Every morning, when one wakes up, a decision can be made.  Either consciously or otherwise, a person will be feeling good or bad and can choose whether they want to think positively or negatively about the day at hand.  One can always choose to look up or down on any given day.  Looking up is my choice.  The reason for feeling that way is logical.  Looking up is the path to infinite possibility.  

And then, there is the sky.  Everyday, there it is, waiting to be discovered by anyone who chooses to do so.  I choose this option because there is beauty even in the deepest dark of night.  Without the darkness, the stars would not even be visible, let alone the moon. Look up and see for yourself.

So at the beginning and end of each day, I choose to look up.  And because of this I am gifted with the beauty of the many facets of the clouds and colors of the sky.  The sunrise in the morning and the sunset at night frame my days with this lovely creation of God.

Looking up is a mindset that feeds the soul.  “Up” is where we point, when speaking of heaven. 

And we all know where “down” is pointing.  Up is an attitude, a direction and a place.  

For years, everywhere I worked, I would ask my co-workers, “Did you see the sky this morning?”  And most of them would say no.  I could never give a worthy representation of the scenes I had witnessed in the sky.  Words could not do them justice.  How is it that people chose to miss this opportunity?

As far as I’m concerned, “looking up” can be part of a daily mantra, a daily prayer, asking for guidance in leading an upright, positive life.  Even phrases that include these two words are indicative of hopefulness.  

So this is why I am so hooked on “looking up.”  For those who aren’t, I challenge you to give it a try.  Then I can say that things are going to be “looking up”  for you. 

I have always had too many goals for my creativity.  It has always been difficult for me to concentrate on just one thing at a time.  Therefore, I have found that as I have become older, it has become a matter of what can be accomplished realistically, instead of focusing on how many of the things I may never get to finish in my life.  

Having said that, it does not make things easier, just doable.  I have been writing music for close to 50 years. All kinds of music!  I have used some of these songs in schools and churches and at community events, but none of them have been published.  They have copyrights, but are not in print to sell or distribute in any way.  I used to think I wanted to make a living from this unfinished goal.  But life got in the way.  Raising a family was far more important to me so I did things on the side.  I still sing professionally in a limited capacity, mostly at church services and in community settings.  But performing music full-time had been a goal at one time too.

I never knew that I was a writer (of words, not just songs) until I began writing after my son died.  It turned into a book, a memoir of sorts, that I self-published to share with others who had suffered loss of a child.  My bereavement counselor and other counselors had encouraged me to publish it to help people who had experienced the death of a loved one because it could help others feel that they are not alone.  That goal was achieved.  I would’ve been happy if it helped even one person, but it has helped many more than that.  I feel that my son lives on in that book.  And that makes me very happy.  I have one more goal connected to this that I want to accomplish however, and that is to perform the book as it has many songs in it that have never been heard.  

I did teach and perform a program of singing and sign language that I taught in schools and churches.  I started it in Southern California when we lived there in the 80’s.  I even had a public-access TV show, “The Sing and Sign Show.”  The same episode would be aired 3 times a day, throughout the weekdays until we filmed the next one.  There were little kids that thought it made me famous!  They were so sweet and innocent. I really wanted to pursue it as a teaching show as a local PBS offering.  It could have been possible, but before that could happen, I would have had to learn another skill, grant-writing.  That was too much of a challenge.  And I needed to find a job.

Writing this blog was never a goal, but it would have been, if I had even known what it was.  Thankfully, it found me and I and  the goal of writing one every week is one I relish!  Believe it or not, there are quite a few other goals, but less important ones.  Now I am retired, caring for my mom and I am in a different stage of life.  I just need to prioritize and find out what I can do to help me move toward one specific goal on my list.  Wish me luck!  I am not very good at figuring these things out!.  Prayers are appreciated too, if you have a moment!

Recently, I have been reading books to my mother, who will be 94 in a couple of weeks.  We have shared 17 books so far, there’s no end in sight, and we don’t intend to stop.  Because of macular degeneration, my mother’s eyesight has suffered dramatically and reading is no longer enjoyable for her.  I have always loved reading aloud and asked her if she would like to have me read so we could enjoy a book together.

It started with one book and then another and we just love it and do it almost everyday we are together.  I always loved reading aloud to my kids and other kids too, when I worked in libraries.  And sometimes, I was able to read aloud in some high school English classes when I worked with my hearing-impaired students who were main-streamed into regular classes.

When a book is read aloud, it is experienced in a very different way.  It becomes a shared experience between the reader and listener(s).  It reminds me of my 8th grade teacher who would read books to us and we would be transported on an adventure together. I absolutely loved it and looked forward to those days when we were able to hear a story told by such a wonderful reader.  It was special.

I remember reading about the times before TV or radio, when families would gather after the evening meal and the parents would read to their children.  It was a family tradition for some. And sometimes, it was a way to share sacred texts and build the foundations of faith.

