Three Months

                                        

    Three months can seem either a long or short time.  Depending on the circumstance I suppose. I recall when I was in school in the 1950’s and 60’s we would get three months summer vacation.  I spent three months in the hospital one year laying in traction due to a broken back and crushed right femur. In my twenties I toured Europe for three months with my friend, Mary Kay.  And today it's been three months since my Mother passed away. Three months of  Mother not being here seems a long time not to hear her voice, see her smile; to sit with her drinking our morning coffee, listening to music, watching birds at the feeder, to feel the touch of her hand.       Sometimes I let myself be fooled  and it seems Mom just away on holiday , and she will soon return home to resume our daily routine,  and all that was familiar and comfortable.  That she would sit again in her prayer chair to read a verse or two from her devotional or poetry book to Gary , Gavin and me.  Something she thought was important to share, and hoping we’d let soak in.    But then I realize my Mother’s not coming back. She won’t be walking through the door, or asking me to get her purse, no more our going to St. Vinny’s together , or out to lunch with  friends. No more laughter and long talks we shared. She’s gone.  Some days I can barely stand it. The pain is so great.
   It’s called grieving. I’ve been reading a lot about it, the process, and have concluded grieving for a loved one never ends , we will always be missing,  and longing for that dear one who was such a vital, loving  part of our life; a void,  an emptiness is there now . How can it not be ? We are lonely, homesick for the one we love.  But I'm learning  we can also find solace in the Lord's word to us, His promise of resurrected life; that  one day we will be reunited with our deceased loved one(s) ; transfigured, made whole. Renewed.  Restored. Never to be separated again.  That is our hope. And  our trust in Him who is ever faithful. All in God's good time. Until then with the help of His  grace, and tender mercies we persevere and carry on, thankful for  caring friends and family who help nurture and love us;  cry with us, give encouragement, and listen with their heart.  I am so very  grateful for my dear family and friends who have done  this for me - giving me their time, being present to me, praying for me as I journey through the grieving process, missing my Mother.
    Mary Kay, the same Mary Kay I traveled Europe with for three months in 1974 believes past generations when families were inclined to be together and visit that conversation about the deceased more often, and perhaps more  easily would include stories and memories of the dead. Mary Kay says she  remembers even as a kid listening to the grown ups talk and hearing the conversations that kept departed loved ones in their life, sometimes even ones she'd never met became a part of her.  I share that experience. My Mother often talked of deceased great aunts and uncles, and others she loved and cared for  who had died before I was born, bringing them to life in her stories.  I learned to know them through Mom. And through the years as other family and friends died,including my darling brother, Walt we would think of them and talk  of them with sweet remembrance. 
    I don't recall exactly when but sometime during Mother's senior years she began inviting the deceased souls of beloved family and cherished friends into her front room to pray her morning prayers with her. Putting into practice her belief in 'communion of saints'. When Mom shared this with me I pictured  the dear ones she mentioned, and couldn't help but smile. As I reflect on this now, I am comforted in knowing Mother is with her circle of heavenly friends and family praying for me and her loved ones here on earth. True love is everlasting. It knows no boundaries;  not time, space or distance.  I miss my Mother's physical presence but her enduring love is ever present and eternal. 
    When Edgar A Guest wrote the following poem he said he always felt Mother's Day should be observed every day of the year . Good as it is to set aside one day in her memory, it is never enough. 
I agree. 

Never thought for self had she. 
   Never for herself ambition.
Goal of all her dreams were we,
   Holding us her earthly mission.

We were first in every thought.
    Friend or foe could not divert her.
Failing her in what she taught,
    We alone had power to hurt her.

Looking back, we know today
    We were source of all her gladness,
And whene'er we went astray
     We were source of all her sadness.

This the  mother that we knew !
    Never any life was purer.
Gentle, tender, brave and true,
    Never any love was surer!





   

a Christmas Letter to my Mother 2018

Dearest Mother

     It's Christmas Eve. I'm sitting here in your prayer chair, thinking of you,  and missing you so very much.  I was just two months old when we celebrated our first Christmas together, as we did every Christmas after . Now I'm 68 yrs. old celebrating my first Christmas without you.
     I have to say, Mama it's a little harder for me this year finding the peace and solace of Silent Night, Holy Night without you being here, and am unable to listen to Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, but I'm remembering your delight in the  Christmas season, how you enjoyed everything about it ! The shopping, the crowds, the caroling, the gift wrapping, the decorating; you'd always say we're decorating, getting the house ready for the birth of Jesus.  
     I'm thinking of your excitement in picking out  just the right present, your delight in giving , and welcoming family, friends and acquaintances into our home, making each one feel special and loved. Your joy was contagious, Mom, and lifted our spirit. 
     I'm thinking of Tiny Tears, and Betsy Wetsy, Butler's Lives of the Saints,  a Bubble Head  Barbie doll; and a collection of Este Lauder Solids. All gifts from you, Mom. Gifts I still have. Did I ever tell you, Mom how very much I appreciated your working so hard to provide for my brother and me, to make our Christmas morning wishes come true ? Did I ever tell you what it meant to have a mother like you to share Christmas with, a mother who loved us so much, and we loved in return.
     I'm thinking of you standing at the stove making your famous  Christmas fudge. It became a staple for us at Christmas time. Gary swore it was the best fudge he ever tasted, and always thought you should market it. I'm thinking of Christmas eve dinner, and the fun and laughter; you reading to us a favorite poem and prayer. And going to  Christmas Mass. 
      Right now I'm looking at the gold leaf Nativity, the one you had since early days of my youth,  and treasured. There's something comforting to see that same Nativity still displayed in our home, especially this year,  giving me pause to reflect, and remember  about the Christ child, His Mother Mary, and Joseph.
      I'm thinking of one of your favorite Christmas songs,  The Little Drummer Boy, and how you would say you identified with the little drummer boy, thinking you had no gift to bring , that's fit to give to our king. But I say you brought Him so many gifts,
Mom, not just Christmas, but every day by the way you lived your life, and loved others. I'm envisioning  you now in the Heavenly realm  singing for Him  with your sweet soprano voice,  Gloria in excelsis dio. And your son, Walt standing near. 

