is this scar making me whole?

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” – Rumi

Just over three months ago, I fell down the long, narrow, hardwood staircase in our old house and broke my right shoulder. “Shattered” was actually the word the medical people used, which told me it was pretty serious. My pleas for no surgery fell on deaf ears (thankfully, as there was apparently no healing without such intervention.) So, now I’m the proud bearer of a shoulder full of “hardware” as the medical people call it - two plates and nine long screws. The x-ray is scary to look at.

Before this mess with my shoulder, I had never been in the hospital – not even to have my kids. They were born at home with skilled and licensed midwives (this was back in the Hippie days…) There was a doctor standing by, but he was not needed. Due to good health, good habits and germophobic behavior that rivals Howard Hughes,’ no one in my family has been to the doctor much. We’re just not “doctor people” and so far, with a few minor exceptions, the Good Lord has blessed us with being able to carry on that way.

So, you can imagine how all this shoulder havoc affected me – poorly, very poorly. Suddenly I was someone I never thought I’d be, someone I almost didn’t recognize. I was this person with multiple medications and way too many medical and physical therapy appointments, barely able to move my right arm (I am right handed,) living in near constant pain. Oh! Woe was me!

Obviously this is no way to live, but with time and some admittedly lack luster efforts on my part, things have improved. I’m off all the meds, am able to do a fair number of things with my right arm again, and have become nearly ambidextrous. I have also learned a lot about the shoulder, in general, and much of it is interesting in an almost Zen-like way.

Did you know the shoulder is the most complex joint and set of corresponding muscles in the body? That’s why shoulder injuries are so difficult to diagnose, treat and recover from. Instead of a ball joint encased in a bone socket, like all of our other joints, the shoulder ball floats freely in a sort of socket made by the muscles of the shoulder, back and arm. That’s why it has such an amazing range of motion – it’s free to swivel every which way, with only the muscles governing its movements - and the way they do so turns out to be quite complex.  

The muscles all work together in an intricately orchestrated way, so when something happens to one of them, the others react by trying to compensate. In the case of a major injury, such as mine, the muscles, first traumatized, then immobilized, shut down. After a few weeks, they stop “talking” to each other. They form a tense, protective ball around the injured area and stay that way. Then, they actually forget how to communicate, so they can’t work together at all; hence, the need for physical therapy.

My therapist says what we’re doing, during our biweekly time together, is not only working on strengthening the muscles, but also helping them learn to “talk” to each other again, which is turning out to be an elusive task. I’m making good progress on the strength exercises, but the mobility ones aren’t going so well. I believe that’s because my cranky shoulder and its cranky muscles don’t want to communicate yet. They’re like a bad family on a long car trip - it’s not going well and no one’s having fun.       

Part of this probably has to do with my attitude. Spoiled as it may be, (I realize there are people struggling with very real medical challenges that put my little shoulder issue to shame…) I’ve been so resentful of all this that I’ve not applied myself to the process of healing - as in it’s MY process and if I don’t participate, I’m not going to heal. I’ve been so busy feeling sorry for myself that I’ve not paid much attention to the process of getting better and I am getting better, at a surprisingly steady pace, in spite of myself.

If the Good Lord gives you what you can handle, my theory that I’m a weakling holds true with this shoulder thing. I’ve been so busy bemoaning my fate I’ve not focused on the bright side, which is, it could be worse, a lot worse.

Add to my New Year’s resolution list, “Get squared away attitude-wise so those tight-lipped, balled-up, stubborn muscles can start communicating again.” China Mieville wrote in The Scar,

“Scars are not injuries. A scar is healing. After injury, a scar is what makes you whole.”  I’ve got a big ole’ scar on my right shoulder and it’s time to see it as the healing it is, rather than the burden and reminder it has been.

it turns out money can buy happiness...

“Plants want to grow; they are on your side as long as you are reasonably sensible.”- Anne Wareham

It turns out money can buy happiness. I just spent $86 plus shipping on two grow lights, each with a nifty adjustable stand and I believe this purchase is going to change my life. You see, I am a gardener and last year I switched from buying plants to growing seeds. It was a big adjustment and, quite frankly, a pain in the you know what, but by the end of the season my garden looked so good and was so productive that I became a seed convert.

