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Still Feeling the Love

One year ago today,  Mom left us to be with Dad.  Her last few years had been rough, with both her body and mind failing, but for the most part, she was still Mom.  And even though she struggled to remember what she’d had for breakfast, or if she’d even eaten at all, she could recall moments from the past with incredible accuracy – a skill that I’m becoming familiar with myself as I get older.

I wanted to find a photo of her that best reflected her loving spirit but that was tough  because she hated to have her picture taken.  The one I chose was taken at my brother, Scott’s house, probably for a birthday.  She was happy and best of all, she had Dad at her side.

Like any mothers and daughters, our relationship was sometimes difficult, stemming from our differences but also from the many ways we were alike.  As a child, I saw her as a grown-up, the strong loving leader of our growing tribe and didn’t always understand why at times she seemed unhappy with us.  As an adult, I now see how difficult it must have been to have had six children by the time she was thirty and manage keeping us all fed and clothed on my Dad’s one salary.  The stress must have been  tremendous.  A major release for this stress was humor.

Occasionally, when my dad was either out of town or had a late meeting and it was just Mom and us kids at the dinner table, things could get out of hand.  We never reached cries of “food fight” , but we could get really giddy.  Thinking back, except when we were all piled into the car to go somewhere, dinner time was the only time when we were all assembled in one place.  Without Dad there, we could get a little silly and get Mom laughing too.   It wasn’t that Dad was overly strict, he was just tired after a long day of work and wasn’t up for nonsense at the dinner table.  And the stuff we would laugh about was definitely stupid, inane elementary school humor which could result in the occasional blowing of milk through the nose or wet pants  but the laughing in itself felt so good.

Up until her last few days, I called Mom every day at 3:00.  I would tell her what was happening in my life and keep her up to date on the kids’ comings and going.  Mom would fill me in on what was happening in her world, which was becoming increasingly smaller but the highlight of her sharing  was always her Ragdoll cat, Rosie, who was her constant companion and the apple of her eye.   Mom and Dad got Rosie when they moved from Florida.  She was their little darling which can be documented by the number of pictures of her that my Dad would share from his phone.

Rosie is with me now and you could say our relationship is also sometimes difficult – she loves me to brush her but if I try to pet her, she bites my hand.  I guess I’m similar enough to Mom in someways but at the same time different.  But despite her indifference, having her here and caring for her allows me a living connection with Mom and Dad by caring for something they cared so deeply about.  I am grateful to have her but I wish she wouldn’t bite.

 

 

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An Evening of Song

Our power went out late last Friday afternoon for no apparent reason.  There were no storms in the area, no sirens alerting us to a possible crash into a pole, just the initial alarms from our various appliances as they shut down and followed by the quiet.  I reported the outage to our electric provider via my phone and we hopped in the car in the hopes that our local pizzeria would be open.  It was and not long after returning home, the power came back on and life was almost back to normal except for the fact that our phone, cable and internet were still out.

Predictions from Xfinity in the texts they sent kept moving the restoration time further into the evening past our bedtime.  Since we are creatures of habit and lean towards evening couch potatoes, we were a bit at loose ends.  I pulled out my Kindle and continued a novel I’d started and Dave grabbed a professional journal that had been sitting on his side table for a bit and we began to read.  While I was being whisked away on a WWI spy adventure, he was reading about actual military intelligence- not so much of an adventure.  Eventually he put it down.  “Want to play a game?”, I asked.  “No.”  Then I remembered how we spent our time back in the day.

Our college days predated the internet by decades and almost no one had a television in their room so our primary connection to the outside world was through the radio.  Music was our language and most evenings, Alison Steele, WNEW’s “Nightbird” would take us on themed musical journeys  into the late night.  It was the golden age of rock and when we weren’t listening to our favorite groups on the radio, we were trying to pick out the chords on our guitars.

Dave has continued to play but I have not.  So, on this very low tech evening with no other form of entertainment, I suggested he pull out his guitar and play for me, just like the old days.  Soon, we were going through his notebook, singing together as he played.

I’d forgotten how much fun it was to just spend time in the moment.

 

 

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A Memorial Day At the Beach

Last week Dave and I took at three hour drive which took us about 185 miles in distance and 40 years into our past.

