Susan Lee's Musings

Special Ed

In 1984, I took my 4-year-old son, Josh, with me to drop off his registration paperwork for kindergarten. As I entered the office, I noticed quite a few unopened computer boxes stacked along the wall. As we were waiting our turn in the busy office, a teacher walked through and asked the secretary, “Are those the computers for ‘Special Ed.’?” Just then, Josh perked up and exclaimed with a big smile, “Is it his BIRTHDAY?!”

Today, that vibrant, innovative and petulant son of mine turns 31 years old. He still has the same animated spirit, able to see life in his own special, sometimes quirky way. If you were to ask his wife, Sarah, I’m sure she’d tell you that whatever it is, her life with Josh is never dull.

Josh, your Dad and I want to wish you the happiest birthday today, and tell you that we love you so very much! We are proud of the husband and father you are to your beautiful family and pray for God’s watchful care over you all.

Love you,

Mom

Dad and the Roll Top Desk

My father, Merrill B. Scott, M.D., died unexpectedly 17 years ago today. This poem expresses merely one facet of a brilliant and loving man. Miss you, dad.

Dad and the Roll Top Desk

Eager, I toddle into the study,

where dad does his figuring

at the tall oak roll top desk.

I creep under the secretary

he has extended, looking up

into brown eyes of love, regarding

me softly over the demi-readers.

Even at three, I can grasp

that on paper, he is calculating

columns of substance,

strings of numbers behind

the slide rule that went

along on their honeymoon,

near the Pogo cartoon book.

I scrootch myself into the spot

barely left to me, settlin’, while

commodities receive value, yet

what I see is my father’s love, to

let me squeeze among the

queues and the roll top desk

while he ciphers, approving me.

Teary, I storm into my dad’s study,

in my eighth grade year, sure

that all is lost for me and the

figures I discerned as wondrous.

Geometry proofs were to blame

as I wished I could crawl under

the roll top desk of my father.

Bending to look over those

same black demi-readers,

with brown calming eyes, dad

talks me patiently through theory.

Restoring my faith and awe in

scribbling numbers down,

through repose in his being.

The slide rule is retired for an

electrified calculating machine,

but rows on papers remain.

By now a closet is overflowing

with stacks of statistical witness,

to the faith of my dad in family,

of hope and provision abiding.

Later, I stride into this study to

have many talks beside my dad.

Welcome, the brown eyes bright,

though the caterpillar-like brows

are germinating gray nowadays.

As time is fleeting, I help him to

marshal his protective forces.

Left under the oak secretary

is taped his directive memo,

so my mother will know, the

fruit of cryptic charts, spun

upon the span of father’s time.

Duty and love intertwined,

a synergy, his life’s proposal.

My sister now has the roll top

and the slide rule is my own.

Brown eyes don’t see nor arms hold,

but sparingly, in surreal spaces

I dream we have our vital

affinity restored, like once we

shared snugly in his study.

by Susan Ardith Lee

Molasses Taffy

Pulling molasses taffy takes strong arms, I know.

I smell the glossy goodness, animated ooze.

Mom tugs and cuts with agility and grace,

While I wrap with crinkled paper and wait for my taste.

Gathering vibrant flowers takes discerning eyes, I know.

Mindful of gardener’s treasure, Mom helps me choose.

Beauties for teacher, we delight in generosity a while.

While I truss bouquet with foil and wait for a smile.

Perfecting piano lessons takes patient ears, I know.

Enduring Bach Sonatas and Mendelssohn’s ‘Hunting Song’.

Emerging at last, relief and euphonious sound.

While I rejoice in a blessing that waits to expound.

Mother’s love mends torn hearts, I know.

I feel her gathering brokenness, knitting perpetually.

She hears the incomprehensible with charity.

While I blow on tissue and wait on clarity.