Merry Christmas, Mother. I love you.
Your daughter, 

Kathleen Rosalie


     

WORDS OF REMEMBRANCE (Eulogy) Lenora Cooney

My Mother, Lenora Cooney. Words of Remembrance.
 November 7, 2018 by Kathy Cooney Dobbs

   When my brother, Walt passed away in 2010 and I stood to give his eulogy my eyes filled with tears & I couldn’t seem to speak - it was only when I heard my Mother call out , ‘Kathy, take a deep breath’ - I was able to collect myself and carry on.
That’s how it’s always been for me, my Mother has been the wind beneath my wings.
Right now , I’m missing the sound of my Mother’s voice, seeing her face, feeling her loving embrace more than words can say.
   When I had to go into Mom’s room to tell her what the doctor said, “that there were no good options” , my head dropped to her lap, my tears streaming ; Mama reached out, patted the back of my head , & gently said don’t worry, honey; ‘it’ll be okay. That  was my Mother! - comforting, consoling even then. And her last words so sweetly whispered on October 25 about her grandson, ‘Gavin said such beautiful things to me ‘
   As one friend wrote, your Mother had love in her voice, love in her heart, she had a gift to make whoever she was talking to feel special. And indeed she did . No matter where Mom & I went- to the market, to the bank , to the thrift store the clerk or teller would always come from behind their desk or counter to visit with Mom, to give her a hug ; many times another customer would be drawn to Mom to engage her in conversation – a lonely woman , or man, or disabled child - Mother would always take the time to listen, & give an encouraging word, and tell them she would pray for the them.
   Mom was caring and kind , gracious, giving , forgiving; and she
 loved to laugh- in fact, Mama thought it was our responsibility to be joyful, that our Lord wanted us to laugh and not take everything so seriously. One of her favorite books in recent months was 
Laughter Was Created for Days Like This- Prayers, Chuckles and Reminders That God Really Has Things Under Control.
  Mom made everything fun, like when I was 8 yrs old , and Mom and I dancing the Polka all around the front room of our small duplex, the record would end and I’d say, ‘Mama, let’s polka again’, and round and round we’d go laughing out loud, or sitting on the floor cutting out paper dolls. Both Mother & I liked dolls, and in our later years would find much pleasure collecting vintage dolls together. Actually, Mom and I simply enjoyed each other’s company and enjoyed doing so many things together.
   And over 50 years ago while I was still in high school, it was great because so many of my friends, and Walt’s friends , too liked hanging out at our house, some of those friends here today, because they liked being around my Mother , talking with her because she was such a good listener. Mom once said she never got to watch the end of any TV program because Kathy & her friends would come rushing through the front door 10 minutes before the show was over to tell her about whatever we were doing . Never once did Mom say, not now girls , or wait until the show is over, or I’m busy - she always made us feel whatever we had to share was of prime importance, and would give us her full attention .
We were a small family, my mother, brother and I, and Mom thought  it would be more festive for Walt and me to have others join us on Christmas Eve , so she began inviting friends, relatives, and co-workers to our house for one of her fabulous Turkey buffets, exchange gifts and have a merry ol' time.  Mom wouldn't get off work until noon on Christmas eve; I look back now and am amazed at how she got everything done so perfectly.   I recall one year everyone wore House on the Prairie type clothing , and the only light in the house came from oil lamps. It was a sweet time. Mom made Christmas Eve at our house magical, and memorable, like she did everything . For several years Christmas Eve at our house became a favorite happening for Mom , my brother and me, and for many a friend.
   From the time Walt and I were very young , Mother read poetry to us, poems about Wyken, Blyken and Nod sailing off in a wooden shoe, The Gingham Dog and Calico Cat, and Little Boy Blue - the sound of Mother's voice reading poetry every night was so calm and peaceful, her presence so  reassuring it often lulled us to sleep. Because of Mother influence, and love of poetry, Walt and I grew up liking poetry, too. Throughout all our years Mom continued to read poetry to us, sometimes over the phone; or often she'd say, 'Kathy, sit down, honey, I want to read this to you. It won't take long', including one from Ted Malone's Scrapbook  Mom had marked  as the last poem she ever got to read to my brother and me when we were all together in 2009 – one that touched Mom’s heart about a young Mother setting out on the path of life, guiding her children along the way –
And the Mother said: Look up. Lift your eyes to the light. And the children looked up and saw above the clouds an Everlasting Glory, and it guided them and brought them beyond the darkness. And that night the Mother said, This is the best day of all, for I have shown my children God.
   Mother always looked up , pointing toward our Father in Heaven, his beloved son, Jesus and the Holy Spirit – Mom had a deep abiding faith she gave witness to every day by the way she lived her life, through joy or heartache. Mom trusted the Lord would provide.
   Mom has made her home in Clarkston for the past twenty five years , she would often say with endearment, Clarkston reminded her of Council Bluffs, where she was raised. Mother has been blessed with many close and cherished friends here; dear friends she loved very much, and shared so many wonderful and happy times with. Special times involving the Doll Club, Festival of Trees, Moose Races, Birthdays with the B.’s; Going to the Tin Can grocery store; and so many gatherings and get to-gethers, sometimes in her own beautiful backyard. Mom so enjoyed her backyard, watching the birds, and her solar lights at night. We called it Mom’s ‘Secret Garden’.
    Whenever  Mom looked back on the fullness of her her life , she would always say she had a wonderful life, a blessed life; it was a good time! And I say to Mom, being your daughter, it was the BEST time ! It was a party just being  near you!

