Tag: gratitude

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men…


Teapot

I’m a little teapot…

…couldn’t put back Humpty Dumpty (nor my favorite teapot) back together again.  I found this teapot when I lived in Chester, England…so it had special meaning for me.  It’s lived through several moved and has had a full life as a useful and often used teapot.  Let’s be clear – it didn’t just sit on a shelf and look pretty!

For me this was a small reminder of two core beliefs for me.

First, I like things that carry a story or meaning from my past – but I also value their usefulness.  I don’t want to live in a fragile “house museum” of beautiful things,  which are kept away from life here in the moment.

Second, even though I have some important items that I carry close to my heart, they are just things – transient, easily lost, broken or stolen.  So, while I still want to take care of them, I don’t want to be so attached to them that a broken teapot sends me over the edge.  There are far more important things to be concerned with — relationships, health, well being…life itself.  Physical items can be replaced.

I believe that holds even for other guests in my house.  Yes, I hope they respect (and use!) what’s here.  But, at the end of the day, if a favorite item breaks – it’s just a physical item, and not worth losing a lot of sleep over.  Again, I hope they will speak up and apologize for the damage,  But then, we move on – no drama, no yelling, no threats.  Life happens.  I’d rather enjoy the things I have, value their story, but not be so attached to them that I overreact if they’re gone.

So, I swept up Humpty Dumpty and my teapot…had a fond memory of my time in Chester, and the many times I’ve enjoyed tea from my favorite teapot…and moved on.  Life happens…

 

 

Butterflies and peppercorns…


Remembering mom's love of fresh peppercorns...
Remembering mom’s love of fresh peppercorns…

At church today, we talked about how symbols, signs and stories remind us of people and places in our past.  Sometimes the simplest image, smell or sound can bring back a flood of memories and stories…sometimes these are good recollections, and occasionally they haunt us by reminding us of something in the past.

Roses and Peppercorns
Roses and Peppercorns

 

 

 

For some odd reason, my mom had a great personal passion for fresh peppercorns. She would acquire these on her many trips around the world, bringing them home for her use.  However, this generally meant they went in the freezer for years to come – of course, in my mind, defeating the point of freshness.  Nonetheless, one of the distinctly fond and funny memories from last year, after my mom’s sudden death, was going through her house and finding all of her blessed peppercorns.  They were so much a part of her story that as kids, we kept some red ones aside…and when it came to laying her to rest, sprinkled them on her casket, along with the fresh red roses that the group of mourners had left.

It was our personal touch, a way to remember her passion, her uniqueness, her quirkiness.  I have a mason jar full of some of her black peppercorns in my kitchen today – not to be used, but to remember her story, to have her present in the kitchen, to honor her life in a small, unique way.

 

Likewise, I found out that week after her passing that she and I shared a love of butterflies.  For me, butterflies were a part of my recovery story – they signified transformation.  One of my dark, lonely Sundays in Greenfield in the height of my addiction, I remember looking out the window and seeing a butterfly near the window, on one of the Hosta plants.  For me, it was a symbol – in that moment, I remember thinking “it’s all going to be ok.  My Higher Power is looking out for me.”

So years later, to know that I shared this passion for butterflies with my mom gave me a connection I never had while she was alive.  She had this amazing blouse/jacket in her collection of clothes, with embroidered butterflies.  It was classy, bright and colorful – just the way I wanted to remember my mom.  I actually have the jacket now, and wear it on special occasions like Mother’s Day, and her birthday…  And, when I had my first tattoo designed, I had the tattoo artist use some of the images and shapes from her jacket as inspiration for the butterfly on my forearm, entertained with the Jerusalem cross that mom wore so proudly…and I now have in my possession as well to remember her by.

Butterfly Jacket
Butterfly Jacket
Butterflies and mom's Jerusalem cross...
Butterflies and mom’s Jerusalem cross…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By no means do these items replace the person, or represent the fullness of their life story.  But, they are gateways to their stories, reminders of their ongoing presence in our lives, as Angels watching over us.