Susan Ardith Lee

 ©2011

No Mere ‘Coinkydink’

Albert Einstein once said, “Coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous.”  As much as my dad respected Einstein, he would insist that one slight alteration be made, and that it be designated a ‘coinkydink’, as that was the way he coined the term.  After much reading, I am convinced that Einstein believed, as I do, that there is no such thing as a ‘coinkydink’, which means that God must be quite busy.  At least I’m confident, that with regard to one particular subject, I could come up with a good enough argument to make the case. 

I have been thinking about my life and my mom, Roberta.  After much consideration, I have deduced that she could not have been more perfectly designed to nurture me.  Even before I was born, she became a registered nurse, undoubtedly because of her innate aspiration to help hurting people, but when eventually faced with her own sickly infant daughter, registering a temperature of 107 degrees and convulsing, she was already trained and knew what to do instead of panicking.  For every subsequent medical situation, (frequent acute and chronic occurrences), her brain was filled with the answers to my needs, and it was no mere ‘coinkydink’.

My mother has two heartfelt qualities that have indelibly shaped me into the person that I am.  In fact, I could not be satisfied in my life, if events had turned out differently.  First, my mom is a passionate lover of music, which opened doors to my ears and heart.  In some ways, the love of music activated my life.  Second, my mother is a stubborn adherent to a ‘mutually-agreed-to’ promise.  What I mean is that I was a whimsical five year old, taking ballet lessons from a strict old-fashioned instructor.  I hated it.  After much whining, my mom said that I could quit ballet for piano lessons, but later there would be NO quitting piano.  I understood exactly what she meant: NO quitting-EVER.  I agreed.  What can I say?  The love of music and the stubborn insistence to finish what you’ve started are two of the things that have kept me alive, and it was no mere ‘coinkydink’. 

When I was a 3^rd grader at Power’s Elementary School, my mother had perceptive eyes, those she needed to see beyond what seemed obvious.  The ‘gifted’ programs were just beginning in our town and I was tested and selected to be bussed to a school across town by myself.  My mom saw that isolating and moving me would be detrimental, and that the benefits of a new program were not worth my separation from an environment where I was thriving.  In the end, I somehow got both, because a teacher at Power’s worked with the new curriculum and me.  How many times those keen eyes of mom’s have continued giving me aid, seeing through and around to the genuine, and it was no mere ‘coinkydink’.

I am amazed at the design of my mother’s ears, and her ability to discern what has not been said.  I must admit, that when I was young, I was wimpy when it came time to saying ‘no’ to certain people.  If I was at a friend’s house, they asked me to spend the night and I didn’t want to, I would call my mom and say, “Hey mom, can I spend the night at Sally’s house?”  Because of her insightful ears, she would respond, “You don’t want to stay there, do you?  Then tell Sally that I said ‘No’.”  That was the first occasion that I realized the extent of her auditory acuity, but certainly not the last.  She hears between the lines of every phone conversation into my state of mind and the essence of my feelings, whether I can voice them or not.  She helps me now from 3,000 miles away, in the state of Maine, even when I feel wimpy, as much as she ever did, and it was no mere ‘coinkydink’.

Being so far away now, you would think that I was beyond the reach of my mother’s comforting touch.  You would be mistaken, for long ago, she invented something called a ‘round hug’. This is the kind of unique hug that fully surrounds you, supports you, uplifts you, enfolds you, and invigorates you.   When I was young, failed the bicycle safety test at school and was too embarrassed to say so at first, her hug gave me courage to admit the truth, face the failure, and try again.  When the neighborhood girls were being mean, just for the sake of being mean, that hug helped me to not cry myself to sleep and to hold my head high on the next day of school.  When my teenage girlfriend told me she would kill herself, that hug and my mom’s wisdom took charge of my friend and me.  When doctors thought my two-year-old daughter might have leukemia, that hug calmed me.  Today, that ‘round hug’ has miraculous properties that compel it to cross the American countryside when I am yearning for it, and it gently embraces my soul, just as surely as it did when I was a child in my mother’s household.  Her ‘round hugs’ fit me completely, and that was no mere ‘coinkydink’.