Virginia Beach was our home for a  combined total of 24 years.  NAS Oceana was Dave’s first permanent Naval duty station and he retired from active duty while we lived there.  Both of our children were born there, started school and graduated from high school there.  As for me, I was what we called the CINC-HOME – Commander in Chief of the Home. In many ways, Virginia Beach is our “hometown.”

The purpose of our trip was to use up time-share points that were due to expire at the end of the month and visit as many friends as possible.  Since the time-share resorts are down at the oceanfront, that’s where we were headed.

It might be hard to believe is but in all the years we lived in Virginia Beach, we almost never ventured down to the commercial oceanfront.  There are beaches for military families on a few of the bases,  so that is where we spent our beach time.   So, spending several nights within walking distance of the beach was new to us.

Not long after we checked in to our room and unpacked, we decided to take a walk to the boardwalk and find someplace to eat.  It had been a long, late afternoon drive through early rush hour traffic and the tunnel had been back up for a few miles so we both needed to stretch our legs and decompress.   The season hadn’t started yet so there weren’t that many people out and about, the beach was pretty much empty.  As we walked up the boardwalk, multi storied hotels were to our left and the ocean to our right.  My first impression was of how foreign it all seemed.  For a moment I wondered if we’d made a mistake by choosing to stay down there instead of with friends.  I was tired, hungry and a tad cranky.

Then, I saw something  that made me feel very much at home – the Naval Aviation Monument which sits at intersection of 25th Street and Atlantic Avenue, by the Norwegian Lady. The six bronze  monuments tell the story of Naval Aviation history, beginning with Eugene Ely’s first flight from the deck of the USS Birmingham to present day Naval Aviation.

Dave in front of the monument to the A-6 Intruder

Along with the statues honoring the men and women who have served as Naval aviators as well as memorials to two of the now retired Navy jets and the squadrons who flew them; the A-6 and the F-4.  When we arrived at the beach in 1981, Dave was newly assigned to VA 75, “The Sunday Punchers”, an A-6 squadron.  Seeing the names of so many of his squadron mates and friends etched along its base brought back  memories of our life when, in our twenties, we were just starting out on our journey.

In those early days, our life revolved around the Navy; we lived in quarters, shopped in the Commissary and Exchange, and even pumped our gas at the station on base.  As a young mother with a husband who was frequently deployed for extended periods of time, I depended on the other, more seasoned wives in our community for guidance through the many idiosyncrasies of Naval life as well as emotional support.  We were a sisterhood of women, mostly in our twenties and thirties who kept the information flowing and morale up in a time before cell phones and emails, when we would get the longest cords possible for our phones so we could keep an eye on the kids and maybe do a little housework during marathon phone calls.   It’s amazing what I could accomplish with a phone receiver tucked under my chin!

Throughout Dave’s career, wives were always given a special status because of the tremendous responsibilities most of us shouldered while our guys were “out”.  I still have a very faded apron with the logo “Navy Wife – the Toughest Job in the Navy.”   As I look back, I don’t remember it as being any tougher than other parts of my life because of the tremendous camaraderie.  The separations were long but the reunions were so sweet.

A memorial to all families who held the home-front together during long deployments. 

It’s good to go back to our roots, to be reminded of where we come from, the friends we haven’t thought of in a while and see the places we frequented.  For people like us, that can be many different places because we have been rooted, uprooted and transplanted many times.  Going back to Virginia Beach last week reminded me of a time when I was very young and my whole life spread before me.  It warmed my heart and lightened my soul.  You may not be able to go home again, but you can certainly have a nice visit.

As we celebrate Memorial Day weekend, I’d like to send a special shout out to all of the military men and women who serve our nation and especially to their spouses and families who support them keeping the home fires burning, the kids fed and bills paid.  Even with improved communications, the separations are still hard to endure and the nights are long.  God willing, you too will someday have the opportunity to return to the place of your youth and remember. God bless you all.

 

 

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For A Friend

Transitioning into a new community is always a challenge. There are so many necessary connections you need to make; doctors, dentists, auto mechanics but one of the most important for any woman is her hairdresser. A bad haircut can ruin not only your day, but for however long it takes to regrow what you’ve lost to make reshaping possible. Finding that perfect mix of skill, personality and availability can be difficult and require a fews trials and errors.

