It’s a beautiful fall day in Massachusetts. My husband and I were in the voting line at 7. It was a short line; we were home by 7:20. For those of us who love silence, solitude and simplicity, it behooves us to lives this election day honoring that space where love resides. 
       This morning I will walk, write, and read; this afternoon I will sit with a friend in her back yard. We will not talk of politics, not because we disagree, but because we want to live our lives being positive, grateful, and hopeful. ​

​Last week a friend and I visited a mutual teacher friend, now living in an assisted living facility. We had made an appointment on-line and were greeted by two women who took our temperature and asked those usual Covid questions. The older woman was a nurse, the younger, a nurse in training. Both were incredibly kind. The nurse helped the trainee with the procedure of asking the questions, and then the trainee wheeled our friend out to the tent, helped her get comfortable, and at the end of the visit facilitated our saying goodbye. 
     As I drove away I felt deeply hopeful because I had witnessed this compassionate, caring young person whose had opened her heart to my friend. This young woman has chosen caring for others as her vocation. Let us be ready for the younger generation to show us a loving way. 

I wonder if anyone is playing April Fools’ jokes today? My hat goes off to that little imp who is putting plastic wrap on the toilet seat, pouring salt into the sugar bowl, or even telling someone that an ant is crawling up her let. I hope kids, young and old are letting a few laughs seep into their four, socially distanced walls. I hope somebody can because I believe that a joke is a sign of hope.  
     As a teacher I was elated when April 1st fell on a weekend. I’m not  a joking kind of person. I can never pull it off. I’m too serious. And in the classroom this seriousness could easily multiply. After all, we had important  work to do. Plus, there was the control issue. What if things really got out of hand? Hey, lighten up .
    I don’t like this about myself. Thank goodness I only think about it once a year on April 1st Nowadays every day feels like the weekend so even though today is a Wednesday, I let it go. There must be other was to demonstrate hope.

Here's a little history from Grammarly.com
 www.grammarly.com/blog/april-fools-day-explanation/

It started with Constantine, a Roman emperor in the fourth century. The rulers of that period entertained themselves and their guests with “fools,” court jesters proficient in music, storytelling, acrobatics, or other skills. One day, a comedian joked that he would make a better king than Constantine. The emperor called his bluff and crowned the entertainer “king for a day.” The first thing the jester did was institute mandatory merry-making. Each year afterward on the anniversary of the jester’s kingship, the inhabitants of Rome remembered to have a little bit of fun with each other through jokes and pranks.

I am sitting in the Angel Room watching the birds swoop from the trees to my kitchen window bird feeder. I have to believe they are a harbinger of hope during these poignant times. I believe that the way we respond will make a difference as this plays out, both immediately and in the future, in the micro and macro, and personal and globally I do my best to clear my mind of negative thoughts, open my heart to everyone,  and send positive energy. ​

​I’m feeling a little frustrated with my blog server. I add a picture, click ‘post’, and the wrong picture appears—a picture from a recent post, or from my other blog. Ah, you ask: you I have two blogs? Yes, this one, and www.aprayerdiary.net.
      Enough about my frustration of misplace photos, enough negativity, enough of the blame game. Hopefully, my blogs are positive, one about silence, solitude, and simplicity, the other about my faith journey.
     So, as you continue your day, which could be filled with frustration about the weather, the negative language by the president, blah blah blah, I hope you will stay positive and go out and do something for others, something that will bring peace to them and the world. AMEN

​    First of all, a update on the various components of my silent, solitude and simple life on this snowy Monday morning.
• Family is doing great: healthy, proactive, positive. I’m very grateful for this.
• Church is doing great. It is one of the most welcoming places I know.
• Friends. Some doing great, but not all. Regardless, they are trying to stay proactive, positive, and faithful as they deal with health and family issues.
 
     Secondly, a few headlines from my world of silence, solitude, and simplicity.
• I’m trying not to get drawn into everyday politics but I must admit it is a challenge not to turn on the T.V. and tune into what I call, ‘My Sources.’
• I give myself an A in reading. This year I’ve read 12 books; only 68 to go to meet my 2019 Goodreads Challenge of 80 books.
• The front room is clear of stuff we don’t want. If we ever decide to move, what’s left can be boxed up in a couple of hours.
• My upcoming trip in April to Italy with my daughter and granddaughter is competing for center stage with all the other good things in my life.
• Every morning I start my day naming five things for which I am grateful. The usual list, which I learned from my mom, holds steady: family, friends, health, life and faith. But there are always others. 

     I feel mysteriously calm about yesterday’s election results. No, not all of my candidates won, but enough did to make me think that democracy is still at work. It’s not the thinking that brought on the calm, but the realization that not everyone agrees with me, and that’s okay because good is prevailing. I feel hopeful.
     My words may sound trite and obvious, but my feelings aren’t. These feelings of relief, acceptance, compassion, and love for all human beings are hard to come by. They are deep and yet light. This morning they got me out for an early walk to appreciate the beauty and freedom of the moment. Very grateful, very hopeful. 

​During these contentious political times the words Richard Rohr posted last week prompted me to reflect on the tone of this blog and the underlying message I want to convey.
 
My hope, whenever I speak or write, is to help clear away the impediments to receiving, allowing, trusting, and participating in a foundational Love. 
 