I love you , Mama more than words can say.
Heart to heart. Forever 
and always.
                                            

                                         

The Cruelness of Death

Oh, death! How cruel you are. Taking from us the ones we love.
The sound of their voice, the touch of their hand, the smell of them.
My mothers laugh, her words of wisdom, her good counsel and
good cheer.
Oh, death ! How cruel you are robbing me of the one
who gave me life and brought me into the world. My first friend,
my best friend, who loved me unconditionally, without reserve,
with her whole being. Who showed me God's grace by the
way she lived, and treated others.
Oh, death ! How cruel you are to break  my heart and cripple
my spirit leaving me without my confident, the one who
brought calm, and comfort to my every day; and so much
joy to friends and family.
Oh, death ! But wait. You're not the end. You can't win.
Because of Christ and His cross and resurrection, His
promise of eternal life , assuring us we'll see our
loved ones again

i love you, Mama

Now He Laughs with Angels

We haven't remembered him less,

in fact, we never forget him; we have just learned 

to accept he is no longer here, not near

to hear his voice, see his smile, to give him a hug.

But  always with us 

in our thoughts, and memories held dear

If we ever argued i don't recall; maybe once or twice 

in our teenage years, whether it was

Peter, Paul & Mary  or Led Zeppelin on the stereo.

My brother was a sweet soul, not prone to bad temperament

or disagreement. He loved and lived life fully, and

liked to laugh. Walt passed away eight years

ago today. It was Memorial Day that year.

For us , his family and friends who love and

miss Walt, May 30 will always be our Memorial Day

                             

                             

                      

That First Christmas, & Every Christmas

Waiting

Waiting 

For the light

a Star shining bright

over the new born King

a babe in a manger

nestled in hay

Mary,  his mother and

foster father,  Joseph standing 

near - gazing so tenderly, lovingly 

at their son , and Savior

It is his birthday we commemorate, 

yet it is he who brings the gifts; 

Hope and healing , comfort and

consolation, tender mercy 

and unconditional love

Happy Birthday, Jesus ! 

Thanksgiving Prayer

                                                 

       

Who were the pilgrims giving thanks to , one might ask today 

Was it to the wind ? Tall trees ? Birds flying high in the sky ?

Who were the pilgrims giving thanks to that first Thanksgiving Day 

for their safe journey across the sea,  and the blessing they shared -

In this modern, fast paced, busy, buying, bundling world we live in 

some may have forgotten, or don’t know the pilgrims  prayer of thanksgiving 

was to God in Heaven; the Creator. And I’d like to think,  not only for

that moment of safety and calm, but for the struggle that got them there,

and for the promise of His guidance the rest of the way. That if they

trusted in Him, abided in Him all would be well.

We are all on a journey, maybe not to a distant land, but perhaps

one laden with challenges and change that requires us to grow

and persevere ; to have hope, and believe . Then like the pilgrims so

long ago, to give thanks and praise to God for guiding us through

                                                         

The 2017 Solar Eclipse - a Personal Observation

August 21, 2017

It was a remarkable day  - words like awesome, incredible, magnificent were uttered .  Folks traveled via train and plane; some caravanned crowded highways and byways,  driving hundreds of miles with  motor home, motorcycle or van to reach the best location to witness Totality;  the Great American Solar Eclipse .   Many more stayed  home with their  extra special eclipse glasses  close at hand, ready to gaze up at the sun.

