Eulogy for My Step-Father

Richard E. Roderick - 2009 visit to Madison, Wisconsin

Eulogy for My Step-Father

By John-Brian Paprock



My step-father died on December 18, 2018.  I am not sure how to feel. When I found out, it was like a punch in the gut. I was stunned. My sadness and tears came later. 

When my biological father died, I knew he was dying and, before he passed, I was able to visit with him for a short time and pray with. In hind-sight, it was too short a time.   We had been greatly estranged through the years, having contact off-and-on over the years.  There were intense emotions at those contacts. The intensity obviously connected to the divorce when I was seven years old.

For all of those emotions related to my biological father, I do not have this same intensity for my step-father, who I joyfully called “Dad” in the idyllic life that came with him into our lives.  Richard rescued us (my sister Dara, my brother Matthew and I) from a poverty-stricken household in Chicago where parental alcohol abuse infused regular intense arguments.  He brought us to a large house in River Forest. He honored us and seemed genuinely interested in our well-being. He read classic books to us – Treasure Island, Three Musketeers, 20,000 Leagues under the Sea – acting out the dialogue with dramatic voices.  He taught me how to play chess, including the importance of strategy and the difference between game playing deception and inter-personal dishonesty. 

In reflection of the years Richard was actively my parent (which were only a few years), I always felt loved by him.  I always felt he loved my siblings. Even after his own son was born, he made sure that we were not dismissed or pushed aside to make room for his son. In fact, he made a special space for us that was never threatened. 

When his relationship with our mother deteriorated, Richard took moments as they were available to emphasize his love for us and told me that he did not want to leave us.  He continued to financially support us through the hellish years that followed until my mother hit alcoholic bottom.  He could not save us from that. Even his own son endured that hard time. He told me at a later time (when he invited me as a young adult living in NYC to visit him in his cabin home in Medford Lakes, New Jersey), he wished he could have done more in those years after he and my mother broke apart. 

In the few other occasions we visited over the years, Richard had his own issues and problems.  Maybe this observation is more one of seeing him as an adult and less as “Dad.”  It was very clear that we had our different lives and there were fewer occasions to connect, but it seems, in reflection, neither of us made the effort.

Although we did not talk much, when Richard visited Madison in 2009, I sat next to him at a diner, smiling. I was filled with reminisces of the time he was my “Dad.” That was the last time I was physically near him.  I got a photograph of him outside the diner, one of my cherished photographs.

We did talk a couple of times by phone and interacted a little bit online after that. It was a manner of communication that he did not prefer and, so, did not use it much. In those conversations, it was clear to me that Richard was struggling with a variety of issues. I told him I would pray for him and for the circumstances.  It was clear I would not be able to save him they way he saved us – sustain him the way he had sustained us through the dark and lean times – help him the way he helped us.

This is why I am not sure how to feel.  I feel a great loss of an important and consequential person in my life, but I am filled with gratitude for what Richard gave to me, to my siblings. The most important and the greatest gift has been my youngest brother, August. 

Toward the end of one of those telephone conversations, he told me that he kept a crayon drawing I gave him when I was seven-years-old in a frame on the wall in his office. He told me that it was a wonderful piece of art and would receive many compliments for which he would proudly say that “one of his sons” did it when he was in second grade.  It reminded him of a special time in his life.  I am grateful that we shared that special time.

And then he said, “Even if I don’t see you much or talk much these days, remember, I love you.”   Yes, Dad, of that I have no doubt.

(Eulogy given at Celebration of Life and internment, June 27, 2019 at Arlington Park Cemetery, Pennsauken Township, New Jersey)

Transmit True and Brightly

Transmit True and Brightly

By Nancy Summers

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NANCY SUMMERS (1940-2000) Poetry from 40 years of writing by Midwestern mystic and musician, spiritual leader and mother, Nancy Summers - edited by her son, John-Brian Paprock. Over 150 poems are gathered into seven chapters. From Nancy’s youth in Oak Park, Illinois during the middle class 1950s through the 1960s in the urban centers of Los Angeles and Chicago, she wrote during the most transformative time in America. After personal tragedy, she landed with her children in Madison, Wisconsin in the 1970s – her physical home for the rest of her life. Her spiritual home was in Orthodox Christianity. She became a spiritual light, a leader and mentor, dispersing the darkness of this world. This collection deserves a place in American literature and in the hearts of all who encounter it.

Product Details

ISBN   9780578206974

Copyright Holy Transfiguration Publications (Standard Copyright License)

Edition First Edition

Publisher Holy Transfiguration Publications

Published June 23, 2018

Language English

Pages 214

Binding Perfect-bound Paperback

Interior Ink Black & white

Weight 0.83 lbs.

