Grandparents are the best!

It occurred to me recently that, in the span of six months, I have gone from having three living grandparents to, now, only one. It is something that was never supposed to happen, really. Grandparents aren’t supposed to die. They’re the ones who tickle you and tell you stories and sneak you treats when Mom and Dad aren’t looking. They’re the ones with gray hair and wrinkles and sparkly eyes and easy smiles. They’re the ones who age but don’t get old, who tire but are never too tired for you.

They are, and always have been, for eternity.

Until tonight.

My Nana and all of her “yakety-saxes” (she was always trying to get me to play Boots Randolph on my saxophone) and “Will you beeee, my teddy bear?” (she loved Elvis and Derek was her “Der-Bear”) fell asleep in a hospital room in Ohio–only this time, she won’t wake up. This time, she’ll never ask for bread for breakfast again. (Despite being diabetic, Nana was a true Midwesterner and believed that bread was an integral part of every meal.)

This time, I’ll never hear her sweet voice again, or her laugh; I’ll never cringe at her outrageous jokes; I’ll never listen to her, “Yodel-Ay-Ee-Oooo!“

And I will miss her terribly.

I already do.

I talked to her on the phone two days ago. The conversation was a stark contrast to jovial dialogues of days gone by. This time, there were long pauses between thoughts: She was tired; she was giving up.

But I’ll never forget one of the last things I said to her, or her response.

I told her, “I love you, Nana.”

And she said, “I know, sweetheart.”

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Note: We will be holding a memorial service for my Nana in Ohio at the beginning of June. I may write another tribute at that time. For now, I plan to return to previously pondered topics. I hope you’ll stay tuned.

Image: Google

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Last December, my family lost our grandfather on my mom’s side. He was a gruff man who built his legacy on a tow yard. I wrote about the experience here. Now, it looks like we may be losing my grandmother, “Nana,” too. Nana has spent more time in the hospital than out of it since my grandfather’s death, and just recently everything has gone downhill. Presently doctors are trying to keep her comfortable at a hospital in Ohio. We’re not sure how much more time she has to live.

Upon hearing the news last night, my brother Derek, who is himself a talented writer, sat down and penned (with a few minor edits) the following thoughts:

On Death and Living Life to the Fullest

By Derek Cyphers

Whatever happened to passing peacefully in one’s sleep? Is one of the few drawbacks to advancements in medicine that we can now prolong life further than it was meant to, ultimately leading to more suffering over time? At least for our family, this has probably been the hardest part. My first exposure to this came with our paternal grandmother, who fought cancer bravely, and painfully, for nine years before finally succumbing in 2003. More recently, it was our grandfather on our mom’s side, who was a shell of his true self due to mental and physical decline by the time he passed this last December.

Now our grandmother on the same side, affectionately called “Nana,” is in the hospital, and things are looking as bleak as ever. She’s a tough lady—a feisty, Depression Era, salt-of-the-earth Midwesterner—who is simultaneously one of the crassest and yet sweetest people you could ever meet. She has overcome health scares before, thanks to great doctors and her fighting spirit, but those incidents have taken their toll on her and our family. Death is never far from our minds, and yet, as integral as it is in our daily lives, we still struggle mightily to cope with it.

Undoubtedly, death is a facet of life that every person on Earth must confront at one point or another. In the end, we all get our chance to live our lives and then must fade away to allow those behind us to live theirs. To me, this brings specific emphasis to not the question of how we deal with death, but how we live!

My mom and Nana on the day of my (Jessica’s) college graduation, in 2007

What we do with the time we are given is of the utmost importance. Future generations inherit the fruits of our labor, whether positive or negative. Rob Bell, a favorite pastoral and spiritual influence of mine, dedicated an entire series of sermons to “Mastering the Art of Living” several years ago. Rob presents Jesus as a master of the “art of living” and explains how we can apply those same principles to our own lives—things like being “fully present” and living in a “rhythm.” Rob’s series approaches living life from a micro level. But what about the macro level? How do we approach life as a whole to get the most out of it?

