My "She-ro"!!

How important it is for us to recognize and celebrate our heroes and she-roes!                          ~Maya Angelou    This past week my mother celebrated her birthday. I have often mentioned my mother-- having her in my life now has been a blessing I can barely describe. I am one of the lucky ones-- she has survived against some pretty stiff odds, and has been such an example to me for how to live life well! Let me elaborate-- My mother is the product of a time that has passed. She was raised during the Great Depression by parents who were devoted to their family and did their best to raise her and her brother. Their example was a good foundation for her after she married my father and had her own family. It was the 1950's-- a time of economic boom, of unlimited potential. A time when living in America held the promise of "a better life" than the generation before. My parents did just that-- they bought a house in suburbia, had three little girls. Dad worked in Industry. Mom was a Housewife.  Life was good, though they had some pretty big bumps... They buried their  firstborn before her third birthday, and learned to cope with that grief in private ways that my younger sister and I could not imagine.  LIfe as a child for me was pretty much like living in a Leave It To Beaver episode-- my mother did not work outside the home, but devoted herself to making sure our home was a pleasant, loving environment. She cooked and kept the house tidy. She taught me to sew and knit, to make a pie, how to iron a man's white shirt and his handkerchieves... And she taught me by example how to be a gracious hostess, how to listen when people confided their troubles, and that it was my duty as a human to care about others. She volunteered everywhere-- in our school activities, in church activities, in the neighborhood and our town. She showed me by example how to treat a husband-- that he needed the home to be a refuge from the outside world. I have memories of her stopping her activities about 4 pm to go "freshen up" before my father got home from work. When he arrived, she had fresh make up, combed hair, and a smile on her face. The two of them would head to the kitchen where Dad would mix up a couple Manhattans and Mom would finish dinner, all the while discussing the events of the day. And we kids were not to interrupt them. Dinner was a family affair that started with a prayer and always ended with dessert.  She went back to work when I was in Junior High, as a church secretary, then working in other offices in local businesses. Her salary was never huge, but it helped the cause, and provided more connection with the adult world for her, and a sense of accomplishment in her work. My teenage years involved a bit of eye rolling when I interacted with my mom, but I emerged into adulthood with a strong sense of self and a good relationship with both my parents. From that point on I lived independently of my mother, but she was always available, always my biggest cheerleader. She listened when I had a breakup with a boyfriend (and later a marriage...), and was there to help and celebrate my marriages and the births of my babies. She has been the constant in my life-- the shining example of how I am supposed to treat others, how important family is. My husband has grown to love her like his own mother too. The highest compliment he ever paid me was when he said I had inherited my mother's graciousness... Eight years ago, right after my father passed away, she was diagnosed with cancer. At the time, no primary tumor could be found so they didn't know what kind of cancer it was. But she agreed to start chemotherapy. She fought that cancer and beat it into remission... We were told the cancer should have killed her in perhaps six weeks, and instead she beat it! And we rejoiced. But it came back. Again she beat it into remission. Again it came back. Eight years later, and she is still fighting, still beating it day by day. And through all the battles, she has kept her smile. She has kept her focus on the family and others, not on herself. She has rejoiced at the weddings of three grandchildren, at the births of three great-grandchildren, and listened and supported the family through divorce. She attends church regularly and continues to contribute through their prayer shawl ministry-- she knits prayer shawls despite worsening macular degeneration in her eyes. She mourns my father privately, but can speak of him with humor and love. She moved to an apartment and gave up her car just in this past year, and did this with minimum fuss and maximum grace...  This spring I began to notice a sense of fatigue in her that was a little troubling. She wasn't as cheerful as usual, or it seemed to take more work on her part to be cheerful. The cancer battle had begun to wear on her spirit. There wasn't much I could do... but it hurt me to hear her talk about how maybe this time was It. My sister and I talked, and wondered what we could do to help her sagging spirits. Then a cousin contacted me and indicated he'd love to come for a visit... right around the time of her birthday. That was just what we needed-- we put together a plan for a birthday party for her. It was her 89th birthday, and rather than wait till that 90th next year we decided to celebrate in a big way this year. We decided to tell her and let her help us plan the party. We had the party this past weekend. Family came from all over the country-- from Colorado and Pennsylvania and Maryland and North Caroline and Tennessee. Three of four grandchildren (and the fourth called during the party all the way from Australia!) and all three great-grandchildren were here. There was cake, and balloons and flowers. A wonderful meal at the party. And an entire weekend of family fellowship and celebration.  Three of four grandchildren All three great-grand children More cousins from afar gather at our home with her! And best of all, her oncology doctor told her he wants to try a new medication. He hasn't given up on her, and that gave her renewed hope in really, truly beating the cancer. Her fighting spirit came back as the side effects of the old medicine wore off. With good news on her health, and the family all here for a big celebration, my tiny mother stood taller and walked lighter than she had all spring. We all marveled at her smile, her laugh, her energy. And most of all, her shining example to each of us for how to face adversity, the importance of family, and how to treat other people.  My mother is an amazing woman. She grew up in a time that has passed away, but the lessons she continues to teach us all are what life is all about. Her example to us will remain as her legacy to each of us, and will help each of us weather our own difficulties. Saying thank you to her seems so insignificant... I hope she will remember how important she is to each of us, what in impact she has on each of us. And oh yes... Happy Birthday, Mom! Legacy is not what's left tomorrow when you're gone. It's what you give, create, impact and contribute today while you're here that then happens to live on.          ~Rasheed Ogunlaru

The New Me?