Dimensions (inches) 6 wide x 9 tall

Thirty Years of Regular Monthly Discussion

Madison Inter-religious Dialogue:

Thirty Years of Regular Monthly Discussion - July 11, 2018

A Reflection by Rev. Fr. John-Brian Paprock

Can a few local people from different faith traditions effect positive change in the world?

Part of a global movement of interfaith dialogue, the growing energy for a global meeting of religions, and growing interconnectedness through internet media, every local meeting of those of different faith traditions in person seem to add to a growing sense of hope and peace for the future of this world.

Thirty years ago, a committee was formed to have a centennial celebration of the Parliament of World’s Religions that had gathered in Chicago at the world exposition in 1893.  Thirty years ago, Joseph Campbell was interviewed by Bill Moyers about the Power of Myth, exploring the common themes in religious traditions. Thirty years ago, in the year of the dragon, the Madison Inter-religious Dialogue started.

As a newly ordained Eastern Christian priest in my first mission parish, I was eager to serve the community, not just our small mission, but the community at large.  I met with Charles Pfeiffer at Madison Urban Ministry and I asked where I might get direction for service.  I was grateful he recommended the newly formed group, MID. He said he didn’t really know that much about the new group, but did know one of the founding participants, George Hinger. 

I had studied various faith traditions and symbology, informally and formally, and delighted in the opportunity for conversation. I did not, at that time, appreciate the power of dialogue.

Feeling particularly young and secure in my faith, I joined the monthly discussion group during a time of exploration.  We all took turns leading a religious rite or ceremony with the group.  I spoke with my Orthodox Christian elders and leaders and was allowed to do a traditional Blessing of Water for Epiphany at the St. Benedict Center. I enjoyed all the presentations during that period of the dialogue.  

I wasn’t always able to participate in the dialogue. Either the time of day (a discussion at the dialogue for years, I recall), day of the week, or personal or professional issues conflicted with the meetings.  Nevertheless, the faithful note-takers of the group kept me informed with meeting minutes and announcements.  Knowing it has continued through the years has been a reassurance of the ideal of our common humanity – that we share this world and this existence with others who have different beliefs and perspectives – and still peaceful dialogue continues. 

One of my deep-felt understandings that the Madison Inter-religious Dialogue has affirmed is simple: we do not have to agree on anything to get along, we need only grow in respect and honor by listening.  George Hinger’s commitment to this principle has been inspiring.  Because of this, I am honored to have friendships and connections with people of many different faiths not just in Wisconsin, but throughout the world! Because of this, my own faith and devotion has deepened.

Thank you for the Dialogue and for the opportunity to participate. I am forever grateful for the experience.

God bless everyone who has been a participant in this Dialogue through the years (especially the faithful note-takers).  God grant you many many years!

May light shine in all our dark moments. May peace prevail!

O Lord heal my heart

O Lord heal my heart that I may feel loved - clear the cries from my throat that I may praise Your wondrous good gifts in my life just beyond the veil of my tears. O Lord defeat the enemies of my existence both within and without that seek to take me from Your ways - let them not fill me with death and defeat and despair so that I am immobilized, nor fill my limbs with the heaviness of lonliness, nor fill my heart with the tears of abandonment. Show them O Lord how You will help Your servant out of the pits, how You will cover me under Your gentle wings so that I can be filled with the light of Your love and move me from the brink of harm, pain and woundedness. Show the enemies of Your servants how You heal Your servants and enable them for Your work and how You are a constant help in their hours and days of weaknesses. Lift me up above the caves of sorrow, so hollow, so empty. Help me get through the darkness. Help me O Lord for Your promises are great for those that love You. You lend Your strength, Your goodness, Your love to those in need when they ask. If there is anything that I have done that has taken me from Your holy and true ways, restore me and forgive me, treat me according to Your gentleness and Your mercy. Make my heart light and filled with love once again.

Matthew's Voice



Matthew By The Lake - (Photograph by John-Brian Paprock, Paprock Photography 2015)
Taken along the north shore of Lake Mendota across the water from Madison Wisconsin in 2014

My younger brother Matthew died on November 3rd, 2015 at the age of 49 years old. I was grateful he asked for the opportunity to see him at the hospital before he died. He had requested the doctors do everything to keep him going until my brother (August), my sister (Dara) and I could be there. He wanted to celebrate his 50th birthday, but that was not until January. So, we decided to have a 50th birthday cake and balloons and a card on November 1st. He also wanted to watch his Green Bay Packers play - they played that night.

 

Celebration of my brother's 50th birthday - half a century of life! Before the Packer game. Photograph by John Summers.



