Tag Archives: memories

Here and There I Am

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Here and There I Am

Blessed are You,
Lord our God,
King of the Universe,
for anticipation—
groom in shiny, toe-pinching shoes,
watching the sanctuary doorway.
Bread in the oven,
first crocus about to bloom,
waiting for grandma’s visit.

Blessed are You for memories—
wreaths on the necks of brown cows in Switzerland,
playing an evening game of soccer in Belize,
lighting bugs in Oklahoma,
backpacking through snow to natural hot springs,
holding purple shore crabs by Oregon tide pools.

Blessed are You for creating me to enjoy—
memories of the past,
scenery and scent of the present,
and the possibility of my future.
Your eternal nature allows me the pleasure
of what is already done,
what is now,
and what is yet to be,
for You are not contained in one reality,
and as Your child, neither am I.

In Loving Memory

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A year ago today—on March 9, 2021—my Grandma Foster passed away. She was 97 years old. Her name was Ruth Vernelle Foster, but everyone called her Vernelle, and I called her Grandma. Visits to my grandparents were rare, as they lived in Texas and my family lived in Oregon. We saw them once a year or less, which left our relationship perhaps less intimate, but also unvarnished by the inevitable friction that comes with living in close proximity.

Although my Grandma Foster—and Grandpa—lived in California when I was born, my only memories of our visits are at their retirement home on Lake Texoma. My sister and I would follow Grandpa along the lake shore, clambering over the large sand-colored rocks that bordered the water, and watch him fish. If he caught something worth cooking up, Grandma would bread it in cornflakes and bake it to perfection. Then we’d all enjoy it around the large dining table right inside the front door, next to the hat rack overflowing with Grandpa’s trucker hats (to him they were fishing hats). The hats were a motley bunch, as they had all joined his collection by washing up on the lake shore, lost treasures of boaters on a windy day.

The layout of Grandma and Grandpa’s home was ahead of its time, with an open floor plan and high ceiling. The dining area, large living room, and kitchen, were all one open space, with a sliding glass door at the back, leading to a large deck with two porch swings facing the lake. A lot of swinging went on at Grandpa and Grandma’s house. If it wasn’t in the porch swings, it was in the backyard hammock or the kid swing. Grandma was a great swinging companion. She was content to be quiet or to talk, and never had an agenda.

The lake view was peaceful, with fishing boats and colorful sailboats often passing by, and the Oklahoma shore in the far distance. There was often animal activity on the front porch at the bird feeders, which were really squirrel feeders. It was a delight to watch the squirrels scampering around or enjoying an easy meal. There was one bird we saw at regular intervals, but it wasn’t on the front porch. It was in the house, inside the beautifully carved wooden cuckoo clock. My sister and I tried to see that bird every hour when it came out. We’d rush pell-mell from anywhere in the house to stand under the clock and watch the tiny bird poke its head out. Twelve o’clock was the best showing, with twelve “cuckoos” ringing out before the bird ducked back inside.

It was generally quiet at Grandpa and Grandma’s house, but things would liven up when our cousins came over—two boys just younger than my sister and me. The school bus dropped them off at Grandma and Grandpa’s every afternoon. Probably my favorite, and one of my clearest, memories with the cousins was decorating Easter eggs. Grandma hard-boiled dozens of eggs and had all the trappings to dye them. She set us four cousins up at the table and we went to work coloring those eggs. Then we hid them in the yard, found them, and hid and found them, over and over until the eggs fell apart. I must have been quite young—6 years old perhaps—and that was a wondrous Easter for me. We didn’t celebrate Easter at home, and I had never done anything like that.

One year Grandma let us keep a Box turtle we found. She provided a cardboard box for it to live in, and kitchen scraps to feed it, and we surely enjoyed that turtle! Sometimes we passed time by watching the Andy Griffith Show on the little TV in the living room, or following Grandpa around, or reading the kids books in the guest room. Since our home was a bastion of only true stories, Grandma’s house is where I read nursery rhymes, stories about Winnie the Pooh, and other children’s fiction.