There are many more ways my mother is perfection, like the way she cooks with skill and love, so that even now, I can imagine favorite foods from my childhood and sense a comforting feeling, while their smell practically wafts past my nose.  I could not neglect to mention her boundless energy for fun, that always kept things hopping at our house, and how she taught me to laugh, if at all possible, because that is always the better course. I thank God for my mom, I so love her, and that is no mere ‘coinkydink’.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom, and RH2U!

Missing My Dad

I miss my dad.  I don’t miss him every day or in all situations, but there are times when I wish I could pick up the phone and call him.  Maybe that’s because he’d always answered every one of my questions to my satisfaction.  He was honest, direct and if I didn’t understand, he’d come around from a different angle until I did. 

I remember the semester I was returning to college after missing several years while raising children.  I made the gargantuan mistake of tackling Calculus that first semester, when I should have waited a while and taken something simpler first, so my brain cells would have some time to warm up. 

One day, I brought my homework and textbook over to dad, including my perplexed expression to ask for help understanding what I was supposed to be doing.  My father spent an hour, or however long it took, coming at me from every direction until I comprehended the principle behind the assignment, which for him was even more important than just finishing a few homework problems.

Well, I am not taking Calculus this semester, in fact, I am not officially in college either, but I still have life homework from time to time, and I have lots of questions; the kind that can’t be ‘Googled’.  I’d like to call him and say, “Hi, dad, it’s me.  I’m coming over with a few questions.”  He’d say, “Great.”  (Then he’d hang up without saying good-bye, which was always confusing to me, but I never remembered to ask him about that, so I guess the fault of my persistent ignorance is mine alone.)  Then we’d talk and I’d give up my perplexed expression, as he’d patiently come around yet another angle on the current topic, until I reached satisfactory comprehension of the principle behind the issue.  Then we’d go and see what my mom was cooking.

That is one way that I miss my dad.

Written on March 31, 2010

The Butterfly With Steel Toed Boots

Last week I experienced something new in the life of one relatively initiated in medical happenings: atrial fibrillation followed by electrical cardioversion.  If you are interested in the technical rundown on this acute diagnosis, be my guest and ‘Google’ it, but I want to tell you that for me, it felt as though the gentle butterfly who normally flits around my heart, had decided to don tiny steel toed boots and tap dance all over my chest cavity.

As with most raucous marathon dance parties, I became lightheaded as time marched on, and was thankful for a quiet room in the ER to lay down, except that I must inject this criticism: Why can’t somebody invent a gurney that doesn’t send your back into uncontrollable spasms after only a half hour?

Several people have asked me if I was frightened during my cardiac event, after all, trips to the emergency room are inherently intimidating and any diagnosis related to the heart unnerves the imagination.  Add to that the fact that my father died at 67 of a sudden heart attack.  My immediate response was that I knew what it felt like to die, and this wasn’t it.  My second reaction was that my doctors had explained what was going to happen to me so thoroughly, and were taking care of me so well, that I felt at ease. Honestly, I didn’t once think of the familial connection to my dad’s attack until Dr. Winters said he had tested me and that I hadn’t had one.

  After some reflection, I realize that even though all those things are true: I really do know what it feels like to die and my doctors were definitely exceptional, (my kindly Internist, Dr. Chooljian, came with me to the ER and walked my case through triage until I was settled, and my ER doctor was a gem from Presque Isle, Maine, and the head of the department), they are not the only reason I was never scared.

You see, every day I become more and more cognizant of a different heart that resides in me; one that beats with the love of God because I have surrendered it to Him.  As this heart grows, it not only wraps its arms around me for my good, but it motivates me to spring into action for the benefit of others.  The concern for people I love overtakes self-interest, even in the face of crisis.

While my butterfly’s party escalated into a circus, I was thinking of a memorial service that I was missing, for an old friend, Gary, who was finally freed to be embraced by Heaven, after years and years of unrelenting attacks of illness.  This gentle soul had been so kind to my husband, Jeff, and me when we were first married.  I was wondering how his wife, Linda, was faring through it all and wishing I could give her a hug and tell her that I loved her.  I thought that my forced seclusion had stolen that blessing from me.