 

At my brother's bedside on November 1st. Photograph by August Roderick.



 



Saying good bye was difficult - both a very loving and a very sad time. We played cards a last time. We remembered. We joked. We laughed. We cried. We forgave everything, he and I, for brothers often have some baggage that weighs on their relationship. He was freed from such burdens. I told he would be missed. I found an old picture of him and me in Chicago, before our  youngest brother was born.

Matthew (5 years old) and John-Brian (10 years old) in Chicago.
The only time one would be twice as old as the other. 
This picture is symbolic of the bond with my brother that would last a lifetime.

 

This is the letter I read as eulogy at my brother's Ninth Day Memorial at Assumption Greek Orthodox Church in Madison, Wisconsin.

 

Dear Matthew,

 

I want to hear your voice again, dear brother Matthew; the caring loving familiar voice of  my younger brother; the voice that joked and played and  laughed and, yes, fought, as brothers can.

 

I want to hear your voice again, even if it means listening to profound fear seeping through the joy and love during your last days; or listening to the lamenting of lost love, or the ranting of frustration with a system that you could not fight any more. I hoped you would fight back as you always did and hold your ground, but you could not this time. You always wanted to stand tall without help from anyone, until pain curled your back and walking required a cane.

 

In our childhood, we played together as best friends, especially during the lonely years when we moved from place to place with a mother who was searching for her own salvation and sobriety. She found both when we came to Madison. And you, my dear brother, found your very own home-sweet-home. You got to grow up here, attending every school year in the same school system. You found in Madison, a safe home base and friends, lots and lots of friends, many you have had most of your life. It seems proper to have finished your life here in Madison.

 

Yet, I would hear your voice again. That voice that would reach across distances of miles and weeks just to say “hello.”  I will miss our card games and our discussions of the spiritual and the mundane. I will miss watching football with you.  I am filled with joyous memories of our life as family and friends. 

 

I will always be grateful for the opportunity you gave us at the end. Thank you for the love you shared during your last waking hours. Thank you for the hug as I kissed your hand. I held it as tight as I could.  Thank you the shared tears at “good bye” and “good journey.” Thank you for being my faithful brother and my dutiful friend. My dear brother, I wish I could hear your voice and see your smile one more time, but I cannot.  You passed away quietly and peacefully in the evening of November 3rd.  We are brothers forever and I will miss you the rest of my life.  Eternal memory, my dearest brother Matthew.

 

 

Ninth Day Memorial service at Assumption Greek Orthodox Church, Madison, Wisconsin. November 12, 2015. 
Fr. Michael Vanderhoef officiated. The church Philoptochos Society made traditional koliva for us. 
The cups on the table were left after koliva was served to the ~50 people that came to the memorial. A
 picnic celebration memorial of my brother's life is being planned for warmer months at his favorite Madison park.

 

Home Town

Home Town Thoughts
by John-Brian Paprock

Until recently, I had no hometown. I realized recently that I always felt like a visitor, and not always a welcomed visitor. Now I understand some of this was an attempt to deal with a childhood of constant change and trauma.

By the time we arrived in Madison, Wisconsin, when I was 11 years old, we had lived in four states, two countries, five metropolitan areas, 14 addresses - and have been to 10 different schools. I guess the large metropolitan areas of Mexico City, Los Angeles, Chicago, Las Vegas, and San Francisco all had an impact in my life, but Chicago and Los Angeles had the greatest. I lived most of my life in Madison - over 40 years.

Locations in Madison where I lived as a pre-teen and teenager in the 1970s. All the buildings were still standing in 2014. 

As a young adult, I chose to live in New York City, a profound experience that was the only time as an adult that I had lived away from Madison, Wisconsin, until I moved to Minneapolis in 2014.

Places in and around Madison where I lived as a young adult into 2013.

 

It is a profound sense of stability, even though I moved from Madison, it remains my hometown with all the memories, the ups and downs, the special nooks and crannies, that make a hometown different from any other place on the planet. I am grateful for my hometown - all the lessons and all the blessings that have contributed to the man I am today.  God bless Madison, Wisconsin.

I Don’t Want To Be A Bitter Old Man: A Reflection on Modern Aging



Paprock Photography 2015

I Don’t Want To Be A Bitter Old Man: A Reflection on Modern Aging

by John-Brian Paprock

 

I don’t want to be a bitter old man or one slumped over in despair or shuffling in the fog of disappointment and regret. Yet, I have felt fragile and vulnerable more as a middle aged man than I have as a young adult. Back then I could take risks without contemplating the consequences or cringing at physical limitations, even though there were consequences and there were limitations. 

