Sister Serendipity

With August comes the birthday month for three women who have become a bit like sisters for me.  Biological sisters to one another, these three grew up on a farm in Iowa in a devoted Catholic family.  After high school, two of them entered the Sisters of St. Francis in Dubuque, and their eventual ministries took them to various places.  The third left home to train with an airline and ended up in New York, where she met her husband and started a family.  Whatever her reasons for leaving Iowa, she seems to have found her niche with her family on Long Island.

My first introduction to the Hosch sisters was Margie, Sister Margie, the middle of these three.  I met Margie in 2010 when I attended a women's retreat that she had developed and was leading in South Carolina.  As time went on, she and I started giving retreats together and became friends.  Next into my arena came Ann, the outlier in New York, who with Margie visited me at a condo I once owned at Sunset Beach.  Ann and I connected easily and enjoyed the commonality of adult children and young grandchildren.  A year or so later, I ventured with Margie to Iowa, where I met Joan, Sister Joan, and where we were joined by Ann and her husband Sal for a few days of fun, touring the area a little and playing Hand and Foot a lot.  Joan and I had quick immersion to each other during unexpected waiting time for Ann and Sal at the airport in Dubuque.

It's a bit of understatement to say these sisters are different from one another.  They don't really look alike, except for a quick smile or twinkle of an eye here and there.  Their personalities are distinctive, as well.

Joan, the eldest, is thoughtful and practical and an avid fan of sports and horses.  Her ministry was in education before she retired to Mount St. Francis, where for some years following her retirement she delighted the Sisters and staff with treats she made in her Sweet Shoppe.  Joan is comfortable behind the scenes.

Margie can be practical, too, but she leans more toward the imaginative and intuitive.  Poetry sometimes spills from her with the ease of one who might be giving a weather report.  Full of energy and vision, she resisted retiring from her ministry in South Carolina, but has now moved to Mount St. Francis, where she enjoys proximity to Joan but continues to adjust to diminished independence.

Ann struck me right off with her sense of humor.  We spent the first morning of her visit laughing almost nonstop at anecdotes from their growing up and various goings-on with her New York family and her son's law office, which she continues to manage.  It is not only Ann who has the sense of humor.  They all can be pretty funny.  And they are not without other similarities, primarily their basic values of reverence and care for life - and especially for one another.

Unlike these three, I grew up on a  farm in North Carolina in a Baptist family that could typically be found at the little country church nearby whenever the doors were open.  Prior to 2010, I had never known a Catholic personally, except one of my hall mates in my freshman year in college.  Who could have imagined a sisterhood with Ann, Margie, and Joan Hosch?   How does this happen?

Nothing we can plan or foresee, this connection seems a matter of openness to serendipitous moments and people, and trust in how these may evolve.  All of us are connected to our biological siblings by blood and, if we are lucky, also by spirit, that elusive inner part of us that we have difficulty explaining but are somehow able to recognize when it is touched or moved.  Often with our families, we take on baggage that gets in the way of connecting on a deeper level.  With the Hosch sisters, I recognized early on a kindredness of spirit that began and continues with simple openness and care.  We respect both our similarities and our differences and are somehow able to stay connected across the miles with limited contact.

For me, it is blessing that with their birthday month, I can be part of what these three remarkable women hold in common.  Here's wishing each of my serendipitous sisters a joyous birthday celebration:  Margie on the 10th,  Ann on the 13th, and Joan on the 20th!

The Blessing of Brothers

 The highlight of Friday was a visit from my brothers and sister-in-law.  Donley and Phyllis traveled to Warrenton from their home in Greenville by way of Tarboro, where they picked up Ed at his recently claimed home at The Albemarle, regretfully not including also his wife Dolly who is unable to travel.  The three graced my home with their presence for a few hours of sharing a meal and catching up.  It had been a while since we had been able to do this, making the occasion all the more precious.

