Tag: Love

Celebrating the Season

The holiday season can be as busy or hectic as you’d like, but many of us find ourselves rushing around, cooking, shopping, and decorating the house. This year, after a full and productive November, I have decided to scale things back for the rest of December so I can focus on what matters most – family, friends, and great health.

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, I had a lot for which I could be grateful. My writing is going well, and I have settled into a daily ritual which begins with me playing You Gotta Be by Des’ree softly in the background. 

Remember, listen as your day unfolds
Challenge what the future holds
Try and keep your head up to the sky
You gotta be bad, you gotta be bold, you gotta be wiser
You gotta be hard, you gotta be tough, you gotta be stronger
You gotta be cool, you gotta be calm, you gotta stay together
All I know, all I know, love will save the day

The writing time ends with looking at my word count for the day to see if I have kept the pace I set several months ago. Most days I make my goal, but sometimes I am under the count or have gotten so engrossed that I far exceed what I thought I could do for the day.

Speaking of writing, Phyllis Stone, a friend and roommate from my college days at Notre Dame, just published her first children’s picture book. The book is Oh My, Oh My, Look Up at the Sky and it is about the wonder of the sky, seen through the eyes of children. It would make a great gift for a little one. I also attended a reunion weekend for my dorm at Notre Dame and came away so impressed by the students who live there now. Their sense of community and engagement with the world gives me hope for the future, as being around younger people often does. 

I went to see the movie Wicked: For Good and thoroughly enjoyed it. Some viewers have commented that it differs from the book and the musical, but that is not uncommon when books are made into performances. And like nearly everyone else in the theater, the song that Cynthia Erivo (Elphaba) and Ariana Grande (Glinda) sing together, called For Good, left me teary-eyed and grateful for anyone who has ever been a true friend or loved me despite my quirks. I have found that real friendship has changed me in ways I could never have imagined. Love can save the day.

At a later date, I will write about Avondale, the community in Cincinnati where I lived as a child. For over a year I worked on a history project funded by the University of Cincinnati that taught me more than I ever knew about this neighborhood. At the end of November, I facilitated a panel discussion between a church community that has been in Avondale since the late 1800s and a group of Avondale leaders and residents. It was fascinating to hear the different experiences of those on the panel; it gave me an opportunity to reflect on what growing up there has meant to me.

Thanksgiving Day was calm, with family and my first attempt at making cranberry sauce. I posted a photo on my Instagram account (@writepausereflect), joking that I would still have the canned sauce available for those who like ridges in their cranberry sauce. We had a nice meal, plenty of leftovers for the next day, and time to talk and share what is going on in our lives.

December might be quieter, and I am looking forward to some travel, more family and friend time, and reading. As the month moves along, I expect more days inside, candles lit, and jazz in the background. I am preparing to winter and looking forward to it.

In peace,

Ramona

Finding Comfort in Presence

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My father is not doing well, he’s over 90 years old and his body is slowing down. He doesn’t talk as much, eat as much, or move around like he used to. Some of this was expected—I have seen the changes over the years, but his age and health are also factors. There are days when I miss the extended conversations of months and years ago, the ones that you don’t always consider might come to an end…until they do.

My father used to tell me a story about his relationship with his mother, and how it differed from the ones she had with her other children. My grandmother passed shortly after I was born, so I know her mostly through stories and photos; the stories were always happy ones. She used to worry a bit about my father because he was more likely to handle problems on his own, and she wondered if he would tell her about issues she could help him with. She knew her son well enough, and their relationship was close so they knew what was most important to them.

It was presence, the simple act of sitting together in the room, joined in spirit and ready to talk or listen should the occasion present itself. He told me, “For us, it was presence. We could be in the same room and didn’t have to say much.”

I think of those words more these days as I spend time with my father. Our visits are quieter now, sitting outside when the temperatures rise into the 70s, or inside, where he wraps himself in a blanket even as I sit there and wish for a lower temp on the air conditioner. He takes longer pauses when he speaks, and sometimes he gently closes his eyes, still listening, taking it all in, but resting. A week or so ago, I found myself remembering longer conversations and big laughs. It is a funny feeling when you realize that an experience to which you have become accustomed might not occur as frequently, or will completely stop one day.

That’s when I remembered the words he had shared with me, the idea of presence being enough. I thought how for my father, words weren’t always the most important thing, sometimes it was the presence, the silent connection that two people could share.

