I had a wonderful time at the Junior High camp, but I felt certain that it would be my last week there. When I looked up its history just now, I discovered that Camp Hardtner first opened at that location in 1948, the year I was born.

On the last night, there was a dance. A boy I liked asked me to the last selection, “Sealed with a Kiss,” by Brian Hyland. As soon as the music started, tears began to flow, as I knew it was a final goodbye to the camp and the boy.

“Sealed With A Kiss” sung by Brian Hyland (originally by The Four Voices)

Though we gotta say goodbye for the summer / Darling I promise you this

I’ll send you all my love every day in a letter / Sealed with a kiss

Yes it’s gonna be a cold lonely summer / But I’ll fill the emptiness

I’ll send you all my dreams every day in a letter / Sealed with a kiss

I’ll see you in the sunlight / I’ll hear your voice everywhere

I’ll run to tenderly hold you / But darling you won’t be there

I don’t want to say goodbye for the summer / Knowing the love we’ll miss

Oh let us make a pledge to meet in September / And seal it with a kiss

[interlude]

Yes it’s gonna be a cold lonely summer / But I’ll fill the emptiness

I’ll send you all my love every day in a letter / Sealed with a kiss

Sealed with a kiss / Sealed with a kiss

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Daddy was strict, as if his children were under his command as a Lieutenant Colonel. We sisters and our cousins concluded that he must have been abused in his own childhood because of how he treated us and our little brother. We were traumatized, and all of us needed therapy for years, of one sort or another.

Even dinners with Daddy were challenging. He would ply us with questions that we usually couldn’t answer (such as a train coming one way at a certain speed and another coming the other way from a different distance and speed; when would they collide?) or maybe one of us would venture an answer to something and it was always either wrong or not a complete answer.

Manners had to be impeccable. No talking unless spoken to other than “Please pass the potatoes.” We sat up straight, held our utensils correctly, and didn’t dare ask to be excused until everyone was through eating.

I do remember some good experiences with Daddy. He gave me (17) a pair of ducklings for Easter one year. He defended my 12-year old tears when Mama told me to quit crying. (“She can cry if she wishes.”) He gave us jewelry he had made with the rocks he had polished himself. He gave us our most wanted gifts at Christmas. He took us out to the woods to shoot down fresh mistletoe or to dig bulbs.

When Daddy died on Jan. 1, 1999, I literally felt a sense of relief. Over time, a traumatic childhood made room for memories of the good moments. I am grateful to understand trauma from the inside and to transform it into strength and empathy for others.

This is my dad on July 25, 1969, my wedding day.

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In the 1990s I was serving the Unitarian Universalist Church of Brazos Valley. Clint and Judy Phillips were two beloved founding members. Some folks came up with the idea of an annual lecture in their name. Clint’s colleagues at A&M University at College Station and members of the Unitarian Universalist Church of Brazos Valley joined forces to invite the United States Poet Laureate, Robert Pinsky, to deliver the inaugural lecture. As minister of the church, I was invited to introduce him in a lecture hall of hundreds of people on campus.

For that I needed (well, wanted) a new dress. I went to Dillard’s, where dresses are plentiful and awesome. The first one that caught my eye had a full-length, sleeveless sheath with a decorative panel at the bottom front, and a long-sleeved, matching top that made me feel beautiful. I tried on just that dress and paid $200 with no qualms at all. I don’t remember ever having spent that much for one outfit, and I don’t remember one I have ever loved more. (I call it my Pinsky dress.)

What’s the most expensive or dear thing you have purchased?

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In the brick house at the corner of Gladstone and Creswell, we three girls had a room of their own. Mine was at the back, and I had to go through one sister’s room or the other to get to it. When our brother was older, our parents turned a small store room (I think that’s what it had been) into a bedroom for him.

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Third grade took me to Mrs. Murphy’s room at Creswell Elementary. Mama walked me to school 2-3 times until I felt confident about going by myself. But after school, the first day on my own, I wasn’t sure which way to go. We probably came out a different door and nothing looked familiar. I walked all the way around the school, tears rolling down my cheeks, until I saw the A&P grocery store across a side street. THAT I could manage. Walked through the parking lot and kept going. What a relief!

We all loved the Gladstone house with a nice front yard, a big back yard, and a separate garage with an apartment above that. The washer and dryer were on one side of the garage and Daddy’s equipment for rock polishing took a good bit of space along the same wall. Upstairs, he turned some of the apartment space into a dark room, where I first learned a few things about developing pictures.

