos, photographs, all get saved.

It helps to write, to share emotions. I miss you. You were on my side. As a kid, that meant a lot. Sometimes it seemed like the world was a carousel ride that could dramatically and suddenly turn into a courtroom. Adults who wanted to press charges and impose penalties because I was late, got a bad report card, didn’t do the chores, missed church. Whatever. There was a long list of possible transgressions. It seemed to grow as I grew. Through it all, you sat at my table, my defense attorney and best witness.

Like when I was a teenager and inexplicably, through no fault of my own naturally, arrived home after my allotted curfew hour. You remember. Dad stood just inside the front door, arms folded, tall and imposing. Didn’t he ever sleep? Apparently not when I went out on a date.
“Where the hell have you been?” he’d say in his best Navy Captain’s voice, the one used while dressing down underlings. “Don’t you know what time it is?”

I think at this point I was supposed to start whimpering but I could never quite manage it because, yes, I knew EXACTLY what time it was and I knew I was toast.

You just said quietly: “Thank God you are all right.” Then hug me close. That hug made it possible to face the sit down talk with Dad that had to happen. It was part of the drill. But I was all right because your hug set all the priorities straight.

See, that’s what I miss, a lot. You walked a mile or two in my shoes. You gave me unconditional love. Well, not quite. There was that period, my college years, when you started striding ahead, trying to plan my life, the path with the signs that say “Marriage” and “Family”. Right this way, please.

I’d come home for summer break and you’d have a dinner party “Just a few friends”. Right. These “friends” would include total strangers who had never darkened our door before, like the single Lieutenant who happened to be the first cousin of some people who lived nearby on a Naval base years ago. Let’s see, what was their name?

You’d act real casual, like it was spontaneous, not a setup. My Mom the matchmaker. How humiliating. Come on, Mom. You simply don’t invite a single Lieutenant to your home for dinner on a whim. There’s only one reason he was sitting at our dining room table – to meet the Captain’s single, unmarried daughter, who wished she were ANYPLACE but here.

Naturally I thought I could do a much better job myself. I found the man I wanted to marry at the men’s college next door to mine.

But just before he was to come for a visit, you had a heart attack and five days later, died the day he came to meet the family, actually about two hours after you met him. Your sister came in your place to the wedding, pinning orange blossoms in my hair and telling me how happy you would have been. It was a beautiful wedding. I felt you were there.

Some things in my life would surprise you. I learned how to make bread, Mom. The aroma of baking bread fills the kitchen on Saturday mornings. You’d love it.

I wish you were here so I could serve fresh bread and hot tea and say “thank you” a thousand times over, for all the support and love you gave me. I didn’t say “thank you” nearly enough and then it was too late. In fact, I was really meager with the “thank yous”, too busy with my own agenda and plans.

There are many days when I’m sad that you never got to see your grandchildren born and then growing up. You’d like them, Mom. They’re not perfect adults but they’re fun and bright. Yes, well, I sound like a Mom.

I know now that I have my own family that Moms are may things – protector, planner, provider and the keeper of the essential truth – that love is the most important thing, everything else is static interference.

A sepia-toned photo of you in a lovely lace gown hangs by the front door. You are turning, looking over your shoulder at the camera and smiling.

When I first hung that photo, taken years ago, the most amazing thing happened. One morning light caught by crystals hanging in the kitchen came streaming through the wall opening between the two rooms and, for a few minutes, there was a rainbow of light across your face. It was beyond beautiful.

I felt it was your way of saying you never really left, that you will always be with me in my heart.

It must be true. Some friends came for dinner recently. As they were getting ready to leave, one of them walked over, patted your photo and said “Good night, Mom.”

And so I say the same.

Good night, Mom, and thank you.

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Here for the Long Haul

Cancer survivors are here for the long haul, living each day and counting.

At a Relay for Life last weekend, their names were announced and the time they’ve been cancer free – one month, one year, five years, 20 years. The crowd went wild, cheering each survival time. Every moment counts.

One by one they stepped forward to receive a white sash. They each wore a purple T-shirt with “I’m a survivor” in big white letters on the back.