Everyone’s path in life is different, but my set of circumstances and experiences has led me to develop, over the course of college and my first few years in the “real world,” the following general list of life priorities (in ascending order):

• Achievements – What better way to leave the world a better place, to truly make a difference, than to achieve great things and provide future generations with the fruits of your labor and a positive example? History is full of examples of those who, by their incredible passion and hard work, have enriched the lives of those who have come after. There is no scale needed to define this: Whether you are Henry Ford who transformed transportation and business or a parent who loves unconditionally and works tirelessly to provide for your family—all roles are important.

• Experiences – Achievements are the most likely way to positively influence the future, but they require a balance. If your achievements come at the expense of living your own life, have you really lived a full, meaningful life? It is entirely possible to spend your entire life improving the world without ever experiencing it for yourself. If this is the case, have you really profited the word? Or have you instead enriched future generations at the expense of your own? For this reason, I see experiences as a critical component of living a productive life: See the world, try new things, learn as much as possible. Take time to do what your heart desires!

• People – No great achievements or experiences are likely to mean much in the twilight of our lives if we did not get to do those things for, or with, the people we love. Perhaps more than in any other area, our biggest impact on the world comes in our interactions with people. A trip of a lifetime with a best friend could mean so much more than the same trip alone. Achieving a seemingly impossible goal with the help of a great team could be far more enriching than doing it alone. To be sure, there will always be an important place in life for solitude—just see Jesus for an example—but, ultimately, I can think of no greater travesty than to achieve great things and experience the world but have no one to share it with.

Derek and his girlfriend, Cristina, on a recent trip to Canada

I don’t know what will happen with my dear Nana in the near future. I do know, though, that she’s managed nearly 85 years on this planet and made a tremendous impact on my parents and us grandkids. She also helped our grandfather run a successful business that provided other families with a living for more than 50 years. To me, that means she’s done a pretty darn good job with this life.

But my hope is that, every time we are forced to face the reality of death in this imperfect world, it will remind us of our opportunity to live our lives to the fullest. In this way, when we are knocking on Heaven’s door, we can know that we did our best to make the most of the time God gave us and that those left behind will be better off because of our efforts.

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Thank you, Derek. You rock.

-Sis

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For more on life’s unique path, check out this interview with Scott Harrison, who went from party guru to founder of Charity:Water, an organization that helps developing nations get safe drinking water.

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P.S. John Zande, it’s okay. I don’t expect you to like this. Still friends?

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As I was working, I suddenly became aware of a car right behind me.

“Excuse me. Miss?”

I turned around to see a large Hispanic man leaning out of an old tan Buick. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt despite the warm weather and a thick black mustache over pale lips. A dark-haired woman sat in the passenger seat beside him.

“I’m sorry to trouble you, but my wife and I are from San Jose. We got a call late last night telling us that my father was ill. He died about 45 minutes ago. We left in a rush without any of our belongings, and now we just need a little money for gas to get home.”

I hesitated; this was a scam if ever I’d heard one. The man looked as upset about his “father’s death” as a man reading the morning paper over coffee, and yet . . .

My voice came unwillingly. “Why should I believe your story?”

The man blinked as though he hadn’t expected the question. “Because I’m telling it to you.” And then he added, “If you’ll help us and give me your bank information, I’ll pay you back as soon as we get home.”

That was about the least convincing thing he could have said. Any shred of sympathy I might have had suddenly dissipated. What did this guy think I was—an idiot?

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have any cash.”

“But, Miss . . .”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, not used to the hardness of my own voice, “but I can’t help you. You’re going to have to ask someone else.” And I turned around and finished wiping off my engine and closed the hood. As I drove away, I saw the man’s wife approaching another driver. I shook my head.

The incident got me to thinking, though. Whether it’s a scammer or a homeless person with a sign, why do such encounters leave me feeling so unsettled? Why do I feel guilty if I choose not to give, even though I myself don’t have any money and know I did the right thing?

And, also . . . What pushes people to lie, beg, cheat, and steal? Is it always desperation (which is about the only thing that could push me to do such a thing), or is it . . . sometimes . . . something else?

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*It drives me crazy not to be able to wash my car myself, but, alas, a hose and large slab of cement are hard to come by in an apartment complex.

Images: Google

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No, no. I’m not talking about drugs and alcohol; not talking about cigarettes or fatty foods, either. I’m not even talking about adrenaline. I’m talking about entertainment.