When we moved here ten years ago, I hit the jackpot! About six weeks after moving in, without so much as a referral, I drove to the place nearest to my house and walked in to make an appointment. The owner greeted me and although she was booked for the day, made an appointment with her sister later that afternoon.

My first impression of Brenda was one of uncertainty. Having moved to this small town from Virginia Beach; a city that has long refused to label itself as such, I was more accustomed to flashy salons with large posters of men and women with trendy hairstyles, pulsing music and several stations with hip looking technicians with spiky hair in black smocks. This shop was the total opposite. There were four stations, two on either side of the room, but it was obvious that only two of them were ever used. The decor was simple but clean and soft country music played in the background.

Brenda was anything but flashy. In fact, there was no pretense to her at all. She was tall and very thin, with straight brunette hair, dressed simply in jeans and a top. She had a deep voice and country accent that I loved. She was also precise to a fault.

When cutting my hair she would cut it wet, blow it dry and then go over it again, trimming until my cut met her exacting standards. Sometimes I would tease her and ask her if “we were there yet?” like a kid on a long car trip. She would laugh and have me shake my head one more time to make sure the hair lay perfectly and then comb and clip away some more.

This morning, as I was in the midst of running errands, I received a text from a friend telling me that she’d seen an obituary for Brenda in this morning’s paper. Incredulous, I quickly pulled up the local paper on my phone to search the obits and was crushed to see that it was true.

At my last appointment, just about ten days ago, Brenda colored and cut my hair in preparation of my son, Andy’s wedding as she’d done eight years ago when my daughter Maggie was married. In fact, in the past ten years, no one else has cut my hair. I always looked forward to seeing her not simply because she was a good hairdresser and she made me look good but because over these past years she became my friend and she always made me feel good too.

Brenda was salt of the earth. She was grounded in her faith and deeply dedicated to her family. She loved to go fishing, tend her garden and her many cats. She was not a chatty soul but we shared much of our lives through the many hours I sat in her chair. I will miss her throaty laugh and most of all the big hug she gave me before I left the shop.

I know it’s cliche, but you really never know when the last time you’ll see someone you love will be. I am grateful that the last time I saw Brenda it was a happy time and that I got and gave that one last hug.

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Ten Years And Counting….

  • Our former home in Virginia Beach.
  • Our current home as it was when we moved in.

Several weeks ago when I realized that I’ve been writing my blog off and on for ten years, I couldn’t help but think about the many changes that have happened in my life starting with our move from Virginia Beach to Greene County in 2011. In my mind’s eye, I considered various ways to lay it all out in a way that would engage and entertain my readers while balancing both philosophy and humor as I unpacked the events that have filled our lives; the weddings, births, trips, job changes and all the other stuff that fills our everyday comings and goings.

But, this morning, as I attempted to log into my admin site to begin my musings, I was instead greeted by a critical error message. After an hour or consulting with my webmaster and son, Andrew, some brainstorming and a FaceTime call, I was up and running again.

By the time I finally sat down to write, it occurred to me that it would be redundant for me to rehash the past ten year since during that time I’ve been writing about many of the events in my life, big and small that have seemed noteworthy as the mood has struck me. Not only that but everything I’ve written in the past is still available so anyone who wants to read my past musings can readily do so.

I guess what strikes me the most about these ten years is just how fast they have sped by. I know it sounds cliche but as a wise man once said, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” * From the very beginning, my blog has been a way to keep me connected to my friends back at “the Beach” by sharing my life the same way I would around the lunch table at work, over coffee after church, or a glass of wine just about anytime. Blogging has been my attempt to stop, look around and try to unpack the events in my life in a meaningful way, to find balance and connections I might otherwise miss.

God willing, there are still many more adventures ahead for Dave and I and I hope I can be more disciplined about writing going forward. It is one of my greatest pleasures.

  • Thank you Ferris Bueller for your sage wisdom and insight!
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In Training Again

One of the things I’ve missed most while living in Covid captivity was going to the gym. For more than a year, instead of working out several times a week, I was pretty much sedentary, spending countless hours sitting in front of my sewing machine making face masks, streaming tv shows and movies or worst of all, baking and eating goodies. These combined activities have transformed my body in a larger mass of accumulated aches and pains.

For a while I tried walking. I’d get myself dressed after breakfast and hit the road, walking up and down our street for half and hour or so and then head back. It was boring. I’m not sure why I stopped, it might have been the weather. Routines are always easier to break than make.

