Category: Retirement and Eagle’s Trace

There are several reasons why I take the time and make the effort to jot down items for my legacy in words. The process results in a journal, a written record of my thoughts and the events which brought about those thoughts. I began doing this more than seventy years ago, when I was experiencing the lonely years of being a teenager in Ohio. Theoretically, these notes may provide an insight for my grandchildren and their descendants about life in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries.

These past seven decades have been a significant part of the Second Elizabethan age, an era with as much excitement as the one encountered by an earlier Elizabeth, the daughter of Henry VIII, who experienced his own extremely personal events that, unlike mine, have had worldwide repercussions.

Today, September 19, 2022, is the day of the funeral of Queen Elizabeth II. For the past ten days, the world, let alone England and its associated lands, has been enthralled with the pomp and circumstance of this event, which has been met with meditative silence, fond memories of a distinguished woman, and puzzlement about the fate of the British monarchy under the reign of Charles III.

There are not many of us who recall Elizabeth’s coronation on June 2, 1953, the day before I, myself, graduated from high school. My own recollections concern radio broadcasts and newsreels seen at the local movie theater. On the other hand, there has been 24/7 coverage by television and social networks of every jot and tittle associated with her funeral. There has even been media coverage about a bishop dropping a piece of paper next to her catafalque. Commentators have been speculating about his thoughts regarding whether he should have picked it up! (It appears someone did pick it up when the camera was focused elsewhere!)

Many Americans and other non-British observers have expressed deep sorrow about the Queen’s passing. Their active interest has mirrored the sadness shown throughout the world for the death of other celebrities. Princess Diana is still recalled with great fondness long after her death in a Parisian car accident. Others have had similar reactions with the deaths of Elvis Presley, John Lennon, or John Denver. One of my own earliest memories is how my parents grieved over the death of FDR. I, myself, recall my thoughts about the assassination of JFK. However, my own grief for the death of any of these, or other, celebrities is minimal in comparison with the expressions recorded in public media for the passing of Queen Elizabeth II.

My lack of deeply expressed sorrow pertains to the death of people I have known personally, as well as those who are known only through public accounts. Yes, I have felt momentary sadness about the death of friends or relatives, but not to the extent apparent in others. If I actually believe in life-after-death and a final reunion with God, there is no reason for me to grieve the earthly departure of anyone. They continue to exist in a condition of complete love. I should be happy for them. Any sorrow I might feel would be the result of a loss of the pleasure they brought to me, a pleasure that should be recalled with joy, not sadness.

Yes, my cousin Rosemary still exists within my active memory as someone whom I greatly loved and dearly miss, although she died in April 1986. I’ve lost other cousins, as well as all of my aunts and uncles, but I am not sad that they no longer exist in this world. I also recall with great fondness, interactions I’ve had with close friends who died long ago, but there is no sadness, no grief, no feeling of loss, per se. Memories should be ones of events that once brought pleasure and continue to bring joy.

Pomp is defined as a show of magnificence or splendor. The glory of God is also a display of magnificence and splendor that is all-enveloping. Pomp and circumstance have been present in an earthly form this past week on an island off the coast of Europe. I expect that, to a lesser degree, they will be exhibited in Houston, Texas, during the next week, since it was announced, today, that Joseph Fiorenza, Archbishop Emeritus of the Diocese of Galveston-Houston, died this morning; he was 91. Bishop Fiorenza, like Queen Elizabeth II, was loved and respected by many friends and followers. His funeral will, no doubt, be closely observed.

There are several times throughout my own life when I have been stirred by the magic of processional marches and their accompanying rituals. The black and white television images of a riderless horse come readily to mind as will, I’m sure, the red-and-gold-covered casket of a queen. The sound of Sir Edward Elgar’s “Pomp and Circumstance” can be heard by an inner ear. It is good to recall that he composed this music for the coronation of Elizabeth’s father, Edward VII, in 1902. Pomp and circumstance remain relevant for commencements, and not just for the conclusion of a well-lived life. Both processionals and recessionals are part of our complete opus.