A Relay for Life lasts 24 hours. Relays happen all over the world. Groups commit to walking a route as a way to raise money for cancer research. The walkers bring tents, sleeping bags, folding chairs. The track will never be empty. People walk all through the night.

Relays start in the afternoon. Survivors take the first lap, a victory lap. On this day, at Trinity Catholic High School track in Ocala, the high school honor guard that brought in the flag stepped out in front to lead the victory lap. Families gathered with cameras to snap pictures as survivors walked by, smiling, waving.

It was an emotional moment. I felt there should have been more than an honor guard. Maybe flower girls throwing rose petals in front of their path and a boom box playing “Chariots of Fire”. Being a survivor is a really big deal for them, their families, their caregivers, doctors, nurses, scientists looking for a cure, heck, everybody. They are walking rays of light, radiating hope that someday cancer will be eliminated.

Here’s one survivor story:
“I had a small spot on the back of neck,” said John Bell of Ocala. “My wife Cindy was worried about it, said let’s go see a dermatologist, which we did.”

A biopsy led to surgery, which led to chemotherapy.

“That was 5.8 years ago,” John said. “My last check was two months ago and I’m clear.”

Cindy took pictures as John walked by. Then she turned away and broke down, sobbing. A friend encircled her with a hug.

Cancer rips apart every plan you had for your days. It gives cruel meaning to the words “Life is what happens while you are making other plans.”

Elfriede Harris of Ocala can attest to that.

“I’m an oncology nurse,” Elfriede told me after the victory lap. “About five years ago I kept having a harsh voice, it wouldn’t go away. It wasn’t sore, there was no pain. I went to see a doctor and he said ‘oh, you have a nodule there.’ “

She stops talking and looks at me.

“You know, it is a terrible thing to say to an oncology nurse ‘you have a nodule’.” Being a nurse means you know way too much. Painting worst-case scenarios comes easily.

At first, things seemed to go well. The initial biopsy came back fine. “I was being diligent, I went back for a six-month checkup,” Elfride recalled.

The nodule had gotten bigger. Surgery followed. It was caner. A second surgery ensued, then six weeks of internal radiation.

“I couldn’t even swallow water,” Elfride said.

Consider this – until the cancer came into her life, Elfride had never been off of work except for childbirth.

“I was home for nine weeks,” Elflride said. “What was supposed to be a simple thing turned out to be very long. Thank God for my doctor, my family, my friends.”

That’s the part that numbers don’t tell you. The diagnosis of cancer ripples out and touches the lives of everyone connected to a cancer patient. Moms like Elfride who used to take care of everyone, now find that she is the one receiving care.

There are no shortcuts when facing cancer. The treatments are long and painful.

Brother Andrew, principal at Trinity Catholic, spoke of this during his invocation:
“God, we ask you for the gift of restored health for all people who have cancer. We ask you to be near those who suffer in times of weakness and pain and inspire with your love, those who bring healing and care to cancer patients – family members, loved ones, physicians, nurses, many volunteers, Hospice workers.”

Somehow, we’re all bonded in this cancer fight, we are all in this together, including the scientists looking for better early detection methods and, hopefully, a cure for cancer.

Men and women in North America (that means you and me) have the highest cancer incidence worldwide and lung cancer is the main cancer in the world today. That is sobering.

We may not be the ones to find a cancer cure, but nothing is stopping you and me from getting out there, finding an upcoming Relay for Life, and walking the walk.

Follow in the footsteps of survivors – the ones wearing purple shirts and smiling. They are cancer free, and counting.

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For further reference:
www.americancancersociety.org then click on “getting involved” and under Relay for Life, type in your zip code to find events coming up near you.

Live in the Moment

Annie is an All-American breed. Dog trainer Letty Towles coined that term. Annie is Golden Retriever/terrier/the rest unknown. Adopted from the Humane Society she lounges in the living room one morning with Suzi, another All-American, a Boxer-Golden Retriever mix.

“I like having Mom home all the time now,” said Annie. “It is such a change.”

“Friends keep calling and congratulating her on retiring, whatever that means,” said Suzi.

