Prayer Always Works

Prayer always works. When I’m feeling "murky", I thank God for everything I can think of – from my grandkids to the brilliant blue sky. And suddenly, I feel whole once more. I was diagnosed with cancer in 2008. Monitoring appointments fill me with anxiety. On the day of a recent appointment, I was feeling very sorry for myself – like no one knew or cared that I was facing this ordeal alone. I prayed "Lord be with me", and as I walked to the doctor’s office, something made me check my cell phone. There was a message from my sister that I hadn’t noticed the night before. I listened to her voice reassuring me about my appointment and of course, she remembered. I felt so grateful to God for being present to me in my sister that day. I was not alone.

Recently I had a disagreement with a friend. Knowing I had done nothing wrong, but desiring peace, I decided to apologize and prayed for the right words to say. Next day I saw the person and began my apology, only to have her apologize to me instead! Our relationship was healed instantly. What a surprising answer to my prayer. I truly believe that God is a God of surprises. And prayer always works.

A Rainy Sunday

Last Sunday I waited and waited for the rain to stop. I was desperate to get out, to walk in my beloved Gardens. Finally, I just put on the rain gear and went. Somehow the Garden in a gentle cleansing rain is a blessing. The usual Sunday crowds don’t materialize; in fact it was kind of deserted, the way I like it. You see things you would not notice were it not for the rain. And a poem came….

A Rainy Sunday



Softly, the rain invades
my worried world,
its whispered touch washing
whatever’s in its wake:
Sated trees, shining
with sweat laden leaves.
Dainty droplets dangling
off pine needles
and holly berries.
The once anemic Bronx
River swollen into
hyperactivity.
Even Le Sportsac is
soaked to the skin
mindless of my efforts.


September Sunday rain
doesn’t ruin
a garden walk.
It brings the path
into focus.


© E.M. Ramos 9/27/2009

California Treats

Spent a few weeks in California with my daughter and her family last month. California is fascinating and I can see why people love it despite the fires, earthquakes, smog and mudslides. Each road brings a new adventure and unique beauty –breathtaking ocean views from twisty mountain roads, giant Sequoia forests, the awesome wonder of the desert – and so much more. I discovered some new places well worth a visit on a trip north from LA with my daughter and grandsons.

Fort Ross, about 100 miles north of San Francisco, was once a Russian fort, a stop off on the way to Alaska. It’s on an inlet of the Pacific that was deep enough to load their ships. I liked the photo ops through decaying fences, the Russian Orthodox chapel and the museum displays of 19th century artifacts. A fairy tale-like kitchen, workshops to make all the metal and wooden tools the fort dwellers needed (no malls in those days) and a room for spinning and making cloth. An arsenal plus cannons intrigued the kids; there was plenty of room to run around too. And trails down to the beach.

On our way back to Burbank, we stopped at the Winchester Mystery House in San Jose. This is a Victorian mansion with a fascinating history. In the late 1800’s, Sara Winchester, married to the heir to the Winchester rifle fortune, lost her only child and was widowed 15 years later. She consulted an occultist who told her that she needed to buy a house (with her millions) and keep building on to it to quiet the spirits of those killed by the Winchester rifle. So she kept hundreds of workers and craftsmen busy night and day for 38 years! The result is windows facing nothing but walls, doors that open to a three story drop, and tiny winding steps to accommodate her arthritis. There’s even a staircase to a ceiling. The genuine Tiffany windows, vintage wall coverings, floors and fireplaces are worth the price of admission. And there are many strange stories about the recluse who lived there. Like the SF earthquake that toppled the top three stories of the mansion and trapped her in her bedroom.

These “treats” can be enjoyed by young and old alike. If you are in the vicinity, look them up.

Grandparents as Resources

When I first heard that my daughter wanted to home school, I thought back to the New York City teachers strike in the 70’s, my only attempt at home schooling. I lasted less than a day. But hey! My daughter is at a different place than I was and I respected her decision. What I could do, and what our family does so well, is help.