It is now February 2023! Two years have passed since I wrote about our personal interactions resulting from COVID-19. There is now a new, semi-normal life. Individuals may still be concerned about the latest genetic strain of the virus, but they are not doing much more about it than they did before the epidemic began three years ago. As with many viruses, there have been numerous mutations, resulting in some strains being more infective than others. However, the Houston Chronicle has finally eliminated its daily statistics on the virus.

Currently, 6.8 million deaths have occurred worldwide, of which 1.1 million have been reported for the US. More than 670 million cases of viral infection have been attributed, globally, with 102 million in this country, and some 8.3 million confirmed for Texas. I, personally, know no one who has died because of the virus, although there have been deaths among relatives of those living at Eagle’s Trace, even if there have been no COVID-19 deaths reported for our own residents.

Our Medical Center has provided residents, those willing to take them, with two basic and two booster vaccinations. Only a few here have declined, although general acceptance of the vaccines has been limited, depending a lot upon one’s politics! With the anti-vaccination response evident by so many throughout the country, it would not be surprising if both smallpox and polio will return. Respiratory infections, in general, have increased, primarily in children. Adults are also suffering long-range fatigue following their recovery from COVID-19, itself.

Along with the physical fatigue, there may be a widespread psychological malaise. People are growing weary of the pandemic reports by the media. Perhaps, to offset this fatigue, video newscasts seem to focus, even more than they did previously, on details of mass-shootings of school children as well as attacks on Asians and other minorities! Police brutality and riots against authority make up the remainder of the nightly news. Fortunately, I do not follow the other, common social media outlets, which seem to focus on conspiracy plots and how the 2020 election was “stolen” from Mr. Trump, per his own accounts.

Social distancing is rarely practiced at the beginning of 2023. Stenciled footprints are still visible in many lines designated for public waiting, but few are occupied. Only a handful of people wear masks, either at Eagle’s Trace or in the grocery store. Karen and I have not visited a mall, together, since Christmas, 2019! While she was in the hospital, recently, for her hip-replacement, I did go to Memorial City Mall, adjoining the hospital, in order to buy her a Christmas present. Actually, I went twice, to purchase two gifts. The first visit was on a weekday, and the Mall, the major one for this part of Houston, was quite empty of customers. However, on Saturday afternoon, the crowds seemed to have returned in full force. I, myself, continue to order almost everything else from Amazon. I have not purchased any new clothes for the last three years.

With regard to religious gatherings, we have returned to the liturgies held at either Epiphany of the Lord or at St. John Vianney’s parish. Following Karen’s hip-replacement, I have returned to being the driver. However, I do not enjoy driving after dark, and Vianney is readily available with non-expressway traffic. Cardinal DiNardo now allows reception of the cup for those who desire to partake of it at Eucharist. Streaming liturgies are events of the past.

At this stage following the outset of COVID-19, much of the nation has returned to the behavior it exhibited prior to the epidemic. In fact, young adults may be even more anxious to return to a party-lifestyle than they were before being isolated. The older folks at Eagle’s Trace also seem to be in the process of setting aside the restrictions of the pandemic. The living room in the main building is, once more, filled each night with before-dinner wine imbibers.

Toilet paper is readily available in the stores. However, a dozen eggs, because of a new avian virus, may be bought for $7.00, over twice the price of a current gallon of gasoline! Only a few months ago, the prices were reversed. People, once again, are frequenting restaurants. Given the rapidly increased cost for all kinds of food purchases, I am reluctant to join in this renewed activity. Although the annual fee for maintenance at Eagle’s Trace, which includes funds for dining, have increased by 6%, it is still less expensive to eat here than at the “average” restaurant.

The cycle of life continues, as confusingly as ever. The new semi-normal life, as it becomes the new-normal, maintains its price-keeping pace. Reluctantly, I follow.

It began when Karen leaned forward and tried to cough, but couldn’t. We were at dinner on a Thursday evening in the Eagle’s Roost café where she was enjoying her fillet mignon. The bite she had taken was too large to swallow; she began choking but with no result. She stood up and tried to dislodge the meat but could not. She collapsed onto her chair, bent over the table and became silent. I have never been so scared in all of my life than when I sat across from her, and could do nothing. She was choking to death. I yelled for someone to call the front desk for the community’s first responders. There was a lot of commotion by surrounding residents and staff but it seemed that no one was doing anything to call for professional help. One of the dining-room residents said he was a physician and tried to perform a Heimlich maneuver but failed to bring anything up, since he could not get her to stand. She was lying on the floor when first responder Dustin and his partner arrived and began to perform CPR on her unmoving form. All I could do was stand there and pray.

