Hope is a thing that perches in the soul

Well, it is a new year in Europe; 3:30pm in So. Oregon. Rainy, cool, snow on the way. It brings the Norwegian out in me. A hundred and sixty years ago my forefathers arrived filled with hope and certainly trepidation. They had what it takes like the fellow looking for a bathing spot below. He looks just like my dad and I can hear him saying 'karumba, its cold".

Smiling, comfy, and warm is Grace Katherine, six months old and a seventh generation Overland. Each generation enjoyed a better education, living standard, and world view. They stood up in WWI, the great depression, WWII, stood down the threat of communism, linked arms with like minded citizens and got the world back on course. The doomsday handwringers of today remind me of the crybaby-bedwetters of my gradeschool years. No hope, no vision, no problem solving attributes. Enough! Take stock of what generations before us have sacrificed and built up for us and the two generations behind us. They are up to the task and will unravel the misdeeds of our generation and get the ship of state back on course. Watching Grace and her brother Jack grow and face each new day with delight fans that ember of hope that burns brightly in my soul. The pessimists of today are missing a healthy dose of children.

I am doing well, just irritated(incase you didn't notice) about the low level of discourse present in our media. I continue with chemotherapy, grumble about it while thanking the scientists who developed the treatment as it is giving me the opportunity to still get irritated now and then.


Hope you all have a great New Year. Come visit us. Eric

Eric saving ancient civilization

Margie and I are back from a tour of western Turkey. It is hard to wrap one's mind around the idea of 10 to 15 thousands years of recorded and preserved human enterprise that exists in Turkey, especially coming from a small logging-farming community in Oregon. Evidence of past human activity from caves to temples, early christian churches, and mosques are so common as to even merit a glance in many parts of western Turkey. Many structures are falling down and as you see in the picture I'm doing my part to get this Roman ampitheater in Myra from falling into further disorder.
What were the high lights of the tour you ask? To me seeing the importance of religion through the eons. Everyone had lots of gods and temples and ceremonies to propitiate the gods and goddesses- the source of life's misfortunes. Fertility goddesses were big. It took a few thousand years for them to recognize that the male had a role. Along came the Jews claiming there was only one true god. Very bad if you are in the temple building or offeratory business. Then the christians, again bad for business, also challenging the idea that the Roman emperor might not be the head hauncho. Possibly it was the early christians who knocked the noses and genitalia off all those beautiful statues, or possibly just unruly teenagers. Mohammed upset the order again in 600 AD. Turkey is still trying to find it's religious identity. Although 99% call themselves Muslim there was a lot of imbibing of the fruit of the vine, interest in heathen western ways, and hopes that Turkey could one day join the Europeon Union.

Another observation. Slavery was the economic model for eons. The wealthy and powerful constructed elaborate temples and mausoleums to memorialize themselves(using slaves of course). Maurading bands, tribes and imperial armies were after territory and plunder of course, but mainly they needed women and children for their slave force and men inscripted into their armies and navies. Tough eons those.

If travel is in your future, put Turkey at the top of the list. Wonderful people, fabulous history, vistas everywhere, scrumptious food, vibrant economy, you will be treated hospitably by people proud of their country.

I had another MRI last Friday and it remains unchanged, thankfully. I'm tired from the monthly chemo, but thankful that it is still working to keep the beast at bay.
Affection and heartfelt regards to all, Eric

Two years, two grand children, cancer in remission

The past two years have been quite a journey with a few lows but primarily highs and grand events. The most recent posting shows the two most recent additions to the Overland clan. Grace, joined us on June 12th, Marjorie and my 39th wedding anniversary. I know you are thinking they are much too young to be grandparents, but things are mixed up these days and the traditional timelines of weddings, children, grandchildren, are a tossup and we are just grateful to catch the tip now and then. Grandchildren add a whole new luster to life and being a teacher, mentor, friend, and source of loving protection assumes primacy. They need to know which raspberrys are ripe, how to pluck them and check for flavor quality, what lives under the rock, why that buzzing sound from the snake means danger, and the joy of the scent of the newly opened lily. They should love poetry, recitation, music, literature, the exilaration of strenuous sport, and the satisfaction of serving others.

This benediction or offering starts my day. It originated with the Mohawk nation long before Europeons settled and tradition says they opened and closed each gathering of clan, tribe, or confederation with this offering. Gary Snyder, Pulitzer prize winning poet, put it in this contemporary form. I have adapted it somewhat to fit my inner sensibilities.

Prayer for the Great Family

GRATITUDE TO MOTHER EARTH
Soaring through night and day,
And to her soil, rich, rare, and sweet.
In our minds so be it
GRATITUDE TO THE SUN
Blinding pulsing light through the trunks of trees and mists
Warming the caves of sleeping bears and snakes
He who wakes us
In our minds so be it
GRATITUDE TO THE AIR
Bearing the soaring swift and silent owl at dawn
Breath of our prayer and song
Clear spirit breeze
In our mind so be it
GRATITUDE TO THE WATER
Clouds, rivers, lakes, or glaciers
Holding or releasing
Streaming through our body's salty streams
In our minds so be it
GRATITUDE TO THE PLANTS
Sun-facing life-changing leaf
Fine root-hairs withstanding wintry blasts and spring torrents
Their dance is in the flutter of leaf and spiral of wind swept grain
In our minds so be it
GRATITUDE TO THE WILD BEINGS
Our brothers, teaching secrets, ways, and freedoms
Who feed and cloth us
Self-complete, brave and aware
In our minds so be it
GRATITUDE TO THE GREAT SKY
Holding uncounted stars, more beyond that, beyond thought
And yet is within us
Home of Grandfather Spirit, the mind is his wife
In our minds so be it

Gratitude all of you for your thoughs and prayers.