As an adult, I love attending Book Readings by authors.  And at a lecture I attended, Jim Trelease (author of The Read Aloud Handbook), said that sometimes it can even be appropriate for college professors to read to their students.  Reading to my mom, I have found out what an intimate experience it is for us to share a story at the same time.  I will look up and see her expressions as I read, and we will sometimes have to stop and share our reactions.

If one were to compare the experience of watching a movie or reading the book it was based on, the book wins, hands down, every time.  Even a fine representation of a book in a movie, cannot compare with the fully-developed story in a novel or biography.  At least, that’s my opinion.  Of course, this whole blog is my opinion. But I think my Mom would agree.  We are on a journey, and it’s one we take great pleasure in together.  Isn’t that a wonderful thing?

As I grow older, I find it is easier to let go of things, negative feelings, and even some responsibilities.  I have found, for myself, that hanging on to stuff I don’t need is no longer hard for me to give away.  In fact, I have come to relish each time I drive up to a Goodwill or other Thrift Store and drop off bags and boxes of things I used to hang on to, “just in case I might need it in the future.”

After not needing or using something for years, it’s time to think about purging those things from your life.  It is freeing oneself of burdens you were maybe not even aware of until you see the clutter disappear around you. I can’t even believe how good it makes me feel to have less stuff around me.  It is a burden I do not need or want to have.

I remember the realization when I felt my son had become an adult who didn’t need me to take care of things for him anymore.  At first, I felt sad.  And then, I became proud of him and the ability he had to not need me for certain things anymore.  He and I still wanted to be emotionally and physically connected, but that was voluntary and special.  I had learned to let him go.

Through the years, small commitments that may have seemed to be short-term, became expectations that others had of me because I had let that happen.  Just because I have “always” done something for or with other people, doesn’t allow others to take advantage of me.  I was the one who allowed that to happen.  Once I realized the weight of their expectations and mine, I was finally ready to let go of them.  It was so freeing!  The elation I felt was exhilarating!  It helped  me to say “no” more and more, as well.

Now, as I grow a little wiser with age, I am beginning to understand what has always been important to me in a new way.  More and more I seek to have time for only the things that endure.  I cling to my faith, my family, my friends and trying to be the kind of person who cares  deeply about my fellow travellers.  If I can do that, there will be so much good to hold on to, that “letting go”  will become less necessary to me.  That is my goal for the future.  How do you feel about letting go?

My father died 28 years ago and left a big hole in in his place.  But I feel that he has lived on, in my heart, for all that time.  I can say he was larger than life because of his big heart and a strong, confident, positive personality.  He had a construction company and worked hard physically.  But he was also a fair, kind and friendly man.

He had a strong sense of who he was and was so comfortable in his own skin.  He wasn’t in the least bit conceited.  Most of all, he loved my mother passionately.  And his children, my brother and I, were lights in his life.  He was the most optimistic man I have ever known and family meant everything to him.

The things I remember and treasure so much were the fact that he was courageous enough to show his emotions and not be embarrassed.  He cried at funerals of those he loved deeply.  And he was not afraid to apologise when he felt he had done something wrong.  That’s true strength.  I remember him apologising to me when I was a kid because he yelled at me and later thought better of it.  I could never be attracted to “bad boys.”  I knew what integrity looked like and what it felt like to be respected.

He was the happiest man I have ever known.  And he is missed so much more than words can express.  At my wedding he danced with all my girlfriends and they couldn’t believe how easy it was to be led by him.  He always had a smile on his face.  I know that he must have felt angry or disappointed at times in his life, but I don’t remember it.   

When my son died, 6 years after his death, I saw them together looking down at me with their arms around each other’s shoulders.  I felt comforted by the fact that my dad was there to greet him.  They looked at me as if to say “Don’t worry.  It’s okay.  We are fine.”  He made Seth’s passing so much easier for me.  I grieved my son’s death so deeply.  But dad was there to soften the blow.  My son considered him his best friend.  He had said of dad, “You never have to worry about what kind of mood Grandpa will be in.”

He loved being a grandpa to my daughter and son.  He did some of the same fun things he had done with my brother and I and relished the time he spent with us and them.  And whenever I needed to talk, or was unsure about something I wanted to do, I’d call him up and he’d say, “Let’s go to lunch.”  I would say, “Dad, you don’t have to take me to lunch.”  And then he would say, “Well, you gotta eat!”  So, we would go to lunch and he would turn my doubts and fears into confident decisions.  He’d always say ”There’s no time like the present!”

His faith was important to him and he was so proud of me when I sang in church.  He was always so proud of and encouraging to my brother and me, whatever we chose to do.  He was grateful for all the good in his life. He was confident with his own decisions and accepted the consequences when things didn’t turn out as planned.  I have never met anyone quite like him.

On Father’s Day, I especially think of how blessed I was to have had him as my dad.  I thank God for him and my dear mother who will be 94 soon.  I know that someday we will all see each other again.  And the blessings of his presence in spirit, continue here as a legacy of his love, because love never dies.  Happy Father’s Day, Dad.