Dirge Without Music

During this morning's service, the minister used Edna St. Vincent Millay's poem Dirge Without Music for her meditation, to honor the memory of all who died of violence this week. It seems fitting, as well, to remember all those who have blessed our lives and are no longer with us.

Dirge Without Music

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, --- but the best is lost.

The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

DFW Vista

The view from the Grapevine Golf Course, looking south towards DFW.

Unlike New Hampshire, spring has clearly arrived here. I am struck most by the vibrant green of the leaves on the trees. And the cotton-ball clouds are always a welcome sight.

Big D

The pilot just announced that we are starting our descent to DFW. For almost 20 years, this would have been a return flight, bringing me home. This trip, it’s away from home in New Hampshire, as I return to the Dallas area to attend a conference.

Living nearly two decades in Texas leaves many memories, but I’m not particularly nostalgic returning tonight. Perhaps the smell of the air and the sight of the expansive land and sky will stir some dormant emotions. Living amidst the tall trees of New Hampshire, I can say that I miss the “big” skies – which are not unique to Montana – particularly seeing the sun rise from and set into the prairie. But that’s pretty much the extent of Texas that inspired me. It certainly wasn’t the blast furnace summers.

Texas and Dallas held me for other reasons: relationships and career. Sarah and I moved here. Lori and I met here. Andrea and Grant were born here. And I found my religious faith here.

First Snow

We were starting to think that winter would never arrive. Never mind the passing of the winter solstice, winter is only official when it snows.

Ta da. Late morning a sleety mix began falling, and by noon there was undeniable evidence on the streets.

Winter has arrived.

Expressions of Gratitude -- Part 1

Fourteen year ago today, at 12:13 am, Andrea began her journey in this world. Almost a young woman now, she's perky and caring and bright -- a wonderful gift of life. May she continue to flower and use her gifts to make this world a better place.


Grant, her younger brother, placed fourth in the Nashua city elementary school cross-country races this morning. He was the lead runner on the boys team from his school. Now in his third year of cross country, he's made great strides (pun intended) in improving his time. More importantly, running has allowed Grant to find his own path to achievement. May this experience strengthen his confidence and be a source of courage when he feels at a loss.

And may I be ever grateful for these two beings who so enrich my life. Soon they will be adults and living lives of their own.

Boston to Chicago to San Jose

Mom,

I was up very early this morning to make a 7:00 am flight out of Logan, with the first stop Chicago, to change planes, and then on to San Jose. After two days of meetings here, I will hop over the Sierra to Reno on Thursday afternoon. This will be my first trip back since your memorial service. Lori is flying out Friday, and we'll spend an extended weekend organizing and sorting. No doubt that we won't get everything finished, but that will just give me another opportunity to return in a few weeks.

It was a perfect day for flying. Although there was some high cloudiness, the skies were quite clear, making for a smooth ride across the continent. The route to Chicago skirted Lakes Ontario and Erie and descended over Lake Michigan. I was sorry that I didn't catch a glimpse of Chicago's tall buildings, a city where we both spent some time. The high peaks of the Rockies already have fresh snow, while the Sierras still show just the remnants of last winter.

There are many memories for us in various cities stitched across this land: Chicago, Denver, Dallas, San Jose, Reno. We have full lives in these places -- but for such short times compared with history. Wasn't it Robert Frost who said life goes on? How should we measure the legacy of one life? Or is that entirely the wrong question?

Gary

P.S. Today was the first day of the TSA's relaxed restrictions for bringing liquids and gels on board aircraft. As instructed on the TSA web site, my deodorant, shaving cream, tooth paste, and contact lens solution were in two clear sandwich bags, which I placed in the bin with my laptop. After passing through the X-ray machine, there was a slight delay -- apparently because I hadn't filled out a form on the entry side of security ( I didn't see that part on the TSA web site). The agent was in a quandary and checked with his supervisor, who agreed to send me on with my various potions. It seems rather strange that a multi-billion-dollar transportation system and the technology of multi-million-dollar aircraft is so easily stymied by a tube of toothpaste.

Last breath

It was just a week ago, Sunday, August 27th.

Mother had slept peacefully throughout the night, not awakening nor even moving since the prior afternoon. The last response I saw from her was when Patty, one of the hospice nurses, stopped by Saturday afternoon to examine her -- actually to assess how I was doing -- and had asked Mom several questions. She wasn't really alert but acknowledged Patty.

I spent the night on the floor in the bedroom with Mom, dozing then awakening every hour or so to check that she was still breathing. It was regular and peaceful. Her eyes were half open, which is how she had been sleeping for the past couple of weeks.