The quality and hardiness of the plants was much better than those often sad and disease-prone vegies, herbs and flowers I used to get at the big box stores. And, paying about $3 for each 3-inch peat pot plant makes a $2 pack of seeds look like a real bargain. Plus, with seeds, I had so many plants that I could be generous in giving them away.  

The problem with seeds is that they take a lot of fussing; hence, the grow light purchase. Last year I started my seeds in mid-February in these spiffy things I found online called Biodomes. The Biodomes came filled with handy little seed starting cubes and a booklet featuring detailed instructions and some glossy photos of hardy, healthy plants. Boy! Was I inspired!

When the seeds began sprouting it became clear the window the Biodomes were sitting by didn’t provide enough light. Within days, the seedlings became leggy, spindly and bent, exhausted in their effort to reach for the sun.

That led to me move the Biodomes from window to window during the day, so as to maximize the light for my poor baby plants. That worked well enough until it was time to put the little guys in bigger pots. Then, instead of carting two Biodomes around the house, I had to tote several too-easily-bendable foil or plastic trays of peat pots around, spilling water and dirt along the way.      

By the time it became time to “harden” my plants by putting them outside during the day and bringing them back in at night, I had WAY too many plants and a WAY inadequate way to move them about. Plus, I had the same problem with the porches I had with the windows – not enough light. That resulted in a daily routine of plant tray shifting that had gotten on my last nerve by the time it was time to actually plant the little fellas in the garden. If it’s true that plants react to the energy around them, it’s a miracle any of my plants survived. But, survive they did and thrive.

The garden grew so quickly and beautifully that I began to pat myself on the back, such a successful gardener was I! So, you can imagine my thrill when the seed catalogues started appearing in my mailbox on those cold December days.     

But, as I sat by the cozy fireplace, perusing those colorful pages, dreaming and dog-earing, so many exciting prospects, a sense of dread set in. Is it really time to start fussing with seeds again? When the orders arrived and Mr. Clark got out the Biodomes again, my heart sank. “I really can’t face this seed nonsense again!” was my secret and silent cry…

Because we’ve been married a long time, and because he’s a decent guy, Mr. Clark sensed a “disturbance in the force” and asked why I wasn’t excited about the seeds. I told him and within minutes, he had researched and priced grow lights and peat pot toting trays. Kaboom! Problem solved.

This year my seeds will sprout and grow in their Biodomes, sitting in one spot, under the grow light’s glow. When it’s time to transplant them, I’ll have some sturdy trays to put the peat pots in and they, too, will sit in one spot, in the glow of the other grow light. Then, when it’s time to “harden” my little buddies, I’ll move them to a really keen, four shelf “green house” that will stand in the sunniest spot of our sunniest porch. No more in and out of the house, just drop the plastic walls at night and Viola! hardened plants. I’m all done with the toting, dragging and cussing. No more bad energy flying at my little plants. It’s all ease and convenience this year…I’ll admit, the cost was closer to $150, but it’s money well spent.    

I’m excited about gardening this year. I planted my first round of seeds; they’re starting to come up and they look really good so far.  Seeds hold such promise and I get so much pleasure from watching them sprout and grow. Gardening is like a lot of things - it takes patience, practice, research and a willingness to make mistakes. But, the rewards reaped and the lessons learned make it well worth the while.   

I used to struggle with depression this time of year - nothing to look forward to, everything so dreary and cold – but, no longer. I found the optimism I need to get me through to spring in the pages of seed catalogues and in those tiny bright green plants, just starting to peek over the edge of their Biodomes, warm and happy under the glow of those wonderful new grow lights.   

"the piano is not firewood yet..." a bit of a late post, but maybe still useful as the New Year unfolds?

“The piano is not firewood yet, but the cold does get cold, so it soon might be that. I’ll take it apart, call up my friends and we’ll warm up our hands by the fire…” – Regina Spektor lyrics, “Firewood”

Christmas is less than two weeks away and the Winter Solstice is on Dec. 21. Getting past the shortest day of the year always seems like an accomplishment, as does completing all of those holiday tasks. These next 10 days or so are when the real frenzy happens for me because I try to get everything (or at least most things) done so that I can relax and truly savor the last few days before Christmas, then really languish in the day itself.  