So thank you for helping me celebrate the life legacy of Carol S. Wyman – her love of family, travel, people and nature.  She was far from perfect…so I don’t mean to idolize her blindly.  But, she will always be my mom…and I will always be her little boy.

I love you mom.

Remembering friends…telling their story


In the last couple days two very dear friends have been on my mind and help me with some things I’ve been facing. As such I wanted to take time to honor them and remember them because telling their stories keeps their memories alive in our hearts.

First was Phil. Phil was a very dear friend of mine in the early 90s – A mentor of sorts as I came out of the closet for the second time. (That’s another story for another day…) Phil taught me about living with dignity, enjoying the passion of music, and the value of investing time and energy with young adults. Phil was the first choral director for the Northernaires at North Central high school – a gospel choir at a public high school. He was also a man and lived with HIV. This was at a time when the world was very different. Our understanding and acceptance of the disease was far from what it is today. Phil took a calculated risk to share his same-sex partnership and his health situation (carefully and appropriately nonetheless…) with many of the students in his choir, particularly towards the end of his life in the mid 90s, as he died of complications related to AIDS. By doing so, Phil educated those kids, at a very critical time in their life, about HIV/AIDS…surely helping to reduce the stigma and misunderstanding among those teenagers, which played forward across relationships in future years & generations. He also showed them how to live with dignity…and ultimately how to die with dignity.

I was away on an international business trip when he passed. And fortunately my boss was very understanding and allowed me to fly home early in order to attend his memorial. The gospel choir performed at his memorial for a packed church (I believe at Trinity Episcopal in downtown Indy). And I will never forget seeing the one girl in the front row start to cry…and from there there was not a dry eye in the house. Those kids learned how to get through grief and loss at a very young age because let me tell you… They loved and respected their choral director. You could see it in their faces at the rehearsals and at their concerts.

I’ll never forget how Phil would remind them to tighten up their muscles and project… You should be able to hold up a quarter in the grip of your butt cheeks. And all it took on the night of the concert was still taking out a quarter and holding it up to the kids to remind them of proper posture and projection and muscle control. They knew the secret sign…and the audience had no idea what was being “passed” from director to singers in that moment…

Of course Phil was also the famous one who, at a house party at my place on Central, called out across the living room “hey everyone, let’s all chip in and buy Todd a butt.” Yes I have a flat ass thank you very much Phil for pointing it out. I love you dearly.

The second man that came to mind this week was Scott. Scott was our lay leader at Broadway. During my unemployment in 2010, he left his full-time career as a HR executive to follow his dream of helping people in the community through his gift as a life coach. My pastor recommended that I perhaps pair up with Scott and indeed I did. He became my life coach during my unemployment…as well as a close friend. Unfortunately, within months of starting our relationship, he was diagnosed with lymphoma. And within 6 to 8 months, passed away.

He, too, taught those around him how to live and how to die with dignity. Unfortunately, he also faced discrimination at the hands of our healthcare system in Indiana. Due to a loophole in our laws, he was unable to receive the care that he needed here in the state of Indiana because it was illegal for a person with HIV to be able to use their own blood or bone marrow for medical treatments, since it is illegal for people with HIV to give blood or be organ donors. This,of course, does not make sense in these cases…since it was for their own use and treatment. As a result of this discrimination, he had to fly out to California to seek the necessary treatment and by the time he got out there, it was too late.  They sent him back home to Indiana, where he lived out his final weeks with his hallmark smile and care for others.  The nurses on his floor, I remember, were particularly moved by Scott’s spirit…

Fortunately, his quiet legacy lives on, because his family took on the doctors and the hospitals…and with their support, got the law changed.  Now blood or bone marrow from an HIV/AIDS patient, for one’s own medical care, is  permitted in the State of Indiana. For those of us who know the story, we fondly call this the Scott C law. We know the story…and the legacy he left behind.

I think of Scott often when I use his life coaching techniques in my day-to-day life. And I think of Phil when I hear or see the Northernaires perform.

I love you both. Thanks for being my friend.