With trees on two sides of the corner lot, and the insulation afforded by brick walls, we were cool enough in the heat of summer, though we often played outside anyway! There were tennis courts across the street and a community youth center just beyond them. At the youth center we could play board games, badminton, and basketball. It’s also where another girlfriend and I took turns peeking into the boys’ room. My first urinal sightings! There were sidewalks on both sides of the house for skates, bikes, and pogo sticks. A fenced in back yard was great for our little brother.

560 Gladstone Blvd, Shreveport, LA

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In 2024 we went to Chez Zee and I reserved a table ahead of time. A placard on the table said “Happy Anniversary!” Criss-crossed red ribbons graced the table like a gift, inscribed in gold: “Ooh La La! Celebrate!”

I see from the picture taken by our server that we ordered 2 desserts—and took a lot of it home!

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First question: What is one of the most beautiful places you have ever been?

On our trip to Australia in 1981, we spent 3 days in Sydney, then rented an RV and drove north. One night we stopped at a national park (perhaps Kosciuszko National Park). It was quite cold in the mountains in June!

At 3am Bob Nugen woke me up and brought me outside. It was so cold there was ice on the inside of the camper! But we stood in awe: the horizon spread around us in a full circle and the stars filled that sky. The constellations in the Southern Hemisphere were not familiar to me and I think that made their impact even more magical.

Perhaps we should have awakened Rob and Fred. Sorry, guys. I hope you will have amazing and beautiful places in your own memories!

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Here’s a chill view from an excursion to the South Coast:

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Grindavik, a fishing village of about 3,600 people, was evacuated. Some folks came back to spend Christmas there, but had to evacuate again early January 14 after hundreds of earthquakes alerted authorities to imminent danger.

A few hours after the second evacuation, new fissures erupted. Lava burned buildings in Grindavik and 3 homes (one of which was new construction; no residents were injured). Workers have been bulldozing barriers of volcanic basalt to try to keep lava from encroaching further. When a fissure opened on the other side of that barrier, there was a scramble to move heavy equipment out of the area. The barrier has since been extended. We wait. We pray.

News coverage from the New York Times and Washington Post, with photos:

New York Times

Washington Post

Photos: Gary Olsen, his daughter Sandra Olsen, my son Fred Nugen, and Sandra’s mother Claudia Reich and I have just been seated. The art was on the bathroom wall.

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The ultimate reason for passing through Chicago is a long awaited trip to Iceland!

At Chicago’s O’Hare, I’ll meet up with my sister Madeleine and her granddaughters. We’ve dubbed ourselves the Sister Tripsters since we first dreamed up a plan to see the Northern Lights. This is supposed to be a good year for Aurora sightings, though we’ll need clear, dark skies away from city lights. Earthquakes and a volcanic eruption were not in the plan, but the current geological activity is apparently a safe distance from Reykjavik. It certainly has our attention!

We have just 7 full days from Dec. 29-Jan. 4, plus an early morning departure back to the airport on the 5th. The younger women, all in their 20s, have to get back to school or work so it will be a short visit to a beautiful island with a long and fascinating history.

Stay tuned for updates and photos. Will I have enough layers to keep this Texan warm? In Iceland, winter weather includes rain, snow, and wind. Any day with just two of these is said to be a beautiful day!

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Naps were helpful and essential for both of us. Shopping and preparing meals took more time, as we were accustomed to doing more of that independently. Bathing was accomplished on a shower chair in the tub, as our shower is upstairs and he wasn’t up to climbing stairs. We could take short walks if he used a walker. Neighbors brought food from time to time and that was so helpful.

Ten days after getting home, a nurse in the neighborhood assured him he would not become addicted if he doubled his dose of Tylenol and alternated it with ibuprofen at meal time. She convinced him better than I could. Day by day, he gradually went from needing help with nearly everything to picking up routines as his strength allowed. Pain has lessened by quite a lot and we were sleeping better at night.

I gradually began returning to my usual routine: Spiritual Direction (one-on-one sessions with directees to talk about their spiritual lives), meetings with other spiritual directors, and a new volunteer job with the local group to send out meeting reminders a week ahead and the agenda a day or two ahead. As I learn the ropes, I have made some mistakes, but it’s getting easier after three monthly meetings.

New challenges await as Jon and I both grow older. Memory lapses have become part of the daily landscape, and it seems that a physical injury impacts memory. It will become a spiritual practice to supplement our fading memories with written records that we can both access. I’m gonna start with a spreadsheet of all of our doctors, their specialties, addresses, and phone numbers. The older we get, the more doctors we have!

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But first, I’m heading to Columbus, Ohio, for a wedding. My sister’s grandson will be married on Friday the 26th. I attended his twin’s wedding a few years back, so it’s only fitting that I show up for this one as well. I’m not officiating; just participating in another family celebration that includes the bride’s extended family. I’d better alert our Austin neighbors to make sure Jon behaves himself while I’m away!