Once I was fully vaccinated, I reactivated my membership with Anytime Fitness and then waited a few weeks before making that first step through the door. Once I finally made it through the door, it was like coming home after being away. I spent the next few weeks working out on the various machines, and attending classes and began to feel immediate improvement in my general well-being. My back was strengthening and so was my resolve to get back in shape.

A fews ago I began one-on-one training with my old buddy Lorenzo. It’s been about two years since I had to stop training when I went to work my short stint at UVA. But after more than seven years of training with him, I knew that if anyone could help me reach my goals, it was he. I was apprehensive about starting training again, but I knew I had to try.

Years ago, in my early days of training, I didn’t know what my body was capable of doing. I resisted and questioned and soon learned that whining was not an option. These days, even after months of inactivity, I know what I need to do and appreciate and respect the guidance I am given. The hardest lesson I have learned in my personal training is not in the individual exercises but in trusting that Lorenzo isn’t going to ask me to do anything I can’t do. I’ve learned to accept my orders and execute them to the best of my ability obediently.

As I’m writing this, I am stunned by how closely my experience of returning to training and acceptance of guidance and obedience parallels what I would hope for myself in my relationship with God. Some might call this a “God wink”, when God’s presence is revealed through something seemingly unrelated to God. I’ll have to ponder that for a while.

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Shot Envy

There seem to be three distinct Corona virus vaccination groups; those who haven’t decided whether to get one or don’t want one for varied reasons depending on their personal reality, those fortunate ones who have managed to receive theirs, proudly displaying selfies with a bandaged forearm or health department certificate in their Facebook posts, and then there is the majority of us, myself included who struggle between patience and frustration in our desire to get that first jab in the arm.

And it is a struggle. And there doesn’t seem to be any way to decode or determine who will, like Charlie in Willy Wonka, will find the golden ticket and get the call to come to the vaccination center. At first, when I saw that shots were finally being distributed, it gave me tremendous hope that this long time of confinement is coming to an end. But now, three months into the roll out, I struggle to keep that hope burning as I wait for my turn to come.

So much seems to depend on where you live. My parents, who are both over 85 and live in rural Georgia are struggling to even determine if there is some kind of system down there while friends living in New Jersey and North Carolina who are my age and younger and not in any particular essential worker group have already received at least their first inoculation.

I know this isn’t news to anyone. And, it’s like my Dad always told me, life is not fair; at least not from our individual perspective. Sometimes you just need to step away from yourself to get the big picture. To do this, I try to turn to prayer.

Throughout this past year close to home, I’ve made several attempts to be more disciplined in my prayer life. I’ve tried my different things; daily podcasts, religious books on God’s plan and guides to living in God’s love. Each have had limited success or impact on my mood. Then, a couple of weeks ago I began listing to “The Bible in a Year” podcast hosted by Father Mike Schmitz, a Catholic priest with a lively personality and down-to-earth perspective.

As a cradle Catholic, God’s word has always been an important part of my faith formation, but in our tradition, reading the Bible through from the beginning has not been a focus. I’ve made a couple of attempts, but without success. This podcast however, fits well into my auditory learning style and I’ve found that he reflections at the end of each lesson give me much to chew on.

It’s been a long slog through the book of Genesis. Oh the humanity! Jackie Collins had nothing on the writer; murder, lust, incest, deception, and yet, the writer clearly says that God loved them deeply. As Richard Rohr says, “God does not love you because you are good, God loves you because God is God.” And, like the early people of God, I have been broken in my life. I am broken now. And I will be broken again.

The other day as I listened to the story of Joseph, I realized that the jealousy the brothers felt regarding the Joseph’s coat was very similar to how I was feeling about the Covid vaccine. Like Reuben, Simeon, Judah, et. al., despite the many gifts I’ve been given throughout my life, my family and friends, my health, personal security and freedom, I realized that I, too, take on the green eyes of envy when I see someone else get something I want. It wasn’t a pleasant realization, but it did bring me back down from my dark cloud; a real “oops” moment.

I know at this point, after a year of social distancing, we are all like horses nearing the edge of the desert. We can smell the water and we yearn to run for it. I also know that our time will come hopefully sooner than later.

If you would like to check out Fr. Mike’s Bible in a Year, here is the link the website: https://ascensionpress.com/pages/biy-registration. You can also find the podcast in any of the places you find podcasts.