I have felt the dull shadow of death approaching as I grow older – and I wonder what I am afraid of.  I have lived half my life (I hope) without such angst. When I was younger, I felt the angst of being too young and without experience. Now, my angst is more about not seeing that what I have done has lasting value, not being able to tell what will I leave behind, and not being able to predict  my final years.  Will I be surrounded by loved ones or abandoned? Will I be forgotten even before I have left his world? Will I be impotent in the physical limitations of disease and old age?

In me there is such a strong desire to be alive until the day I must give my breathing.  Yet, I have witnessed so much neglect and abuse, so much disease and fragility among those that have reached old age before me.  At the same time, I know there are those that seem to defy this despairing and whimpering weakness to which I am admitting.

A friend is fond of reminding me that it is only today that we have to live. In today, there is always opportunity. I agree whole-heartedly agree, yet I squander hours in a melancholy daze of “what if’s” without feeling that I have any further chances to fulfill my life purpose.

Another friend reminds me of how much I have to live for by reminding me of what I have already accomplished in this life: helping others, benefitting society, my profession, projects finished and service fulfilled.  Yet, I have the nagging sensation that I have nothing, that none of that really matters.

A mentor of mine recently asked me to recollect what was going on in my life thirty years ago.  I recalled a bold young man that had moved to New York City to study and serve the community where he lived.  That mentor then asked if I could recall twenty years ago. I remembered a young father serving the Midwestern community where he lived with courage and innovation. I recalled fatherhood and leadership roles.  My mentor then asked if could recall ten years ago. And again, I could see that man, now entering middle age, serving the church and community in which he lived.  He then encouraged me to consider the decades yet ahead, asking me to think about the number of times I lost track of time while doing what was true to my heart in the decades past. I resisted acknowledgment of his wisdom.

Sometimes the sadness of my life is overwhelming and my periods of self-exile from the world preferable to the demands of my own egoistic impulses that are driven by lack of confidence in the face of social interaction.  I still feel like a bumbling 7^th grader or eager-to-be-accepted 4^th grader, not sure of my footing, not clear of my social standing. I walk out among my fellow humans often feeling naked, embarrassed without reason or cause, already sensitive and sore, bruised and vulnerable.

As a child, I was abused, bullied, sullied and humiliated. I was neglected, impoverished and ignored, damaged.  I was afforded a few adults and fellow children who encouraged me, stood up for me, asked of me one thing above all others, “Take the high road.” I had adults pray for me from distances that confounded me. God and His angels were there as I slogged through a painful childhood, bringing joys of the created world and thrills of creativity into my life.  Despite adult accolades in my youth and opportunities created by strangers and teachers, I would end up with dust in my mouth from a sudden fall to the ground due a certain naiveté, a lack of confidence, fears of the intention of others, my emotional need to be accepted.  This continued into my adulthood.  With every fall,  a more determined effort to get up again. In my youth, I had a grit and determination that neared foolishness.  In my middle age, getting up again seems much harder than ever before.

Perhaps it is the death of my parents, separated by nine years, which brings a sense of futility to surface, even though hereditary and emotional flaws may have origin in generations before them. Maybe I miss the better side of each of them, where I had occasional endorsement and encouragement for my talents and abilities. Regardless of the psychological and hereditary baggage that I carry for them and because of them, I genuinely miss them.  The loss has had a profound impact on my aging. I am an orphan adult. I grew up not trusting adults would be available when I was overwhelmed, but hoping they would. There is still a part of me waiting for a trustworthy adult, even though I have been fortunate enough to meet many of them. It is hard to admit that, as an adult, I too have failed myself. 

Maybe I set my goals too high. Throughout my life, it seemed possible that anyone could be a millionaire, rich and famous.  As I have gotten older, it seems less and less likely.  It even seems possible that I will end up in some institutional nursing facility, divested of my belongings, limited by rules intended for my safety and the frailty of old age; so easily forgotten by youth. 

Yet, in the midst of my angst and anxiety, my depression and fear, my lifetime syndromes and chronic health complications, my aches and pains of all sorts, there is the light of eternity stretching forth to meet me. When I am able to focus on that light, all the dark and creepy things seem to fade as though covered in a dense fog.  There seem to be two main contributing inward connections to that light. One relaxes the heart, the other relaxes the mind. In that relaxation, there is a peace – sometimes fleeting across the horizon;  however momentary, that peace is real.

The relaxation of my heart comes when I give loving attention and show compassion. It doesn’t seem to matter where I direct that love nor does it seem to matter if the other responds, as long it is genuinely felt by me.  Whether towards God in prayer and worship, towards a loved one in caring interaction, towards animals, plants, even insects, the appreciation of those  outside myself and beyond myself can bring me to a forever place and connect me to the light. This requires cultivating gentleness and compassion, forgiveness and selflessness – often difficult in this modern age of such ruthless individuality and sectarianism.