Grandma and Grandpa’s neighborhood was quiet and open—I don’t recall very many fences. It was off the main road, so the folks who lived there were the primary “traffic.” My parents and sister and I often took walks around the neighborhood. There was a small cemetery at the corner where the main road ran perpendicular to their little peninsula, and a camp which we sometimes wandered through. Four houses down, and also on the lakefront, lived my Great-Aunt Jean, Grandma’s sister. She had the most wonderful southern accent and the softest old lady skin. We always visited her rather formally: our family of four would walk to her house, sit together in the living room, and have a visit. After our visits we would chuckle about how her “yeahs” trailed off with a southern echo: yeah-eah-eah.

Grandma and Grandpa always sent birthday cards with $20. They would both write in the card—Grandma in cursive, and Grandpa in all uppercase letters. Grandma was a thoughtful gift-giver. Gifts were rare but always quality and meaningful. When my mom built us a three-story dollhouse, Grandma purchased some very elegant dining furniture and other pieces to furnish it. When I was three years old, Grandpa and Grandma came to our house for a visit. I don’t remember anything about it except what is in pictures: beautiful pastel pink and blue quilts, handmade and quilted for my sister and me, with each of our names embroidered on them. I slept under that quilt for many years, and now my kids use it, for blanket forts or an afternoon snack in the back yard. Later Grandma hand-stitched a pillow case with my initials on it, which I used in my college dorm room.

Fifteen years after that visit, Grandpa and Grandma came to Oregon for my high school graduation. It was their first time traveling by air, and I felt pretty special that they wanted to be there to celebrate with me. Two years later Grandma came north again, this time to Washington for my wedding. She was always a quiet presence. I don’t remember her ever being controlling, although she had a very matter-of-fact way of speaking and wasn’t shy about her opinions. But she always ended with a chuckle that seemed to say “what will be will be.” Her laugh was probably the most-mentioned attribute at her memorial service, which we attended on Facebook Live last March. She laughed often, laughed till she cried, and could laugh and talk at the same time.

Grandma and Grandpa were married 78 years, of which I am very proud—easy for me to say since I didn’t have to do any of the hard work to keep a marriage alive for that long. Grandpa could be bossy at times, and he had quirky habits like unplugging kitchen appliances before leaving the house. One time we came to visit and there was chicken wire all along the front of the garage. We found out he had installed it there after Grandma had an accidental bump into the garage door with the car.

Grandma spent countless hours making memory books for her kids and grandkids. I have two large photo albums with photos, memories, newspaper clippings, and letters, going back to my great-great-great-grandparents. She included all the artwork, letters and cards I sent her over the years, as well as letters from my parents that talked about how I was learning and growing as an infant and child. Grandma had a methodical way of putting together these memories, always including dates and other details that would help orient anyone who had not been present to the events. Along with being well-versed in family history, Grandma also had an eye on the future. Her son—my father—who is a classical guitarist, received a letter from her containing a list of songs she wanted him to play at her funeral, 20 years before she passed away. And when she did finally breath her last, her funeral was already planned, by her.

It may be that my penchant for planning, my big smile, and my loud laugh, journeyed from Grandma’s DNA to mine. And one day I hope to be a grandma who can sit on a porch swing without an agenda, adopt a wild animal as a pet for my grandchildren, and laugh about almost anything. Thank you, Grandma, for showing me how to do the things humans were made for: creating things, and loving fellow humans.

My sister Jody, Grandma, and me, with the new quilts, May 1988.
Four-generations: my grandparents on either end of the couch; and me, my daughter Kayt, and my dad in the middle. This photo and the one below are from our last visit to Grandma and Grandpa at their Texas lakefront home, June 2013.
Grandma on the porch swing, holding my daughter Kayt.

75 Memories of Daddy

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My dad turned 75 years old on August 25. Recently we’ve had the opportunity to reminisce, looking through old photos and hearing stories of the nearly 40 years he lived before I came on the scene. School was never his place to shine, and thus yields some of the best stories. He distinctly remembers one teacher – Donald Lamb – and a day his boredom got the better of him. As Mr. Lamb wrote on the chalk board, he made a noise in his throat, but he stopped whenever the teacher turned around. He kept quiet when Mr. Lamb asked who was making the noise, but it seems Mr. Lamb had a pretty accurate sense of aural direction, because at recess he came and stood by my dad for a long time with his arms folded. He didn’t say anything, but they both knew what it was about.