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Injury, osteoporosis, and cancer can result in compression fractures. In Jon’s case, it was pre-existing osteoporosis compounded by the injury to his lower back.

The surgical fix is kyphoplasty. An MRI pinpoints the area of compression. Then under general anesthesia, the surgeon inserts a needle into the compressed area. With the aid of “a fluoroscope (a special X-ray)” of the patient, s/he inflates a balloon through that passageway to re-inflate the space that normally would be there.

A particular kind of bone cement (polymethylmethacrylate) is used to fill the cavity and restore the spine. The “procedure is called kyphoplasty because it reduces unwanted kyphosis, or forward curvature, before the bone is stabilized.” It’s less effective if a patient waits more than a week after the fracture. (For specifics: https://mayfieldclinic.com/pe-kyphoplasty.htm )

By the time Jon was returned to his room, pain was already significantly less (the surgery? the meds?). He stayed one more day to make sure he could navigate to and from bed without assistance. A physical therapist taught him to roll into and out of bed so as not to damage his spine. Then he was sent home with a walker and the primary instruction: no BLT (bending, lifting, twisting) for 4-6 weeks. That meant no driving, which sometimes involves twisting. No soaking in the bathtub, but showers were permitted. We used a shower chair in the tub and that worked very well.

After two weeks the surgeon took out a single stitch and said that normal activities could resume with pain as a deterrent. In other words, if it hurts, stop!

Next up, recovery at home!

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It hurt, but he was able to get up and finish getting ready for bed. By morning, though, he couldn’t get up. Pain, swelling, what damage had been done? I called 911, not daring to help move him by myself. A guy named Dean answered the call, asked specific questions, and assured me that paramedics were on their way.

Patrick and Darren arrived and brought the guerney inside. We were all surprised that they could get in around a corner and into the bedroom. After checking his vitals and asking more questions, they hooked up an IV to give him a huge dose of Tylenol and a tiny dose of Fentanyl (0.25mg). And a little more in the ambulance along the way to St. David’s.

When the ambulance left I shared the story with a few neighbors who had worried when they saw the ambulance. I drove to the hospital and still had to wait in the lobby for him to be settled before I could go to his ER room.

Once settled, he ate some lunch. A trip to the bathroom called for dose of morphine reduce the pain, but we were told it sometimes causes nausea. And did it ever: he threw up his juice, sandwich, and a significant porion of morning medication. He couldn’t get more meds because some of it would already be in his bloodstream.

His medical team offered two options: go home and manage your own pain or be admitted for 2-3 days for further assessment and possible surgery. He opted for the latter; his pain was very high. CT scan showed damage to a vertebra; an MRI scan showed the damage in vivid detail. It was a compression fracture to his T12 vertebra (the lowest of the thoracic vertebrae, just above the 5 lumbar vertebrae).

More to come: surgical fix, then gradual recovery at home.

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Now I don’t see much concern about all that anymore. Few people wear masks even in crowds, travel has picked up, and old routines have resumed. What best serves us now? Did we carve out space for something new?

Five years ago I was settling into retirement. That had its own challenges when so much of my daily life had come to an end. The pandemic provided more opportunity to let go of habits and practices that no longer seemed to satisfy me. Where did I fit?

When starting this blog I felt drawn toward Ganesha, the Hindu god of new beginnings, wisdom, and luck. I’ve learned that he is also the patron of arts and sciences, intellect, and wisdom. Here are a couple of snapshots of 2 souvenir carvings I bought on my wonderful travel to India in 2011:

Ganesha has the body of a man, depicted with various numbers of arms and in various poses, but always with the head of an elephant. A 10-day festival in late summer, Ganesh Chaturthi, is devoted to him.

Another new beginning took me by surprise this month. Since 2003 I have sung with Tapestry Singers, aka the Austin Women’s Chorus. No auditions are required for the main chorus. However, a small ensemble known as Loose Threads, suspended during the pandemic, held new auditions a couple of weeks ago. To my surprise and delight, I got in! To meet the challenge, I’ve also re-started voice lessons with a wonderful choir director and singer, Katrina Saporsantos.

This new beginning has deep roots, from when I was 3 years old. My eldest sister tells me she started teaching me to harmonize at that age. She and our middle sister needed a third to sing rounds such as White Coral Bells, Frère Jacques, and Johnny. Chores were much more fun when we sang as we worked!

In second grade I joined the church choir and have loved harmonizing nearly my whole life.

Going back to my roots has been a joy. What brings you joy?