These two brothers, along with a third, were ahead of me by several years in my Joyner family - 19, 13, and 7 years, to be exact.  With my dad, these salt-of-the-earth men, although different in multiple ways, have been of one mind and heart as models of male strength tempered with softness for my entire life.  We lost my oldest brother when in the prime of his life at age 49, his heart declined to bounce back following a serious surgery..

My brothers have always been a source of awe and fascination for me, starting with their names.  William Alvin, named for our dad and our mother’s then deceased brother, grew up as W. A., but when he entered the professional world, he became known as Bill, though always W. A. to his birth family.  Charles Edwin - the jury’s still out on the origin of his name - was Ed growing up, except to our mother who always called him Edwin.  Official documents identify him as Charles E., causing a mite of confusion from time to time.  Charles Joyner?  Who is he?  Joseph Donley, named for our maternal grandfather and our dad, was called Donley.  As an adult, he began introducing himself as J. D. because, for one thing, he became weary of spelling his name for folks who thought his name was Donald (or was it Donkey?😊)  Official papers list him as Joseph D.  Like Charles, who is Joseph Joyner?  What were our parents thinking?

Interestingly, my name was never an issue.  Named for our mother’s two sisters and called by the double name of Mary Catherine from the day of my birth and possibly before, I have never dared change or drop any part of what I am called, although sometimes I am simply MC.  Like my parents, I never wanted to slight one of my aunts, both of whom I adored and both of whom were additional mother figures and inspirations for me, one a teacher and one a nurse.  Some of us may play with our names and have others play with them as time goes on, others not.  Either way, we are who we are - “a rose by any other name …”.

My brothers’ names are only part of their intrigue for me.  As noted, I think I may have been somewhat in awe of them all my life.  W. A. was serving in the Army and stationed in Germany in the aftermath of World War II when I was born, and the first few months of my life are well documented with photos which were sent to introduce this soldier to his baby sister.  Upon his return home, he soon married Wilba  Rae, who remained a treasured part of our family until her death three years ago.  I became an aunt at age six to their daughter Anne and three years later to their son Al.  W. A. was always attentive to me but naturally more engaged with the family he was starting.  In one sense, his children have seemed more my generation than he, but I never doubted his care for me.

Ed, I am told, at age 13 when I was born, eagerly took on caring for me and with such adeptness that my mother did not hesitate to go shopping or meet friends - or whatever - and leave me in his charge.  Brushing hair, ironing dresses, and pushing me in a stroller on the dirt path to our home were second nature to him then; and as the years have passed his fondness for children has been clearly demonstrated with the little ones in our family and among his friends.  When Ed left home to fulfill his draft into the Marines, it was a dreary day in our household.  I remember the dark cloud.  I had little understanding of it all, but I knew enough to feel sad.   After his return, he got on with his own adult life but I never felt excluded.  Being a junior bridesmaid in his and Dolly’s wedding when I was eight years old was a high point of my childhood.  When his daughter Donna came along, I was quite the experienced 12-year-old aunt.  Natured much like my dad, Ed reminds me of him.

Donley, the closest to my age, taught me to arch the ball when shooting a basketball, drove me frequently to play Putt-Putt, taught me to chip a golf ball in the front yard, and spent a frustrating Sunday afternoon on a back street in Rocky Mount attempting to teach me to parallel park.  There were a few times when we scuffled and his advantage was such that my aunt next door could hear me screaming for relief.  He took a turn with the Navy before going to college, and we ended up at East Carolina (then College) together for one year, his senior and my freshman.  It worked well for him that I could type his lesson plans for student teaching and it was to my benefit that he was close by as I adjusted to life away from home.  I remember a little irritation on my part when, after college, he took a job with the state highway department. I thought he would have been an excellent coach.  He is.  We closed the gap of years a little with our weddings, as he married Phyllis just three weeks before I married Jimmy.  Their son Brian is a year ahead of our oldest, Karen.  Donley has many traits that remind me of my mother, so he and Ed together help to keep the spirit of my parents alive for me, in addition to their own unique gifts.