The last total solar eclipse spanning the US from coast to coast was June 8, 1918. President Woodrow Wilson was president, World War I was still engaged and the first U.S. case of what was to become the Flu Pandemic of 1918 had already been confirmed in Kansas .  In other  headlines were stories about a US Naval boat, Cycups disappearing in the Bermuda Triangle, the Russian Bolshevik party being renamed the Communist party,  debates about prohibition , and whether women should have the right to vote (President Wilson was opposed).  I'm sure Americans in 1918 , not unlike Americans today got caught up in  the excitement of such an extrodinary event because it was so extraordinary ;
it was also a unifying national event that gave relief from the strife and angst reported daily in the news.

Scientists will study the 2017 eclipse  event for years to come . And for  many of us , we'll  recall  exactly where we were  when we wore those special shades to stare up at the sky watching the
 Eclipse of the sun , and how for a brief time on that amazing day no angry words were
spoken , no unruly dissension ,  people gathered and talked together without contempt for one
another , or their differing  opinions ; political adversaries stopped being adversarial and Cable
news commentators weren't riling people up with their pointed propaganda.

Something special happened in our country, and we  were all part of it; Every creed, color, race and nationality. Young and old. Rich, and the not so rich. On the day of the Great American Solar Eclipse , citizens from sea to shining sea were filled with a joyful anticipation and excitement. We became lighthearted and happy.  We were having fun.

.

     
    *   A special thank you to Josie Chapin, Phyllis  Christy,  Lauri Cooney,  Bill and Joyce  Eltz,        
 Brian Frazier, Norma  Sawdy, and the Seattle Seahawks for sharing their 'Eclipse' day photos

























                 





                 

                                 

                                                                       

                                                                                         

                                                             
                                                             
                                                                 

My Grandpa Cooney , President of Fish & Game & More

He washed his hands with Borax soap, soothed his sore muscles with BenGay, drank one cup of Sanka in the morning  (with  a bowl of Wheaties ), and  one Schlitz beer  after dinner each evening . He liked raspberries  and baseball, and smoked a pipe.   He wasn't a man of great wealth or prestige , but to me my Grandpa Cooney was everything good and grand; my hero. Loving, caring and fun to be around.  I felt secure and safe when I was with him , and special.  Grandpa called me his , "Little Brown Eyed Sweetheart”, and I never doubted I wasn't .

Grandpa was an upholsterer by trade . When I was still a toddler some of my earliest outtings was my mother taking me  to visit Grandpa at his  upholstery  shop on S. Main St. in Council Bluffs.  No matter how busy he was , he'd stop what he was doing to spend time with me. Some might accuse me of being bias when I tell them Grandpa was the finest upholsterer in the Mid West, but I don't think I’m being biased.  Well, maybe a little. But grandpa truly was recognized by his peers, and customers  as being a talented, first class upholsterer. 

An image, tender and endearing of  Grandpa leaving for work, backing out the long gravel driveway, and me pressing my face against the back bedroom  window to wave goodbye give me a happy feeling  as I remember him looking toward me, smiling and waving back.  Through the years  Grandma delighted in reminiscing , telling others  how I'd wait for Cecil to get home from work , and run like a bee line to take  Grandpa his bedroom slippers the moment he sat down in his old comfortable Morris chair.

A few days ago, a  letter from my cousin,  Lynn  arrived in the mail,  he enclosed a long ago newspaper article from the Council Bluffs Nonpareil about Grandpa Cooney being elected president of  the Council Bluffs Fish and Game club.  Seeing the picture of Grandpa and reading the article about him   warmed my heart, and made me wish I could reach out to touch his hand, and give him a hug ; for him to sit in the Morris chair again so I could take him his slippers. 

Besides Fish and Game , Grandpa  was also active with Scouting and served as Scout commissioner and Scoutmaster.  While serving as a Boy Scout leader ,  those who knew him well  said  his goal was to encourage Scouts to work toward becoming an Eagle  Scout. Something he proudly saw all three of his sons do, including my Dad.

My Grandpa was 65  when he passed away in 1962.  I was 11.  Many years have come and gone since then, and while memories can fade and dim lightly  over time,  one thing doesn't change, nor is forgotten. A grandfathers sweet love for his granddaughter , and her great love for him. 

                                                                 

                                                       

 * Cecil E. Cooney , my grandfather
In celebration of his birthday, August 3                                                                                                                              

Memory Lived, Memory Lost

How often we said , I'll always remember ,
this moment will be with me forever ; never ,
ever will I forget
The living of  everyday life, the falling in love,
marriage, making a family , building a home ,
growing together through  the years ,
tears and laughter , hearts bound in a promise made.
But time presses on , and sometimes
an evil illness intrudes
robbing one  of memories so
precious and dear ; moments
once remembered and cherished
now become like a blank slate , only to
rely on your mate to guide you through
But your mate heartbroken , and sad
knowing  now she remembers for two

WALT - May 30, 2017

For family and friends , and all who knew him well,
the day of his death is remembered with 
saddness and sorrow, that he is no more 
in this world ; On the contrary, the day of his birth
remembered with great joy for the bright star he was,
the gladness of heart he brought to his Mother and Dad.
His Mother called him , her 'golden child'. His big sis adored 
him from the start, her baby brother who would become 
her forever friend.  Now he laughs with the Angels , and sees
our Lord face to face. And  perhaps praying for us
until we meet again at Heaven's gate

