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A man returned home after a day of golf, looking a bit more tired than usual, his wife ask how the day went.  He replied, “It was the longest game ever. Harry had a heart attack on the third hole and for the remained of the game it was, hit the ball drag Harry.”

I’m not a golfer, I’ve never attempted. I think perhaps I would enjoy it. I’m guessing that by the fifth or sixth hole my party would be asked to leave because our uncontrollable laughter would be causing others to be distracted.

I do understand the stress of hitting the ball and dragging Harry. I’ve been dragging Harry for approximately 45 years. Harry has taken on many personalities; hoping people will like me, be proud of me, want to be with me, see how smart I am, be my friend, or simply just not leave me…the list is endless.

This has been a year of letting go. Last week I realized that I wasn’t dragging Harry around. I dropped him a few holes back. It’s a wonderful feeling. I think this is what is referred to as being FREE! The sad thing is that Harry didn’t ask for me to drag him around. After all he was unconscious most of the time and would have appreciated if I had asked for help many years ago.

I can spot people a mile away who are dragging their own Harrys. They are tired, frustrated, sarcastic, depressed and searching desperately for that perfect golf course where they’ll win the colored jacket so they can feel, in some way, validated. See I know a little about golf, although I would never give a green jacket to someone. What fun is green?

The longer I live without the strain of dragging Harry the more I like it! I like it so much that I promise never to drag Harry again. I even like it to the point that when I pass others dragging their own Harry, I will let them know that they don’t need to be dragging him around.

Hopefully, some will listen and leave Harry with someone who can help him. And maybe those of us who have found this new freedom will play a round of golf together. I’m guessing that we will be asked to leave before we make the third hole…you do a lot of laughing when you are free!

I feel as if for the last few months I’ve been driving on a two lane road that’s under construction.  There hasn’t been any cross streets allowing me to turn off. The shoulder is under construction as well, so don’t think for one moment about going around. There are dump trucks, bulldozers, other big pieces of machinery (which I don’t know the names for) and lots of men in orange vests holding signs that read; Slow, STOP and of course that particular sign that confirms the wait is over, GO.

I’ve actually enjoyed watching the construction; the landscape changing, new dirt being brought in, and old broken blacktop being taken away. Perhaps I’ve finally grown up and realize there is a process for everything, watching that process can bring almost as much pleasure as the completion.

There has been a few times where the men in orange have accidently turned the STOP sign to GO, giving hope that all is complete and I can be on my way. He quickly corrects his mistake by turning the sign back to STOP.

I’ve been on this road other times in my life. On those trips however, I don’t recall that I enjoyed them. I was anxious to get moving, desperate to arrive at my intended location. I was running late, feeling the pressure to make up time. Late for what? Arriving where?

This time I’ve noticed the hillside, the fantastic trees that line the road, the beautiful shore line, the details on the dump trunk, which are very interesting by the way. I’ve talked to the man in orange as he stood close to my window holding his sign. I’ve turned on the radio and sung along with a few songs. On a few occasions I actually put the car in park and just sat.

My new friend in orange just turned his sign to GO and is waving me on. I hesitate for a moment. Is it a mistake? Will he quickly turn the sign around? No, it looks like its all clear. I can finally move…interesting…I’m actually hoping it is a mistake. Perhaps I’ll be fortunate to run into more construction ahead!

These past few months my life has been filled with examples of letting go.

• Letting go of children as they establish their own families.
• Letting go of material belongings, some that seem to have been unfairly taken away.
• Letting go of old habits that aren’t so healthy in the second half of life.
• Letting go of salt and sugar because this almost 50 year old body has changed.
• Letting go of past dreams because maturity has shown their potential to become nightmares.
• Letting go…Letting go….Letting go.

Letting go isn’t all bad. Sure it can hurt a bit when we pry open our hands that have held on for so long, but after the initial pain, letting go is freeing. It allows us time, space and energy to reach out and grab hold of something new.

I was much more focused on the pain part of letting go as yesterday came to its end.  Jeff and I had ordered the new Netflix CD that allows us to watch movies through our Wii, very exciting.  As we flipped through the movies available to us, we stopped on Barbara Cook singing Sondheim.  We pressed play and settled back.

Toward the end of the performance Barbara introduced a song from Annie Get Your Gun. I was not at all prepared for what I was about to hear, it is just a song from Annie Get Your Gun after all. The words went like this:

I got lost in his arms, don’t ask me just how it happens, I wish I knew.