My career has been spent as a gerontologist, working with older adults. So I know that today’s grandparents are very different from my own grandparents. They are often better educated – both my husband and I have Masters degrees – and many have been professionals. They have so much to offer to the home schooling experience. I also believe that all grandparents have talents, gifts, knowledge, skills – whatever their educational level – that can be turned into a resource for the home schooler.



At the turn of the 20th century, my own grandmother, who finished 8th grade and went to work in NYC’s garment industry, had longed to be a teacher (maybe that’s where my daughter gets her skills.) She taught me to sew. My husband grew up in Puerto Rico; his native language is Spanish. What a help to home schooled grandkids learning a language. Plus he can fill them in with a first hand account of what it was like growing up in a culture so different from their own.



My bachelor’s degree is in Math so I sometimes help out when an algebra problem proves a bit too challenging. Having worked for non-profits for over 30 years, I was able to give my granddaughter an experience of social service work. She helped at one of our Harlem soup kitchens one year, giving out Thanksgiving turkeys. And she was able to observe and participate in the process of the event every step of the way. What a lesson in organization and planning, transferable to a multitude of real life situations!



My favorite home school resource role is enhancing my daughter’s lessons. Many retirees have the time and desire to take grandchildren on learning excursions, whether day trips or longer vacations. I enjoy bringing my grandchildren to the Bronx Zoo and Botanical Gardens for onsite nature and science lessons. They really read all the descriptions of the plants and animals! When I take them to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, they recognize many masterpieces and artists from their Mom’s lessons.



Last February, thanks to my connections to the traditional school community, I was delighted bring my granddaughter to Italy on an educational trip with a Manhattan high school. There is no greater education than experiencing history and culture on the spot. I was so proud of how she prepared for our trip, learning Italian phrases and studying about the museums and cities we would visit. A win-win for both generations.



And of course, grandparents are the source of living history. The end of World War II, air raid drills during the Cold War, the early days of television, the Mc Carthy hearings, the Rosenberg trial – I lived this history as a child and can talk about it from that perspective, growing up in the 40’s and 50’s. As a young adult, I lived through Vatican II and Vietnam protests, Civil Rights and the Women’s Movement, assassinations and the first man on the moon. I remember my grandmother telling me how hard it was during the depression; it made that time come alive for me. I’ve left a written record of my memories – "Grandma’s Story" – for the next generation. I add chapters on everyday life way back when – which is my idea of history. Each of my grandkids receives the chapters in old fashioned book form but it’s also posted on my blog.



There’s much more that grandparents can offer as resources. Ask your own elders what they can share. But, of course, the best gift we grandparents can give is our love and support to both the home schooler and home schoolee.

Humidity

I’m not complaining. We’ve had a delightfully cool summer this year. But when the heat and humidity returns, it doesn’t take long to be frazzled and fried. Anyone who’s lived through a New York City summer doesn’t need this poem explained.

Humidity



I know I’m not a
plant.
I feel like a fish
breathing in a bowl of
liquid air that
drenches and drains.


While my green
friends soak up
the drippy atmosphere
and party.
I look
melted.
They look marvelous.
Guess that’s the upside
of humidity.


© E.M. Ramos 7/31/2009

Unfinished

Since last Fall, six of our relatives have died: brother, sisters-in-law, cousins, aunt. These deaths plus my own aging get me thinking scary thoughts about my own mortality. And as I focus on this, I realize that it’s not only death I fear, but maybe even more all that I leave undone. A constant refrain across my life: never enough time to get it all done the way it "should" be. And instead of working on my unfinished business, I give in to distractions or obsessions that give some semblance of familiar comfort: like cookies and reading mystery novels compulsively. After all, then I don’t have to face the fact that I will never be perfect and never be finished. It’s a life long struggle, a life long issue.

My reflections brought back a memory from long ago. My grandmother had told me the story of how my Mom had gotten a perfect report card in fifth grade: 100% in every subject, 100% in average. Although I had gotten my share of 99%’s, I’d never achieved perfection and I was definitely aiming for it. So here I was in fifth grade, taking a test – a minor subject at that – taking my time to make it absolute perfection. When my teacher announced: "Five minutes left". I panicked. I wasn’t nearly finished. Flashes of shattered dreams raced through my head. Not only would I not get the perfect report card, I might fail! I was audibly panting; kids turned to look at me. And I scribbled desperate answers all over the page.