                            

                             

Petals in the Wind

                                                            Like flowers in the wind
                                                       when petals blow away
                                                          The vigor, and vitality of youth
                                                         give way to aging days
                                                           Where once the light shined brighly
                                                         on the promise of what lay ahead
                                                         now it flickers dimly
                                                             and turns to  'remembering when'

Patty Duke - a Personal Remembrance

 I was saddened yesterday when I read  actress Patty Duke had died. She was 69 years old.  For me,  and many of my contemporaries Patty Duke was someone we grew up with, her name a part of our youthful lexicon.   We first came to know her in  The Miracle Worker, the definitive film about  the young  Helen Keller.   Duke's outstanding performance  as the mute, deaf  Keller won her an Academy Award for best supporting actress.   I was reminded of my sophomore year of high school  when the Drama department decided on  the play The Miracle Worker for the Fall production , and remembered  our Drama coach, Mr. Phillips telling Carol Morris, the  student cast in the role  of Helen Keller to watch Patty Duke and immolate her acting style. I think it's fair to say The Miracle Worker and Patty Duke's  role as Helen Keller was  to her  what Dorothy and The Wizard of Oz was to Judy Garland

I thought about her popular  television series, The Patty Duke Show in the early 1960's and how I tried never to miss an episode.   Patty played duo roles , identical cousins Patty and Cathy. She played each part so well, it was hard to believe Patty and Cathy really weren't two different people.
Once,  after visiting my cousin, Shauna for two weeks in Salt Lake City,  and hearing over and over how much I looked like my cousin, I would sometimes daydream , like young teenagers often do , that Shauna and I could star in our own television show - with Shauna as the well spoken, sophisticated  Cathy and me as the more care free Patty.

Fans read about Patty Duke in  magazines; her relationship with Desi Arnaz, Jr. , her marriage to John Astin , the birth of her son, Sean. Her challenges with being Bipolar,  and the positive light she brought to mental illness.    

After my family  and I moved to north Idaho in 1992, I thought it very cool   Patty Duke and her husband had also  moved to north Idaho where she became  active with charities and local theater in Coeur d Alene and Spokane.   I was lucky to see Patty  live on stage - once  where  she starred ,   along with my young cousin Mallory Cooney King  in the musical The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee at Coeur d  Alene Summer Theater .  Patty, as always was a delight to watch, her love for performing so evident. I remember that performance  well as it   helped lift  some my heart's   heavy sadness  after my brothers recent passing.

                                                         

Mostly, in thinking about Patty Duke  what came to mind was the night my husband, Gary and I went to see the musical Gypsy starring Patty  as Mama Rose at the Spokane Civic Theater.  I brought my copy of her autobiography ,  Call Me Anna  along just in case she might sign it.  And to my great delight she did!   Gary and I hung around  after the curtain went down to check with the attendant about having Patty Duke sign my book.  The attendant asked us to wait while he spoke  with Patty Duke about it.  Before long he returned, asking us to follow him as he ushered us backstage.  As I walked toward the chair  where Patty was sitting , she stood up, put her hand out to shake mine and introduced herself.   Like she would need introducing!  I was surprised to see how petite she was, and how approachable. Her smile so natural and real, so welcoming!   She had a twinkle in her eye as we conversed back and forth. If I had thoughts about being nervous asking her to sign my book, there was no need, she put me completely at ease.  After a few minutes she asked for the book   I had tucked under my left arm ,  grabbed a pen from the nearby table and signed it:

Love to you, Kathy
from Anna
Patty Duke
Nov. 1, '03

Meeting Patty Duke that night made a special night out even more special.

But that's not the end of the story.  A few years ago , I had somehow lost the book.  I searched everywhere for it, but could find it nowhere.  Unusual for me to misplace a favored book,  as I am  known to keep good care of books. For months I  ranted about losing the book to friends and family,  and  finally had to presume the book was wrongly placed in a  box for discard.  Reflecting on Patty Duke's  passing yesterday ,  I was  disappointed all over again for having lost  the book she had inscribed to  me. I went on about chores, took an afternoon walk, and thought to myself, if I ever find  that book now, it would be a miracle !  It wasn't to much later , after I was back in the house that a  jolting, bolting   thought pressed me  to go to the bookshelves in the Study. I had already looked there  several times for the Duke book,  I thought it would be a waste, but the thought was so compelling and insistent  I should look again, I did.  And lo and behold after pulling three books from the shelf, there it was !  Call Me Anna !  I quickly pulled it from where it was, turned  to the opening page where Patty Duke had written  her inscription,  and smiled !

                                                                   

A Day of Thanks

 

 

 

Turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes, cranberries and pumpkin pie - the traditional dinner menu of millions  celebrating Thanksgiving  Day, this uniquely American holiday set aside to give thanks to God for His providential guidance and bountiful love. For family and friends and  all we hold dear; for our Nation, with its many natural resources ; rivers and forests, mountains and prairies. Crops and grain, the fruited plain. And the generous spirit of its people, always willing to lend a helping hand, to persevere  when the challenge seems hard and  press ahead.