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Powerless?

For the past several weeks winter weather has kept us homebound more tightly than we’ve been the past year due to COVID restrictions. We have an occasional nice day but it seems that just as we make weekend plans, zap, another storm system heads our way, keeping us shut in.

This past weekend we’d planned a short trip to Richmond to celebrate Maggie’s birthday, something we do every year. But, for the third weekend in a row, winter snow and ice kept us in – just another reminder that despite what we might deceive ourselves into believing, we are not in control of much of anything, ever.

As a further reminder of this powerless, I discovered that both of my children’s homes were without electricity for more than twenty-four hours over the weekend. Considering they live on opposite sides of the country, it was a profound reminder, in case I hadn’t been listening.

Over the course of the past year I’ve had so many of these reminders; times when I wish I could have been with my children, my parents, my siblings and friends to provide help and support but couldn’t for fear of COVID. In so many ways this time of Corona has been a test of my faith, not in my belief in God but in my surrender to the Spirit. This isn’t the same as rolling over and giving up. On the contrary, it is a leap of faith; the acknowledgment that there is One Great Power and it is not I.

Resting in the Lord has always been a challenge for me. Like Martha, I tend to be a “do-er”. It may be the result of my family placement as the oldest of six children but I have tended to express my prayer through movement. Quiet meditation and contemplation is a hurdle for me.

I do believe that God speaks to each of us in ways we can understand. In my case, I look for God winks – little things that some might consider coincidence. As an example, this morning as I’ve been writing, I’ve been listening to my specially chosen Pandora station featuring church music that played a major role in my adult formation. As I was beginning to turn my focus from my personal powerlessness to my faith, this began to play:

“My life goes on in endless song
Above earth’s lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation.

Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?

While though the tempest loudly roars,
I hear the truth, it liveth.
And though the darkness ’round me close,
Songs in the night it giveth.

No storm can shake my inmost calm,
While to that rock I´m clinging.
Since love is lord of heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing?”

With this reminder I’ll close and today I will do my best to try to remember who really has the power and control and try to rest easier in that knowledge.

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Getting “Brushed”

A couple of weeks ago just before the storming of the US Capitol, I discover a breach in my personal finances; someone had gotten my VISA card information and was using it to make some very odd purchases. So I called my bank and submitted a fraud claim. The amounts weren’t large and the five purchases totaled about $1,100. My bank credited me with the amounts and I went on to change my passwords and login information. When my new credit card arrive two days later, I thought I could close that chapter and move on to brighter things.

Life continued on as normal – at least pandemic normal – until I received a package last Thursday via FedEx that I didn’t order. I called the vendor whose information was on the packing slip to see who placed the order and was given a name I’d never heard of, an email address that didn’t match it and when I asked for the last four digits of the credit card, was relieved it didn’t match mine – old or new. The customer service rep didn’t seem to concerned about the error – as far as she was concerned, it had been paid for and delivered as ordered- regardless of whether any of the information matched.

I thought it was just a fluke until the next day when I received three more packages I didn’t order; one each from the USPS, FedEx and UPS. I called the vendor on the first one I received that day, a John Cena action figure, and was again given an unknown buyer’s name and last four of a Mastercard. By the time we discovered the other two on our front porch, it was too late in the day to make calls and I was really beginning to feel creeped out. Why was I receiving this stuff? It was weird stuff too – along with John Cena, I received a package of 50 unassembled small shipping boxes, a Fiskar’s demolition tool and a fancy wrench – nothing I would ever want or use – not to mention their sheer presence gave me the willies!

In the wee hours of the next morning – the time when I seem to wake up and try to figure stuff out – I decided to contact local law enforcement for some advice. One of the perks of living in a small town is that if you are involved in community activities, you actually become acquainted with local officials. So, I called the one I was most acquainted with, our county Commonwealth’s Attorney.

I decided to go ahead and send an email Saturday morning in the hopes of being at the top of his queue on Monday morning. To my surprise, I heard back from him within an hour. He gave some insight into what might be happening and some guidance into what steps I should take. His best guess was that I was being used as a part of a scam called “Brushing” where vendors pay folks to write reviews for products purchased online. Somehow they make a purchase that creates a shipping label so they can claim their review is on a “verified purchase.” The goods shipped out generally are not those being reviewed and they are sent to random people, like me, whose mailing information they can easily obtain from a phone book or other public sources. He advised me to change all my logins and passwords, file a fraud claim with the credit reporting companies and call the sheriff’s office to file a police report.

