I don’t know why it is so hard to get rid of old letters–some decades old. Some memories I don’t want to delve in any longer yet I save the faded correspondence. Cards with nothing notable on them I trash easily. Some letters from my sister I wonder about. The memories seem so far away. Some are bad, some are good. Once in awhile a photo drops out of the letter and the passage of time is revealed. Was I really that young once? I have grown old. I don’t want to to rid myself entirely of past memories. Friends and lovers.

And I know when I am gone someone else will probably trash them. I just can’t bear to throw away most of my letters. Part of my life is embodied in those letters. It is so hard–patches of my history, my life is everywhere. Dates are sometimes important: they mark milestones of my past. I am always surprised how porous my memory is. Friends wrote me letters I have long forgotten. I do toss some. People have fled in the corridors of my mind. It is so hard. Clues of my history, my life is everywhere.

Things really do not make you happy.  They really don’t.  The only thing that does is love.  The people who are in your life whom you love.  I just came back from NYC where I met my sister and her husband briefly.  We went to an outstanding art museum (and NY is full of them).  First we had lunch or should I say brunch in an outstanding bagel shop.  I had something that is almost impossible to get in Pa–a good salt bagel.  I had come a long distance on Amtrak for this rendezvous to spend some time with my family or at least part of my family.  Then we walked around and viewed art in a nearby museum.  I was amazed how quickly I became tired.  After an hour and an half we sat and ate at the restaurant in the museum.  It was more to rest than to eat.  I was glad to see my sister and her husband.  They were in from California.  My family this year threw me a birthday party.  I can’t remember the last one thrown by my family.  It was my sister’s idea.  I did see the rest of my family that day at least my other sister and her husband.  I no longer remember whether my nephew was there and his wife.  I think they were.  It was a perfect day.  I will not forget it for awhile.  I did see my nephew (and his wife) on this trip to NY.  The train ride was fun.

My birthday was actually two weeks long this year.  My sisters (and their husbands) threw me a birthday bash at a beautiful restaurant with the Susquehanna River in the background. My sister in California arranged her itinerary (she and her husband were going to Spain) to be there.  The last time were were all together was two summers ago although this time my nephew and wife were there.  We were a party of thirteen.  I also invited some friends.  The weather was perfect (we ate on the deck of the restaurant) and so was the food.  We were commemorating my sixty-fifth birthday.  My one sister made the same cake my Mom used to make for our birthdays.  She went to a lot of trouble for me.  I don’t have many relatives but they are scattered from Shore to Shore.  Maybe if I make it we will have a seventieth birthday party.  We will see.

Somehow I felt relieved after both of my parents died.  I could be my own person easier.  They were not telling me I did not match up any longer or something I was doing wasn’t right.  My father never told me exactly how I did not match up.  I just knew I didn’t.  I had gotten into debt and that was a cardinal sin and I did not make much money.  That is what he was impressed by–money.  Nothing I did.  Mom was overly concerned about appearances.  Looking right to the rest of the world.  I did not have to deal with any of that any longer.  They were not looking over my shoulders any longer.  I was just relieved.

How can you be “real” with your own “blood”–in this case my younger sister who does call me periodically?  She called yesterday and I was extremely aware how superficial the conversation was.  I asked my wife about that and her suggestion was to listen better.  I think my sister has been on my blog periodically although she has never commented on one.  In my blogs I write about my present concerns and observations.  It is who I am.  All she has to do is read it regularly.  It is not that I am that prolific a writer.  Most of the blogs are short.  There is a reason I call my blog “Siggy’s Blurbs”.

I have another sister who I believe is stressed out with the responsibility of maintaining two households with almost no help from her husband.  I could see why she might not have too much time although she is very prompt returning E Mails.  There is part of me that resents that they won’t take the time to read my blogs.  It is what is important to me at the time.  I don’t know why it is so hard communicating with someone you have known your whole life.  Maybe, there is just too much baggage accumulated over the years and it is very difficult breaking through that and truly being genuine with each other.

