Writings of Constance Ore ( 1937 – 2010 )

Sanctuary is a study in landscape beauty with color, calm skies and a smattering of cottonwood seeds floating past. The vivid purple Dame’s Rockets are blooming in all those spaces where the plant determined to stop and spend the season. Since this behavior is so out of the control of human intentions, there are mutterings about naming it a “noxious species”. Fortunately, there are other, more pressing matters for those in charge of such things, so I am optimistic that these wonderful “look at me!” wild flowers are safe for several more springtimes.

Charles is spending several hours each day re-potting his huge collection of orchid plants. He shakes off the old potting bark, snips parts of the roots that have gone astray, rinses and washes the rest, then places it into a mix of fresh bark, sphagnum moss and perlite. The formula is devised to keep moisture and air beautifully balanced around the roots so they in turn will grow and make plans for next fall and winter’s outstanding displays. I have become accustomed to living in a house where flowers are in every room and in this, my spaces rival the finest palaces anywhere.

The last days have been hard, with foods morphing right under my nose from remembered spring delicacies to harsh and inedible things. The last awful part is that one has to eat something or become increasingly weak; so I grimly consume foods no matter what the taste or lack of it, knowing that in a few hours, my digestive system will reward me with stomach cramps and bloating. I feel trapped and sick; We have visited with the medical community and researched on the Internet for ways to deal with lack of appetite, taste changes, etc., and so far, we have not found a satisfactory answer. This is hardest on the spirit since there will not be a lovely change for the better in how life continues in earth time. I will be able to get some more red blood transfusions and it is likely that I will pursue that venue soon for an energy boost, but meanwhile, my prayers have become a mantra of simple words – “Please God, help me”. There was a time in the past when I felt compelled to add instructions, but in these days, I have come to realize that less is more.

This day is like tepid water flowing between the fingers and off the hand. . .it is grey and still and uncommonly cool for the season. I stayed in front of the great room windows for a longer than usual time, and the reward was watching a pair of deer moving leisurely down the path toward the house, grazing as they came. We have powerful binoculars on a tripod at those windows, and I was able to see the deer as though I were just a few feet away. These are beautiful creatures on which the burden of wildness falls heavily – this year the Nebraska legislature spent a good deal of time discussing how to control their numbers because they appear to be trampling out civilization as we now know it. This morning’s pair was more like animation added to a beautifully detailed tapestry.

The bird feeders also provided several “worthy seed moments” (these are the times when one says with satisfaction “it’s worth it” in reference to large cash outlays for pounds and pounds of sunflower seeds and the like) A wildly colored lazuli bunting accompanied the indigo bunting as they all stopped to fill up before moving on to their breeding grounds.

Graduations, concerts and weddings are beginning to define the rest of May. Last weekend, for Concordia’s ceremonies, Charles put on his wonderful academic apparel and as we carefully hooked the stole in place, and placed the soft hat with the golden tassel “just so” I thought about the meanings of this splendid garment through the long past; surely at other times and places it signified a grandeur far distant from the ritual uses of 2010.

I remain caught in a cycle that is without a proper solution – I must eat for energy, therefore I must generate some appetite. The various medications have taken the bitter edge off many of the foods, so I have been able to eat. However, the intestinal system is not pleased with anything solid, and therefore any satisfaction about eating is erased by the misery following. At present, it is the liquid diet stuff that keeps me going, and its finest redeeming trait is that you can get the labels off the little plastic containers and make very nice “shakers” for the Vacation Bible school at First Church. Stay tuned.

Everything seems beautiful this spring – the colors are vivid, the temperature is perfect, and we know we must enjoy everything while it is in place. In a week’s time, a hot and dusty ambiance could easily arrive and stay on for many days. Meanwhile, we plant the garden, consigning the seeds to the earth with the promise that this year, we really will weed, water, and protect that which comes up. Gardens are just naturally hopeful.

The latest challenge that has arisen because of the disease is a curious and unpleasant change in taste. For example, one eats a strawberry. It tastes bitter with not even a molecule of the unique and lovely flavor present. At first, you don’t believe what has just happened, so you try to eat another, and the same thing happens again. Then you try bland, or sweet, sour, or salty foods. Most are bitter and do not even indicate what food they are. The meds given to encourage the appetite have helped a little, because some foods taste like nothing at all, and I can tolerate eating them. It is a nasty loss because food has always called to me, and cooking has been a true pleasure. As we have begun to research this development, the Internet indicates that this is a common thing for people with cancer or AIDS. There are lots of ideas about how to deal, or at least how to keep from losing weight because eating is no longer a happy event. I am able to drink Ensure and that in turn gives me energy. I continue to make meals for Charles though that has become less of a delight because my usual approach of seasoning by tasting is no longer functioning.

So life goes on – this week, instead of thinking “Cinco de Mayo” or “Mother’s Day” perhaps I would encourage a “Taste Bud Appreciation Day” to encourage one and all to be thankful for this small bit of anatomy that can bring so much delight into the consumption of our daily bread.

We have just spent a weekend having a “Celebration of Life” centered around our fiftieth anniversary and giving thanks for the miracle of my own life continuing in spite of the many implied endings. The wonderful weekend left me totally spent – it takes lots of energy to have such a grand time. I wrote a piece entitled “Should you Ask” to read at the event, and it is printed below.

SHOULD YOU ASK. . .
As years have flown, I have sinned many times
There is much I need not mention
The guard that stood before my lips
was occasionally resting—not paying attention.

I spoke what I thought, no editor present
And what I thought was not always pleasant
But fine forgiveness wipes all away,
And now, no one cares about what I say
However. . .
Should you ask, I would advise:
Choose life with a musician.
True, there are many fine positions.
Electricians… physicians, beauticians,
dieticians, statiscians. . .
Yet. . .
The best is a musician.
You are always near a love song,
you will never give a thought
to life without music or iTunes not bought.
And then, should your musician
have a way with flowers
You’re well equipped to party
at any and all hours.

Should you ask, I would advise:
Cherish and admire your daughters and your sons,
if you are blessed with any or some
They astonish and delight
They frighten and amaze,
They beam bright light
Into otherwise dull days.
It’s the same with the grandchildren
when they arrive on earth,
You’re in the presence of perfection,
Genetic correction!
Words cannot express their inexpressible worth.

Should you ask, I would advise:
That friendships be made and honored thereafter.
These are the people
for prime time and laughter.
Who by their prayers and in their caring
lighten your load by their sharing.
They gladly stand guard
at the corners of your lives
when the way becomes difficult
and the lesser times arrive.

Life brings inevitable encounters with grief
and when they come, this is my belief.
One must look hard for any good thing –
a sunrise or bird’s nest, or a new song to sing.

Should you ask, I would advise:
An on-going conversation
with our God Father/Mother who keep us in hand.
Whose power and grace and ongoing creation
gives us our purpose and a firm place to stand.

It is with God’s presence we are begun
And in this Spirit we all are one.
It is in God’s presence we walk and we run.
We move through our days in the light of the Son.

When our lives end, and end they must,
(Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.)
Our God Father/Mother will fling wide the door
To eternity’s chambers, And then will say
“Welcome home my children, welcome home to stay.
Welcome home my children, welcome home.”