Blog Archives - trish hermanson

Are Your Family Reunions Crazy?

11/21/2017

Family reunions can be as crazy as this octopus I met at an aquarium. His arms flung this way and that while his body appeared to search for which way he was going.
Our family reunions are like that, where the age range is from newborn to ninety-five. It’s like herding an octopus to coordinate any activity because family members are flying in all directions around the house.
     A Voice of Authority announces, “In ten minutes we’ll leave for a hike.” A scurry erupts to find socks, shoes, coats, mittens. Somehow it happens, and the octopus - our family - tumbles out the door.
     Along the hike, octopus arms range wide and far. Voices of Authority alert them: “watch out,” “don’t go there,” “stay put.” A miracle: no one is lost, and we make it back home, everyone breathless and descending upon the kitchen to refuel.
     Then octopus arms spread throughout the house again until the dinner bell rings. Everyone converges around the tables for a feast that reminds me of the banquet scene of Peter Pan and the Lost Boys in the movie Hook. Joy unabated.
     That’s our family. We’re gathered again this Thanksgiving, as your family may be, for a wonderful, messy, celebration held together by the glue of bloodline and marriage and love. It’ll be chaos, laughs, maybe some tears, sticky floors, dirty dishes, exhaustion, and bodies flying every which way as this thing called family comes together.
  May your celebration be as thanks-laden as ours.

How's Your Harvest?

11/17/2017

  During this harvest season, I’m examining what kind of crop I produced from seeds I planted this year.
     What about work projects? Some new beginnings. Some projects completed. A good yield here.
     How about seeds I planted from giving away time, talents, and encouragement? I gave an elderly woman a ride one day. I helped a neighbor with some landscaping. I told a designer what a fantastic job she did. Good seeds. Good harvest. In little ways, I made the world a better place. I’m glad.

WITHERED PLANTS
     But in other areas, my crop wasn’t so great. Not much took root in seeds I sowed in friendship. It’s not all their fault. One time someone said, “We ought to get together for lunch.” I didn’t follow through.
     How about social situations? Sometimes I didn’t welcome newcomers. I retreated into a comfort zone among those I know. Withered opportunities.

WEEDS
     Here's a hot button: What about people I don’t agree with politically? Did I treat them with respect? Yes, to their faces (I think). But inwardly, I believe I’m more enlightened than they are. How arrogant is that? I may be wrong about some of the things I’m so sure of.
     For those I disagree with, did I ask why they believe as they do and then listen? I didn’t want to. I sowed weeds in this area of my life.
     The year isn’t over. What good seeds can I still plant?
  How’s your harvest?

When Gotta Do's Gotta Go

11/10/2017

I blow my nose and lift the Kleenex away. It’s red - a bloody nose.
What’s this? A sign of “the thing” that’s going to take me out eventually? I hope not.
I have to get the bloody thing stopped, so I stuff a Kleenex up my nostril, lay on my back on the bed, and hang my head over the edge. That should dam the flow, but an acrid taste trickles down my throat.
Hanging my head is an exercise I’m supposed to do every day anyway, to keep my neck from jutting forward. It’s to overcome my hunching over the computer. Jutting-neck-something-or-other-itis, it’s called.
While suspended over the edge of the bed, I take slow, deep breaths, a routine I should do every day to increase lung capacity to overcome shallow-breath-itis. And I flex my feet forward and back to take any impediment out of my peds. This way, I’m multitasking through my list of daily supposed-to-do’s.
However, in this position I don’t dare lift my hand weights. I might drop them and crack my nose, which would only make my nosebleed worse.

HEALTH AND MORTALITY

I know these routines are supposed to help me keep this carcass moving while extending my life. But really, if I did every one I’m supposed to do every day (plus follow the schedule for checking smoke alarm batteries and the carbon monoxide monitor and the garage door electric eye), I wouldn’t have time for something that can easily get squeezed out - LIFE.
Somehow, in this modern maze, I’ve got to fight for time to kick back. Time to belly laugh. I don’t want to spend my days trying to stay alive at the expense of living. That’d be enough to give me a nosebleed all over.
Do "gotta do’s" get in the way of your living?

How I Struck Out

11/3/2017

     Her name came to mind as quietly as a cat walking.
     “Susan.”
     She’s a friend I’d made in stretching class at the rec center. A vibrant redhead, she would kid me about my impossible dream of reaching down and actually touching my toes. Susan could. After class, she’d head to the machines for weight training. She always attacked life head on.
     One day Susan walked into class with her usual determined grin and announced to everyone she had fourth-stage lung cancer. She’d never been a smoker. Never even allowed smoking in her home. Go figure.
     Her strength evaporated. She stopped attending class and vanished into the ozone of chemotherapy. I emailed, getting one-sentence replies. I ran into her once at the doctors when we were both there for lab work. At first I didn’t recognize her with the red bandana on her head and the shuffle in her step. “How is it?” I asked. “So far, so good,” she whispered, managing a smile.

DIVINE NUDGE

  She disappeared from my radar. Then the thought came: “Susan.” I knew it was a God-prompt to pray. Maybe contact her.
     I was busy with important stuff, I thought, so I’d email later. I wrote her name on a slip of paper to remind myself. The paper shifted around my desk. I didn’t contact her. Forgot to pray.
     A week later at the rec center, another friend told me, “Susan passed away last night.”
     My heart ached. I’d struck out. Even if the baseballs had been juiced in this game, I would have whiffed them because I was batting at other things in life. Things as inconsequential as gnats now. I missed the opportunity to pray for strength for Susan as she rounded third and flew into home base.
     But I haven’t left the playing field. I’m sitting in the bleachers, praying for her family as they slump in the dugout of their grief.
     Some people call nudges like I got “hearing from God,” and I think they’re right. They’re invitations to join the Almighty in his cosmic work. What a mystery, and what a privilege that I don’t want to miss out on.
  Have you acted on any divine nudges lately?

Croutons...
Chew on these seasoned bits of life for a little hope and humor along your highway.

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