As I glanced at the squiggly lines jumping on my monitor, I thought about an appointment I would miss, with a doctor who helps me take better care of my daughter, Sarah, who is slowly climbing out of the rubble left by a norepinphrine storm, (which can be a circus all by itself), but which crashes into debilitating depression.  Sarah is an empty shell of her former self who yearns to be the butterfly, to dance out of her cocoon, although to truly be comfortable, she’ll probably wear bright orange Converse tennis shoes.  As a mother, I think about each of my three children, but at this particular time, Sarah’s need has been so compelling, that my inner heart aches for her to be healed, happy and free, therefore I don’t necessarily have the time to be laying on a gurney in the hospital.

When the ER staff finally began to set up the equipment and the nurse asked me what my instructions were in case something ‘unthinkable’ happened, I was not terrified, because I knew that they were just about to shock my heart into the proper rhythm, so I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing I would be able to go home soon.  I’m not sure if my experience is unique, but even under sedation, there was no escape from the electrical shock, when it actually occurred.  Not that it hurt, exactly, but its jolt was unavoidable nonetheless, and it managed to eject the circus and the party from my body, and the tap dancing butterfly gave up her steel toed boots to resume her peaceful fluttering.

‘Oh, that I would continue to be controlled by the love of God motivated and impelled by Him to the end that my priority is the blessing of other people and when I am off course, may He jolt me back into His rhythm so I can make it home.  Amen’

“For the love which Christ has for me presses on me from all sides, holding me to one end and prohibiting me from considering any other, wrapping itself around me in tenderness, giving me an impelling motive, having brought me to this conclusion, namely, that One died on behalf of all, therefore all died, and that He also died on behalf of all in order that those who are living no longer are living for themselves but for the One who died on their behalf and instead of them, and was raised.”  II Corinthians 5:14,15 Wuest Translation

EUPHONIOUSNESS

Today is my Mother’s 78th birthday and if I was still a little girl, and would ask her, ‘Mommy, what can I buy you for your birthday?’ she would say, ‘Honey, you don’t need to buy me anything.  You can make me something, because that would mean more to me.’  I am no longer a little girl who finger-paints and makes macaroni necklaces, but I can write, so I have decided to compose a present for you, Mom.  I hope you like it.

When I was six years old, you introduced me to the euphoniousness of music, almost through the back door, since I was just trying to get out of dance classes, and the deal we struck was that I would take piano lessons in exchange, because you had always wanted to learn yourself.

What a world opened up for me at that piano, first in my brain and then in my heart. I took structured training from Mrs. Babcock every Wednesday afternoon at 3p.m. for eleven years.  An exacting disciplinarian, Mabel Babcock was an enlightened and proper English gentlewoman with wired rimmed glasses and a precise metronome that sat on the edge of her baby grand piano marking out time, in the front room of her house on Thomas Avenue at the south end of town.

During the time I took those lessons, I learned my musical theory, which helped me understand why I could see something akin to mathematical solutions in my mind, when you took me to the Fresno Philharmonic Symphony Concerts in downtown Fresno once a month or so.  First of all, we couldn’t go unless we were dressed up, which means that you would open your special closet containers and I might get to use one of your necklaces or purses.  When I sat in those red cushioned seats with my eyes closed and they played Bach, (he was always my favorite), because to me he made perfect sense.  He finished when he should finish and every song was resolved in my head, just like a completed math equation. Copeland was also fun, like a rollercoaster ride and you made me feel important, going with you like an adult.

After I became a grown woman, had children of my own and moved to a town away from my family and friends, you gave me the old Baldwin Grand that I practiced on for those eleven years.  Many days when I was lonely or sad, it was your melodious gift that I leaned on, because, as you know, I had discovered how to make my own kind of music on it.  I have told you before, but that Baldwin’s bottom register is so full that its reverberation moves your very soul, if you play it just right.  I have learned how to play it just right.  When I am full of joy, its sweet harmonious voice billows through the house in celebration.  It is an irreplaceable gem.

