New year, new semester. Previous resolves to declutter, organize, write more, move more, eat less –only the desires are permanently ingrained. The actual pursuits wax and wane with no consistent rhythm. Still, there’s that persistent inner tug to begin my year with an improvement plan…

I never tracked my time on Facebook or playing Words, but I’ve been amazed at how a “few minutes” with either can morph into hours. Facebook may keep me connected, and Words is brain-stimulating, but they cost. If I stopped, would I be more productive?
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Last weekend I posted that I’m taking a FB break and immediately signed out of my web account and apps. I’m finishing active Words games (to preserve my stats) but not starting new ones.  I feel some classic withdrawal symptoms, but I’ve packed away the Christmas decorations and finished a novel.
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I’m encouraged. I can do this. For awhile, anyway.  

Since becoming a professional educator, I’ve promised myself each summer I would complete whatever projects I’d been putting off due to being “too busy.” Summers came and went; I seldom got to the projects. When I went part-time four years ago, I told myself I would now work on various projects during the school year. Didn’t happen. My previous pattern of putting-off-until-summer continued.

For at least seven (8? 10?) years, I’ve been planning to cull through our photos and create a gallery in the hallway. A beadboard “anchor” was added to the designated wall. I bought a variety of frames and stowed them in various corners of the house. Then I continued to percolate the plan while adding massive amounts of digital photos to our collection.
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Next week I go back to work, and… SURPRISE! 

​The PHOTOS!

The FRAMES!

The WALL!

I can hardly wait to begin – next summer!

​Yesterday evening, as G and I drove north along State Road 1, I eyed storm clouds pressing in from the west, and wondered if we’d be able to finish our mission. In the month since our friend D passed away, we’d dealt with his physical possessions and many business matters, but we weren’t sure what to do with him. Finally, we decided to take his cremains to a popular beach he’d liked to frequent.
 
We anxiously searched for a parking spot along narrow streets crammed with holiday tourists, and God opened a door: one spot, adjacent to the beach, no cost. I captured shots of dark clouds obliterating the setting sun and a thinning crowd of beach-goers. Then, facing nearly cloudless eastern skies, we quietly said good-bye and released him into the warm waters.

​I turned my last photo into today’s Facebook cover. In its layers, I will remember.

It matters not how long we live, but how.
​                                                  ~Phillip James Bailey
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This week I said good-bye to D. His mother was my close friend, and when she unexpectedly died in 2013, he was truly orphaned: no parents, siblings, cousins. Over several decades, his nemesis Alcohol robbed him of many opportunities: being a fire-fighter, piloting planes, spending time with people who loved him. Yet despite the battles with Al, he persevered.

Last summer, D’s longtime girlfriend and his dog died within weeks of each other. Two months later, he noticed a suspicious lump on his neck. D self-diagnosed terminal cancer, decided not get medical assistance, put most of his affairs in order, and settled in with Al to await his end.

Possessions left behind include photos and childhood artifacts D’s mother treasured that mean nothing to anyone else. My grieving heart is watching life’s winds erase D’s footprints, evidence of her legacy disappearing into dust. 

#legacy, #meaningoflife