The “catching up” that I anticipated in the visit on Friday went far beyond the news of the last several months.  Sitting at my table after a soup and sandwich lunch, we easily but surprisingly moved into some territory that had never crossed my radar before and some that predated me.  Interestingly, most of it was humorous in retrospect.  Whether it was humorous in the moment is questionable, some of it unquestionably not.

Now and then in this reminiscing, both Ed and Donley made a point of addressing me directly to make certain I understood that I was considered special from the day I was born.  There may have been occasions when they were at innocent odds with each other but never with me, they noted.  I think I have always known that.  When folks hear that I was the end of the line in my family behind three significantly older brothers, they often assume - and verbalize - that I must have been “spoiled.” Honestly, never in the past or even now looking back upon it, does “spoiled” seem to fit the care I received in my family. That I was considered special, I will endorse, with much gratitude.

My hope is that Ed and Donley - and W. A. from another realm - can know their own specialness and the blessing they are to this baby sister.  There has never been a “rose” of a brother that could have “smelled” sweeter than any one of my three.  I hope they can know the blessing they are not only to me but also to the world.

Choosing the Find

 At the suggestion of a friend a few weeks ago, I started searching for online video clips by a humorist he knows personally.  Inquiring about her name, when I heard, "Jeanne Robertson, Jeanne Swanner Robertson," it triggered a distant memory.  Was she Miss North Carolina some years back?

As it turns out, yes, this delightful woman was crowned Miss North Carolina the same year I graduated from high school and started college.  Why did I remember Jeanne Flinn Swanner, when I could name only one other North Carolina pageant winner in all these years?  Two things came to mind - her height and her humility.  I recalled that she was attractive and talented but not the typical beauty queen mold.  Seemingly unimpressed with herself, while easily engaging with others, it was no surprise that she came out of the Miss America Pageant as Miss Congeniality.

Her "flat-out funny" presentations on YouTube and through her website have provided laugh-out-loud entertainment for me and clearly also for a host of others, as demonstrated by audiences in her live performances and the number of hits on her video posts.  Amidst the humorous anecdotes from her own lived experience, the primary takeaway from Jeanne's speeches is that humor is all around and if we look for it, we'll find it.  Her antenna is always scanning the airwaves for laughable tidbits, which she spins marvelously into material for her speaking engagements.

There's a key underlying element in the way Jeanne Robertson delivers humor.  She is careful not to diminish or hurt anyone.  The perceived object of her hilarious stories could be any one of us, and imagining ourselves in that spot does not make us feel less than or put down.  I suspect this is the same respectful spirit that appealed to those who named her Miss Congeniality in 1963.  Humility and harmless humor seem to go together.

Along with enjoyment of Jeanne's humor, I have appreciated the reminder that we usually do find what we look for, period.  Often I find myself going for the deeper angle, not so much what's floating on the airwaves as what may be hiding under the table.  There's usually something going on behind the scenes, and often it holds some piece of wisdom that can be universally applied.

From this humorist and the way she goes about her work, my deeper takeaway is that the attitude from which we begin our search matters also in what we find.  We can start from any perspective and go in any direction.  We may look out from a critical eye that helps by assessing and refining certain situations or that hurts by finding fault and judging certain people.  We may lean more toward acceptance and find a way of framing every circumstance in a positive way.  We can start from a place of congeniality or hostility or somewhere in between.  We have options.

The filter that Jeanne Robertson applies to her humorous presentations is a model, it seems, for what to say or do in any moment, whether directed at a situation or a person:  Will this hurt anyone?  Many things are beyond our control, but we do get to choose what we intend - and to a great degree, what we find.