Now I am looking at these quieter times with my father differently. It’s not that we don’t talk, even when the laughter is not as full as before, the twinkle in his eyes and a soft chuckle let me know he is still amused by something I’m saying. I have decided to lean into his presence, the fact that we can still be in the same room and communicate with each other. It might be different, but for me, it is enough. Okay, maybe it does not always feel like quite enough, but it is as if he is gently guiding me to a new future, towards acceptance of what is coming. I believe his presence, his spirit, will remain after everything else has changed. My father and I will be connected, as he is to his mother, now long deceased, and the ancestors that came before us all. We share a spirit, they are present.

Mother’s Day 2023

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I wrote this post several years ago, months before my mother passed away. I often think back to it when I remember what kind of mother she was, how she allowed me to grow into the person I am but also provided knowing guidance. I am in a period of transition, and I am grateful for her, and hope this will help those who are nurturing and guiding people they love, regardless of the label others might place on the relationship.

From 2017:

This is for mothers everywhere, and for those who have poured their love, patience, and wisdom into the life of another person, whether it is your own child or someone who needed a gift that you were able and willing to provide. Despite going to Catholic grade school and college, there was a verse in […]

Happy Mother’s Day – Treasures — Ramona M. Payne

It’s been a minute

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It’s been a minute – well actually months – since I have posted here. I have been writing a little, but when I’ve had thoughts about what to say in this space, it’s been hard to figure out what I wanted to share. I am doing well, and like many of you, I’ve had to adjust to life in this time where the COVID pandemic seems to influence everything.

A few days ago I was running some errands and decided to go to the cemetery where my mother and other family members were laid to rest. As you can see in the photo, it was a sunny day, and besides that, this cemetery has never seemed like a creepy place to me. I went because I can sit on that rock for a few minutes, gather my thoughts, talk to my mother and God, and pray. Sometimes I speak out loud, although not loudly, and at other times it is enough to be still. If I am patient, I just wait, and try to listen.

This time of year can be hard for me. People talk about the time before COVID as the “before-times” but this season is more the “between-times” for me. It is a few weeks after the day, four years ago, when we found out how sick my mother was and just a few weeks before the date she passed. It is a time when I can feel something in my body shift so slightly, and then I remember, that’s it, Ramona, it’s the same time of year as...

But this day it was not so hard. I had taken care of some important business and was on my way to a conversation that I was just not quite sure how it would play out. So I went to this quiet place, with only the sounds of birds, bugs, and the cars going by outside of the cemetery. I looked around me and was moved by the fact that so many other people had been here to say good bye to a loved one. I thought of how close this place is to the neighborhood we moved to when I was a senior in high school. Even if I just thought of my people here, there were so many good memories – of my mother and her laughter, my grandfather’s annual summer party, my aunt’s lemon meringue pie.

Over the last year and a half there has been so much loss – people, celebrations, gatherings, etc. We thought life was headed back to normal when it fact, maybe there is no longer normal, but just now, and the steps we take to shift to whatever is happening now. I am grateful to still be here, to have my memories and my hopes for a future. I will try to write here more often because there is one thing I have learned over the last year – waiting for perfect means I will surely miss it.

Weekend in Washington D.C.

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This past weekend I was in Washington D.C. for a friend’s birthday. I used to travel to DC often years ago for work, and for a few years I lived in Reston, which is not far away in northern Virginia.

My friend had been planning his event for months, and kept the guest list small so he could gather some of his closest friends and family (many of us had gone to Notre Dame together, but there were people from all phases of his life). The invitation said black tie and we were excited to celebrate him and see what he had curated for the evening experience. Continue reading →

Thanksgiving This Year

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Autumn candle

This year was a milestone for me—I turned 60 and it was the first birthday that my mother was not able to celebrate with me, call me, or sign her name with my father’s to my card. When she passed away in late summer of 2017, I had no idea of how her passing would change me. I learned very quickly it was a hurt for which I had no words or experience.

I was excited about my 60th birthday and had planned a party (theme: Honey, I’m Grown) months in advance. As the June date drew nearer, I became apprehensive about how I would feel on that day, and wondered if in the middle of the celebration, I would realize that it was not a good idea. But that didn’t happen. Continue reading →

Winter Walking through Grief

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This afternoon I did something I seldom do when it is cold outside—I went for a walk in my neighborhood. The snow crept in overnight, and when I got up this morning the lawn was blanket of white, and the intersection near my house had the fresh tire tracks of the early risers on their way to work.

I had planned to walk today but when I first saw the snow, I was resistant and did not want to go through the routine of bundling up so that I could walk. So I put it off, one hour, then another, until it was noon. And then I remembered what I learned during my retreat last month. Continue reading →

Thoughts on Friendship and the novel The Hate U Give

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I finished The Hate U Give, written by Angie Thomas, two days ago and I am still mulling over the many themes in this novel. The protagonist, Starr Carter, spends her days in two worlds, the poor neighborhood she calls home and the suburban high school she attends. Her life, already full of challenges by the time she is 16, is upended when she witnesses the murder of her best friend.