The relaxation of my mind comes when I let go of agendas and expectations, accept what is and what was, and allow my thoughts and sensations to be free in the experience of the present moment.  The present moment is that constant reality that ties that past to the future. It is where all decisions are made. It is a place where divinity can be felt and eternity can be known.  When I am present and available to life, I am living in the moment that is here and now. I am aware of my surroundings and I am able to access my uniqueness. I belong to the present moment always. I do not have to force myself to belong, to fit in. This is the place and time where my dreams and visions meet the awesomeness of reality. This is the place and time where prophecy is understood. It is the stepping off point for the rest of the journey and it is the forever place of the journey. As the saying goes, wherever you go there you are. 

In this relaxed mind and heart, I do not need to know the details of the future to be safe. I am comforted in my place in the created universe. I am unstressed about the timeline of my life, I can reflect on the details of my past without becoming enmeshed in the morass of shortcomings and short-falls. I can smile genuine smiles. I can love genuine love. I can be older.

 

Monumental Creativity

There is no question that I have been blessed by being in the presence of places of ancient sacredness whose spirituality seeps through the decades and centuries to the present.  There are some places that have an enigmatic circumstance in their creation.  Such are some of the large architectual and artistic landmarks.  They are intricate collections of stone arranged in a unique pattern that is also completely understood to be directed by human will. 

There are ruins of archeological significance that capture the imagination, like the pyramids of Egypt and Mexico or ancient cities abandoned long ago or just left over puzzles that has yet to be solved. These are not like skyscrapers or the modern giant shopping malls or warehouse grocery stores.

The first picture is one such place in Wisconsin. 

Bird Rock Effigy - Hager City, Wisconsin

Then these places of monumental art that have a particular spiritual quality to them. The builders have been individuals at the edge of their communities. Called crazy by some, eccentric by others, these builders and visionaries have been described honestly with all their quirkiness. The description could even be on the autistic by modern diagnostic standards. The places they have left us endure, complete with a certain intimacy that intrigue and baffle those that study them and write of their history. The explanations for building seem to be as distinct and different as the unique individuals who put extraordinary amounts of time, energy and resources into their creations.  At the same time, there is a similarity of form and structure.  There is no evidence these men even knew each other.  

[words, photographs and collages by John-Brian Paprock, all rights reserved]

Petrified Forest Monument Park in South Dakota

Holy Family Grotto in Wisconsin

Rudolph, Wisconsin

Holy Ghost park and shrine in Dickeyville, Wisconsin

Holy Ghost park and shrine in Dickeyville, Wisconsin

Holy Ghost park and shrine in Dickeyville, Wisconsin

Watts Towers in Los Angeles

Serendipity Art

Serendipity means a "happy accident" or "pleasant surprise"; specifically, the accident of finding something good or useful without looking for it, according to Wikipedia. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Serendipity

Serendipity Art is art that you find when you were not looking for art. It is like finding a gem glistening in a damp cave or along a shallow river bank.  One is at once elated, excited and quietly looking around to see if anyone else noticed it as well. 

One such place of Serendipity Art is at the Atkinson Library (location: 1960 W. Atkinson Ave., Milwaukee, WI 53209 (414) 286-3000 ). It opened in January 1961 as the first in a 10-year program to provide large regional libraries spread throughout the City of Milwaukee. The beauty of the building's unique architecture, highlighted by a beamed, cathedral vaulted ceiling, woodwork and modern stained glass windows, was enhanced by a renovation project in the spring of 1994. 

The branch manager of the library was quoted at the library's 50th anniversary:  "Atkinson Library has a strong African-American collection, excellent career and small business materials, engaging programs for all ages and 26 computers with Internet access. The vaulted ceilings, many windows and woodwork make the library an inviting place to gather." (Brian Williams-VanKlooster in a celebratory hand-out at the library.)

But this is only the ambience that allows one to find Seredipity Art. Two stunning sculptures - one inside, the other outside - capture the essence of serendipity art. Both were done by local Milwaukee artists according to library staff, but preliminary research did not reveal names either. Perhaps, it is art of local angels.

The first piece is called "Four Frredoms" and the library staff had a handout that described the symbolism of the piece.

FOUR FREEDOMS SCULPTURE

(written anonymously for the library semi-centennial to explain the sculpture)

An abstract sculpture. Each metal represents a different kind of freedom.

FREEDOM FROM WANT includes ornaments of the sun, half hidden by a rain cloud, the germinating seed, sheaf of grain, open book, flash of energy and five loaves and two fishes.