For freedom to choose a better way - righteous and good. To worship God; not to exclude our  faith from the market place, government buildings or schools, but to include it in our private and public life - to lift our gaze toward the Heavenly Creator and give thanks.

Note:  The First National Thanksgiving Proclamation 1777
           Continental Congress  http://www.crisismagazine.com/2015/first-national-thanksgiving-proclamation-1777

Forever In My Heart

Dates and places
and faces of people we love
forge a memory in our heart
to remain forever
a part of us,  and help
shape who we are,
so strong not even
death can diminish
the remembrance
of that time
when the one we loved
stood near, sharing our
laughter and tears
I think of my brother, Walt
who would have celebrated
his 61st birthday today;
his  smile, his words, the
sound of his voice; his warm
hug hello, and his last hug
good-bye. I cherish the boy he
was, the man he became;
my little brother, my forever friend

 

Moments of Grace & My Brother, Walt

Sometimes little moments of grace, or an unexpected  surprise pleasantly  touches our life  and we can't help but smile, and be thankful.

This past April I was blessed with two such moments.  The first happened  while I was making the two hour drive from my house in Worley to my mother's home in Clarkston, WA. The drive isn't difficult, but some stretches of the highway can seem long and lonely, especially in bad weather. On this day, a  heavy rain and dark gloomy clouds cast a heavy shadow all about me,  and I considered calling mom to tell  her I would come down another day. But I kept driving,  and as I always do when travelling I prayed a simple, but sweet prayer I learned in childhood

                              Angel of God
                              my guardian dear
                              to whom God's love
                              commits me here
                              ever this day
                              be at my side, to
                              light and guard
                              to  rule and guide. Amen

It seemed no quicker than I  finished with amen I heard the familiar voice of my brother  say, Hi, Kathy, how are you ? Although Walt died nearly 5 years ago,  his voice  seemed so real I couldn't help  myself from looking toward the passenger seat. As I felt his presence, and recognized his smile,   I joyfully exclaimed,  Walt ! It's you! I've missed you so much, how are you ? Good, he said, Don't worry. Keep going, you're gonna be okay.  I had so much I wanted to ask him, to talk with him about, to share. But the moment soon passed, and Walt was gone. But the feeling of peace and joy I experienced  lasted throughout the day, and I thanked my guardian angel for inviting my brother to ride with me, to  be my angel that morning.

Two weeks later, when  Gary and I agreed it was time to replace a broken window in our back door, the one leading from the laundry room onto the deck, another moment of grace touched my life, one that also involved my brother.

 The window had been broken since mid winter, the opening covered with a heavy piece of plywood to keep the snow and cold out. But now spring was on the way, and we  were ready for the sun to shine through.  I called several places to see about replacing the window and was quoted prices  ranging from $225. to $125.  All more than fit our budget, or what we wanted to spend.

 Finally,  Gary decided to load  the door in the back of  our rig , and we took it into town to see if one of the glass companies  there could replace the window. Not much luck, until we talked to fellow who   suggested we stop at Coeur d Alene Building Supply. When Gary and I walked in, we were directed to an office in the back of the store.  The salesman greeted us and motioned us to sit down. Yep! They could get a window for us.  I noticed the  business cards on corner of his desk, and asked if his name was Walt (the name on the card), he said yes, it was. I told him my brother's name is Walt, that he passed away a few years ago. Then the salesman Walt said, guess that means we'll have to give you the Walt discount !

I had two twenty dollar bills and laid them on his desk. Walt the salesman said, "We can make that work".  I told Walt the salesman, my brother Walt is smiling, knowing he was part of this transaction, getting us the Walt discount ! 

So that's my story. Some might say, a fanciful one,  just coincidence. And  that's okay. But not, me. I say there are no coincidence's, only Godincidence's  as my  grace moment with Walt while driving to my mothers , and the way Gary and I  got our replacement window shows.  It still makes me smile when I think of both these happenings, knowing  grace moments touch our life  more often than we know, if only we look for them, and my brothers  presence will always be with me.

*** In memory of Walt Cooney
September 4 , 1954 - May 30, 2010






 

Memorial Day 2015 - Veteran's & Family History

Memorial Day is more than just the unofficial start to summer, camping trips and Memorial Day sales at local retailers to draw shoppers into their stores,  it is the day Americans  set aside to remember our fallen soldiers killed in war and  all the  deceased who served in the military,  in a special way.  Throughout our nation are parades, political speeches and picnics. Family members , patriotic organizations, church groups visit cemeteries to place flags and flowers at the gravesites of Veteran's to honor their sacrifice; to keep them in memory.  We are reminded there is a cost to freedom.

