Sunlight and Alice Cooper

                                       Five years ago she flew away I miss her everyday.

Elsie Julia Josephine Michalek Christensen, the sunbeam of light that brightened our way and always took the lead in life’s lesson of being grateful for all we have.
The simple act of loving people, not for what they have or did not have; what they did or did not do; she loved you just the way God made you. There was never time to waste on anger, or regrets. There were papers and pictures to look at, treasures to find, sparkles in the sun.
If you were so fortunate to visit her magical world of acceptance and kindness, you would truly know what the word home meant. She would wrap you in her smile of love and her eyes would memorize your tales of outer world woes, of money, jobs, relationships, and anyone or anything that had dared been mean to you. Her green eyes would flash and she would promise to get her ever elusive red stick out and never, ever would they hurt you again.
She was amazing, a chameleon, as she continually adapted her body as it fought age and the relentless post-polio. She had learned much at Warm Springs and told me as recently as March 17 that this had been one of the happiest times of her life. She told me how she wheeled down the halls greeting people, whether they wanted to be greeted or not. She was happy to see them. She approached her life on these terms: No complaints; No whining; No regrets; Game on…She went forward as life does.
Polio took away her physical dancing shoes at 26, but as Nels Hansen, her dear friend, so aptly put it, she was always dancing in her heart. She just kept smiling down the road of life, whatever bumpy way it took, bumpy is fun. She was grateful for each day. She saw the sky usually out of streaked glass in the kitchen window, but on those outside wondrous days, feeling the sun on her skin and the breeze through her hair, we would sometimes find her tipped over on the ground, laughing in the soft brown dirt. She would be looking for treasures, of bright broken glass, melted green army men, and, maybe just maybe money.
We all have been so blessed to share her sunbeam. So, let’s not waste a minute. There is only forward in this life. It changes in a second. Be creative, plan one is gone. SO WHAT! It’s time for a new adventure. Have fun. Bang those pots and pans. Dance, even if you can’t walk. Regret is a waste of time and time will ultimately be what you wish you had more of. See the good in each day, in each person, each situation, and no matter how difficult life becomes. Find a pretty stone. Listen to the Friday Song. Look for four leaf clovers. Smile. Smile. Smile. Be kind. Say “thank you.”
We will miss her forever, but we will all take a bit of her sparkle in our pocket, when we hear Alice Cooper’s joyful noise School’s Out, when we see that lone dandelion in the sidewalk, a marble in the field, when we are so tired, when life is so hard we just want to give up, we will look out the window and know it is a beautiful day.

Jack Wild, Knitting and Circling

I have become obsessed with knitting unable for my hands to be idle. Multicolored striped hats grow in piles on my bed, surrounded by dust and laundry. My needles can’t stop. Promises are made to my saner self, after I do dishes you can knit, after I pay bills, after I clean, but first I need to finish knitting one more row…
I have had many obsessions in my life. I was enamored with Jack Wild the Artful Dodger from the movie “Oliver” I had a large bulletin board covered with pictures from Tiger Beat. I went to the movie six times sitting through both showings. I read Charles Dickens. I could not sleep at night without playing the soundtrack. My rituals kept increasing. I had to touch each poster on the wall, each picture on the board in the correct order, turning in a complete circle, and stopping the record during the song Where is Love? My sister would throw pillows at me groaning when she heard the intro medley. I could not stop. I was compelled by the certainty of dire consequences, if I even omitted one step. It was taking over an hour to complete my tasks. One day, I read a letter in Ann Landers about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I was reassured to know there were others. I made myself stop, but these oddly comforting compulsions would reappear, morphing into new ceremonial cravings.
The Jack Wilds would evolve, to checking, every burner, lock, and baby’s breaths in a relentless cadence of fear, collecting Fisher Price toys, beanie babies, McDonald kid meal toys in a frenetic glassy-eyed haze. The necessity of running everyday, surpassed my fear of dark and storm. The irrational demon of repetition would imprison my brain in a skipping record of possible scenarios, as I waited for the ring of the phone, the car turning into the driveway, the cat on the step. The relentless conversations clamoring in an overheated brain of mistakes made, words said, not said.
It would be too many years before I betrayed my addictions with an antidote, ingesting small green tablets of chemical calm. They quiet the most ferocious of the echoing beasts, but the subtle acceptable ones gleefully take their place.