My Bubbling Teapot

I met him four years ago. This quiet, shrunken, grizzly man appeared at our door to tune our piano. Silently, he worked for several hours. He didn't talk more than he had to, but neither did we since we could hardly communicate in Polish. This morning, he appeared again. Same man, same enormous glasses dangling by a string, same bags of interesting instruments to clean our piano and same slippers that he changed into at the door and shuffled to the living room. Today he was here four hours. Again, he silently began his work. "Prosze, Pani!" he said one time and motioned me to the keyboard. There littered under the keys were layers of dust as well as a few treasures that had managed to squeeze between the keys. "Wiedzisz (you see)???" he said as he gravely shook his head. "How many years ago did I work on this piano? Six or seven?" I assured him that it had only been four. "Too long!" he continued. "You must have it cleaned every year!...

I am beginning to feel more like myself. It feels like I'm finally finding my place here in Poland after being gone for two and one half months. That's a long time to be away from home. It's long enough to feel a disconnect with what was happening here. When I returned, it was hard to know what to do first...where I belonged...what events to talk about...how to enter into conversations about the summer... After all, when you are gone you just miss out on some things. That's life! My heart warmed when my Polish friends contacted me the first week we were home. I remember one friend coming to visit me and saying, "It's so good to sit in Laura's house again. We missed you." And "this candle smells so familiar. It reminds me of the times I spent in Laura's house." Yes, those comments made me feel that I will never quite be deleted from my friends' memory, that I do have a place in their hearts. It was comforting to realize that I had frie...

My heart goes out in deep sympathy to the families of the five children that were killed in the village of Nickel Mine. I know what it is to grieve for five children and I think that a situation such as this would be especially painful and tramautic. Is there healing? How can one imagine the trauma and fear of the remaining children of this Amish school? I can't imagine the road they must walk through this valley of grief. I read that the teacher of this school said, "Me and the children need each other." So true! It is being together, facing the future together that they will begin to find healing. It brought back starkly the deep grief that my brother and his wife faced (Can it be???!!!) now almost one year ago. When we visited them this summer, there were so many emotions for me to face once again. It was important for me to see them going on with their life, seeing them laughing and talking , crying with them again, and taking time to go see the five small gravestones...