Reverent

[originally posted June 12 2011, 4:29 PM]

I was a Boy Scout, and I learned the 12 points of the Scout Law.

A scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent.

Some of them seemed so self-evident as to be almost annoying. When you are a teenager, a lot of things are annoying. Others were more foreign to me (what is “thrifty” when you haven’t seen the opposite?).

Thrifty

As a boy growing up in St. Elmo, I became aware of Thrifty. We were not wealthy, but I never felt want. I was able to play the cornet that my parents provided. My mom participated in the coupon craze that followed blue-light specials and preceded Groupon. She was alert for bargains, spent wisely, and taught us to be frugal.

There’s a certain amount of patience, organization, and persistence that are needed to successfully use store coupons. Mom was like a skilled hunter, always able to capture enough game to feed the family. I, on the other hand, am more like someone who picks up an occasional fresh road kill.

Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind

As young parents, my wife, Sandy, and I knew we could always rely on Iris and Bill to watch our boys if we needed to travel. Mom was always cheerful to accept them, trustworthy to meet their needs and offer them love, and kind to all. The boys loved to visit grandma and grandpa. Grandpa was handy at restoring bicycles from parts. Grandma made the best chocolate chip cookies. 


Reverent

What I didn’t know was that when we kids were babies, she sometimes didn't do much all day, but lay on the couch and just watch us. Watch in awe. She did the same for our children when they visited. 

I now understand that as being reverent. Sitting quietly in awe and wonder at the mystery of bringing life into this world.

A scout is reverent.

Heaviness and Gratitude

[originally posted May 22 2011, 8:01 AM]

My parents, both in their early 80's, are showing their frailty ever faster. A few phone calls with my father talking about his long-dead brother alerted me, and my brother and sister and I are now finding more chinks in their mental armor. Email and conference calling are a blessing that allows for quick communication, but they upset the digestion of what's unfolding. I feel heavy with sadness after each revelation of my parents' deficits. But I feel grateful for such solid, caring siblings, for my wise, loving, and generous wife, and for a community that offers such rich support.

Anniversary #61

[originally posted June 3 2011, 3:49 AM]

Bill and Iris Belden got married in London Mills, Illinois 61 years ago today. My grandfather, Granville Arthur Belden, a United Brethren minister officiated.

It's a bittersweet celebration. Iris has been wanting to come home from the hospital all week. Bill has been missing her, and concerned that she is sleeping okay without him. He keeps reaching over in bed at night to touch her, only to discover she's not there.

Their three children, myself among them, have emailed, texted, conference called, uploaded, and otherwise collaborated to usher their aging parents into the next era of their lives together.

Mom will enroll in hospice care today, with an uncertain diagnosis but a clear enough final trajectory. She never did talk a lot, so the clues to her decline only emerged in detail from the wonderful staff at McDonald's in Altamont, Illinois. Marilyn and Nancy deserve special mention, though I'm sure there are others that are as concerned and caring.

They'll have two new friends none of us have met yet, living with them as constant care-givers. Dad will talk their ears off in a smiling and most engaging way. They'll be at home together, which is what they always wanted. My parents weren't real demonstrably affectionate (common in their generation), so I've seen dad kiss mom on the lips more this week than I did in the 18 years of growing up in their home.

So Happy Anniversary, folks. Enjoy every moment for the rest of your lives.

Younger Iris

[originally posted June 5 2011, 5:18 AM]

She's been known as "The Cookie Lady", Toots, Mom, and her given name Iris.

The Toots nickname might have originated from Barney Deckert, a welder who owned a shop along 3rd street. The heavy wooden sliding door on his workplace was always half open, revealing a dark and ominous deep room. We'd walk by there often, and I'd peer in to only see deep black. One day I was startled by Barney suddenly emerging in his other-worldly oiled overalls and mask flipped up on his head. That darkness was where I learned to be afraid of the unseeable. It's an archetypal image in my brain even now.

She was always good at baking things. Yeast rolls or cinnamon rolls were left to rise atop the heater duct in the utility room just off the kitchen. Warmth and patience were the lesson. In later years, she became reknowned for her delicious chocolate chip cookies. No duels, but some ferocious auction bids for her cookies, for which she sometimes bartered for services. Mostly though, she gave them away freely to the kids at school sporting events or to church events. Cookie Lady.

She kept the house tidy. She was so efficient that if I put something on the kitchen counter, and then ran to the bathroom, I'd find it was already put away when I came out. It used to irritate me. Now I'm the one tidying her house. I find that my compulsive efforts sometimes cross over the line, too.