"Total Eclipse of the Sun"

America's Total Eclipse of 2017, has come and gone. A few thoughts follow:

Because totality encompassed a great swath of Oregon, the hype hitting us for the past many months has been nothing short of overwhelming. It's over now and a sense of emptiness prevails. But what a day!

Eclipse Morning

8:30 a.m. Tom McCall Waterfront Park

This beautiful summer eclipse morning, I left my home early (8:30 a.m. is early for me!) and walked the three blocks to Tom McCall Waterfront Park, a perfect location with a full-sky vista spread along the shores of the Willamette River. Surprisingly, only a handful of eclipse viewers were there early. I settled in, set up my parade chair, and sipped at my thermos of coffee. I noticed eclipse viewers arriving in boats, kayaks, stand up water boards, walking (like me), many with parade chairs and blankets, with helicopters watching it all from above. I checked that I still had those eclipse viewers in my pocket, and texted a few friends that I was "on location!" I took the requisite "selfie" to share with the world, and noticed everyone else was doing the same or simply conversing on their iPhones.

"Selfie"

As I watched, more and more viewers arrived --- wearing a variety of fashion "eclipse wear": hats, casual tee-shirts, flip flops, and a few office workers taking time off for the big event sporting high heels, suits and ties. Several pediatricians stood around me, close to my carefully selected spot, with  name tags and home towns listed. They mentioned they were attending a pediatrician convention at the hotel across the street, and delighted to find themselves in the midst of  "eclipse mania." All around me, fancy cameras were being set up on tripods, picnic blankets were being spread, and eclipse-viewer glasses were being tested. By 9:45 a.m. (only an hour after I arrived) the park was well filled.

Eclipse Morning

About 10:00 a.m.

(Notice sun shadows getting longer)

There was no great communal "AHHH" as the eclipse began. Everyone just stood around talking and visiting. But at about 9:50, I became curious to see if anything was happening above. I put on my OMSI certified (Oregon Museum of Science and Industry) sun-viewing glasses and turned my gaze directly at the sun. That first look was astonishing --- as through those special OMSI lenses the sun looked like a huge glowing cookie, with a small bite taken out of the corner.  I was glued to watching that first nibble get bigger and bigger as the moon ever so slowly gobbled up that sun. This was not on TV, or in a movie, or in National Geographic. It was happening now and in front of my eyes!

photo by Twitter Account @depressedDarth

As advertised, at approximately 10:17 a.m. the sun (in Portland) was very close to being obliterated by a hungry moon. From where we were watching, there was not quite total coverage of the sun, not total darkness, just a cool breeze wafting through the park in a very dim twilight. The only thing visible on the sun was a sliver or fingernail of light left glowing on the upper perimeter of what was an orb. The downtown street lights clicked on, and the sun, oh so gradually, began to return as those cookie bites got smaller and smaller.

A few miles south on the Interstate 5, in the Salem area, viewers were treated to a full eclipse view with coronal outbursts visible. From the photos I have seen, it looked crazy and wonderful! I'm a little bit regretful that I didn't ignore the hype and went south, and braved the horrendous traffic to experience the total effect.

photo shared by Sharon Maroney

taken by John Kim with

Grandma Gerda's

Panasonic Lumix DMC-ZS50

So, those of you still stuck in major traffic jams, I'm wondering if you think the once in a lifetime eclipse reality was worth the time, effort and expense. Travel time from Salem to Portland this afternoon is from 2 to 3 hours, with usual drive time being 45 minutes. The elapsed time for totality was about two minutes. But it took about a half hour to watch the moon devour the sun and about another half hour to watch the moon retreat. I'm waiting to see if the overwhelming "hype" will pay off in terms of money coming into our state. And more importantly, will eclipse people return here to see and experience the many great and beautiful things that Oregon has to offer as a result of this brief and historic moment when the moon covered the sun.

An Empath?

"Someone who has the natural ability to understand the emotional, mental, or physical state of another person or animal. Someone who easily senses, feels, and reads the energy surrounding them."

OK, friends, go on a brief journey with me, taking time to recall "Star Trek: The Next Generation" and that marvel, Commander Deanna Troi, the half-human, half Betazoid who had a unique ability to sense emotions. For some reason I always felt a connection with her. She was a problem solver and a consensus builder, an Empath, and I really liked her. It has been ages since I watched her skillfully solve the emotional problems of people and creatures, soaring through other universes in deep space.

Unlike Deanna, I have never internally experienced the emotions of others, but as I have become older and more reflective, I realize that I unknowingly take on the physical "feelings" of others, specifically like when they are really sick. It happens primarily with immediate family. I wonder, is this an empathic phenomenon? For a long period I assumed this happens to everyone. But then I noticed my friends and family were not physically overwhelmed by their loved-one's illnesses.