My prayer, even then, seemed strange to me. I prayed that she recover, yet I simultaneously prayed for God’s will to be done. If she died, I knew she would be with Him in heaven. And yet I, selfishly, did not want to let her go, even though I believed she would not really depart from me. As Dustin administered CPR, she coughed up the bolus of fillet mignon and moved her legs. It was not yet time for us to be separated by dimensions of time and space. Responders from the local fire station appeared with their stretcher. As Karen awakened, she was placed on the gurney and moved down the hall to the waiting ambulance. I rushed along with my walker until we reached the elevator. She and the team went on while I anxiously waited for the elevator car to return.

She was examined in the ambulance; her vital signs appeared to be back to normal. Dustin and the other responders urged she be taken immediately to the local ER. However, she was adamant in not wanting to go to the hospital. Having been married for sixty-five years, I knew there was really no way for me to convince her to agree to the transfer. The two of us returned to our apartment; she in a wheelchair and I with my walker. She entered her recliner and I sat in mine. She rested comfortably for the remainder of the night; I did not.

The next morning, after meeting with Dr. Patel in the ET medical center, Karen reluctantly agreed for me to take her to the ER at Methodist West Hospital, fifteen minutes away from Eagle’s Trace. She remained there for the weekend. She slowly recovered from the inhalation pneumonia that resulted from her choking episode. Arrangements were made, with a lot of ongoing hassles, for oxygen tanks and an oxygen concentrator to be delivered to our apartment. (For some unknown reason, the oxygen company agents could not readily find Eagle’s Trace, even after explicit instructions were repeatedly given to the local office. Fortunately, Karen did not need a tank for her visit to a pulmonologist who agreed she did not require additional oxygen.)

A month later Karen has completely recovered, physically. She recalls almost nothing about the episode, itself. Shortly afterwards, she did ask about my standing in front of her with a pink box in my hands. That is an event which I maintain never occurred.

On the other hand, I continue to have my own emotional problems regarding this incident which, while terrifying during the time it occurred, ended with positive results. I fear that she may choke again. Any small cough while she is eating, brings about a terrible dread within me. I know she will take only small bites, that it is unlikely anything will go down the wrong way. But the fear persists. I fear losing her; this time with no return. I realize how much I depend upon her presence, her being there. It’s not a matter of doing without the actions she performs, of her not taking care of the housework in our daily lives. I know that I can do all that might be required for my own physical existence. It is my emotional and spiritual existence that would change.

I truly understand, now, that love is being present to the other. Our communication does not require us to speak. We can sit quietly together in the same room or do our own things in different parts of our home. Although love is being together as one soul, I prefer … for now … that the body is somewhere nearby. I realize that, in some year to come, this physical presence will be broken. I know that the spiritual bond will exist forever, but during my waking hours I prefer to dwell elsewhere. I need to see her whenever I look for her smiling face.

Although the Greek word “ekleipsis” means “abandonment” or “downfall,” we usually think of an eclipse in relationship to being “hidden.” In a solar eclipse, the moon hides the sun and the moon’s shadow travels across the earth to hide the areas over which it passes. With a lunar eclipse, the earth hides the sun from the moon and the earth’s shadow hides the face of the moon as a path of darkness crosses our satellite.

On April 8, 2024, the moon’s shadow hurried along a one-hundred-mile-wide path, beginning at Eagle Pass in Texas, crossing over the Lone Star’s Hill Country, the middle of the nation, the southern edge of the Great Lakes and exiting the continent over northeastern Maine.

For the past months and especially during the immediate days of the last two weeks, Americans have been bombarded with stories about this transit. The hoopla has seemed to be excessive regarding everything one could do as part of the celebration of this natural event. If you wanted to, you could even buy a cupcake topped with a special Oreo cookie in which the dark biscuit almost occluded the white frosting beneath it. Reports about the annual Super Bowl paled in comparison with those about this super, celestial event. Unfortunately, the final sighting of this solar eclipse was, itself, eclipsed by the weather. In many parts of the country, clouds hid the sun from the eyes of the millions who had journeyed towards its pathway in order to behold a two to four minutes sighting of the totality of the eclipse.