FREEDOM OF RELIGION consists of basic symbols of the six major religions (Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Judaism, Hinduism, and Confucianism)>

FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION is ornamented with a flying unicorn, a pajam-clad child with a book flying carpet, a ship at sea, a tree, and a flame of light.

FREEDOM FROM FEAR includes a brutalized figure of a man, armed with a club and rock emerging from an atomic explosion mushroom cloud.

Also depicted is a broken heart, finger of scorn, the prying eye, the lying tongue, fist and shackle, a listening ear and skull of death.

* * *

The second piece is a beautiful contemporary ethnic sculptured head that has no name. It stands in the middle of the library as a wondrous sentinel.
 

I was told that an anonymous neighborhood sculptor donated this piece to guard the library's extensive collection of African-American history - and so it does.

Serendipity Art can bring us into a location where we can be blessed with beauty and opportunity to know more about our fellow humans.

Look for Serendipity Art to lead you by your heart to places you will find insight and blessing. Sometimes, it will be found in the most unlikely of places.

A Story of Very Small Bear

[Note: A Story of Very Small Bear is a fictionalized account of real events by John-Brian Paprock. Just thought you should know...]

Not every toy and stuffed animal bought has the wondrous journey of the Velveteen Rabbit, although they all aspire to loved that much. Usually, reaching the high state of being loved and becoming real is reserved for the stuffed animals of children who must outgrow their beloved, yet will always cherish the memories of comfort afforded their youth. Even then, it is becoming more and more difficult for toys and stuffed animals to compete with video games and the Internet.  They are discarded sooner, before they can be loved enough to overcome the inanimate state in which they were created.

Occasionally, there are rare exceptions of the service of such comforting angels who come in the form of stuffed animals and become loved in such abundance that the length of time has little to do with the miraculous reality of protecting those that feel vulnerable or sickly. And it is no longer a precondition that the benefit only be available to the young, but to anyone of any age, if their need is sufficient.

This is a story of one lucky bear who happened to made at the right time and was displayed on the right shelf at the right angle to catch the attention of a hurried husband concerned for his wife's condition.

The bear wasn't particularly unique, being among many of his own ilk, except his eyes. His glistening deep blue plastic eyes sparkled real, or at least as real glass. Those blue eyes were sewn in such a compassionate expression it made the stitching of his embroidered smile seem equally compassionate. The husband, although hurried, was surprised how much the compassion expressed by a stuffed animal caught his attention.  He looked through the other small white bears gathered on the shelf (and even the shelf below). None of them had the compassion and earnestness of this special bear. 

As the husband carried the bear, he noticed that the bear had a hybrid stuffing that was sort-of beanie-baby type stuff and fluffy stuff.  His white fur was plush and soft. The husband found himself petting the bear's head as he stood in line at the store. He glanced around to see if anyone noticed and then, with some embarrassment, glanced down at the bear who seemed to be staring back at him knowingly, and with a compassion that made the husband less embarrassed and even a bit comforted.

"She will love this bear," he thought as he checked out and walked to the car. He glanced into the bag to see where the bear was among the groceries. On the right, next to a bunch of bananas and a bottle of ibuprofen sat the bear, smiling back at the husband as though he could hear the loving thoughts and feel the loving intentions.

 He arrived home, turning the kitchen light on with his elbow as he brought the bag of groceries and placed the bag on the counter.

"Is that you?" The inquiry came from the bedroom.

"Yes. It's me, sweetie. I got something special for you."

"Did you get milk?" He turned around and there she was in her pink bathrobe, grabbing the edge of the bag to peek. The all of the sudden she squealed (well, there may be more dignified words for the sound she made, but she did squeal).

"Awwww. He's so cute!" she said as she carefully pulled a small white furry animal from the bag. The bear was ecstatic for he knew he was made for her.  She delightfully and carefully placed in the palm of her hand so that he sat up as he did on the store shelf.  She stared into his face with such a smile. Her husband recognized her joy bubbling up as she began to giggle.

"Oh my, look at his eyes!" she exclaimed in a whisper as she stroked his fur around his ears with one finger. "They are so blue; almost as blue as yours, sweetie! Thank you!"  She turned and gave her husband a big hug and kissed him on the neck. He blushed a bit and giggled.

"I knew it as soon as I saw him," he said in a self-congratulatory manner. His smile was almost as big as hers.  The bear was inwardly at peace and immediately felt love for these humans. As she hugged her husband, she looked over his shoulder at the bear in her hand.

"He's perfect; just the right size. He is very small, but he is the exact size. He fits into my hand perfectly," she said with adoration as she closed her hand around the bear, softly. The bear let out an inward sigh that the humans could not hear. He felt completely safe and completely loved.