I never watch T.V. and almost never watch movies. During the three years I was in Asia, I stepped into a movie theater all of about twice. Things haven’t changed much since I moved home. Despite the fact that I live just across the street from a theater, I almost never go. Yes, yes, I know. There are a lot of great films out there. On the whole, though, well . . . Let’s just say I’d rather be reading or writing or riding my bike.

This past Sunday, however, I made an exception. My brother invited me to see Iron Man 3. I hadn’t seen my brother or his girlfriend in weeks, so, despite the fact that Iron Man 3 isn’t really my kind of movie (though I do love Robert Downey, Jr.), I decided to go.

And I was reminded once again of . . .

But perhaps I should back up. If there is one thing you should know about me, it is that I am a sissy. I used to run out of the room scared in Care Bears as a kid, and little has changed since then. I closed my eyes through a large portion of Iron Man 3 (I don’t need to see all the fighting—I just need to know how it ends!), and I’m wasn’t thrilled about most of the previews before the movie, either.

In fact, it was the previews before Iron Man 3 that prompted this post. There they were, one clip after another:

Earth has been taken over by evil. Now, we must fight back.

There are parallel worlds of darkness kept apart—for a reason.

A big spaceship is ready to blow a little spaceship to smithereens.

. . . Death and destruction.
Aliens and war.
Killers and psychopaths.
Dungeons and torture chambers.
People without hearts.
People without consciences.
Haunted houses.
Evil laughs.
Blood and guts,
Ghosts and gore . . .

Etc., etc., etc.

It’s actually laughable, if you think about it. It’s as if each film is competing with the last as to who can do a better job of scaring the pants off of its audience, each plot growing more and more absurd . . .

And I really don’t get it. We say we’re horrified by some of the terrible things that are happening in the world today, and yet look at what we are pumping into our systems. Look at what is becoming “normal.” I say I’m a sissy not because I believe I actually am, but because most people are more tolerant of violence than I am.

And, honestly, I’m not sure that that’s a good thing.

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You won’t be seeing me watching this movie.

Image: Google

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Note: I’m headed to San Francisco this weekend to run in a 10k fundraising race for a blogging friend. If you haven’t met Arash of “Arash Recovery” or Mike, “The Blissful Adventurer,” I hope you’ll take a moment to get acquainted by clicking on the links above. I’m excited to meet them in person (would love to meet you all, actually), but, if I’m not able to respond to comments right away, you know why!

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Much love to you all,

Jessica

Overall, Shift is not a blog about poetry. It’s a blog about travel and ideas and perspective. I still have much to share, and I am loving the conversations arising out of posts such as “Success, or Something Like It” and “Let There Be Light.” But, as my tagline aptly states, the only thing constant is change, and that’s true for writers, too. We all go through phases, and I hope readers don’t mind that I am now also sharing some of my poetry.

Recently, I created a “Poetry” section for my menu to make locating my poetry a bit easier. In doing so, I remembered one of my favorite quotes from one of my literature classes in college. This led me to looking up more quotes on poetry, and, voilà, this post appeared.

Can you guess which quote is my favorite? Which is yours?

1.

“Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.”

– Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 – 1822)

2.

“Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity.”

– William Wordsworth (1770 – 1850)

3.

“Well, write poetry, for God’s sake, it’s the only thing that matters.”

– e. e. cummings (1894 – 1962)

4.

“Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.”

– G.K. Chesterton (1874 – 1936)

5.

“I have never started a poem yet whose end I knew. Writing a poem is discovering.”

“A poem begins with a lump in the throat.”

– Robert Frost (1874 – 1963)

6.

“At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.”

– Plato (427 – 347 B.C.)

7.

“A perfect poem is impossible. Once it had been written, the world would end.”

– Robert Graves (1895 – 1985)

8.

“Poetry is what happens when nothing else can.”

– Charles Bukowski (1920 – 1994)

9.

“Poetry fettered fetters the human race.”

–William Blake (1757 – 1827)

10.

“If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.”

– Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886)

11.

“Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity—it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.”

– John Keats (1795 – 1821)

12.

“Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.”

– Edgar Allen Poe (1809 – 1849)

13.

“Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.”

– Kahlil Gibran (1883 – 1931)

14.