“I think it means you don’t have to put on nice shoes and clothes every day, and the car stays in the garage past 9 a.m.” Annie said.

“Yes, she used to get in the car and go to a building full of computers and write stories,” Suzi said.

“Now she takes morning coffee out to the porch and gets out her laptop,” Annie said. “But she’s been retired a month now. Time to get her off the porch and go away for some trips.”

“Trips? Like to the beach? Oh boy!” Suzi’s eyes got wide. She started thinking. “It isn’t going to be easy. She’s been inside a company for so long, 23 years, it is like being institutionalized. Now she’s out and doesn’t know how to live for the moment, like we do. She’s in a rut and needs to find her groove.”

“Well, let’s tell her the surf’s up,” “Annie said, raising her head, looking at Mom sitting on the porch, reading.

“I’ve got a better idea,” said Suzi, rising up on one paw. “We need to make that book about traveling with your dogs fall out of the bookcase and onto the floor, then she’d have to pick it up.”

“But if we knock over a bunch of books she’ll be unhappy,” Annie said, thinking ahead.” One of the cats could do it easier, just walk on the top of the books and knock out the right one. They do that all the time already.”

The dogs are outnumbered in this house – five cats to two dogs. The cats know they are in charge. The dogs know they are bigger. It is a standoff.

Just at that moment, Little Bit, a grey-striped tabby, sauntered by, ignoring the dogs.

“Hey, kid,” Suzi called.

“I’m no kid, I’m an alpha cat, it’s just nobody knows it yet,” whined Little Bit. She whined about everything, Little Bit was 14 years old. She should be flattered to be called a kid. Go figure.

“How would you like to do us a BIG favor?” asked Annie, “We need one book knocked off the bookcase.”

Little Bit picked up one paw and examined it carefully.
“It is going to cost you,” she purred.

“Name it,” Suzi said, sitting upright.
“One week of being off the bed so I get the best spot next to Mom instead of you two,” Little Bit said.

Annie jumped up. “One week off the bed, no way,” she snarled, showing her canines.

Little Bit didn’t blink. It was a bluff, she hoped.

”Four days tops,” Suzi said.

“Make it six,” Little Bit countered.

“Done,” Suzi said, extending her paw. Little Bit touched it then drew away quickly. Yuk. Touching a dog. Annie whimpered. “Not the floor, no, not the floor, you should have bargained more.”

“Forget the floor, think sand in your paws,” Suzi said.

Little Bit, tail held high, walked towards Mom’s chair. She jumped on the arm, then the back, and examined the bookcase behind the chair.

Florida titles took up the first two rows. She scanned titles and finally saw it “The Florida Dog Lovers Companion: the inside scoop on where to take your dog”.

Who would want to take a dog anywhere? Little Bit wondered.
She squeezed into the space between books and the top of that row, and began pushing the book. It moved slowly forward. Both Annie and Suzi were sitting up now, watching intently, Mom kept on reading, unaware of the unfolding drama.

The book tipped and fell on the floor. Mom jumped up from the chair saying, “Whoa, what was that?” Little Bit backpedaled and started whining, trying to blame it on the book, the bookcase, anything but her.

Annie and Suzi rushed forward and Mom picked up the book. She looked to see if Little Bit was all right then glanced at the book.

”Ah, traveling with dogs, it would be nice to do that if I had time,” Mom thought and started to put the book back.
Annie and Suzi were dumbstruck. They’d failed! And lost sleeping rights for six nights,

Then Mom hesitated.

”Wait a minute,” She said, “What am I saying? I’m in my bonus years. I do have the time.”

She sat down with the book. Suzi and Annie lay down next to her chair. Both crossed their front paws, just for luck,

“The beach,” Mom said, as she turned pages, reading about St. Augustine. “Salt air, playing in the surf, running on the sand.” Her eyes got dreamy. She reached down and petted each dog.

“I feel a trip coming on,” Mom said. “Tomorrow morning, let’s do it.”

Both dogs jumped up, bumped rumps and high-fived each other with their paws.