The other day, I heard Garrison Keillor describe what I hope to experience with all this frantic prep work on “A Prairie Home Companion” from 2011. He said, “One of the best parts of Christmas is the part before it starts, where there are these whole patches of serenity that open up and you feel this peace…You sit and enjoy this quiet…You breathe it all in…that’s the peace of Christmas.”  

Striving early in order to experience the peace of Christmas later is a luxury of age. Years ago there was no peace at Christmas - only excitement, anticipation and stress. When the kids were growing up, the holiday season was hectic, often too busy, and making the money stretch far enough to make the dreams come true was a challenge.     

It seems like only yesterday my kids were lying under the Christmas tree in pajamas with feet, shaking their presents, giggling together, trying to guess what was inside. We kept the belief in Santa alive as long as we could at our house because we just didn’t want the magic to end…Baby Jesus, the Star of Bethlehem, angels singing on high…It’s so much easier to see miracles through children’s eyes.  

Now my kids are grown and a dinner, an overnight and a breakfast with them is all we get – not that that is not blessing enough – it is. It’s just that sometimes I miss the month of anticipation and laughter Christmas used to bring.

I’m not sure why that Regina Spektor song about the piano not being firewood yet hit such a chord in my heart. It’s not a very happy thought nor is it very “Christmassy.” It’s so poignant, though; the notion that something as beloved as a piano might have to end up keeping one warm, but at least there’ll be friends by the fire.

The same song has the lines, “Love what you have and you’ll have more love…though there’s still no cure for crying…Everyone knows it’s going to hurt, but at least we’ll get hurt trying.” Another sad, yet somehow uplifting thought…There’ll be more tears, but there’ll also be more love.

As you can tell, the holidays are an emotional time for me. Tears well up in my eyes and I find a lump in my throat more often this time of year. Everything is so beautiful and bright, yet fragile and fleeting. It’s the juxtaposition of glory and miracles against the frailty of a newborn, a special son whose mother knows his fate, while blessed, will not be easy.

There’s that bright star with its warmth and light, shimmering against the cold of the night…The riches the Wise Men offer, in the face of such poverty. One of the messages Christmas brings, so loud and clear, is that we are blessed with such bounty and yet, there is such need…Life is fragile; the future is unknown. The piano is not firewood yet, so as long as we are blessed to do so, let’s keep playing… 

Sandy Creek...thoughts, prayers and Christmas?

"These tragedies must end. And to end them, we must change." —President Obama at a vigil for the victims at Sandy Hook Elementary

Christmas is less than a week away and a few days ago 26 people, 20 of them  children, were massacred at an elementary school in Connecticut. How does one juxtapose these two realities? One doesn’t; at least, I don’t.  

I have no way to process tragedies like the one that happened at Sandy Hook. I can’t possibly imagine what those parents, teachers, families and friends are feeling. My thoughts just stop when I try to wrap my head around it…All I can do is pull my loved ones close and do what I can to create a few warm moments for every person and animal that I possibly can, as often and as generously as I can. Life is so brief and beautiful…

Since the massacre, we’ve been trying to process the un-processable, to express thoughts about the un-thinkable. The news is full of our attempts at this, as are Facebook, the blogs, private conversations and emails. One of the most comforting thoughts comes from Mr. Rogers.

He said, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of ‘disaster,’ I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers - so many caring people in this world.”

That thought has comforted so many that it has “gone viral” and been shared on Facebook over 100,000 times. Thank you, Mr. Rogers, thank you.

In addition to hugging and praying and sharing comforting thoughts, we, as a nation, are looking at guns – our love affair and use of them. Should they be controlled? If so, how? Opinions on both sides of this issue are firmly held and fervently debated.

A friend of mine, Matt Perry, shared his thoughts eloquently and knowledgably in his blog, The Poor Wayfarer. His piece is called “The American Disease,” a reference to the term an Australian Prime Minister gave our “overabundance of guns and mania equating gun ownership with freedom, allowing military human-killer weapons to fall into the hands of anyone, including the mentally ill.”