This year my celebration of Memorial Day coincides with my applying to become a member of Daughters of the American Revolution.  A timely  intersection it seems to me,  as DAR does such a wonderful job in honoring Veterans, both living and dead throughout the year , and in fostering  patriotism  and love of liberty by preserving the American spirit. My patriot is John Hart, a signer of the Declaration of Independence. I am a descendent of John Hart via my paternal grandmother, Vera Williams Cooney and her father Gus Williams. Grandma never became a member of DAR, but her younger sister, Myrtle did,  and Grandma encouraged me to pursue membership, too.

While proving lineal decent from a patriot of  the American Revolution can be a lengthy process, it is well worth the time and effort to discover both a familial and historical connection through the  generations, and share a bond with women, as stated in the DAR brochure, that continues the tradition of promoting patriotism, education, and historic preservation.

So this Memorial Day as I honor and remember deceased family members

                                        Andrew G. Norton (WWI)
                                        Cecil E. Cooney (WWI)
                                        Lloyd E. Cooney (WWII)
                                       Robert Breedlove (WWII)
                                       Leo J. Thorson (WWII)
                                       Austin Twiford (WWII)

and  their service to our country, I also think of my ancestor John Hart and the important role he played in helping to establish liberty and freedom for all in the  United States of America.

God Bless our Veteran's,  and God Bless America !

Sunday, May 3rd

     Yesterday, May 2 my husband and I celebrated our 35th wedding anniversary. We went to a favorite restaurant for an  early evening dinner and was pleased to have our son, Gavin join us for dessert. With happy hearts, Gary and I reminisced about our wedding day and the vows we made to love and always cherish one another.

     Today, May 3 is a different type of anniversary. One that brings a somber, sad remembrance. This year May 3 falls on a Sunday, just as it did in 1970 when I, along with four of my friends crashed down a 75ft embankment off the 101 Freeway  in the red Volkswagen van we were travelling in.  Three of us survived, two died. No one knows for sure what happened. A Marine caravan from nearby Camp Pendleton had been following us for some distance, the soldiers  said it looked as though a gust of wind picked up the van and threw it  over the edge of the highway. One thing I know for certain, neither drugs nor drink were involved, and we weren't speeding.

     When my mother got the call from the doctor that fateful afternoon, he asked her for permission to operate. Mother said she'd like to talk with me first. According to mom, the doctor then  very kindly, but urgently explained to her my life was in danger. Mom asked if I might die, the doctor said, "Yes, Mrs. Cooney". We need you to get here as soon as possible, and if her father doesn't live there, he needed to be contacted and told if he hoped to see his daughter, he needed to hurry. 

    I was unconscious , and would remain so for the next few days. The right side of my body was smashed; my femur crushed, my back broken, as was  my arm and clavicle. My right lung collapsed and I had internal bleeding. When mom arrived at the hospital they told her she wouldn't recognize me as my head was three times its normal size, and  instructed her not to make any gasps or sobs when she saw me, that it may alarm my subconscious . They couldn't be sure I didn't suffer brain damage, and wouldn't know for a few days. Mom was also told I may never walk again.  The priest was called to give me a Sacramental Anointing. Then  the doctors  told Mom  I had a very rare blood type, one they didn't have on location,  and asked if I had Mediterranean blood. Mother said, "No, my daughter is of Irish, Norwegian and English heritage. My  Uncle Pep contacted a  Blood Bank in San Francisco, but it was finally in San Diego my rare Lewis AB negative (with a series of numbers) blood type was located.

   None of this was I aware of  then, of course.  It was only later I came to understand the anguish and heartache my dear  mother and father, my brother experienced in not knowing if I would live or die, or how the extent of my injuries might effect the rest of my life.  It took me awhile to focus, to come to,  and after  those first few days when  I began to respond,  I couldn't grasp where I was or what happened.  My brother, Walt would later tell me, I asked him "What happened to me, did I  fall down ?"  I didn't know to ask about Manya or Karen, I couldn't remember we had been together.  But slowly I did, and  was overcome with joy  to learn they had survived.   It was two and a half weeks after the accident I was told Bob and Tom had died.

   I remained in the hospital for three months, laying in traction, then  for another two months I was in a full body cast , sleeping in a rented  hospital bed in our dining room. Although my mother came to the hospital each day and every evening, and dear friends often stopped by to visit - and even decorate my bed,  at 19  five  months of not being mobile, and away from normal every day life  can seem a long time. I was comforted to know  many were praying for my healing, both physically and emotionally, and thankfully, I liked to read and had a variety of books close at hand, mostly memoirs  (Dr. Thomas Dooley), inspirational (Christy by Catherine Marshall), and spiritual (St. Ignatius, St. Teresa of Avila). I began to experience in a deeper way God's goodness and presence in my life, and the life of others, even through great sadness and pain.

      When I came across St. Teresa's Bookmark, her words became a favorite of mine :

         Let nothing disturb you,
         Let nothing frighten you,
         All things are passing;
         God never changes
         Patience obtains all things.
         Who has God wants for nothing,
         God alone suffices
            
     After the cast came off, and I took my first steps, I was both grateful, and humbled to realize how many family members  and friends  of different faith  traditions and religious practices were praying for me, and that my healing and recovery was an answer to their prayers.