I can’t believe that it’s happened, and still it’s true.

I got lost in his arms – and I had to stay.

It was dark in his arms, and I lost my way.

From the dark came a voice and it seemed to say; there you go, there you go.

How I felt as I fell, I just can’t recall.

But his arms held me fast and it broke the fall.

And I said to my heart, as it foolishly kept jumping all around.

I got lost,

But look what I’ve found.

With tears in my eyes I quickly googled the song title to read the lyrics. You see letting go can make you feel lost. Letting go can make you feel hopeless, that is unless there is someone walking along side of you.

As I am learning to let go, I am ever aware of a God that has promised to walk along side. As I read through the lyrics again, I saw the word “his” as “His”… and was overwhelmed at what I’ve found.

My mother, who resides in Wisconsin and I flew to Charlotte, North Carolina to begin the process of downsizing my aunts belongings. We are a small family; I only have one aunt on my mother’s side and only one cousin. Mom and I had talked for years about our desire to be a part of this process.

We arrived at this all too familiar home in the early evening. It was the only residence that I recall my aunt living. I knew it would be stuffy, but after entering the front door, stuffy would have been paradise. This wasn’t our only discovery, throughout my relationship with my aunt, I would have described her as messy; the proper term now is hoarder. The house had sat empty for three years and for the three years prior to that was rarely lived in. I had hoped that by opening all the windows and doors we could eliminate some of the musty, dampness. Clearly I had forgotten what summer is like in Charlotte. If the temperature is 85 the humidity is 90.

Mom and I spent the first three days alone with no hot water, no air conditioning, swatting moths, sinus pressure, coughing and occasional wheezing. We had brought face masks which helped a little. We wore gloves to avoid touching the webs that had collected. We laughed as we made comments about our choice of vacation spots.

In the past few months, I have made it my goal to understand the Old Testament book of Ecclesiastes. As I made one of my many runs down the hill to the, not big enough dumpster, I heard myself say, “I’m living Ecclesiastes.” Vanity, striving after the wind, building up treasures that will be turned over to someone else, I had new insight.

Prior to our arrival, we had envisioned those special items that if acquired would represent fond memories of years past. Those visions changed after seven days of coughing, sinus pressure, upset stomachs, sleepless nights, cold showers and moths. What we had once thought would allow joyous memories now created sadness for a life not shared. How more meaningful it would have been to have giving these treasures away while there was life enough to see them being enjoyed.

We have a choice on how we walk through life, we can either do it with our hands clenched, holding on to all our belongings OR we can walk through life with our hands wide open allowing for life to flow through us. Either way, life will end and at the end there will be someone who will be left with the task of what remains.

What I experienced this week was seeing the remains of a life lived with hands clenched. What once was beautiful turned ugly. What once was desired turned to dust. Life is meant to be lived, it is meant to recreate life. By clenched hands, one only stops that flow and in turn stops life.

As we come to the end of this adventure, both Mom and I have a new perspective. We now have new memories that we will cherish. They will not be recalled because we hold an object in our hands or because we have acquired an old treasure. They are mental pictures of my 82 year old mother in her old lady night gown, robe and slippers wearing a gas mask; leaning against the wall laughing hysterically at an old joke about the Eiffel tower; picking up valuable items and wondering if we could hide them in our suitcase; joking about what we would do if we found a wad of cash and of course planning our next exciting vacation.

Thanks Mom for learning to live with your hands wide open…and the two boxes you claim are all we need to deal with after you are gone, will be well cared for.

THE SONG

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,

Men were deceivers ever,

One foot in sea and one on shore,

To one thing constant never:

And be you blithe and bonny,

Converting all your sounds of woe

Into Hey nonny, nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no moe,

Of dumps so dull and heavy;

The fraud of men was ever so,

Since summer first was leavy;

Then sigh not so.

The Song from Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing

As far back as the 1500’s Shakespeare understood that man will disappoint, deceive and break his promises. Shakespeare’s advice: turn all your sounds of woe into Hey nonny, nonny.  I wonder if Shakespeare was familiar with Ecclesiastes or if this was just common sense?

Sign no more, stop the pity party, man is man and will always be. Take all your disappointment with man and being to sing a new song…Hey nonny, nonny.  So what does nonny mean? A silly fellow, a ninny.