When Stephanie, the caregiver, arrived Sunday morning, I went out for my walk downtown along the river, which had become my morning respite while in Reno. I had a list of items to pick up at the store and thought about doing so after my walk, but decided to first check in at home.

Tomi walked across the street to see Mother around 10:30, earlier than her normal Sunday afternoon visits. Tomi was aware that my mom's condition had deteriorated and had e-mailed me that she would be over during the morning.

As we were chatting, Tomi commenting about the change in my mom in just a week, I noticed the rhythm of Mom's breathing change. The duration was shorter, her teeth were closing during part of the cycle, and I could hear some slight congestion. I gave Mom a dose of lorazepam, noticing that the set of her jaw made it difficult to insert the syringe. I noted the dosage and time on the log: 10:55 am. Within a couple of minutes, her breathing seemed to relax.

"Gary, I think your mom has stopped breathing."

Hearing Tomi's words, I immediately looked at Mom and moved to her side. I thought I saw a short breath, then a stillness, then another short breath. Her eyes had opened more fully, as though she might be awakening. But the breathing had stopped.


That same morning, Mom's church held their 14th anniversary celebration. Each summer her church marked the passage of another year by holding a Sunday service at Idewild Park. Several had hoped that Mom might be able to attend this year, since she was such an integral member of the church community. But as the week progressed, Mom became much too weak to go anywhere. By Friday she couldn't get out of bed to get to the bathroom; Debbie, one of the hospice nurses, installed a catheter.

As the church's anniversary service ended, 32 balloons were released in memory of each member who had died since the church was formed. There was no balloon for Mom, but her spirit must have joined them as they made their skyward ascent.

A beautiful day to die

August 27

Mom,

Shelly and I walked around Virginia Lake just after the sun had dropped behind the low-point of the Sierra, between Mount Rose and Peavine. A crescent moon was setting, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The heat of the day was waning with a slight breeze off the lake.

Debbie, the hospice nurse who examined you this afternoon, had commented that it was a beautiful day to die. It truly was.

Gary

New Year Snow

New Year Snow, originally uploaded by Gary Lerude.

New Year's eve brought a fresh layer of snow to southern New Hampshire, at least a couple inches to recover the grass.

First snowfall

First snowfall, originally uploaded by Gary Lerude.

Nashua's first snowfall this 2005 season came Thanksgiving eve. We awoke to a blanket of white and a steady stream of falling flakes, a fitting accompaniment to a day of thanksgiving.

Flights home

Monday, July 26, 9:25 pm EDT and 30 minutes out of Manchester

The western sky is almost dark – just a faint band of twilight above dark clouds and below a blackening sky, with one planet brightly shining in the midst of the blackness. We’re flying along the tops of wispy clouds, with an occasional slight chop.

It was a beautiful morning flying out of Reno. I was seated at the window with a view to the west as we flew south. I saw Mount Rose and Slide Mountain, Washoe Valley, Lake Tahoe behind the front row of mountains, and Carson City with the blackened hills from the Waterfall fire. South of Genoa the plane turned westward over the Sierra and, somewhere below us, Yosemite.

The stop in San Jose was short. Most of the passengers left the plane, like my two seat-mates. The flight attendants counted those of us continuing on to LA and then boarded the new passengers. The flight from San Jose to LA, down the central valley of California, was uneventful. Off the plane in LA, I had a two hour layover, plenty of time for a Starbucks coffee, an energy bar for breakfast, and delving into the 9/11 Commission report. It was difficult finding a seat in the terminal, mobbed as it was by people, most seeming to fly Southwest. (There's a stock tip.)

My US Airways flight from LA to Charlotte was full except for one seat. They initially allowed one too many people on the plane and had to reopen the door to let off a man and woman, who must have been traveling together. I was lucky and upgraded to first class, so I had a comfortable seat for the four-hour flight, along with lunch. It consisted of a chicken and bacon salad (the former I ate, not the latter) and a chocolate chip cookie for dessert (which I resisted). But I did indulge in a glass of Chardonnay.

My layover in Charlotte lasted about an hour, sufficient time for a non-fat TCBY yogurt (my delayed dessert) and a bit more reading. On the flight to Manchester, I finished the power bar I had started in LA, with a hot tea. Now we’ve started our descent and are just about 10 minutes from the airport. We’ll arrive around 10:00, about 20 minutes early, and I’ll be home before 11:00.