Perry hunts and owns “quite a few guns.” His position is that, “We can hunt and protect our homes with average deer rifles and shot guns, weapons that are difficult to conceal and which have a low rate of fire…What is the purpose of an assault rifle? It's to kill people…The design of an assault rifle is to simply, chillingly, kill people efficiently…And, when we talk of  ‘assault rifles,’ we mean any weapon capable of semi-automatic fire, chambered for high velocity rounds and capable of mounting clips up to 30 rounds.”

My friend’s most powerful point is this: “We currently live in a society where it’s easier to buy an assault rifle and an extended magazine than to get medications for mental illness…Hand in hand with our problems with gun control is our unspoken tragedy of untreated mentally ill citizens.”

And, that my friends, based on my observations during eight years as an emergency room social worker, is true. I can’t tell you how many families I worked with who were facing similar issues to those the Sandy Hook killer’s family faced. How to get care and medication for the escalating mental illness of a loved one who is an adult and does NOT want care?

I watched “Love Actually,” a Christmas movie from 2003, starring Hugh Grant and Laura Linney (among others) the night of the Sandy Hook massacre. It is my tradition to watch that movie while I wrap gifts and I was in particular need of comfort that night.

My favorite part of the movie is the opening line, when Hugh Grant, (the Prime Minister of England) says: “Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaking suspicion... love actually is all around.”

I couldn’t agree more.

It’s time to rethink our love affair with assault weapons and retool our failing mental health care system. It’s time for a fresh debate on gun control. And, this Christmas, perhaps more than ever, it’s time for us to hold our loved ones near and do what we can for those whom we can.

"fearfully and wonderfully made"

“You need to give what you do not have. The thing you do not have is certitude and so you should give certainty to other people as a gift.” – Pastor Liz from “A Prairie Home Companion”

Thanksgiving is over and those leftovers are, thankfully, gone. Christmas is rapidly approaching and after that, New Years. It is a season of great joy, deep contentment, ongoing thankfulness and much excess. From Black Friday to Cyber Monday to all those last minute Door Buster deals, we are invited to overspend and overdo, and it is a challenge not to.

“Jesus is the reason for the season,” is the thought I use to keep my spending in check when the bright lights of the superstores begin to blind me; that and an ongoing awareness of how blessed me and mine have been, year after year. In truth, there is nothing anyone in my family needs.  

The holidays are also a time of physical excess. We eat too much; we drink too much; we sleep too little; we wear ourselves out, only to beat ourselves up for doing so. Hence, the vehemence of those New Year’s resolutions – we just feel so bad about all those delicious things we’ve been eating and drinking and enjoying way too much.

Anne Lamott, an author I truly enjoy, struggles with excess, body image, shoulds and should nots. Her post-Thanksgiving post on Facebook began with Psalm 139:14: “I will praise thee, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Marvelous are thy works and that my soul knoweth right well.” 

“Fearfully and wonderfully made…” Hearing that soothed my still-digesting soul and silenced the clamor in my head about eating too much, having too much and being too well blessed. What a wonderful description of our fragile, yet resilient selves, “fearfully and wonderfully made.”     

In our very own community we are witnessing a huge example of being “fearfully and wonderfully made.” It is the story of Tripp Halstead, the little boy who was severely injured by a tree limb that fell on him while he was playing outside at his day care on a windy day.  I don’t know the Halstead family and I’ve never met Tripp. I am, however, Facebook friends with several people who get the daily updates Tripp’s parents post and reading about their journey has brought more than one tear to my eyes.

Initially, Tripp’s parents were told to say, “Good bye,” that their little boy’s head injuries were too severe to survive. But, he made it through that night and the next night and all the nights that followed. Tripp is still alive and has recently moved from an intensive care unit to a hospital where rehabilitation is the challenge ahead.  

As a mother, I can’t imagine what Tripp’s family has been going through. I marvel at how strong and hopeful they remain. The community’s response has been generous, heartfelt and impressive and the tide of prayers, donations and well wishes shows no signs of ebbing. It’s clear Tripp has pulled on our collective heartstrings. His recovery has become a community cause that reminds us of how “fearfully and wonderfully made” we are. I hope he continues to defy the odds.