I don’t remember the outcome of that episode; I am sure my teacher made some concessions. But the memory of all this inspired a poem. Here it is.

Unfinished



Fantasy filled fifth grade
dreams – my quixotic quest
to be the best of all -
forever forgotten
eternally lost.



Terror still stalks
the memory of
no time left to score
the perfect percent
as panic racked breath
screeches its zig-zag
path across the page
of the unfinished test.



So deeply rutted still
in well worn ways
which never worked
the fuzzy feel
of friendly fear
and lazy anger.
So stuck in not to
be I cannot see
the treasure that is me.


© E.M. Ramos 7/30/2009

A Gift from all the rain

We have had lots of rain this summer. I am a true believer in the "every cloud has a silver lining" theory. Both in nature and in life. Last week as I sat outside the Botanical Gardens café, under their awning, a summer storm rose up out of what had been a sunny sky a few moments before. And I received the gift of a poem.

Summer Storm



I love to watch a summer storm
- from a safe dry space, of course -
Pounding the pavement.
Creating instant rivers.
Filling the awning above
me to drip-right-throughness.



In just a blink the sun
regains control. Its steamy
breath sends will-‘o-the-wisps
slithering skyward.
Brooding clouds evaporate.
Rain-made rivers disappear.
The path is dry and I can
walk embraced by cool breezes,
inhaling grassy air,
holding the storm in my heart.


© E.M. Ramos 7/9/2009

Lessons I've Learned

In one of her blogs last week, my daughter posed an interesting quiz on learning and self-education and challenged her readers to take the quiz themselves.

What is a memory you have of learning with your Mom?

My Mom took a very active role in our education. She "heard" our lessons every night. My memory improved dramatically under my Mom’s tutelage because if we did not recite the catechism or history answers back to her "perfectly", we were sent off to study "until you know it!" My sister can attest to many homework papers that were torn up because she had crossed out or erased. OK in fairness, a few times she had erased holes in the paper. Maybe my success in school was a direct result of Mom’s encouragement, because she would not settle for less. She taught me to always strive to do my best.

I also learned many other life lessons from her. Like how to be a savvy shopper, hunting out bargains way before it became stylish. I will never forget the trip in-between dress racks to a remote corner in Bloomies to find a lone hidden rack of sales items. Now in those days, it was pretty awesome for us to find something affordable in Bloomingdale’s but Mom managed to find bargains in the classiest places. Just to negotiate her way around that store was admirable to me, who, like many others, finds it a major challenge just to find the exit out of Bloomies!

What is a memory you have of learning with your Dad?

On the meandering car vacations, which brought American history and geography alive for me, my Dad taught me a love of traveling, visiting new places and reading maps! I was not geographically challenged, as many Americans are today, because I had personally visited capitals of states or spent many car hours searching for them on road maps.

Dad also taught me to appreciate and reverence nature. He would point out interesting cloud formations and instruct me to take pictures out of the car window as we traveled the highways to some vacation destination. He never failed to point out sunsets, whether on a fishing expedition upstate or looking out the window from his easy chair. We spent many quiet hours in row boats on lakes, waiting for fish to bite. Now I realize I was learning to observe nature; in a way it was my first lesson in meditation. And it felt so peaceful.

What kind of education do you think you gave yourself?

Like my daughter, I loved to draw when I was a kid. It certainly spurred a lifelong love for art. In school, I did not enjoy history – it seemed to be all about dates and wars. Ho Hum. So after I graduated from college, I took on a project to find out about everyday life in other times. I was especially interested in medieval times and Barbara Tuchman’s classic "A Distant Mirror" got me started. I discovered that history was very interesting indeed and found a different perspective. I especially enjoyed the book by Bonnie S. Anderson and Judith P. Zinsser, two Columbia University professors. "A History of Their Own" approached history from a woman’s point of view, not chronologically but categorically: Women of the Fields, Women of the Churches, Women of the Castles and Manors, etc. I learned that women did yield power even way back when and my love for history was born. As a result, I have a sizable collection of history books, especially Medieval History focusing on everyday life. Any one can get an education by reading. Just ask my granddaughter, Marina!