     Yes, Richard Rohr, my hope and your hope are similar, but sometimes I think my posts are rather boring and self-involved. The two go together; boring because I don’t tell stories about other people, and self-involved because I only tell stories about myself.
        Thus I don’t let you know about the many friends I see in person, talk with on the phone, and keep up with over the internet. On this blog they are pretty much invisible, although their lives, with both joys and concerns, are blessings in helping me lead my life and write about silence, solitude, simplicity.
     It would be much easier to share my friends’ stories, and it would be much more interesting for you readers to hear a good story. But as you know, I work hard/struggle not to judge, gossip or speak at another’s expense-- impediments to Love.  
       Consequently, I’m left with one main character—me. My word choice is  self-involvement, but hopefully not self-promotion. I want to share my thoughts as I strive to receive, allow, trust, and participate in love. 
​

    Today, May 1, is a day of hope for my second cousin, Mark (age 55), who is having a kidney transplant. I usually don't talk about prayer on this blog, but today I'm breaking my rule.
       Please pray for Mark and his donor, and for Kyllee and the young boy who will be receiving the kidney that she is donating on May 2. 
This isn't a simple procedure; it simply give Mark life.
 
Here is what Mark wrote on Face Book
 
April 4, 2018: I already shared this on the kidney page, but thought I’d share here for people who aren’t connected to that.
We have a transplant date!
Well, two dates actually. Since we are not doing a direct donation (Kyllee to me) but rather a paired exchange (where we swap donors around so everybody gets the best match they can find), my surgery and Kyllee's won't be on the same day. My surgery will be on May 1, and hers will be May 2.
We are not told a whole lot about the rest of the exchange chain, but it must be at least 3 donor/recipient pairs. The kidney I will get will be coming from a 27 year old male who is doing his surgery at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. That's about an hour from here, so the kidney will be in transit only a short time, which is a good thing. So we're very excited to know that.
The real news, at least in my mind, is that Kyllee's recipient will be a 14 year old boy who will be at Cornell for his transplant. The fact that a kid will be able to benefit from this is really moving for me and for Kyllee.
In fact, the longer I've had to think about paired exchange donation, the more I'm convinced it's actually better for the world as a whole than direct donation. Obviously, if a direct donation works, then great. And I understand that some people feel more comfortable with knowing their recipient.
But it seems to me that, if the Kidney Registry is able to match us up with an uknown number of people in a chain, all in a couple of weeks, there must be a large number of mismatched donor/recipient pairs out there who are stuck, waiting only for someone to come along and start the chain that breaks them free. So I encourage everyone, the next time you know about someone who needs a kidney donor, to think about (and more importantly promote) the idea of paired exchange--of being the someone who becomes the key to saving several lives.
In our case, Kyllee was that someone, and now we know that at least one person in the chain is a young person with a long future yet to be decided, who now gets a shot at that future. To think about that kid (and all the other people in the chain and all their loved ones) who will be helped makes my struggles seem less like a burden and more like a gift. Though I could never donate a kidney for obvious reasons, the fact that I'm a part of this chain means that I get to feel at least a part of what that would be like.
So once again, thank you Kyllee for your generosity and selflessness. Thank you also to all our friends and family who have stood by us and encouraged us. And thank you universe for forcing me to reach out for help that is ultimately going to help others as well.
 
 
April 21, 2018 I went yesterday for pre-surgical testing and a meeting with the surgeon, and I thought I'd post a bit about what they're planning to do and what I can expect recovery-wise, for those who are interested. I don't expect I'll be doing a lot more posts on this page, seeing as I'll be getting my transplant done a week from Tuesday.
They are not only going to give me a new kidney, they are going to take the old ones out (this is not standard procedure). My kidneys are really big (imagine swallowing a couple of Nerf footballs) and riddled with cysts that sometimes burst and cause me a lot of pain. Getting rid of them will get rid of the gut that I have (I'm vain enough to admit it's troubled me for years that I look much fatter than I am), and will also eliminate problems with bursting cysts. It means I'll be able to return to bicycling once I'm recovered, which has been one of the most disappointing of the things I've had to give up in the last few years (and as a hidden bonus, they will wind up incidentally fixing my umbilical hernia in the process).
But of course this gain does not come without a cost. Because the old kidneys are so big, they're gonna open me up from the bottom of my sternum to just below my belly button, which is a much larger incision than they'd make for just a transplant, and they'll have to jostle more of my insides around. That means that instead of 3-5 days in the hospital I can expect 5-7 days. Not a huge amount longer, but let's face it--any time in the hospital is longer than you want. I'm hoping that because I'm healthy going in my hospital time will be more on the 5 day side, but there's no guarantee.
After I get home, recovery is much like if I'd only done the transplant: No heavy lifting for 4 weeks, no driving until I'm off pain medications, lots of pills, lots of return visits to the hospital for tests (like twice a week for the first couple of weeks, then once a week, then once a month, etc.). With luck, I'll be back to something approximating normal in a couple of months.
It's hard to believe this has all come together, and that we're about to go through yet another life-changing experience. We remain extremely thankful for the generosity of Kyllee, and for the caring of our friends and family. Thank you all so much.