In high school my dad sported a ducktail hair style, held in place with Butch Wax, which melted and dripped down his back on hot days. High school was not a pleasant experience for him – as he puts it, “I wouldn’t go to my high school reunion if I lived across the street.” College didn’t fare much better. My favorite of his college stories is from singing class (he was majoring in music). While his classmates all chose to sing classical pieces, he showcased his southern roots by singing “I’ve Been Everywhere” by Johnny Cash.

A talented classical guitarist, Daddy made a living playing in restaurants and resorts and teaching lessons. For the most part he lived alone and subsisted on freezer meals, which is impossible for me to imagine because he has been a passionate advocate of healthy eating ever since I can remember. Then one fine day my mother showed up for a guitar lesson at a music shop in Santa Barbara, CA, and her teacher became her husband. A few years later I came along. In honor of my dad’s 75th birthday I wrote down 75 of my memories of him. I remember him:

  1. Playing the guitar in the overstuffed chair, with me curled up in the corner behind him
  2. Prodding my stomach with his fingers toward the end of a meal to see if I was full or “had more room” and could eat more
  3. Making milk toast – a delightful combination of honey and milk and crispy and soggy bread
  4. Playing his guitar on the riverbank
  5. Sneezing so loud we could hear him from anywhere on our property of several acres
  6. Feeding the dog every night – a combination of dry dog food, water, fruit and veggie scraps, and the leftover pulp from making vegetable juice
  7. Playing the guitar in his office, long after I went to bed
  8. Apologizing for hitting me (the only time he ever hit me)
  9. Apologizing for getting angry and shouting a curse word (also the only time I ever recall him doing that)
  10. Teaching me to drive – in the old truck, the van, and the family car
  11. Working with me one summer at a peach and nectarine orchard, when I was only fifteen and couldn’t drive there on my own
  12. Playing “You Are My Sunshine” on the piano
  13. Showing my sister and I how to use his fancy rubber band gun
  14. Enjoying music – especially Elvis Presley and Bob Dylan
  15. Standing at the sink with a glass of water, trying to lessen the pain of recurring acid reflux
  16. Standing in front of the wood-burning stove doing the “Sun Exercise”
  17. Watching old comedies – The Shakiest Gun In The West with Don Knotts, the Andy Griffith Show and the Amos and Andy Show
  18. Fishing on the riverbank, and occasionally bringing home one or more salmon or steelhead, gutting them, and baking, smoking or canning the meat
  19. Making scrambled eggs and shredding beef jerky on top
  20. Asking me if I needed to go #1 or #2 and his incredulity when I didn’t know which I needed to go
  21. On long trips, stopping the van on the side of the road and standing “behind” the open car door to pee
  22. Cracking a whip – and cracking seaweed at the beach like a whip
  23. Teaching me to play the guitar
  24. Pruning fruit trees
  25. Playing the guitar on stage
  26. Saving the best food for company
  27. Buying fudge
  28. Coming home from town with a Hershey’s Milk Chocolate Almond Bar wrapper on the car dash (evidence that he didn’t ALWAYS eat healthy)
  29. Removing boards from the front porch to get our dog and her newborn puppies out from under the back of the porch
  30. “Strongly encouraging” my sister and I to sing for old people (whom he always made a point of visiting)
  31. Dressing up in a suit and tie to play sacred music concerts
  32. Deriving immense pleasure from people watching
  33. Telling about how he got to touch Elvis Presley’s hair at one of the Elvis concerts he went to
  34. Memorizing scripture – especially Proverbs
  35. Reading Turkey Trott at Christmas – the only time he ever read a children’s book to my sister and me
  36. Telling me not to say “crud” because it’s like saying “crap”
  37. Teaching me to play checkers
  38. Putting peanut butter on an apple peel, giving it to the dog, and laughing until he cried while the dog tried to lick it off the roof of her mouth
  39. Giving tight hugs
  40. Teaching me how to use tools – hammer, level, pruning shears
  41. Appreciating beauty – in nature, in music, in art
  42. Listening to NPR and “Car Talk”
  43. Shocking me when he came out of the bedroom with his beard shaved off when I was very little
  44. Driving like a maniac down Tiller Trail Highway to make it to the post office before the mail went out for the day
  45. Buying soft serve for the family at am/pm gas stations
  46. Carrying pincher bugs out of the house instead of squishing them
  47. Waxing the car
  48. Buying overripe bananas in bulk (to freeze for smoothies)
  49. Going down to the creek to hook up the water pump
  50. Taking us bike shopping
  51. Going for bike rides on Shoreline Trail at Lost Creek Lake
  52. Telling stories: about falling asleep on his motorcycle, the turtle that peed on him, the laundry soap commercial
  53. Making a “confession of faith” in front of our church family to become a member (he had been baptized into a different denomination when he was young)
  54. Standing in the doorway of our bedroom and saying “Good night” in unison with my mom
  55. Carrying us to bed on his “horse back” when we were little
  56. Teaching me to paint, clean gutters, sort produce, plant seeds, thin and pick fruit, crack walnuts, tend a burning brush pile
  57. Recording for me an album of songs I wrote
  58. Reading from his overflowing “reading stand” at meals – health newsletters, newspapers, personal letters, religious newsletters or sermons, even advertisements
  59. Giving the dog corn on the cob
  60. Putting his hand on my head and saying “This is Tobi” when I was four years old and getting ready to sing “My God Is So Great” with my sister in his sacred guitar concerts
  61. Working in the yard early, working in the yard late: I remember waking up on summer mornings to the sound of him outside running sprinklers to water the lawn and garden
  62. Unapologetically sharing his opinions about what other people ate, and how they spent their money
  63. Stripping my sister and me down to brush the sand off from head to toe before we could get in the van after an afternoon at beach
  64. Working random jobs in our tiny community – sorting wood at Thunderbird Furniture, being a guard at the temporary camp set up for firefighters responding to forest fires, driving the delivery truck for a local greenhouse
  65. Cutting Charlie Brown Christmas trees on our property
  66. Dressing up as Santa for Christmas once or twice when I was little
  67. Posing everyone for pictures – especially with home grown food, or flowers/landscapes
  68. Cleaning the chimney, which made the most AWFUL noises in the house
  69. Taking a shower in the front yard with the solar shower he built
  70. Saying with complete sincerity that my mom still had the body of a 16 year old when she was in her 50’s
  71. Letting go of my hand when I was pulling him with the whole weight of my body, and then teaching me to put one leg back so I wouldn’t fall when he let go
  72. Watching TV at my grandparents’ houses and in hotels (we didn’t have one at home)
  73. Playing his guitar in the car
  74. Wearing goggles while cutting onions to settle a disagreement with my mom about what exactly causes a person’s eyes to water
  75. Leaving church during the closing hymn so he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone

Thank you, Daddy, for being the brave man in a family of women (me, my mom, and my older sister), for not being afraid to have questions about life, for showing up every day no matter how hard it was, for laughing until you cried, for loving music, and for giving me these memories.

The pictures don’t show up very well in the header, so here they are again. I’m on the left in both photos – 1986 and 2020.

Memories

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This year I lost three people who are dear to me. I was not especially intimate with any of them, but each had an impact on my life, and I find myself thinking on that impact frequently in the weeks and months after their passing. In the stillness of their absence, there is something sweet about remembering how their lives intertwined with mine, and allowing them to become larger-than-life. I am grateful for each of them, and wish to honor them by remembering in writing a bit of the fullness they brought to my life. [Disclaimer: I do not believe my memory to be wholly accurate, and I am certain those people closer to these individuals will find errors in my recollections.]

My mom’s mom passed away in January. I always called her Grandma Sawyer, but when I had kids she suggested they call her “Grandma Caroline,” using her first name. She always lived in the same house, from before I was born almost until the end. I didn’t get to visit her in the care facility she was in at the end, so all my memories of her are in that house. She rented out rooms, so I remember having to be quiet when we were in the hallway next to those rooms, and we were not allowed to use the restroom the renters used. We were, however, invited to play in her back yard, which was full of the wonderful fruit trees that grow further south: lemons, oranges, mandarins, kumquats, avocados, and more. There were also a variety of flowers, and a shed that contained board games among other things. My sister and I played out in the yard, making concoctions of plant materials, and skipping about on the stepping stones. We made fresh orange juice in her kitchen, watched shows on her tiny television in the dining room, and always went home with avocados and mandarins to enjoy long after our visit.