Four flights in one day is too many. I’ve traced three sides of a rectangle around this country: Reno to LA, LA to Charlotte, and Charlotte to Manchester.

Uplifting signs

It seems that spring has had a hard time sustaining itself this year. We have warm days, then cold days. The weather hasn't been at all consistent. But there are a few encouraging signs: the rhododendrons are in full bloom.

One pea at a time

There's nothing quite like being cramped in a seat on an airplane for nearly seven hours. 31D. On a Boeing 777, that's one seat in from the aisle on the middle row of five. Not much space within which to squirm. No way to get up or out to stretch or go to the bathroom without disturbing the man next to me.

For someone used to the frequent flyer perks of preferred seating -- exit row aisles, if not first class -- it comes to feel as an entitlement. When having to compromise comfort when the airline cannot accommodate, it's easy to become irritated.

Rather than let my feelings go that way, though, I'm trying to maintain humility, retain a positive attitude, and treat this as an opportunity for spiritual development. After all, someone has to sit in the middle. This is a chance to live in the present, to let time pass without willing it to accelerate, to eat one pea at a time from my meal; a time to practice mindfulness, according to Thich Nhat Hanh, the Buddhist author.

It's easier said than done, as I watch the miles and time seem to crawl by.

1425 miles out of Boston, after reading an article about the D-Day invasion 60 years ago, I'm mindful of the Jews who were crammed into rail cars to travel for days without food or water, being sent to their deaths in the concentration camps. A seven hour plane flight leading to a reunion with my family makes me a pretty fortunate guy, in comparison.

As I ponder the various dimensions of this spiritual quest, I just can't understand how the guy next to me -- the one on the aisle -- can drink two Cokes and a cup of coffee and not have to go to the bathroom!

London morning

London -- You never know where life will lead you and what paths you will only travel once. As John McCain was quoted in a recent profile in the Washington Post, "This is all so transient. It could all end tomorrow. My philosophy is just to just go, go like hell. Like Teddy Roosevelt did it. Full bore.”

With something of that same spirit, although I suspect not the same intensity, I decided to get up and go running on this, my last morning in London, before flying back to the U.S. From my hotel, I set out for Hyde Park, adjacent to Green Park. The sun was barely up as I ran along one length of the park, facing Knightsbridge I believe. The London traffic was fairly sparse, yet starting to build to its morning intensity. I ran by the rose garden, with roses and other flowers in full bloom. It would have been nice to stop and savor the colors and smells, but I had a 7:30 cab to Heathrow to catch. I kept running. The park was pretty empty but for a few other souls out running and a couple of homeless, one whom I awakened as I ran by him.

I think the last time I ran in Hyde Park was sometime between 1992 and 1994, or perhaps it was even earlier, between 1987 and 1989. Who knows when I will be back, if ever. I'm sure glad I got up and ran.

A break in the routine

London -- After our customer meeting today, we arrived back at the hotel with a good portion of the afternoon to ourselves. In my experience, free time is not normal on a business trip, so I decided to take advantage of this gift after quickly checking my e-mail and voicemail. Since I didn't run this morning -- opting for a 16 Pound Sterling continental breakfast instead -- I went out to jog through Green Park, which is across from the Park Lane hotel where we are staying.

Although my running was a bit lethargic, the day was glorious. The sun had emerged from the morning's gray clouds, warming the body in contrast to the cool breezes. London surrounded me, and the park was alive with people also savoring the afternoon.

The UK's Classic FM station was playing through my headphones, and I heard a debut of Hedwig's Song, the first track from the new John Williams soundtrack to the latest Harry Potter movie, Prisoner of Azkaban. The CD won't be in the stores until next week. Listening, while running, heightened my sense of being in a special place in the world.

Let me always be grateful for these simple gifts of life.

It's a small world

London -- Yesterday at around 9:00 am, my flight pulled away from the gate at Logan airport. Five hours and 40 minutes later, after two meals, we landed at Heathrow in London. Tomorrow I fly back to Boston. The return flight will take slightly longer, perhaps an hour, due to westerly head winds.

A three day trip to attend a business meeting with a potential customer in London. Such is the nature of the global world we live in. This so-called jet-setting has become routine.

But consider that it's only been 100 years since the first airplane demonstrated that powered flight is possible. 100 years before that, the journey from Boston to London or London to Boston relied solely on the trade winds, took months, and was no routine voyage.

Today we take for granted advances that took the human endeavor thousands of years to accomplish. As we go about our business, which quickly becomes routine, we shouldn't lose sight of the wonder of this modern age in which we live.