In retrospect, years ago, I must have come to realize that I was a bit different. When I stepped into my children's rooms when they were ill, their aches and malaise would overcome me, and I immediately felt sick too. Often I would have to lay down a bit until that aura of illness left me. My younger sister was quite often ill as a child. I vividly recall my Mom's anger when I would lay down and tell her I was sick too. She told me I was only wanting attention, and "I was fine." Yes, I was fine, but again, in retrospect, simply taking on the "feelings" of my sister's symptoms.

It is doubtful that there is any science related to this, so I have very little understanding of what goes on and what this means. Perhaps it is a supersized sensitivity to the energy of others nearby. I do not take on my grandchildren's illnesses, but they live far away. My husband's frequent surgeries for malignant melanoma and other illnesses are not something I "feel." Yet I inevitably take on a great deal of his illness in the form of extreme emotional and physical exhaustion. My friends with ill husbands say they are not exhausted, or physically affected in that way.

So, the story concludes, I've joined a group on Facebook called "An Empath" and discovered that there are quite a few people out there who can relate to this. My hunch tells me we Empaths are "tuned in" to different things. With me it is illness, with others, it is simply a heightened sensitivity to relationships, connections of the spirit and the mundane and/or a much broader view of life's dimensions. And that is about as far as I can go with this. But I find it fascinating, and perhaps you will too. If you have more information about this, let me know!

The Marvelous Tale of Merv

And this is the marvelous tale of our friend Merv:

Our 75 year old friend Merv is an unassuming, regular kind of guy.  A loyal friend to our family, and mentor to hundreds of newly minted, young attorneys, Merv has never aspired to making waves. Instead, he nurtures friendships, and continues to be a cheerleader and advisor to many. No one argued to the contrary when his personality was once characterized by his friend my husband, as "casper milk toast." His smiling, low-key countenance, slight build and short stature belie his robust attitude, his well-hidden will power and a constitution that reflects his Scandinavian-Viking heritage. This Spring, Merv proved to those who thought of him as just another nice guy, that they were wrong, wrong! This is one tough dude!

On April 14, 2015, Merv (and his 75 years of aches and pains) embarked with his 43 year old son, Kari, (pronounced Car-ee) on a 71 day, 4,200 mile cross-America bicycle journey from Yorktown, Virginia, to Astoria, Oregon.  Admittedly, over the years Merv and Kari have done some challenging things. Their biking adventures have usually amounted to merely 3 day, 300 mile trips, but nothing of this ride's length and magnitude. Also, over the years together Merv and Kari have managed to take on a few marathon courses, a mountain climb or two, and the occasional iron man competition. So they have a history of managing some rather large physical and mental challenges. This adventure, however, amounted to "The Challenge" of a lifetime, and was also the fulfillment of a father/son dream. Kari says they have been wishing and hoping for this trip since he was 10 years old.

Kari's notes on planning the trip, refer to Prof. Randy Pausch, whose best selling book, The Last Lecture speaks to the importance of fulfilling childhood dreams. While considering his Dad's recent decline in health, and facing some life transitions of his own, Kari unflinchingly made the decision to take on the mega-challenges of this long-time dream of theirs and making it a reality, "Now!"

The goals were simple: to spend what turned out to be 71 straight days together, (who knows if they will ever be able to spend that kind of time together again); to make it safely from coastal Virginia to coastal Oregon; and, to come to a greater appreciation of this land and the diversity of the American people.

The 4,200 mile bike journey they took followed the Transamerica Cycling Route established in 1976 to celebrate the United States Bicentennial. The intrepid bikers braved sore and aching bodies, heat, rain, grueling ascents, and hair raising descents. They slept in campgrounds, bike hostels, parks, churches, private homes, and hotels. They endured flat tires, lopsided loads, wild animals both dead and alive, performed compression on a heart attack victim, and have supplied very few details on Kari's 30 minute ordeal in a port-o-potty. I am also sure that gluten free Merv found himself challenged to find food at many a road-side diner. Their story could most likely fill a book --- which I believe is currently percolating in Kari's wonderful and creative mind.

As they ticked off the last miles of their journey in June, and approached the Oregon border, we had a cell phone call from them, inviting us to celebrate the completion of their epic journey as they rode into Astoria.  Due to our own issues with my husband's recent surgery, we were unable to join them, but celebrated "in spirit" with a champagne toast to their extraordinary accomplishment.

Seventy five year old Merv, still recovering, spent some time with us last week and looked noticeably lighter and a bit stiff. He admitted to losing some10 to 13 pounds on the 4,000 plus mile bike ride.( I doubt I'll be going on his diet anytime soon) Since his return, he sold his home and moved into a senior living facility. His active life will surely continue, but is turning in new directions. Merv, we celebrate you and your most recent and magnanimous accomplishment. Congratulations and "way to go!"  You and Kari have made your longtime dream come true.