I immersed myself into her world and its characters and I did not want to leave until I was done. The conflicts Starr must face, internal and external, forced me to consider my experiences attending predominately white schools and my role in social justice activism.

There are many themes here but the one I want to focus on is central to The Hate U Give; it is friendship. On page 265, Starr talks to her mother about a friendship that has gone awry. I know the page number because this was the one page I bookmarked right away so that I could come back to it. Starr ponders her mother’s advice and the friend with whom she is at odds, and asks herself, “Our friendship is based on memories. What do we have now?”

That question stood out because I have wondered if memories are really enough to sustain a relationship, at least a close one. When I think of my deepest relationships outside of my family, there are some similarities. Some began because we went to the same school, church, or worked at the same company. One might say proximity played a role because the relationships began because we saw each other often, almost daily, if you think of school or work, and we got to know one another. But it takes more than proximity to become friends. I’ve always been a little amused by people who think that someone they work with is a friend just because they see them in the office every day. It reminds me of a story a friend told me a long time ago; there was someone he often shared a ride with but he later realized that they were not really close, they were simply going in the same direction.

If being in the same place does not make us friends, then what does? I believe shared experiences, an open heart, and a willingness to learn from each other are essential to becoming friends. I might connect with someone right away because I like something about him or her, but attraction is not friendship, or at least it might not be.

My deepest friendships have generally been a surprise; I seldom saw it coming at the first meeting. It is like a gumbo or a stew. In the beginning it seems to be a collection of ingredients, a mishmash of conversations, events, and revelations, with the occasional misunderstanding that needs to be sorted out. Only over time does the flavor deepen, getting richer and more nuanced as we let things warm up.

The murder of Starr’s friend makes her question what it means to be a friend, to be loyal, and to stand up for what you believe. Starr has a big decision to make—retreat and be silent about what she knows, or open her mouth and speak the truth despite the inevitable negative consequences and challenges to her safety and relationships. I have had one or two friendships made closer by how someone supported me in a difficult situation, but not all have required that for me to know that the friendship was special. Very often, it was because of experiences, now memories, which we share.

In the most longstanding friendships, we not only have the old memories to go back to, but we create new ones by going through life together, or talking about what we are going through—the good, the bad, and the crazy. A memory may not be enough to sustain a friendship that has gone sour, but it can be the roux in the pot that holds it together when we cannot see each other as often as we’d like.

This book made the 2017 National Book Award Longlist and is a New York Times bestseller. I hope you’ll read The Hate U Give, consider what it says about social justice and friendship, and share it with others. It’s a YA (young adult) novel, which might cause some to pass over it. Don’t—the writing is excellent and Thomas tells a great story full of characters you will recognize, if your world is as open as it could be. If not, then read it to understand another side to the many issues which are being debated and legislated these days.

 

 

Happy Mother’s Day – Treasures

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This is for mothers everywhere, and for those who have poured their love, patience, and wisdom into the life of another person, whether it is your own child or someone who needed a gift that you were able and willing to provide.

Despite going to Catholic grade school and college, there was a verse in the bible that eluded me for most of my life, until a few years ago. It seems it would have been brought to my attention in religion class, Sunday school, or perhaps recited during the month of May. (I loved the month of May, with its songs that celebrated Mary. Those songs were among the most joyous of the ones I remember from grade school.) I stumbled on these verses during my own reading, and it was like that piece of sidewalk that juts up unevenly from the path and forces you to slow down and pay attention.

In Luke 2:19, after the birth of Jesus, it reads:

“But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.”

Luke 2:51 says:

“But his mother treasured all these things in her heart.”

Mary’s reaction came after she watched her 12-year-old son as he listened, questioned, and learned from the teachers in the temple. Even when Jesus was young, his mother realized there was something special about her child. She may have sensed that his path was not going to be easy, and that everything he was doing as a child would prepare him for the challenges ahead.

By the time I read these words my daughter was already an adult, and I knew what it meant to know that your child would have to go through prickly thickets in the midst of sunny meadows. But what really struck me was how my own mother, also named Mary, must have known the same thing about me. Surely there were times when she just watched, observed, being aware of what might be ahead, but allowing me to go my own way. That had to be hard at times, but she did it. I am grateful for her guidance and quiet wisdom.

On this day I want to thank all mothers who have to sort this out—when to step in, and when to intercede and step back—knowing that you cannot completely prevent a loved one’s suffering, but you can love them through it.

Happy Mother’s Day