Milestone Moments

 This has been a year of milestones for our grandchildren.  On Friday evening, we celebrated our second granddaughter's 16th birthday.  Earlier this month her sister turned 12, and last month their cousin, our oldest granddaughter, moved on up to 21 with all the accompanying privileges and responsibilities.  Continuing the track backward through the year, January marked 24 trips around the sun for our grandson.  Even though this may not be considered one of the pivotal years, his birthday is always a milestone for the family as he leads the way for this delightful generation, reminding us also of our own passing years.

What do we do with these milestone moments, not just birthdays?  For one thing, they invite some kind of ritual and celebration.  Pausing for intentional observance helps us to take stock of the blessing of the event and, with a birthday, the person it represents.  We dare not keep rolling along mindlessly without giving periodic and deliberate attention to the people and events that impact our lives.

Celebration inevitably brings history into play.  With our grandchildren, I recall the day of their birth:  the deep gratitude, the utter amazement, the amusing and not so amusing aspects of their entry into the world, the joyous mystery of gazing into their eyes for the first time.  Reflecting on the stepping stones of their continuing journey into life and the wonder of their discovering who they are and what they enjoy leads right into the present moment and the richness they bring to me and to our family and the world.

Looking ahead from the present calls forth hope and, honestly, a little anxiety.  Even as we believe we can trust the future to unfold in a grace-filled way, our humanity reminds us that we are not in control or in the know.  However, we can stand at the current milepost and be grateful for the travel to that point and know that what has been is preparation for what will be.

So ... as Scarlett takes on the privilege of unsupervised driving, Elsa crosses over from being a young child and Catherine into being a full-fledged adult, and Harris continues to evolve personally and professionally, I am not only hopeful but also optimistic about their readiness to move beyond the milestone and around the sun and through each day toward the next one.  The celebration of who they are continues!

An Irene Toothpick Moment

 "I can find meaning in a toothpick," I've said to my daughters.

"Yes, we've noticed!"

With three older brothers and mostly adults around in my childhood, I'm pretty sure I spent a lot of time in early years observing and discovering more than speaking.  I might have picked up on a few tidbits of clarity here and there and developed a pattern for trying to figure things out.  Who knows?

I'm not sure when that may have transitioned to finding my voice - or if I've really found MY voice now.  I'm not going to try to figure that one out, but I do know that snagging a nugget of meaning and finding a way to express it have somehow evolved for me.

Searching for a little morsel of wisdom in the midst of whatever circumstance can be beneficial.  It can also become a bit maddening.  I am remembering such a situation.

Several years ago when Hurricane Irene made her trek through this area, she left only one piece of notable damage at my home.  From across Highway 58, a tall pine tree on Harriet and Syd's property was uprooted and the top part - with branches and needles and cones - was planted smack on my mailbox.

The road and driveway were quickly cleared and made passable, but my mailbox was left beyond repair.  The ground around it was a squishy and ragged conifer carpet.  We could have made wreaths for the neighborhood if it had been December.

On the morning after the storm, I recall pulling out of my driveway and wondering what all that mess meant, besides a clean-up job that would take a while and a sense of deep gratitude that the only casualty was easily replaceable.  So the pondering mind got right on it, figuring it out. ... The only damage was to my mailbox:  Was there a problem with my communication?   Was there a note I needed to write?  Had I been paying attention to every piece of mail? ... The tree came from my neighbor's property:  Was there an issue with the neighbor?  Had I forgotten something or offended someone? ... The clean-up was going to take some time and energy:  Did I need to step up my exercise routine?  Was there something I needed to see underneath all that clutter?  On it went. ....

In the less-than-two-mile strip before the intersection with Highway 158, my mind had circled the wagons several times on this mishap that involved my little old mailbox.  Abruptly I called myself out - out loud, "Hold on!  Do you have to find meaning in EVERYTHING!  TAKE A BREAK!  The storm blew down a tree.  It landed on your mailbox.  That's it!"  I took a deep breath and laughed, thankful for this interruption to my madness.