“Poetry is the universal language which the heart holds with nature and itself.”

– William Hazlitt (1778 – 1830)

15.

“Poetry might be defined as the clear expression of mixed feelings.”

– W.H. Auden (1907 – 1973)

16.

“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.”

– Leonardo da Vinci (1452 – 1519)

17.

“Always be a poet, even in prose.”

– Charles Baudelaire (1821 – 1867)

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Note: I would also like to take this opportunity to thank James Spencer at “Czeching Out,” Lee Tyler at “The Point of Quill,” Tiffany Whitney at “Sincerely, Whitney,” Allwin Bright at “Allwin Bright Writes,” and James at “Digging History” for honoring me with recent awards. I have updated my “recognition” page accordingly. You guys are awesome!

Another note for people like Walter Bright: I updated my portfolio section with links to my recent articles. Just fyi. They’re really not exciting!

Images: Google

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As I mentioned in a previous post, although I knew I’d done a good job (the editor published my articles almost exactly as I had written them), I was devastated by the negative feedback. I knew I needed to develop thicker skin, but my mistakes, especially the preventable ones, really bothered me.

Tonight, the editor wrote back. This is what he said:

Shake it off. The Fire Safe items were totally bureaucratic and not worth changing. Don’t know what the painter guy was upset about. It was free publicity.

. . .

I feel so much better now!

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Note: I apologize if I was unclear in my previous post! The editor was never upset with me; rather, it was the painter who was “disgusted” by what I had written.

Image: Google

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From here to there and everywhere,
on and on you go.
I hear you there, or is it there?
Your face, you’ll never show.

O’er sea and over mountain,
continent and plain,
from Asia to the Balkan:
the world is your domain.

At times I’ve seen you angry,
you howl and wreak havoc.
It’s then I shiver meekly,
and stand in awe, dumbstruck.

But when you’re sweet, you’re lovely;
you caress my soul.
Your whispers soft and balmy,
you can take me whole.

And though I cannot touch you,
on wings you fly me high,
to places where I knew you,
under another sky.

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Which version do you prefer?

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Image: Pinterest

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O’er sea and over mountain,
continent and plain,
in Africa and Asia . . .
The world is your domain.

Sometimes you get angry,
you howl and growl a lot.
You know it is quite silly—
I’ll not move from my spot.

But when you’re sweet, you’re lovely;
you caress my soul.
Your fingers full upon me,
you can take me whole.

And though I cannot touch you,
on wings you fly me high,
to places where I knew you,
under another sky.

…

Tip: Read aloud. ;)

Image: Pinterest

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Because of the weird way in which my local paper works (it’s a tiny paper), content I write often appears online before it appears in the printed edition. This can be both good and bad. It is good when I am eager to see what the editor has done with my work—usually he changes very little, of which I am proud. It is bad, however, when I have made a mistake and someone catches it, but, alas, it is too late to make changes before the article goes to print.

That is what happened this weekend.

I wrote twelve articles. With each article, I looked for a way to draw readers in, to make the article interesting, to make people want to keep reading. Most of the articles were straight-forward. A few, however, were complicated. In an article about the county’s “fire safe council,” I confused one of the council’s programs with another group’s and used the word “wilderness” instead of “wildland.” In another, I began with an interesting story behind a local painter, but, in my rush to meet my deadline, said “power” instead of “pressure washing” and spelled “Pittsburgh” without the “h.” The painter was furious on all accounts (apparently he didn’t like that I’d included the background info) and sent me a text-message to let me know how disappointed, nay, disgusted he was with what I’d written.

I wanted to die.

I went for a bike ride to try to shake it off. I knew that there was nothing I could do. The article would go to print, and the world would keep on turning. But at that moment I felt at the bottom of a deep, dark abyss, as though the weight of the world were on my shoulders: I’d tried my best, and my best wasn’t good enough.

. . .

It was good, though, in a way. It’s a lesson I’ll not soon forget. In journalism accuracy is of the utmost importance. Looming deadlines can’t mean sacrificed precision. I’ll never be able to please everyone all of the time (there’s a reason they say writers must develop thick skin), but I can at least make damn sure I spelled “Pittsburgh” right.

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Image: Pinterest

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