And Merv, take it from me, this is truly a marvelous tale to tell!

Information on the Transamerica Cycling Trail:
http://www.adventurecycling.org/routes-and-maps/adventure-cycling-route-network/transamerica-trail/

Photos by Kari Loya on Instagram: @transamwithmerv

Do Wounds Heal?

Summer's unrelenting heat, twice the unexpected appearance of death, several  weeks of destruction and construction in my home, a change in location, job and life for my daughter's family, and the nasty wound that seems to be taking forever to heal, have sucked up all the energy I might have used to write my blog.  But thoughts are emerging in my head an I'm wanting once again to share with friends and readers.

A hot summer emerged from the Spring of my Mother's death.  Neither was expected, although Mom's passing was both a relief and a release for me after her many years of illness. The 90 to 100 degree temperatures of June and July were startling in their unrelenting intensity and unusual for the normally cool summers of the Northwest.  The high temps seemed to cast a festering inertia on me and everyone else.  I could have spent weeks wallowing in discomfort, but it was not to be.

In an attempt to heal my heart and keep me busy following Mom's passing, my spouse proposed a huge project for me to oversee: the selection and installation of much needed new flooring in our home.  June rapidly filled with workmen tearing out old carpet, the ongoing search for new flooring to complement our rather eclectic taste in stacks of books, knicknacks, and a multitude of art pieces from my former gallery. The search culminated with the final installation of our selected product: carbonized bamboo! Although it seemed like it took forever, and more to install, the results are beautiful, and the project itself was a balm to my grieving. 

But through the clamor and chaos of the in-home construction came word of our daughter's new job that will take her entire family far away to Texas. We have been blessed to have them so nearby that we can reach them easily.  Not so any more!  And as I write this, they are heading out to their new life so far away.  Do they know my heart is breaking?

What is in my Heart: Thanks!

It has been a struggle with what to say as a final tribute to my Mother, that powerful, tough spirit, that strong will, that smart, beautiful, talented woman.  I wrote page after page, and finally decided none of it was working for me.

Yesterday, when I told my husband that nothing I was writing captured my Mom and my profound feelings and emotions at this final loss, he said to me, “share what is in your heart.”  So, I threw it all out and began again. 

And this, family and friends, is what is in my heart:

Thank you all.  Thank you for being here.  Thank you for your support.  Thank you to those of you who have patiently listened to me, cried with me, and talked me through some really hard times.  Thank you for sharing your wisdom and experience with me, and thank you for giving me the strength to endure these many, many difficult years. 

Thank you to two special  boys, my grandsons, for bringing new life, new hope, new joy, and new love into my heart.  You are dear to me and so wonderful! 

Thank you to my Mother’s care-givers.  What Mom's family lacked in ability and patience, you provided in bucket loads.  You fed her and made sure she was nourished, kept her clean, kept her busy and made sure she was challenged and entertained.  And in the end, after so many years, you became her family too.  My sister and I cannot thank you enough.

It is because of all of you, propping me up and giving me strength, that I have been able to make it through these many, many challenging years. I am grateful to each of you.  Without you, I don't see how I could face the awfulness that is disease called Alzheimer's.

FAILING

She is  failing.  Most days her temp is above normal.  Although she is taking some fluids, she has not eaten solid food in a week.  Without food, she will quickly weaken.  And as she gets weaker, she will be unable to sustain, and we soon will lose what is left of her. 

In reality, I lost Mom about 15 years ago.  She ever so gradually ceased to be the nurturing, advice giving, sustaining rock, who was my best friend.  The gradualness of her descent into mind-numbing nothingness was so slow it was hard to notice.  As the years went by she forgot to call, and she forgot to cook, she forgot to get up and walk, and she forgot to care.  It hurt and I was angry at her inattention. Initially I cried, and lashed out at her, sharing my hurt and frustration with my equally confused sister.  We didn't know then about the journey upon which we were embarking, and we didn't understand how long that journey would take.

Eventually we confronted the reality of our situation: Alzheimer's disease, with tentacles that reach out and try to suffocate every member of the family. Gradually her friends abandoned her when she no longer understood how to give friendship back.  Her husband remained steadfast and loving, but when he no longer was able to care for her or be a husband to her, he moved on with his own personal life, establishing new friendships and new relationships.  Yet he continued to spend time with her every single day until his own death. I never ever judged his decisions.

Her daughters simply coped for these past years, educating ourselves, tag-teaming visits, assuring her comfort and cleanliness and safety.  In spite of her dementia, she was once our Mother and our friend, and the two of us share many of her traits.