America the Beautiful

This Independence Day I feel very grateful for being an American. I am so proud of my beautiful country and so grateful that I have seen so much of it. I have fond memories of childhood vacations when my Dad piled the kids in the car and took us on adventures in upstate New York, to Pennsylvania, to Florida and once to Kentucky. I learned so much about the history and geography of America on those travels.

Later I spent vacations in the majestic Adirondacks, meditated on the Hudson and thrilled to the sounds and sights of my hometown, New York City. I know every inch of the Bronx Botanical Gardens and the Bronx Zoo and have gotten lost too many times in magnificent Central Park. My daughter and I traveled the Pacific Coast Highway from San Francisco to San Diego, explored the back roads of California, discovering a new wonder around every bend: Josiah Tree, Yosemite, Mt. Whitney. We stopped our car in Death Valley and got out to experience the sound of silence; it was also on a back road in Death Valley that I witnessed a parade of tarantulas.

Lisa and I once drove up and down the Atlantic coast to the Everglades, seeing the aftermath of Hurricane Andrew, driving through rice paddies in the Carolinas, and watching the moon rise over the ocean from the N.C. shore. In Maine I tasted my first lobster, laughed at puffins flying around their little island near Acadia National Park, and saw a moose along the road.



How blessed I am to have seen so much of this beautiful land! And there’s so much more to see!

My De Mello Retreat: The Statue

Two weeks ago I spent a week at Mariandale Retreat Center on a retreat based on the writings of Anthony De Mello, a Jesuit from India. His books – Sadhana, The Song of the Bird, Awareness – contain wisdom from Eastern religions as well as Christianity and exercises that are a great help in self-understanding and in meditation. I am amazed at how quickly I seem to come down to earth after a retreat, diving right back into busyness and "too much to do". Yet I am so grateful for having had the "time apart" to refresh body and spirit.

Today I share my favorite "fantasy" exercise from the retreat. It’s called "The Statue". There is a statue of you in a museum. Which museum? Where in the museum is your statue? How big is it? What’s it made of? Title? You enter the museum and find your statue. You converse with it. Is there something you want to tell it? Then you are in the statue and hear people’s comments as they look at it; your friends stop by and you hear what they say. Then Jesus comes. He knows you are really in the statue. What does He say?

My statue is in the Met. In the rooftop garden overlooking Central Park. It’s a marble statue, bigger than life, of me walking. The wind is tossing my hair gently, my arms swing out, my trusty Le Sportsac around my neck. Clad in jeans, T-shirt and walking shoes. The caption is "She Who Loved to Go Out and Walk".

I find this statue of me easily. I love this statue. It’s when I am happiest, feel free. Walking, saying little cheers to myself, meditating, focusing. Walking to stay fit, lose weight, be healthy. The only exercise I ever enjoyed. And it had to be out of doors. I always want to be OUT. Even as a child, I would gaze through the kitchen window to look at the back yard and my grandfather’s garden. So this is the perfect location for my statue, atop the Met overlooking Central Park, where I began my walking in earnest, where I was gifted with poems and marvelous insights. No wonder the expression on my statue face is of quiet joy. I never realized before how happy this combination of nature and walking makes me. It’s where I’ve experienced some of my most profound spiritual gifts.

Now I jump into the statue. Passersby wonder what the silly pocketbook is doing there. Well I do have my baggage, don’t I? I am still "attached". I know it. Not ready to "let go" of everything yet. But someday, maybe it will chip off. The people notice the statue is of an older woman. Wouldn’t a younger person be more aesthetically pleasing? But this is not about external beauty. This is ME when I finally came to discover the most important lessons in life – the decade of my 50’s. When I was truly blessed in the midst of suffering and pain.

Now my friends pass by. Especially my Met Club. Well she sure belongs here, they say. They know me. They know this statue puts it all together: my love of nature, art , walking and my "stuff" (in the Le Sportsac). Yep, they say, the sculptor really captured Eleanor.

Enough for today. Maybe I will share more of my retreat next time.