Tomorrow I will see my sister and her husband.  It will only be over a quick meal.  What is unusual about it is it will be in New Orleans–a place neither of us have been before.  It is plain serendipity.  We will meet in New Orleans proper.  For an hour and half at the most.  Then my friend will take me to the airport at Gulfport.  An hour and half is only a kernel of sand in this vast universe yet it is our time.  And time can be so fleeting.  Last year it was Easton, Pa we met for a few hours and that visit included my other sister and my wife.  You never know for sure when it will be the last time.  Each moment has to be savored and treasured.

It is by grace I am here.  Alive and well.  I knew too many who did not make it back.  They became lost in the labyrinth of their minds.  And did not find their way back.  I did.  I knew many swallowed by the “system”.  After awhile it no longer mattered why they were there.  The damage was done by the caretakers.  My family could have easily given up one me.  There were points in my life where my situation seemed hopeless.  It is only by grace I am here–only by the grace of God.  I am a walking “miracle”.

I don’t know whether I will live that long:  the mattress we just bought is guaranteed for twenty years.  Frankly I don’t know if I will outlive the mattress.  In another twenty years I will be eighty-three.  I know my family is long-lived.  My Dad lived 91 years and my Mom was over 81 when she died.  Nevertheless I am not sure I will make it that long.  It gets me thinking, that is all.  I need to focus on the time allotted to me.  One never knows when one’s times runs out.

How many more opportunities will I have to see my sisters?  We are meeting them both at the PA and NJ border.  My one sister now lives in California and comes East maybe once a year.  My other sister has a second home in Plymouth.  We used to always go to her house for Thanksgiving in NJ once a year.  Now she has it in Plymouth and that is just too far from us.  I just wonder how many more opportunities will I have to see them together.  We never know how much time we have so all I can do is enjoy the time He gives me.  It is really not up to me.  Time is a gift.  And we never know when it runs out.

Can you separate religion and morality from politics? I don’t think so. Every action a politician makes or thinks about reflects some kind of value. You have to be driven by something.

Nothing you do or say is (???) can be done in a vacuum so trying to say you can is impossible. There are politics in every sphere of life—government, the church, the family and education.

It is impossible to say you can do something without reflecting some kind of value so telling a politician you have to separate religion and your deepest values from the actions you make or say is impossible.

Religion and morality can not be separated they are intertwined in a person’s character. No one acts in a void.

Why do we care so much about things?!  You can not take your material possessions with you when your time comes.  It says in the Bible ‘from dust you come and to dust you shall return’.

I am as guilty as anyone of this.  My music, my writings and journals and books are far too important to me.  Yet when my appointed hour comes, I can no longer hang on to any of these things.

Why do we act as if we can take our possessions with us when we die?  We try up till the last moment to retain some control of our most valuable possessions.  We make wills.

The fact still remains we can’t take them with us.  Wouldn’t it make more sense to invest in the things that really have more lasting effects?  Wouldn’t it make more sense to invest time while you are on earth in relationships–your immediate family, your friends, your kids?

Once you are gone all people have are their memories of you, the love and care you have demonstrated toward them.  You can have far reaching effects if you have invested time and love in others while you were on this earth.  People you have loved have memories of you long after you are gone.

Far too many people do not invest time in others.  They spend their whole life in accumulating things.  No one remembers how hard you worked in your lifetime.  They remember the love you have demonstrated toward them.  So before it is too late, do something about it.  Examine your priorities.  You have one life.

Funerals are for the living. I am going to my Aunt Gerda’s funeral tomorrow.  I have known this aunt since I was this little.  My two sisters and my nephew and niece will be there.

My aunt lived until the ripe old age of 92.  No one lives forever yet others act as though death is an abomination and something terrible.  It says clearly in the Bible that from dust we come and to dust we shall return.

Funerals are really for the living.

It gives others, especially those people who were invested in that person’s life, a chance to process their grieving openly in a group setting.

Persons who died do not need the funeral except for the obvious reasons.  It is others–the living-who need the funeral.  So I will think about these things as I go to the funeral.

I grew up with my aunt and she was my favorite aunt.  Her death is still too fresh.  It is hard to fathom my loss.  That will take time.  Attending her funeral will start this process of grieving.