I did all these things and even called the US Postal Investigative Services to file a fraud claim on the suggested of the Deputy Sheriff I spoke to. Although the person I spoke to was very sympathetic, there was really nothing to go on. She did take all my information and started a report.

With all my tasks completed, I began to do a bit of online research into Brushing. Apparently it’s been going on for a while. Most authorities agree that there is little risk to people like me who have received these packages and I am under no obligation to pay for any of the items but I just can’t help but wonder if this is somehow connected to my credit card breech.

Yesterday afternoon UPS attempted to deliver a package from some racing supply company. I’d been alerted to it’s arrival by my UPS account so I knew it wasn’t anything I’d ordered. I was able to catch the driver before he jumped into his truck and asked him to take the box away. He said sure, took it away and I felt a little better.

I don’t know how much longer I’ll have to stay hyper-vigilant in monitoring my accounts, probably forever. Bad people are everywhere and as long as I continue to have an online presence, I suppose I will be vulnerable. The worst part of this experience has been in how it’s shaken my feeling of security – that and the quandary of what to do with the pile of stuff I didn’t order. Just having it here is a reminder of my vulnerability. I hate that the most.

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2020 – The Mid-Year Report

Last December when I sat down to write my annual newsletter to send along with my Christmas Cards, I remember feeling so full of hope and anticipation for what I thought was going to be an incredibly memorable year. So many wonderful events were heading our way; Dave would be retiring at the end of January and we would be free to travel. In June we would celebrate forty years of marriage and then just one week later, our son, Andy and his finance, Ariel were to going to be married in the presence of many family members and friends. Prior to the wedding, Andy and Ariel had made arrangements for many of us to spend a relaxing week at Lakeside, a resort on the shores of Lake Erie where we could gather and in-laws bond. It goes without saying that things didn’t turn out exactly as I had imagined.

2020 didn’t even begin as I had expected. Our New Year’s Eve plans of a quiet celebration in Colonial Williamsburg with friends were frequently interrupted by my sneezing and nose blowing, resulting from a nasty head cold that just didn’t seem to let up. I welcomed in 2020 with a red nose and a Hall’s cough drop in my mouth.

A few weeks later I developed what I thought was a strain of the flu not covered by my annual inoculation that had me laid out for more than a few week and resulted in our cancelling travel plans to Georgia to celebrate my mother’s 85th birthday. My hopes of spending more time in the gym, getting myself in shape for the wedding and my bathing suit didn’t happen. And then COVID19 entered our lives.

Something that didn’t happen was Dave’s retirement. A few days before his final day of work he was recruited into a new part-time position that seemed like the perfect segue from full time employment into retirement. His daily trips to his new office quickly evolved into telecommuting.

I suppose if I were writing a novel, my Christmas newsletter would be the set-up and introduction of characters and “the Virus” would be the crisis to be overcome. And for the most part, despite the fact we are living in the midst of an historic pandemic, we are overcoming it.

Dave and I did indeed celebrate 40 years of marriage this month. Instead of a huge party, we shared a quiet dinner out with friends as our local restaurants began to open as Virginia entered Phase 2. And, this past weekend, Andy and Ariel were married, not in a gazebo overlooking Lake Erie as they’d planned but instead in their backyard in Oregon under a flower covered arbor among a handful of friends. Our daughter Maggie officiated and Andy’s friend Dylan served as best man, both representing their extended families and friends as the rest of us watched lovingly via Zoom.

As years go, 2020 has challenged us more than most and there are still lingering questions about whether or not we’ll be able to live the second half of the years in a normal fashion. Will we be able to safely travel to see my parents? Will there be a second wave of the virus? What will the Holidays be like in a time of social distancing?

While our future plans are more uncertain than usual, one thing is for sure and that is for every challenge there is an opportunity for growth and a realignment of priorities. Our response to the obstacles 2020 has thrown in our plans has shown us that there is a way forward. It may not be the way we would like, but nonetheless, our lives do move forward. Just as it’s said that the best way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time, the best way to move through life right now is one day at a time; jumping over or side-stepping the obstacles as they come along.