Grandma always wore her hair the same way, and I imagine there must be a name for the style, but I don’t know what it is. Just that there was a large curl at the bottom, near chin level, and the rest was smooth but thick. My complete lack of fashion knowledge also makes it impossible to describe her wardrobe with any accuracy, but I remember she always wore the same style of flat comfy shoes, and she often wore blouses. She nearly always had a boyfriend, so when our family descended on her house, she would spend her nights at her boyfriend’s house. My sister and I slept in her room (where my sister got flea bites sleeping on the floor), and my parents would sleep in the family room. We took over the kitchen, making our own meals, as my grandma would not have cooked for us even if she had been there. She ate very simply and basically did not cook or wash dishes, a fact which my mother says was true even when she was raising five children. We often found spoiled food in her fridge, and more than once we found a can of orange juice concentrate in the freezer which had been partially used and left to turn a very dark brown shade of orange. One redeeming feature of her kitchen was the drawer containing dates and nuts. And she always had toasted wheat germ, which I thought was a treat.

Grandma Sawyer liked cats, and for many years she would have one or more cats, but they were usually scarce when we came to visit. I don’t remember her having any toys, but she she lived not far from the ocean, so between that and her back yard we had plenty of fun things to do. There was a bin on her coffee table with scissors and tape and other handy supplies, and her combined living/dining room also held her desk, and a book shelf full of interesting titles like “Eat Right For Your Type.” She was something of a health (read “supplements”) enthusiast, and I remember one drawer in her bathroom contained cups of pills portioned out for each day. I don’t think she was on any prescription, so those large handfuls of pills were all supplements resulting from her own research. She could swallow a whole dose at once, which I found very impressive. She enjoyed travel and learning, and I remember on one visit she told me about the country of Burkina Faso with it’s capitol city of Ouagadougou – I think the primary reason was the joy of those funny sounding words. She didn’t give a lot of gifts, but she did always send a birthday card with money, and I still have a mug she painted with my name on it. She was skilled at beautiful, delicate china painting. She also played the piano, but I don’t think I ever heard her play or saw her paint.

Her memorial was a picnic lunch at a park near the beach, and I think I knew more about her after the brief fifteen minutes of sharing among family members than I did in all my years of knowing her. I enjoyed the descriptions of other family members to round out my memories of grandma: able to converse on any topic; curious; positive, cheerful, joyous, and didn’t speak negatively (or positively) about anyone; loved all kinds of arts; always ended with a chuckle; a feminist; wonderful mother-in-law; original and witty; good mother who was proud of all her kids and grandkids; knew a lot about the natural world, including the names of many plants. I do remember her showing me a gingko tree once when we were on a walk. I think the reason it stuck in my memory is that she told me gingko trees had been around for millions of years, and being from a family of young-earth creationists, I remember thinking she was wrong but keeping silent on the subject. The thing I secretly wished to emulate about my grandma was her ability to dance. She loved to dance, and although I never got to see her dance in public, she did teach me a dance step once, and I’m proud to say I can still do it. She took time to do the things she loved, and although she had strong opinions, she always ended with a chuckle and a twinkle in her eye. I am grateful I got to be her granddaughter.

Not long after my grandma passed away, a neighbor from my childhood also passed away. Her name was Sandra Smith, but we called her Sandy. She and her husband Billy had a surprise daughter later in life who was about my age, named Suzanne. They lived a few miles up the hill from us, where there was no electricity or phone lines, and every so often we would hear their old diesel Mercedes pulling in our driveway so they could make phone calls (we were the last house on that road connected to the phone lines). As far back as I can remember they invited us over for Thanksgiving and/or Christmas dinner every year. Sandy made the entire meal on a wood burning cook stove, and everything was cooked to perfection and served hot. Since my health-conscious family made tofu quiche and vegan pies for holidays, Sandy’s table laden with real turkey, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes (that undoubtedly had butter in them), pistachio salad, yams (which surely had sugar and butter on them), and every other dish you could wish for at a northwest holiday dinner was a highlight every year. After homemade hard ice cream, fresh whipped cream, and too many pies to sample, we would relocate to the living room where we played the old player piano for hours, talked about Billy’s countercultural ideas, and enjoyed the warmth of the wood stove.