Eric

Two years, two grandchildren, cancer in remission

Mother's Day

Salutations to mothers past, present, and future. From the fruit of your wombs we sprang or maybe were pushed and pulled, but we thank you for your nurturing garden that gave us life and the careful tending, love, guidance, that got us to this time that we could express gratitude for the gift.

This poem "Soul Weavings": a Gathering of Women's Prayers, by Lyn Klug says it better.

My God, I praise you, I thank you for my mother.
For all that she could give me,
For all that she gave of herself,
a true, living school of love and humility.
She reveals to me your mystery-
thank you for her revelation of your truth.
Now, O God, I pray for all the children
of Africa, of Asia, of America and Europe.
For all the children of the world.
Give me a heart like that of a mother
the heart of a black woman for her children.

We had a memorial service for Marjorie's father last Saturday. Family from Canada, Montana, Washington, and the Medford area came to acknowledge a life well-lived and a life to emulate. As Tom Brokaw stated, "these among us represented the greatest generation". Those of us fortunate to know this man witnessed daily examples of character, steadfastness, core values, kindness, generosity, and grace. I want to be like him. Daily, he nurtured the garden, his poetry reading, music, and his charities. Hardly a moment goes by during the day when a flower bright, a bird song, or an emerging beet in the garden doesn't remind me of him. This spring prayer by RW Emerson is for him. He would feel at home in this poem.

For flowers that bloom about our feet
For fresh grass tender and sweet
For song of bird and hum of bee
For all things near we hear or see
Father, creator of all, we thankThee.

For blue of streams, blue of sky
For shading branches reaching high
For perfumed air and cooling breezes
For the beauty of flowering trees
Father, creator of all, we than Thee.

My brain MRI last Friday showed no tumor recurrence in the last two months and Marjorie said that was her Mother's Day present. Chemotherapy on a monthly basis remains the main menu going forward. I have an accumulative fatigue from this but fight back with heavy doses of family love, music, friends, hikes, time on rivers, and conversations with the creative forces flowing through the emerging flowers in the garden and the energy pushing forward the Spring.

Gratitude to mother earth, sailing through night and day, and to her soil, rich rare and sweet. In our minds so be it. (More of this first American prayer later)

Thanks to all for your friendship and love. Now, the roses are calling, we have a memorial garden for my parents and Marjorie's. The want to talk to me. I will listen. Eric

A life to emulate

The quiet time on the blog since Christmas reflects a stable period with the only personal health concerns being the fatigue and malaise associated with the monthly chemotherapy. I've come to terms with the down time each month and have found the antidote is family which is a steady source of life force. Friends, good conversation, music, frequent exercise, stimulating literature, current affairs provide additional stimulation to get up and go each day. I'm not working because of the chemotherapy side effects and the uncertain short term prognosis. Next MRI in March.

Marjorie's dad has lived with us the past 3 1/2 years. Although he celebrated his 98th birthday in November, he has been very active, tending the vegetable and flower gardens, responsible for the planting schedule, harvest, pest control, and any other environmental threats to fresh veggies through the summer and fall. He was a wonderful raconteur and would never fail to inform the uninitiated about the working of the mines in Canada, Montana, and Missouri.

A gentleman of the old school, he would never sit down at the table until the ladies were seated unless of course one of his women told him to please sit down (to get out of the way). He communicated the classical way; he wrote letters in perfect Palmer script. Christmas cards were out a month early, income taxes done in January, quarterly taxes filed well in advance, bills paid immediately, and he was offended if he couldn't pick up the dinner check. He regaled us with his grade school poems timed to the perfect occasion. And his reading of Robbie Burn's "To a Mouse"always amazed visitors young and old. He was an old fashion Republican: pay as you go, avoid debt, help the needy generously, avoid foreign entanglements, emphasize education for all young people, and nothing elevated a man like a job well done. Events of the last eight years have challenged him and last Spring he was forced to switch his lifelong party affiliation.

Last Fall his age began to catch up with him as his emphysema and bronchitis worsened and he suffered a series of small strokes, but he soldiered on. Two weeks ago another stroke took away his right hand function. We thought we had lost him last week when he lost consciousness, but he revived. We put him on Hospice at home with us and the children came home to lift his spirits. He took a turn for the worse Saturday afternoon and died in his sleep early Sunday morning.

We thought we had prepared for this event having seen three other parents through similar scenarios, but one is never really ready. I am reminded of the poem about the death of Lincoln likened to the grace of a mighty fir suddenly down and leaving a large empty space. So it is with Dad, so many attributes to model oneself after, nine grandchildren instructed and schooled to take up where he left off. He left a large space but our memories will amply fill it.

John August Hunt: 11/18/10 to 02/15/09.

We will have a memorial when the weather improves.

love to all, Eric