But wait!  What's the meaning here?  Who knows if there is any?  Perhaps it has to do with presence to the moment.  Maybe we can be attentive and open for a hint of wisdom without becoming compulsive and missing the sheer gift of being alive in the moment.  I'm naming that an "Irene Toothpick Moment" of intention.  (Speaking of which, we could have made a lot of toothpicks from that pine tree!)

Going forward, when I sense myself getting carried away to the extreme with finding meaning, perhaps I can call myself out with, "Irene Toothpick!"  and shift to a lighter train of thought!

People Moments

My grandchildren seem to feel a little bit cheated, disappointed for sure, if they come to Warrenton for a visit and do not catch at least a glimpse of my friend Elaine during their time here.  It's understandable!  E is engaging.  She pays attention to them.  She's fun!  They have come to refer to her as my "crazy friend."

This girlfriend is anything but crazy in the "out-of-one's-mind" sense.  Her mind is quick and bright and she has a knack for connecting with another's mind.  While my grandkids have never lived here, they have had enough contact on periodic visits to expect a warm hello and some entertaining banter anytime they meet E.  She has never disappointed, except when she does not appear.  Her sense of humor helps with my grandchildren, but her wittiness is not the sum of her appeal.

Sometimes people more than circumstance provide the defining element for our moments.  Experience gives us a pretty clear picture of what we may expect with certain people.  No doubt, from time to time we have charted our path to avoid some folks, and at times we have dashed across a room because we did not want to miss a minute with some others.

Admittedly, sometimes the motivating force for or against contact is within ourselves, but not always.  We enjoy people who are warm and engaging and we are more likely to return the same to them.  It brings out the best of both parties.  With or without joking and laughing, we can offer the best version of ourselves in our moments of connection; and we do well to remember that our best selves are about more than ourselves.

Perhaps we can give some thought to the quality of the "people moments" others may experience when in our presence.  Wouldn't we all like to think someone feels cheated by missing a chance for time with us?

Balancing Moments

A social gathering I attended yesterday evening reminded me, for one thing, of our need for balance.  Whether the hostess was motivated to invite a menagerie of friends and acquaintances for this fun time by her recent diagnosis of an unwelcome illness, I cannot say.  I can say that, by its very nature, the diagnosis has likely stolen some of Susan's emotional energy and that the prescribed treatment will perhaps take more, along with some physical energy, for a while.  As I reflect on the timing of yesterday's enlivening get-together, it seems just right, not only for Susan but also for her friends.

One of my primary takeaways from a recent reading of Robert A. Johnson's Owning Your Own Shadow, is the wisdom - the need, in fact - to keep the seesaw that is our life in balance.  I am able to imagine Susan standing at her fulcrum with one foot planted firmly in the certain and supportive community of friends and the other situated in the uncertainty of a journey she makes alone.  She may have had an inherent knowing of the need for this balance.

While the primary focus of Johnson's book is the need to acknowledge and include the shadow part of our psyche that we keep mostly hidden with the part of ourselves that we see and show to the world, he notes again and again that this integration of extremes applies to all things - and this  holding of two seeming opposites at the same time is possible.  If we go too far in one direction and lose sight of the other, we can "fall off the deep end," as we sometimes say.  We need balance:  time with folks and time alone; bursts of activity and pauses for stillness; serious business and frivolous play; roots and wings.  The list goes on.

The essence of life is built upon this principle, it seems:  light and dark, birth and death, sleep and awakeness ....  Who are we to think we can defy nature and work all the time or play all the time or do anything all the time - and continue to be healthy in all aspects of health?

When we are experiencing a high or a low, we would be wise to weave intentionally into our schedule some way of providing balance.  When we cannot do this for ourselves, perhaps those who care about us can do it for us.  It's a seemingly small matter, but it matters.  Whether the desire for yesterday's gathering was inherent or intentional, that time with friends helped to keep the seesaw in balance and will, no doubt, take its energy and support into the days ahead.