The Smiths were a family living in older times. Billy logged and mined gold to make money off his extensive property. He was proud that he didn’t pay Social Security, held strong views about politics, had a moderate collection of firearms, and enjoyed quack medicine like pycnogenol and frequency-generating “zappers.” It was an odd friendship between our families, mainly consisting of those annual feasts together and their visits to use our phone. I think Sandy was the grounding presence in the family. She was practical, intelligent, calm, and her eyes often sparkled. She wore her gray hair pulled up in up a decorative leather piece with a wooden pin through it. She was always kind. When I moved away from home, she extended an invitation to make a turkey dinner for me when I visited home, even if it wasn’t at the holidays. Her generous offer surprised and touched me. I don’t think I ever took her up on it, but I did get to take my husband to dinner at her house at least once, and I’m grateful I was able to share that part of my childhood with him. Sandy passed away rather suddenly, and I miss her kind presence on this earth.

In an expected turn of events a person who had largely shaped my career (if you can call it that at my age) became ill and died, bringing him sharply back into my awareness. I quit work a month shy of seven years ago to become a stay-at-home mom, and soon after my boss, Jerry Mason, retired. We were both in our own new worlds, adjusting to life at home after the workplace, and didn’t keep in touch. But this parting of ways in no way lessens the impact Jerry had on my life during my college and post-college years.

I entered college with a job at the Grounds department, mostly because I got hired over the phone and it was an easy in. At that time the department was undergoing some changes, and Jerry had a vision for student leadership that was emerging at that time. I found myself co-managing the department with a few other students a month after I began working in Grounds. Jerry had a way of entrusting me with responsibility with so much confidence in me that I hardly had the chance to stop and think about whether I could do the job or not. His trust, mentoring, enthusiastic support, and hands-off style gave me the incredible opportunity of managing the Grounds department all four years of college (and being awarded the Washington State Student Employee of the Year award in 2007). By the middle of my sophomore year I was studying for a business degree with a concentration in management, so there was a happy marrying of what I was studying to what I was doing at work. I wrote handbooks, wrote interviews, hired, fired, created schedules, purchased equipment, conducted training, and did everything else the job required with the zest and energy only a college student has. All the while, Jerry proudly cheered on us student leaders, paid us a little more than made sense, stood in our defense when problems arose, challenged us when we were heading the wrong direction, and continued steadfastly in his confidence in my abilities.

After I graduated I worked one year in a clerical position, and then Jerry was standing there in front of my desk handing me a proposal regarding bringing the custodial function of the university back in house. In other words, creating and managing a new department that would be under his direction as Plant Services Manager. Again he was handing me much more than I was qualified for, just as confident as could be, eager to give me the opportunity. And as I took the job and went to work for him again he continued to support me in the same generous ways that he had when I was a student.

Jerry was private and shy and had a strong aversion to parties and most social events. He was a straight shooter and didn’t take excuses; short in stature but still slightly intimidating because after all he did have the power to end my employment. But never once was I worried about calling him or walking into his office. He was always kind, friendly, honest, and the best superior a person could ask for. Over the years, he went out of his way to recognize my work and support me – nominating me for student employee of the year, taking me and other managers out for dinner, providing cell phones when they were still relatively rare, procuring a set of two monitors for me to make desk work easier, encouraging and supporting me in attending Leadership Walla Walla, and no doubt instrumental in my recognition as Rising Staff Member of the Year in 2010. I always felt valued, and knew someone was standing behind me.

After I quit work I asked Jerry for a reference letter, as I knew I would be a stay-at-home mom for a while and I wanted to have something to use as a reference when it became time to return to the work force. He never wrote one, but he did give me his email address when he retired, and we conversed briefly about my desire for a reference letter. His reply in part said, “I am working outdoors a ton this summer. Have an old couple across the street I am keeping their yard up. Fun and it keeps me busy.” I was a little peeved that he couldn’t find the time to write one letter amidst all his yard work, but looking back it really was just like him. He always hated writing reference letters, and I also think he was just ready to be done with work. I chuckle over it now. And besides, he did give me a wonderful reference in the form of those two jobs that shaped my skill set, and the opportunity to work with many wonderful people (who would probably be happy to write me a reference letter).

I cannot think about my college experience or my career without thinking of Jerry. He was human, but the best sort of human you can find, and a person who so quietly had an incredibly large impact on my life. I am grateful for all the ways he believed in me.

As I think about these three people, what stands out is how simple their influence was. None of them gave me advice. None of them spent any great amount of time with me. They just gave to me in their own unassuming way. There is power in simply living your life – the moments you believe in someone else, or invite someone over for a meal, or impart curiosity and cheerfulness by living it out yourself – perhaps those are the moments that someone else will be recalling when you are called Home.