Tombstones and Tolle

Tombstones have become quite the story board these days. With both pictures and words it tells the story of this couple, the date of their marriage and a picture of their family farm. Notice how young they are, and that they have not yet died. They are my age and yet they have prepared their final resting spot. I also noticed that they leave no room for things like divorce, or death and remarriage. It is interesting to be so sure about one's future.

In Eckhart Tolle's book A New Earth, he cautions us about our preocupation with past and future time. He suggests that we eliminate what he calls psychological time, "which is the egoic mind's endless preoccupation with past and future and its unwillingness to be one with life by living in alignment with the enevitable isness of the present moment." He adds, "For the ego/false self to survive it must make time - past and future - more important than the present moment."

As I have mentioned before, the cemetery holds a special place in my heart and I look forward to visiting it every time I am in Radnor. I look for the tombstones of two boys with whom I started gradeschool. One died in a tractor accident as a pre-teen and the second died in a car accident at at twenty six. I like to remember them, but mostly I remember how I felt upon hearing the news of their deaths. I always visit the graves of family members and remember them, the good and the bad. The cemetery reminds me of a sometimes painful childhood and my strong desire to leave this less than nurturing community. It reminds me that I felt like an outsider, and dreamed of the day I would become successful and show them all how wrong they were about me. I dreamed as big as I could dream of education, and a career that would take me far from Radnor, Ohio. I dreamed of proving them wrong about who was valueable and who would make their mark on the world. I have always believed that these dreams about the future and desire to get beyone my present situation in childhood was the key to my "success." I have had the priviledge of more education than I imagined, and a life that took me to many more communities than small town Ohio.

Reading Tolle makes me wonder if I didn't miss something in the present moment of those years that may have been more valuable than seeing them as a means to a more desirable end. Keeping with his adviced to stay in the moment, I navigated this past week, with my terminally ill father by working to stay aware of and engaged in the moment. I found that it made me appreciate being a part of even things like picking a burial plot and talking about death. There was so much life in those few days that I am glad I did not miss.

I am still not sure what to do with my continual thoughts about past and future. I thought I was educating myself, learning from the past and being responsible by preparing for the future. I have this belief that if I don't make it happen, I won't get what I want out of my future. I have often made the present a means to the future, when I will have that which I believe will make me happy. Tolle says, "when you treat the Now as a means, an obstacle, or an enemy, you strengthen your own form identity, the ego" or false self. He says that makes you a reactive person and the more reactive you are the more entangled you become in form (ego/false self) and "your Being then does not shine through form anymore." According to him, when we are in the Now, and not reliving the past or calculating the future, our Presence (that which is beyond our ego) emerges which is a silent power far greater than our short-lived ego/false self. And, that it is more deeply who we truly are.

I have a long way to go to enlightenment, but it was a geat blessing to show up in Radnor, and strive to be present in the Now. I am grateful to have really lived those moments, not wasting a one. Praise God from whom all Blessings Flow.

My Cemetery

Radnor Cemetery Lynch Gate.

Built in 1910 the lynch gate was designed by local architect, William Robert Powell to commemorate early settlers of Radnor who emigrated from Wales.

As a little girl I couldn't wait until I was old enough to walk to the cemetery by myself. I would accompany my mother as she brought water to the flowers planted on the graves of my great grandparents and a brother who died shortly after birth. It was from the hilltop that my mother would play taps for graveside services and Memorial Day celebrations. I always loved this place. It did not feel scary or foreboding, rather magically filled with stories of those buried within.

As a fourteen year old playing tag, zig zagging between the stones I fell to the ground when tackled by an older boy and received my first kiss in Radnor Cemetery. He was the curly headed, bronze bodied, bare footed, motorcycle riding bad boy who had more than caught my attention, and I, was twitterpated! (You will have to remember your Disney movies to figure that on out.) Not having lived in Radnor since 1980, I always visit my cemetery when I return to Radnor to see family. Over the years it has been a place of contemplation and day dreams. Reading the names and testimonies of love inscribed on the stones gives way not only to memories but the imagination. I have always loved this place.