    - Lenny Goldsmith at  Synagogue, my Methodist Grandmother, Lutheran friends, Molokon Russians,  Catholic aunts and uncles lighting candles  in their parish church, Mr. Given placing my name in Prayer Circle at his Ward in Salt Lake City;  and some who didn't attend any church, but prayed with trust in a loving God that I would be well.

    I wanted to thank God, but whose God?  The Jewish God, the Mormon God, the Lutheran, Methodist, Molokon Russian, the Evangelical God,  Catholic God?  For me,  the answer was , and is very clear -  the  one true  God and Father of us all.  The One who said,

      "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. Let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, birds of the air, and the cattle, and over the wild animals and all the creatures that crawl on the ground." God created man in his image, in the divine image he created him; male and female he created them (Genesis 1 26-27)

      I'm a practicing Catholic and will remain so. I love Jesus, my church, my faith. But I know from experience 'Catholic' prayer isn't the only prayer God hears, He hears the prayer of all people who trust in His word, throughout history and from every corner of the world, from every denomination.

    I contemplate how wonderful it would be, and  pleasing to God,  perhaps today especially - May 3, 2015 when the world is so full of strife and turmoil,  if people of faith spent  less time bickering and fussing  among themselves about  'religious ' differences and spent  more time on what binds us together, belief in the Creator of heaven and earth, and for Christians,  in  Jesus Christ.  Let us  lift up our voices in one accord  and cry out to the Lord for mercy, and pray for  unity and peace in our world.

    *Postscript - at Mass this morning prayers were offered for the happy  repose of Tom Grimshaw and Bob Wrighton as they rejoice in Heaven and see our Lord face to face. And for beloved friends Manya  and Karen that God continues to bless their lives with His light  and abiding grace.

     

   


   

   

     



   

March 17 (St. Patrick's Day)

St.Patrick
Shamrocks
Wearin' of the green
Ronan Tyan sweetly
singing, I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen
Leprechaun's
Potato famine
and The Blarney Stone,
Celtic prayer, the Trinity
The rebellion of '16
 and Independence;
A pint of Guinness
and soda bread
 happily shared
with both stranger and kin

Oh! To celebrate Ireland
from where my family
roots began, (thanks
to me dear mother and dad)
and our ancestors before them
Cooney, Gavin, Norton
(with a little Thorson
from Norway thrown  in)
hailing from the
likes of  County Kerry,
Tipperarie , County Cork
and Galway;
Irish laughter, Irish song, Irish faith
to help carry us on
                                               

And for all of ye  now reading this blog
an old Irish blessing to rest upon you and those you love

May God grant you always
a sunbeam to warm you,
a moonbeam to charm you,
a sheltering Angel , so
nothing can harm you

Seahawks & The Super Bowl

     Last week at this time I was looking forward  to  Super Bowl  XLIX , anticipating my team, the Seattle Seahawks would win the  grand trophy for the second year in  a  row, but it wasn't meant to be.  The Hawks lost to the Patriots 28 -  24 .

    In the last minutes of the game  when it seemed certain  the Hawks would have victory, and  every 12th Man was loudly cheering,  the tide quickly turned when the Pats intercepted a Russell Wilson pass. Hope  for  a back to back Super Bowl win was shattered. Fans were stunned, shocked. It took a moment to register what just happend. So close to the goal, why a pass? Why not feed the beast,  and give the ball to Lynch to run across ?
                                                     

    Coach Pete Carroll took responsiblity for the call , but I can't help but wonder if the call had been different , if it was for Lynch to carry the ball across the goal line , the Hawks might have won. We'll never know  for sure how it would have played out. We can only imagine.  My guess is,  if  Coach Carroll would have called  the hand off to Lynch , the Seahawks would be Super Bowl Champs!

    Just before kick off my husband admonished me to control my emotions, saying  I should keep things in stride, and not get too excited one way or the other, "After all, it's just a game", he told me.    Well, I surely tried,  but without much success. But it wasn't just me, for all Gary's talk about staying calm, he got pretty excited himself shouting out to the players as though they could hear him through the TV screen. He  even woke me up in the middle of the night to relive the game, and  question Carroll's  final call. Hmm. Just a game ? Yeah, right. Okay, honey. Now go back to sleep.

      The next day I reflected on how Americans  like a team to cheer , someone to root for, a  worthy champion we can look up to and carry us to a different place, if even for a brief moment.  We wear their  colors.  When lofty and true, it is  a good thing. It brings identification, connection and camaraderie.  I read  Super Bowl XLIX was the most watched in television history.  While  we cheered different   teams,  it was  good so many of us were united around one single national  American event..  we shared common ground. I was also inspired , uplifted in what Seahawks quarterback Russell Wilson  tweeted after the loss:


      "Thank you God for the opportunity . I will never waiver who He calls me to be,"

      "At  26 years old I  won't allow  one play or one moment define my career. I will keep evolving"

      " Every set back has a major comeback"


    While Russell Wilson didn't hand his fans another Super Bowl victory, he did give us something to cheer, perhaps even more valuable - an example of  perseverance, positive attitude and faith. Keep on keeping on, even when things don't go your way.