Many people think that they are blessed to have the euphony of music in their lives and to an extent I believe that they are, but I think you understand, Mom, that those who can make their own music are the twice blessed.  To that I will add that I am even more blessed, because I was given this present of music from my own Mother’s heart, motivated by her love for me, and the knowledge that if music could impact my life as it has her own, she could smile.

Today, Mom, I give you that smile for your birthday.

I love you,

Susan Ardith

“Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.” Red Auerbach

HAVING YOUR CAKE AND EATING IT TOO

I would say that most people learn best by experiencing things first hand, rather than by reading them in a book or by having someone else relay the information, but there are some challenges that are difficult to be undertaken, for various reasons.  Take skydiving, for example.  Besides the technical training it would require to accomplish a successful dive, the fear of falling to my death could keep me from attempting a jump, no matter how glorious the freefall might be.  However, if I were to tandem skydive, strapped onto the harness of a seasoned professional, I would be able to understand the process and enjoy the adventure of a lifetime.

When I met Marilyn in the early 1980’s, I never guessed I would learn one of the most important things possible about God’s love for me.  No one would ever guess.  She was an unassuming young mother of three painfully shy boys that showed up in our Sunday school class one day.  I liked her from the beginning, because she was genuine, caring and generous, freely giving her time and talents to various projects at the church.

Marilyn and I were a lot alike, in that we both loved God and our families.  We attended a Bible believing assembly that taught what it meant to be a ‘born-again’ child of God.  It was an exciting time of learning about our secure place in His family, and Marilyn and I discovered that we were actually sisters, made in God’s image.

As time went by, we became close friends as well, and I eventually learned that Marilyn was adopted.  I had a cousin that was adopted as a baby, but Marilyn was my first adopted friend.  I had always wondered what that might be like, and since she didn’t mind talking about it, I asked her numerous questions.  There are many people who feel badly about themselves, as if they are second-class citizens in the family, because they were formerly orphaned, but Marilyn’s attitude was so refreshing.  She said she felt specially selected and treasured.  Her parents gave her a distinct and reserved place in their household that could not be taken by anyone else.  Consequently, she carried herself with an air of self-reliance.  Marilyn was not easily shaken, as she was firmly rooted in her identity and was convinced she was loved.

Being adopted like Marilyn, is something I can never experience, of course, but I can, like most people, relate to feelings of abandonment on some level.  However, because of the perspective of my friend, I have come to comprehend that when the Bible says that as a child of God I cry out to Him with a ‘spirit of adoption’, I can ‘tandem’, connected to the harness of her understanding of what it truly means to be uniquely chosen and prized in the heart of God.  Because of her transparency and willingness to share, I am more rooted in the realization of God’s love for me, which causes me to be settled in that respect.

An awesome thing about a God like ours, is that being in His family is the only case in point that I am aware of, that you can, ‘Have your cake and eat it too,’ as the saying goes.  You can be ‘born-again’ into His family, and be adopted at the same time.  It’s the best of both worlds.  And the wonderful thing about a sister like Marilyn is that the two of us can enjoy this ride called friendship together, because there is no doubt we are on the adventure of a lifetime with a Heavenly drop zone!

Today is your birthday, Marilyn, and I want you to know what a gift you are to me and wish above all things, that you would have every good thing that your heart desires.  That will all come from the heart of God, of course, but from me, I give you my heart full of love and thanks for our friendship and many more surfaces to ‘scratch’.  Happy Birthday, dear friend.

“On this account I bow my knees to the Father from whom every family in Heaven and on earth is named, that He would grant to you according to the wealth of His glory, with power to be strengthened through the Spirit in the inward man, that the Christ might finally settle down and feel completely at home in your hearts through your faith; in love having been firmly rooted and grounded in order that you may be able to grasp with all the saints what is the breadth and width and height and depth, and to know experientially the Love of the Christ which surpasses experiential knowledge in order that you may be filled up to the measure of all the fullness of God.”  Ephesians 3:14-19 Wuest Translation