On Tuesday morning my mother told me to meet them in the cemetery. I followed their car to one of the newer sections sparsely populated with only a few stones and one fresh grave piled with flowers from the funeral. People in Radnor still have visiting hours at the funeral home where mourners view the body and share condolences with the family of the deceased which is followed by a funeral often with open casket present. In the midst of the open grassy space were four wooden stakes with twine strung between them to mark off a four grave plot. We were here to buy the family plot. It might have been nice if someone had warned me! But in true Hamilton style, I helped evaluate the location and took it all in stride. Remember, no tears in the ranks!

Later I laughed with my brother at the surprise and the kinds comments that were made as we evaluated the location. Who owned the adjacent plots? You surely wouldn't want to be resting for eternity next door to the wrong people. And what about views? Do you want to face the road or the rest of the cemetery? Is it proper to walk on graves? What about planting flowers or shrubs and maybe one of those eternal flames? You don't want it to be too dark at night. It is hard to tell what is funny and what is sad. When in doubt, I choose funny.

I will always love this place!

Country Girls Cook

...when the going gets tough.









Late October in central Ohio is a kaleidoscope of colors changing quickly as the leaves turn from green to deep reds, oranges and yellows just before fading to brown and grey. Today was a grey day. There were plenty of bright colors remaining but the mood was grey aided by the overcast sky and the drizzly precipitation. While driving Dad to dialysis, he began to speculate as to why the farmers were procrastinating in harvesting the corn and beans. The crops were obviously ready and yet there was little activity in the fields. "What were they waiting for?" I reminded him that the world had changed and most of these farmers had other jobs in addition to the family farm which could no longer support their families. He doesn't like to be reminded of how much the world is changing. I suspect it only adds to his frustration with the uncontrollable changes in his body and his life. Farming was not what it used to be and neither was he. The once strong and athletic marine, always up for a physical challenge is dependent upon crutches, wheelchairs and dialysis. His life expectancy is cut short by an aggressive cancer for which there is no treatment. He quickly switches to stories about his time in Korea, the powerful vehicles he drove and his top secret clearance. It is easier to talk about war.

When I dropped him off at dialysis, another patient greeted him saying, "this must be that daughter from California you were waiting on. I can tell by the smile on your face." The thought that I put a smile on his face brought tears to my eyes, but I fought them back. Marines don't cry and they won't put up with tears in the ranks.

As I drove away I was sad and the whole world looked sad. I have never seen so many sad faces, crippled bodies, old and infirmed. Were there any happy people in this whole entire county? Walking into Kroger's no one smiled at me, everyone looked gloomy. I wanted to go home; this has to be the saddest place on earth. But my plane doesn't leave until tomorrow morning. How will I survive this grey day?

I just came into the grocery store to get a latte from Starbucks, but it was a good thing I came to a more important realization before I left. The only thing to do when I feel this bad is to cook! I had a whole day to cook something savory, rib sticking and smile inducing. Chicken Pot Pie was it! Suddenly the world was brighter, my pace increased and there was a purpose in my day. I think I caught someone smiling at me. Each ingredient had to be carefully chosen for the perfect color, texture, and flavor. Over the next few hours, I manged to create quite a mess in my mother's kitchen. Hardly a surface escaped my preparations. Every burner on the stove was in use, the dirty dishes were mounting and the floor was a little sticky. Who cares if there were flour hand prints on my behind, the grey was lifting and the aroma of garlic, onions, and thyme were chasing away the tears. I could see the smiles to come when everyone gathered around the table to gaze upon my masterpiece and chicken pot pie filled their stomachs.

I was not disappointed. Cooking works every time!

Three generations sat around the table that had been in my family for 5 generations, laughing, joking and eating too much. I learned to cook in this kitchen forty years ago. Thank God, I remembered.