Tripp’s story, the Christmas story, the holidays, in general, remind me of how fragile and wonderful life is. One of the ideas central to the Christmas mindset, indeed the thankful mindset all year long, is the notion that the best gifts come from the heart.  

Pastor Liz from Garrison Keiller’s “A Prairie Home Companion” gave a sermon on that recently. The topic was, “You need to give what you do not have.” She talked about the widow who gave her last coin to Jesus and how that, among all the gifts he received that day, was the one that spoke to him. Pastor Liz went on to say, “The thing you do not have is certitude and so you should give certainty to other people as a gift.”

Perhaps that’s why I cling to life so tenaciously, feeding every stray animal or person that comes my way, and making sure those whom I love are showered with love and care and every piece of something that feels like certitude I can possibly give them. We, none of us, know what tomorrow will bring; so for now, take this hug, that can of cat food, a warm meal and let it create a few moments of certitude for you, from me.      

Tripp’s parents had no idea what lay ahead when they dropped him off at day care that morning…None of us know what comes next. I wish Tripp and his family continued strength and recovery. I know the prayers of this community will stay with them. As Helen Keller said,

“Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.”

Life is good; there is much to be grateful for, for we are “fearfully and wonderfully made.”   

goodbye to a dear old friend...

"There is no greatness where there is not simplicity, goodness and truth." - Leo Tolstoy

Our dog, Raffi, died a few weeks ago and that made everyone who knew him over the 11 long years of his life sad. There wasn't much that was special about Raffi. In fact, it was his lack of "special-ness" that made him great. He was a simple-minded fellow who barked too much, didn't mind very well and pulled WAY too hard on his leash, in spite of all the training tricks we tried...

He was also a loving boy who showed up every day of his life with enthusiasm and joy, ready to participate in whatever adventure (or non-adventure) lay ahead. Raffi didn't care if nothing at all happened or if something amazing, like a raccoon ending up in the yard, occurred. He lived every day to its fullest and the simple pleasure with which he did so could serve to inspire us all.  

When Raffi was little we called him "Chockie Pie" (for "Chocolate Pie.") He was a pound puppy, a chocolate Lab mutt, who we got to keep our big, fancy Rottweiler, Pru,  company, after her dog friend, Mona, died. Raffi didn't start out as the sharpest tool in the shed and years of being tossed about playfully by a Rottweiler didn't add to his mental acuity, but, that didn't matter. Raffi seemed to know he was never meant to be the brains of the operation and he excelled in his role as enthusiastic playmate and clown.

Our kids were in high school when Raffi was young, so there was plenty of love, toys, games and attention lavished upon him in his early years. One of his favorite games was "Red Dot," which involves chasing a red laser light for as long as someone is willing to point it. We played Red Dot Raffi's whole life, but it always surprised me when, years later, one of the kids' grownup friends would stop by and Raffi would immediately run to the toy basket and start barking, as if to say, "I remember you! It's time to play Red Dot again!" Raffi never let being simple-minded get in the way of keeping track of the things that really mattered...

Another surprising thing about Raffi was that he seized the role of "protector" early on and remained strong in it for the rest of his life, no matter how many other dogs passed through our lives. Definitely "a lover, not a fighter," Raffi was, however, steadfast in his ability to keep our home, yard and the other pets safe from intruders. Over the years, Raffi killed three rabid raccoons, countless rats and possums, and made sure other unwelcome creatures, like feral cats and stray dogs, knew to stay away from our yard.

Late in life, Raffi suffered from arthritis and clusters of large, inoperable, non-cancerous fatty tumors. Even with medicine and mobility aids, these things impacted his ability to get around the way he wanted to, but that didn't get Raffi down. He just kept smiling and striving, building up strength in the limbs he needed to help compensate for the failing ones...I've never seen a creature fail physically, over so many years, while so cheerfully embracing the challenges of maintaining his quality of life. Up until the very end, Raffi took his walks and went up and down the stairs to sleep in his bed next to mine. He kept barking; he kept eating; he kept playing with his toys; and, he kept protecting his yard and his dog friends.

How Raffi loved sitting in his yard at the end of the day, surveying all that was his - all that he had ever known, with a contented look on his face. And, later, when it got to be too hard to go down into the yard, how he loved sitting on the back porch in the evening sun, watching his world settle in for yet another night...