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Horizon is an interfaith program. Inmates from all faiths can apply for the 10-month curriculum, from Building Community to Leadership Skills to Communication, and more. Once selected and moved to the Horizon dorm, they live together in family groups of six to eight inmates, attend core curricula and choose among electives. Graduates may apply to become assistants, mentors, and facilitators. If accepted in these new positions, they get further leadership  training. There is also a Reentry program for those who are within 3 years of discharge.

Naturally, when I came for a visit this week, I went with Madeleine twice to London Correctional Institute in London, Ohio, west of Columbus. There are 64 men enrolled in London's first-year Horizon program and I met several of them. Here are some snapshots, using made-up names.

—”Jimmy” attended a one-room school that included 4 grades. Pupils sat on overturned buckets with their books on the floor beside them. He didn't learn to read at the time, but later he ran a fishing business and kept the accounts just fine. In prison, he has started learning to read from other inmates who tutor him. The community bonds are strong.

—”Josh” loves Japan and to hear stories from Madeleine and me about our trip there three years ago. He savored photographs and was amused by my son Rob, who lives in Kawasaki and goes barefoot year round (unless there's ice or snow).

—”Jerry” attended a class that Madeleine facilitated called Spiritual but Not Religious. The homework assignment had been to describe each man's personal spiritual journey and how they described themselves today. Jerry shared that he grew up in a violent home and attended a church with violent deacons who also beat him regularly. By the time he was 11 he was learning to fight back. As you might imagine, this violent way of life led to incarceration, and ultimately a sentence of life without parole. But he is now a changed man after an incident in 1985:

>It was a fight in the prison with another inmate. At some point the other guy came at him and dropped a knife right in front of Jerry. His first impulse was to grab the weapon and use it on his opponent. That's when he heard a voice in his head saying, "It doesn't have to be ‘kill or be killed.’ There are other choices to make." His sense of time began going in slow motion as the voice repeated itself. In an instant, he kicked the knife away and walked alone down the corridor. Time returned to normal speed.

>Both inmates were put in the "hole" of solitary confinement for six months. It was partly for their own protection in a rough prison. It also gave him time to reflect on his past and what that voice had told him. You don’t have to “kill or be killed."

>As a result, Jerry gradually moved toward forgiveness. It took years of reading and reflection to achieve his goal: to forgive everyone who had harmed him.

>In 1995 Jerry embraced Wicca, a nature-based religion that counsels “An it harm none, do what thou wilt” or in contemporary language, “Do what you will, so long as it harms none.” Jerry abbreviates it: “Harm none.” Wicca has changed, and perhaps even saved, his life.

>I met a couple of guys who were 17 or 19 at the time of their crimes. They're incarcerated for life. What kind of society locks up their teens for life, when they have not even fully matured? Why can’t we believe that people can change for good?

Forgiveness is hard work that must be practiced over and again. Each of us is more than the worst thing we have ever done. Start by forgiving yourself. Let forgiveness flow into one another as an ongoing spiritual practice.

Have you forgiven yourself? Who might need your forgiveness?

Horizon Prison Initiative

Harm none

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The worship leader for Monday and Tuesday evenings was the Rev. Natalie Webb, Senior Pastor of University Baptist Church in Austin, TX. The church motto is “Rooted in Faith, Progressive in Action.” One of the ways she is growing and teaching is linked to Native Americans in central Texas. She claims to be “in kindergarten” in this endeavor; that must mean I’m in preschool. Her intention is to be in relationship through education, engagement, gratitude, and reciprocity. She pointed out that “we are all indigenous to the earth.”

Did you know that when Spanish invaders arrived in this area, there were about 600 Native American groups populating south and central Texas and into New Mexico? An estimate counts millions of their descendents who still live here. Indigenous Cultures Institute was founded in 2006 in San Marcos, just south of here. They are a nonprofit dedicated to preserving the culture of this varied collective, known by their ancient name, Coahuiltecans.

Sacred Springs Powwow will take place in the fall (dates to be determined) and all are invited to attend! From their website:

I am intrigued. Are you? Might you immerse yourself into the stories, music, dances, and crafts on offer next fall? I just signed up here to receive information as it unfolds. Join me!

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Kathleen’s Substack

Spirituality without Borders

When setting up this Substack I decided to call it Spirituality without Borders. Those three words contain so much that perhaps reflecting on their meaning will be a good exercise. You are certainly invited to join the conversation that is mostly in my head today…

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3 years ago · 4 likes · Kathleen Ellis

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Photos, music, poetry, and conversation are vital ways for me to develop a spiritual life.

The snapshot above was on New Year’s Day, 2020, from Naoshima, Japan. My son and daughter-in-law live there, and my sister and I had gone for a wonderful visit. This is one of our fond memories.

Let me know what’s on your mind and heart!

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