"Do you think the others will be jealous?" her husband asked jokingly, but this was a serious question to his wife.

"I don't think so," she said with a frown on her face. But as she brought the bear to her face for a close up view of his face, she shook her head.  "They will all love him. He's so cute and so full of love. He'll fit right in."

She ran back to the bedroom and introduced the bear to the other stuffed animals on the bed. Basil Bear was a new year bear 1998 and he was the elder of the bed.  There was Zachariah, a beanie-baby type lamb that comforted the wife through a major depression. And Purple Distressed Bear, who always helped when there was a lot of anxiety. And Yellow Bunny, whose name always seemed to be on the tip on the tongue and would always be remembered later. And Flower, a new bunny with pink ears with a flower embroidered on her belly. And a bedtime Topo Gigio, who only said the Lord's Prayer in Italian when his belly was pressed.

"And this is, um, well, this is Very Small Bear," she said as an introduction as she held her hand open palmed with the white bear to entire bed crew.  Her husband chuckled into his hand from the door. He was very happy that this small token of affection had brought so much joy. All of the sudden, she said, "I am so very tired."

"Is there anything I can get you?"

"No, please come to bed," she said as she curled into her side of the bed. The bed crew of animals at her head and neck in the middle. She held Very Small Bear in her hand. On her side, she looked at him closely, petting his head, staring at the compassionate expression and the sparkling blue eyes.  She sighed.  Her husband came over and helped her take off the robe and get tucked in.  She never let go of Very Small Bear. Looking into his face again and smashing their noses together, her husband could hear her giggle as she said, "You ARE a Very Small Bear."

He went to gather his books and the daily puzzle, go to the restroom and undress, so that he could lie next to his wife.  By the time he arrived at the bed, his wife was already asleep. It was not her fault she was so sleepy. The medicine made her very tired. She seemed to suffer so when she was awake. It was good that the medicine helped her sleep, he thought as he kissed her on the cheek and said softly, "Good night, my sweet wife."

She smiled but did not wake up. He notice that her hand was completely relaxed and yet Very Small Bear lay perfectly in her hand against her fingers with his head poking out.  It was almost as though he winked at the husband to reassure him that she would be fine; that all the love he felt for her was held in this very small soft furry stuffed animal body and, while in her hand, a transference of security, comfort, support and warmth flowed into her heart and melted away all illness, all pain in both of them.  The husband laid back, turned on his light and opened his book. Evey so often, he would glance over at Very Small Bear who joyfully continued his work through the night.

The amount of love Very Small Bear was almost too much to hold within his very small body. At one point, during the night, the wife's hand loosened enough, so that, when she turned, he fell to the floor.  He found himself quite animated, able to walk around.  He began to explore the area next to the bed, looking up at the wife and wondering how he was going to get back into her hand. 

The other animals of the bed, came to the edge and leaned over.  They had all sorts of questions, but none of them offered to help him back up to the bed. Finally, he asked directly for some help and they devised a way of reaching him with blankets and pillows cases and a few arms and legs. Topo Gigio said the Lord's Prayer in Italian, mostly because the wife grabbed him while she was sleeping. 

All of the sudden, she woke up, disrupting the bed crew's rescue plans. She ran into the bathroom. With the sound of the flushing toilet, she slowly walked back to the bed. She stopped abruptly and looked at her hands in the hallway light streaming into the bedroom.  "Where is Very Small Bear?"

She was distressed and began to look, calling for him, "Very Small Bear. Very Small Bear. Where are you?"

Her husband woke up and asked, "What's going on?"

"I can't find Very Small Bear," she said almost tearfully. And he began to look as well.  Just as he was reaching for the main light, she exclaimed "There you are! Don't wander too far away when you are on the floor. Remember, after all, you are a very small bear."

She pat him on the head and held him close to her. "Did she know?" thought Very Small Bear, but it really didn't matter. 

Very Small Bear felt he had found his purpose because of the ease of comfort he felt as she wrapped her fingers loosely around him. She kissed him on the head, curled back up on her side of the bed, and then quickly sat up. She leaned toward her husband and reached her empty hand for him.

"Thank you, my swee', so very much for the love of Very Small Bear. He fits perfectly and comfortably in my hand. It's like he was made for me. My heart feels better with him here. Thank you." She leaned over and kissed her husband.