In these days of reality TV, YouTube, Smartphones and everyone's a rock star on their own right, Raffi's approach to life seems like a particularly valuable one. He had no illusions of grandeur; he never even tried to be the Alpha dog. He knew his place in the pack and he embraced it. Raffi seemed comfortable knowing that no one much was watching him and that chances were, even in our household of sometimes pretty ratty rescue dogs, the dog all eyes would be on, would never be him.    

Yet, he did his best to live, love, contribute, enjoy and make a difference in whatever dog-way he could, each and every day. The world might be a simpler, more pleasant place if more of us approached our days the way Raffi did, finding greatness through our own goodness, enthusiasm and simplicity  ...Rest in peace, old Buddy; you will be much missed.   

Storm thoughts...donate & be exquisitely kind

“God will restore what the locusts have taken away – whether that means storms and hurricanes, fires, disastrous childhoods or marriages, and in my experience this is always true. Keep the faith.” – Anne Lamott

Hurricane Sandy, the enormous hurricane turned super-storm that battered the East Coast this week, took nearly 50 lives, caused some 8.1 million people to be without power and resulted in the cancellation of over 12,500 flights. It is being hailed as one of the costliest natural disasters in U.S. history, with damage estimates exceeding $20 billion. Twelve states were hit hard, but New York and New Jersey bore the brunt of the beast, which will leave people mopping up, hoping to recover and trying to carry on, for months.

How do I wrap my head around that, as I sit watching images of the devastation on T.V., warm in my comfy chair, surrounded by snoring pets and the glow of a cozy fire? I can’t; I simply can’t. I’ve never been in a major disaster nor has catastrophe ever darkened my door.   

I’ve been blessed with year after year of good luck, good health and, in the scope of things, very minor challenges – yet, they, at the time, seemed like almost more than I could bear. My daughter’s appendix ruptured suddenly, with emergency surgery the result. My husband was out of work for nearly two years during the peak of the recession. Quite a few dearly-loved pets have died. I fell and broke my shoulder, recently. Other than that and a few hours spent without lights during past storms and some intermittent car trouble, there have been no occasions I have had to rise to. I am so thankful for that.

Watching this gigantic storm and its aftermath unfold in the news has me wondering how I would do, if I were ever truly challenged with a monumental life event. Would I rise to the occasion or melt into a pool of despair? I like to think I’d be one of those cool-headed people who go instantly into rational action mode, rather than turn out to be the Chicken Little yelling that the sky is falling, that I fear I am.    

Anne Lamott is one of my favorite authors. She spends a good bit of time pondering spiritual matters in a very down to earth way. One of her Facebook posts this week was about Hurricane Sandy and her thoughts comforted me. Her advice is “donate, pray, breathe, wait for the water to recede, and be exquisitely kind – even to ourselves.”

She makes the point that guilt and useless mind-spinning about the woulda’, coulda’, shoulda’, what ifs don’t really help anyone at all; I agree. Unless I can get in my car and go contribute some type of action with a practical, tangible value, the best I can do for those dealing with the storm is donate, pray and be exquisitely kind to those I encounter in my part of the world, some of whom are struggling, too.  

Lamott’s pastor, whose wisdom she writes about often, says that anytime things get harsh, broken, strange, sad or crazy, something beautiful is about to be revealed. She talks about how it is in these dark, trying times that people’s outpouring of generosity is revealed, as is their ability to sacrifice for the common good, “which you don’t see all that often without darkness.”

One thing we do see, in the aftermath of disasters, large and small, is that people are resilient, generous, loving and kind. Another thing we see is that our collective sense of humor, eventually, always returns.  

I don’t know many people on the East Coast. A small group of my daughter’s best friends from college (an art school) live and work in New York City, so I know they have been impacted by this storm. It gives me comfort to think of them doing what they always do, in good times and bad, which is to breathe, dance, create something of beauty, celebrate what life and nature have most recently shown them, and exhale. Godspeed, RISD girls, and also to the so many others who have lost so much. May the “Gifts of Desperation,” as Anne Lamott calls them, abound.