26th Anniversary of My Father's Death

Today is the 26th Anniversary of my father's death. 

Henry Joseph Tobelmann, Jr., February 3, 1926-November 14, 1989.

I wrote about it in 2009 when it was the 20th Anniversary of his death. You can read all about it HERE.

This was the last picture taken of my father, out in his back yard by the pond on the golf course.
It was October 1989. He was 63 years old. That's just a little over a year older than I am now.

This was my father's picture and write up in his 1943 yearbook.
He did a lot. He was also voted Best Dancer and Most Likely to Succeed.

                          

                 This is my dad in his Navy uniform.
He served in the Great Lakes camp in Michigan during WWII.

When he got out of the Navy at the end of WWII, he went on to college on the GI bill.
This is my father's graduation picture from Villanova University in about 1949-50.
He got a job at Lukens Steel Company right away. That's where my grandfather worked, too.
He retired early in 1988 after coding from a minor hernia operation.
He took that as an omen, and my parents moved to Palm Coast, Florida. He died in 1989.
I'm glad he had a year and a half of retired life to enjoy.

Blooming Where I've Been Planted

This rings so true for me. There were times I was so depressed, I felt as if I was sinking in quicksand and I couldn't find any foothold with which to boost myself upward. I felt buried, but not only buried, but that pernicious roots and vines had engulfed me, wrapping around my whole body to keep me in my underground tomb.
In hindsight, I realize it as the refiner's fire taking me to a place I needed to be to realize I didn't want to be there anymore.
Now I am planted in a home 2,000 miles away from where I started, and blooming beautifully.

Everything Will Work Out

I just wish I could believe this right now.
I am having an anniversary reaction. Two years ago this Labor Day weekend, I had my unfortunate accident. My foot is still not healed. I've had several blessings that my foot will be healed. I am impatient. I feel depressed. I need to take this advice.

What I Do Today is Important

August 31?

As in the end of August?

Wait a minute.

Didn’t I just plant my annuals?

Wasn’t it just the longest day of the year?

Didn’t I just blog about fireworks on the Fourth of July?

But what else did I do?

Ever since I moved to Utah, I vowed I would live in the present—be present to all around me. But, considering how quickly time flies, and not seeing much to show for its passing, I’m wondering if I might be flittering away my life, not filling my moments with memories as I should.

I used to have a tagline with my emails:

“What I do today is important

because I am paying a day of my life for it.

What I accomplish must be worthwhile

because the price is high.”

Author Unknown

I think Author Unknown is one of the most profound human beings that ever lived. This person has

made me realize that minutes and seconds are precious. Instead of spending time watching television,
how about a meaningful conversation with someone? A book in hand is worth more than playing two
video games. Pen a thank-you note, rather than an email.

I have to re-commit to make each day meaningful in some way. What must I do before I lay my head on my pillow that will help me feel fulfilled?

Family, friends, having meaningful conversations, art, writing, reading, giving service, doing the best you can, leaving a place better than you found it. . .

What is important to you?

What is worth paying a day of your life for?

How Am I Doing?

A lot of my friends have been asking how my foot/ankle is doing. Oh, how I am tired of telling the sad tale. I mean, it will be two years that I've been hobbling along. It's been two years that I've been asked, "So, how's the ankle doing?" I will be so glad when nobody notices I've stopped limping.

The newest doctor (son of the second surgeon) who, not knowing my background (aren't they supposed to read my file before they see me?) said, "Your ankle is really weak," as he had me push into his hand.

I said, "I haven't walked right for almost two years. This was my second surgery. Didn't you read what your father wrote?" Okay, I was a little testy with him.

I was on the verge of tears, actually. I had been in a lot of pain and made this appointment two weeks in advance of my next scheduled appointment. I got a blessing from my youngest son which told me I would heal and be able to walk like a normal person; I have to do what the doctor tells me to do and I'll be okay.

While I sniffled and looked forlorn, he took a minute to skim the file. He closed the file and said, "It's only been six weeks from surgery. I think you are exactly where you're supposed to be right now."

"But your father said after 12 weeks I wouldn't remember which foot hurt." Sniffing began again.

He did some quick math in his head. "Yeah, that's three months. You should be fine by then."

I said, "Pardon me, but that's what the first doctor kept saying. 'Give it three months.' Then it was 'Give it six months,' then 'Give it a year' . . . "

He handed me a tissue. "I think you'll be fine. Your ankle is weak. You might need physical therapy to build up the strength, but even now you have good flexibility for six weeks out."

The doctor told me to use the recumbent bike at the gym at work for 10 minutes at a time, going slowly, not racing or aerobic, and build up to 30 minutes by the end of the month. He also said to do circles in the air. Write my name and the alphabet in the air. Get it moving. Get up and walk after sitting for an hour. I do that at work anyway. There's always some errand to run.

"You are still recuperating," he said. "You're not really rehabilitating yet. Go slow. Don't get discouraged. You're doing fine."

When I left, I remembered the blessing. "Do what the doctor tells you to do."

I am doing all these things. I have to have faith that my Heavenly Father is watching out for me. I have to be more positive.

Being Optimistic

By Susan Knight

Was feeling a little down because my ankle doesn't seem to be healing as fast as I thought it would.

Got a wonderful blessing yesterday from my son and son-in-law. I was told to be optimistic, to do what the doctor tells me and that I will walk again.

That's what I wanted to hear. I've been praying so hard along those lines. I'm glad for priesthood blessings that let my Heavenly Father speak to me in no uncertain terms.

Going to see a new doctor tomorrow. The doctor who performed my surgery is leaving for a three-year mission (Mission Prez) tomorrow, so I'm seeing his son. A new guy. I'm told by those who have seen him, he is very good, too.

I'm still praying fervently, though.

Seeking Meaning in My Life Every Day

By Susan Knight

One of my favorite quotes by that well-known unknown author is this:

What I do today is important because I am paying a day of my life for it.
What I accomplish must be worthwhile because the price is high.

That quote is an exhortation against laziness and having a purpose-filled life.

Each morning when I pray, I ask my Heavenly Father, "Please let me do some good today. Please help me to be cheerful so I might bring joy to someone's life."

Every night as I pray, I examine my conscience and ask myself, "Did I do enough today?" or "Did I do any good today?" I seem to always come up short--according to my expectations.

It's a heavy burden to lay on myself. But that's how I feel about my turn on this earth.

When one hits fifty-ish, one starts examining one's life. The urge to have laid up a legacy resonates in one's soul. Trust me. I'm at the highest end of fifty-ish, so I know.

"Have I done any good in the world today?
Have I helped anyone in need?
Have I cheered up the sad, or made someone feel glad?
If not, I have failed indeed."

The words to that hymn pretty much sum up how I feel.

I want my life to have a purpose. My life comes at a great cost. I don't want to blend into the woodwork every day. I want my life to mean something.

As I finish up here, a song is playing on my blog: "Oh Very Young" by Cat Stevens.

Serendipity!

Oh very young, what will you leave us this time?
You're only dancing on this earth for a short while.
And though your dreams may toss and turn you now . . .
They will vanish away . . .
. . . And though you want them to last forever, you know they never will.
You know they never will . . .

I take it as a sign to not be so melancholy about my life and keep dreaming anyway.
Keep hoping. Keep praying. Keep at it.

S.m.i.l.e.