Initially I thought to compare our situation with that presented in the recent award winning film, "Still Alice." The article was in my head when things with Mom began to decline.  And as our situation worsens with her,  I wanted to convey how our family is coping with the disease, and that perhaps other families cope differently.  It didn't seem that "Still Alice" touched on the fact that every Alzheimer's family is different, and each has a unique and sad story to tell about their own experience. It is the entire family that bears the burden of Alzheimer's, not just the individual with the disease.

Are we now, 15 years after we began this painfully slow descent into our own story of confusion, frustration, and eventual acceptance, prepared to lose her for the second time?  Most of us are.  Only one of us is not.  Regardless of how we feel, our long, difficult journey might soon be coming to an end.   Amen.

Heroes of Iwo Jima

Someone mentioned to me the other day that February 19th through March 26 this year, marks the 70th anniversary of  WWII's ferocious US invasion of Iwo Jima which was then (c.1945), a mid Pacific fortress of the Japanese.

In February, 2004, I was fortunate enough to mark the occasion of that military action, by hosting a group of veterans of the Iwo Jima invasion in my home.  They were my Dad's WWII military buddies, and in 2004 they held what was most likely their final reunion in Portland.  

Though Dad never made it to the shores of Iwo Jima due to a freak accident shipboard in Honolulu Harbor, the rest of his shipmates did.  While Dad recovered in several military hospitals, his ship sailed on to support the invasion, ferrying soldiers back and forth to the island.  His buddies never forgot each other, and never forgot Dad.  Of all of them, they told me, he suffered the most serious wartime injury.

Dad passed in 2012.  And I am sorry to say, I don't know about the rest.  But I was so moved by their little reunion in 2004, that I wrote a story about it, and submitted it to the Oregonian newspaper. It was published that week in a column titled, "In My Opinion."  As a 70th anniversary memorial and tribute to my Dad and his buddies, I once again, share that story.

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"February 19, 2004.  A memorial is underway this night, for a young soldier, a local American hero, who gave his life in Iraq. He was 19.  At the same hour, on this same rainy night, a different commemoration is taking place.  The participants are all well over 80 years old.

 They are my Dad’s war buddies.  In their youth, some 69 years ago, they served together on  U.S. Coast Guard LST 792.   Now some walk with canes.  Some need magnifying lenses to help them see.  My Dad's hands shake.  They come to Portland from cities up and down the West Coast: Seattle, San Jose, and El Cajon. 

 They are at my house because one of them has brought a video to share with his buddies and Dad doesn’t own a VCR.  But we do, and we also have a “big screen” TV.  We worry until they all arrive safely on this dark, rainy night.  Then I pop in the video. 

To my surprise, what appears on our big TV is not a recording of family vacations and oodles of grandchildren, but, the History Channel’s epic production, “The Color of War - War in the Pacific”.   And World War II takes over the big screen.  They recognize everything! 

It finally dawns on me that this is not an ordinary reunion, but a special commemoration; much to my embarrassment I realize it is the 59^th Anniversary of the invasion of Iwo Jima, which began on February 19^th, 1945.  They had been there, they remembered and they wanted to be together this night.   

I didn’t know.  

How could I not know?

It turns out, the video is a huge success.  They know the newsreel locations. They correct the narrator when he is wrong.  They are sure the tall young sailor in one shot is “Ray” who is sitting there with us.  We rewind to be sure.  It is inconclusive.

We “pause” the VCR several times when LST 792, their beloved ship, appears briefly on the TV screen.

Watching and listening with them, I can see, smell and taste the battle.  I see the dead lying on the beach; I feel the fear. 

It was the fiercest battle of the Pacific war.  Over 900 US ships came to “Iwo” to push the Japanese out. They told me more than 6,000 soldiers died in the first days of ferocious battle.

Their personal recollections become the color commentary:  "a kamikaze pilot zeroing in on them with return artillery fire so thick a man could have walked on it; Joe Rosenthal comes aboard to rest and have a cup of coffee.  “Joe” was the war photographer who captured on film a moment for all time, as Marines planted the American flag at the top of Mt. Suribachi." (see photo above)

I am in awe.  59 years ago these octogenarians were 19-year-old boys, handsome, vibrant, and in the prime of their life, so much like the soldier whose family is remembering his brief life across town on this rainy night.

 It occurs to me that time merely changes the faces of the young soldiers and sailors who go to war, and technology makes contemporary warfare a vastly different thing. But, those who go to war now and those who went then are very special: they are youngsters who are heroes all.

And perhaps most importantly, I wonder who will be left to remember those who died on Iwo Jima after Dad and his buddies are gone?" 

(in memory 6,821 who died at Iwo Jima, in  the weeks after February, 19^th,1945)    

 

****I promise, I will remember.