He smiled and said softly, "Good night, my love, and good night, Very Small Bear."



the author sound asleep with the bed crew friends of Very Small Bear

some of the bed crew animals

  



a real very small bear
photo of baby polar bear
source: Facebook unknown

Remembering Earth Day

The first Earth Day was established in 1970 by Wisconsin statesman Gaylord Nelson.  I was nine years old, but I already understood the natural world was a treasure that was freely accessible and glorious to behold.

photo by JBP c 2000

Some of my earliest memories are: shifting through the grass with my hand, following the ants and other small bugs crawling through the thatchwork at the base of the lawn; putting my face into red flower; playing with the garden snails after the Southern California rain brought them out in droves, giggling as they reacted to touch and breath; looking in Pacific tide pools filled with wondous diversity affected by every wave.

From the forest to the desert, from the ocean to the lakes, to the rivers, to the mountains, to the caves, I am truly blessed to live in a land rich in diverse natural beauty and a country with a rich history of those who care enough to help the future generations experience the same awe and wonder of nature.

It is in this love of God's creation that my love of photography emerges and extends to the interface of human creations and natural wonders, to the purely human creative urge from which all forms of art and expression find their beginnings and fruition.

But we have found out, after the industrial revolution of the 19th and early 20th Centuries, that our creative ability can have a devastating and polluting effect, poisoning the very elements of the natural and living world we need for any quality of human existence.  By the mid-20th Century, the damage we can inflict became painfully obvious to those who followed in the footsteps of John Muir and Teddy Roosevelt. The loss of the passenger pigeon through excessive hunting became a poignant example, among a growing supply of examples, that rang an alarm of an inter-connected and inter-dependent dying that would lead to our own human destruction.

Earth Day emerged as a single day every year for the remembrance of the beauty of creation and a call to action for every human being.

Litter and trash thrown along the roads and walkways, choked the scenic beauty of even the most rural parts of America, the Beautiful.  I remember the early Earth Day "celebrations" as days for picking up litter and trash. Now we have whole municipalities, states and nations dedicated to recycling as much as possible. In most places in America, there are laws that prohibit littering and encourage recycling.

In the 21st Century, the beauty and awesomeness of the natural world can be found in the densest of urban communities where parks and trees are demanded by citizens for quality of life. It can be found in the great expanses and wondrous scenic opportunities of national and state parks. Their protection and accessibility paid for by citizens through taxes, and encouraged by a clear conscience of voters, ensuring future generations and future centuries can bear witness to the natural world as we can today, one of the many Earth Days worth remembering.

photo by JBP c 2012

+ + +

For more information about Earth Day:
Earth Day: The History of A Movement
http://www.earthday.org/earth-day-history-movement
 
Some of Wisconsin heroes have been given special recognition:
Wisconsin Conservation Hall of Fame
http://wchf.org/
Over 70 Hall of Fame Inductees: Wisconsin has historically pioneered new concepts and ideas. A number of progressive steps toward the conservation of natural resources have originated in Wisconsin, including: the first rural zoning law in the U.S., the first pilot soil conservation demonstration project in the U.S., the first general conservation curriculum, and the first bond issue for outdoor recreation.

Good Bye Cantebury Love

I remember the moment
I knew I loved you.
It was a moment that I did not capture in a photograph, but it is indelibly etched into my heart; such precious spiritual moments are rare enough.
 
Cantebury's Coffeeshop was fairly busy that day. The sun streamed into windows. I sat with my coffee, blowing off the steam. As I blew, you sat down across from me.  You were telling me something significant at the time, but I do not remember your words.  The noise of the store became a background hum as the piped Renaissance music lilted through the air.  

I remember,
inadvertantly,
you tossed your hair
as you crossed your legs and
sipped your hot Chai tea.

I was,
at that moment,
completely smitten. 

Instead of an acquaintance that was becoming a good friend, you glistened like a pearl of great price, sparkled like a precious gem on some routine jewelry that when noticed consumes the attention so that everything else fades into the background.

Its beauty only glows and grows,
until it becomes the source
of light in any room.




Everytime I sat across from you,
for the years that followed,
I smiled
(if you take the time to remember every time, you will see my smile).

I smiled
as I saw that same pearl and gem
shining
through your eyes
from your heart.

I attempted to get a photograph of that glow, that dazzling charm, that enticing and spiritual light. Several times, I almost caught it.

I always knew you were a gift to my lonely life and a companion for my journey. 

You had to leave for a while

shortly after that Cantebury afternoon.

When you returned, I knew I could not give you much,

but I did promise my heart and an adventure.

And years later, I am still smitten by 
that glistening pearl and
sparkling gem of your heart

that you were

that you are

that you will always be

to me.

I love you and will always love you

~o~

You no longer sit across from me

I will miss being in the presence of that Cantebury love

but the memory of that love

I discovered that afternoon

will endure

(photos and words by JBP April 5, 2012)