Mom looked at them, puzzled. Had she just been set up? She looked at Little Bit, quite content, cleaning her paw.
“No, they wouldn’t do that.” Mom shook her head. Still, of all the books to fall on the floor . . .

Suzi and Annie danced around the living room.
Mom smiled. She felt light-headed. She was her own boss now, making her own choices. The beach. What a blessing.
“We’re going to the beach!” Annie panted.
“Yes, it worked,” Suzi said. “Next time let’s get a cat to knock down a book about the Carolina mountains.”

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for further reading

The Florida Dog Lovers Companion : the inside scoop on where to take your dog by Sally Deneen and Robert McClure. There are a number of other dog lover companion books for various areas.

Down and Dirty with Earthworms

Dear Mother Earth,
Sorry I haven’t written sooner. It is a little nuts around here trying to keep up with everything, but you understand that.

I added another title to my job descriptions: worm rescuer.

Some days I step out the front door and there, on the walkway, is one of your relatives, writhing around, acting crazy. Yes, a relative, even carries your name with its name – earthworm.

Why do they do this? Are earthworms suicidal? They are going to die if they stay exposed in the sunshine. They’ll dry up or be easy prey for birds and any fishermen passing by who need live bait. Why did they leave the cool dirt? Why leave a safe place? It is one of life’s mysteries.

When I try to pick up an earthworm (yuk) they are not the least bit pleased. I’m not happy about doing this either. They writhe in my hand, often falling to the ground. But as soon as I can get them back in a dirt/leave area, they burrow right in.

Speaking of dirt, your dirt, Mother Earth, I want to thank you for dirt and well, you should know I’m into it recently. Dirt is wonderful stuff. Dark, rich dirt from the compost pile is now in a 4×4 foot box labeled “Lucy’s garden”. Scattered lettuce seeds. Planted some tomatoes. Put mint right under where the hose hangs down, and water drips. Mint loves water.

Even though I don’t write often, I try to think about you in the things I do. I’ve replaced all the incandescent light bulbs with long-lasting florescent bulbs. The compost pile gets all the vegetable and fruit peelings, and the mowed grass. The vegetable garden is organic, no pesticides, because I know that what goes into your dirt sinks down and 20 years later, we’re drinking it out of the tap, in Florida anyway, where water percolates through the ground and seeps down into the Floridan Aquifer.
But, I have to confess a failing. I failed the Earth Day Footprint Quiz.

Failed big-time. It must have gone to my head when the Chamber of Commerce named me Environmentalist of the Year. Not hardly.

The foot print quiz measures how many acres you use altogether for food, mobility, shelter, goods/services. My footprint is 22 acres. That’s huge. Big Foot wears smaller shoes. Worldwide, there are just 4.5 biologically productive acres per person.

The quiz result concluded by saying: “If everyone lived like you, we would need five planets.” Five planets! I’m a living breathing walking earth hog!

I am so sorry to fail you. It puts me, just one person, right up there with the big baddies, the ones who keep you so busy trying to repair the damage from ripping down the Amazon forests, paving over water recharge areas to make yet another parking lot, filling the air with toxic wastes from cars and smokestacks.

My failings in the test came in driving a car every day without carrying passengers, never using public transportation, living in a large house, using lots of resources. Sounds pretty American. But that’s no excuse.

I thought being a worm rescuer and planting an organic garden are little things that made it all right for you, but no, there’s so much more to do, every day.

Taking care of you is a lifelong commitment, not just a one-time pledge. The decisions I make – to buy locally made things, or buy from far away (much more wasteful), all count.

Instead of presents on your birthday, Friday, April 22, Earth Day, presents that consume wrapping paper, transportation, money, I’ll make a promise I can keep. I promise not to drive my car all day on your birthday. That should clean the air a little bit.

I’m hoping you will get letters from lots of other people with their promises of things they can do to make you happy. It is a step towards total commitment.

When you have a moment, could you please write back and explain why earthworms writhe on the sidewalks? Thanks. And can I get bonus points for picking them up and putting them back in the dirt? Just wondering . . .

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For more information:
www.earthday.net – take the ecological footprint test.
Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring is a classic look at how everything we do matters to the environment.