The population of every town and village to be touched by the moon’s shadow doubled in size. Many of these communities declared states of emergency in expectation of the traffic and onslaught of migrants-for-a-day. Visitors from distant parts of the country, as well as from other worldwide sites where the eclipse would be less than total, traveled to areas which promised an experience of a more complete darkness. Many paid exorbitant rental prices, some as high as $1,000 per night, with the expectation of seeing what, in the long run, they were unable to see. Hoping to experience a sun hidden by the moon’s shadow, they observed a sun hidden by clouds and occasional rainstorms. They were, indeed, abandoned.

I, myself, traveled only as far as the edge of Lake Aquila in the center of our Eagle’s Trace community, where I met dozens of other residents who hoped a miracle would occur. It did. The heavy cloud-cover suddenly thinned moments before the solar eclipse reached the ninety-four percent totality predicted for our location on this planet. Albeit the clouds quickly rejoined, there were several minutes when the fingernail edge of the sun could be seen through the required dark glasses we had, immediately, put on. Although we were unable to observe the slow movement of the moon as it hid and un-hid the solar surface, we were able to behold the climax of its passage at 1:39 pm. Meanwhile, the sky darkened enough for the ground-lights to turn on along the walkways crisscrossing the courtyard. Several residents claimed they saw the local ducks settling down for the twilight; however, I thought the ambient light remained brighter than that of a normal dusk. Perhaps ducks have a different spectrum for their vision.

Those who experienced the solar event around Lake Aquila appeared to be satisfied with their brief encounter with a moon-hidden sun. On the other hand, I wondered how those who journeyed miles for their own exposure, felt about the cost-benefit ratio of their effort, especially with the homeward-bound traffic to be encountered.

It is strange how humans desire to experience an unusual episode of darkness. Most citizens do not look forward to the recurring darkness of night with its potential for harm. Robbers and burglars enjoy the cover of darkness, according to biblical references and news reports of today. Mystery stories occur during the night; midnight is still the witching hour for many. Although modern adults, as well as those of a younger age, welcome the party life of evening hours, many who reach their elder years prefer to retire once nine or ten o’clock arrives.

In general, most of us prefer to be called “children of light” rather than “sons and daughters of darkness.” Many are even more mindful of this designation, given that Easter Sunday was only a week ago. Moreover, this year, April 8 was celebrated by Catholics as a special holy-day: the Feast of the Annunciation, the remembrance of the announcement of Gabriel to Mary that she would bear Emmanuel, God with us, should she say “yes” to the angel’s invitation. According to the liturgical calendar, this solemnity normally occurs on March 25, nine months before the birth of the Christchild. However, since that date, this year, occurred on the Monday of Holy Week, the celebration of the Annunciation was transferred to this particular Monday, April 8, 2024.

In ancient times, a solar eclipse had many interpretations. For some, it signified a truly disastrous event, when the stars and other celestial bodies predicted terrible occurrences. For others, it might also be seen as a time when light struggled with darkness and emerged victorious. For them, the coming of the light of Christ overshadows the darkness which exists in the world. It might be recalled that in response to Mary’s puzzlement, Gabriel said: “… the power of the Most High will cover you with its shadow. And so, the child will be holy and will be called the Son of God.” A shadow may reveal divine nature as well as hide secular ones.

This will be the final solar eclipse I will ever see. Although, on the average, a total solar eclipse is visible every eighteen months somewhere on the earth, the next one touching the United States, and then only in northern Wyoming and Idaho, will occur in 2044. The following year, on August 12, 2045, the pathway for a cross-country eclipse will exist from northern California, across the Great Plains, and terminate over central Florida. My grandchildren and great grandchildren living in Alabama at the time will be able to view it. Our son Christopher, born exactly thirty years after me, will be able to look upwards at it, if he lives to be my current age, and see from his own lakeshore home what I missed seeing from mine. May those generations not be abandoned before then.