Take the attitude of a student, never be too big to ask questions, never know too much to learn something new.
     ~Og Mandino

Back in my working days I was an obstetric nurse. Part of the job was setting up and assisting in the operating room for c-sections and other OB surgeries. One of the things I learned as a new OB nurse "way back when" was that painted fingernails were forbidden on nurses who worked in an OR setting. Or who worked with new babies. I had always enjoyed fancy nail painting in college, but once out in the working world I had to give that up. I washed my hands dozens and dozens of times each day and having a nice manicure was not a part of my every day life. As time passed, manicures got to be increasingly more elaborate and fancy-- sculpted nails, acrylic tips, french manicures, all of it passed me by. I kept my nails short and unadorned. 

In my job later on as a nursing administrator, I held tight to the premise that fancy painted nails had no place on an OB nurse. Occasionally a staffer would rebel and I would have to call her in to my office for a chat.  We even kept nail polish remover on the unit in the supply closet! I suspect some of the staff on our unit thought of me as the nail polish police... Later, I discovered that studies had shown the dangers of nail polish in the OR were not as bad as once thought, and restrictions were lifted some... and I hated it. I thought nail polish on a nurse looked unprofessional.

That is not to say that I didn't admire and even long for beautiful hands and nails... and I promised myself that once I was retired I would indulge myself once in awhile in a professional manicure. But once retired I discovered finances were tight so splurging in this way just wasn't as important as other things (like buying yarn, for instance...)  And once I got started gardening it didn't make any sense to go digging in dirt with an expensive manicure.

This is the "before"... note short, neat nails, clean hands to a fault.
Nurse's hands!

Lanny's daughter, my step-daughter, Krissy has recently enrolled in a nail tech program at a local beauty school. It is a six month course that will prepare her to work in a salon doing all the fancy "stuff" that I have missed all these years. She has come over to show off her endeavors-- wild colors and such, and I found myself intrigued. So, when she needed a model to come up to the school so she could do acrylic sculpted nails, I volunteered.

First, let me say that being inside a school setting, surrounded by lots of eager students (of all ages!) was fun. Let me also say that nail tech school is a lot more laid back than nursing school was. When it came to appearance, nursing school was all about dress codes and what you shouldn't/couldn't wear. Nail tech students all had uniforms, but most were adorned with tattoos and piercings and creative hair that would never pass muster in a nursing program... but being the old hippie that I am, I liked it. Let's face it-- nail techs need to be creative, innovative people. I was surrounded by lots of them, including Krissy.

Watching her work on my hands and nails was fascinating. The whole process took awhile. Perhaps because she was still a novice in the technique, but also because the technique itself has many steps that build on each other. Watching her add blobs of acrylic goo to my nails, and then sculpt it into a new, longer, swankier nail was pretty interesting... 

At several points in the process, Krissy had to have the instructor inspect her work. The instructor roamed about the room stopping periodically to help a student, make a suggestion, etc. My nails seemed to pass muster each step of the way, and I was delighted with the end result. I now have long, perfectly shaped nails painted a brilliant red... and I feel almost like a movie star!  I think Krissy is learning her craft well, and hopefully is on a path to a fun, rewarding career. And I have had my eyes opened to the joys of beautiful manicured hands... I may just have to keep them up!

After!!

Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.           ― Dr. Seuss

Perhaps the new me?

I come to the garden...

Everything that slows us down and forces patience, everything that sets us back into the slow circles of nature, is a help. Gardening is an instrument of grace.          ~May Sarton 

Today, around midday, I found myself questioning why on earth I wanted to garden anyway. Lanny and I had worked on mulching the flower beds, and with two days work under our belts a couple weeks ago, we had only succeeded in mulching about half of our beds. Today seemed like a good day to continue the process. Lanny headed out to the mulch place with his trailer, and brought back a load of black mulch. I had spent some time last week killing weeds in the remaining beds, so they were ready to go. We spent hours in the hot sun, digging and shoveling and raking this stinky stuff. We quit working around 3:30 pm, unable to handle the heat, the humidity, the bugs that seem to show up when you get sweaty, and our aching joints and muscles. There is still a lot to go, but what we got done looked good. We were just too tired, hot and grouchy to realize it...

Fast forward to this evening. With a shower, a nap, dinner, and a handful of pharmaceuticals under my belt, I decided to head out to the deck to enjoy the evening. It had cooled down since the sun was low on the horizon. There was a gentle warm breeze. The creek, full from the rain storms of yesterday, could be heard rushing over the rocks as it raced on south to join the White River. Birds were grabbing a last meal at the feeder and chirping their approval to one another. There was a dog barking in the distance, the sound of a mower and a chain saw working away the last few moments of daylight. Momentarily Lanny joined me and we enjoyed the last few rays of sunlight together.

That was when I could relax, and look around the yard. And appreciate again the fruits of our labors. I found myself humming an old hymn, and thinking of my grandmother Ruth, who loved it and used to sing it to me when I was a kid. I could hear her alto voice-- and I smiled.

I Come To The Garden 

I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.

Refrain:
And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.


He speaks, and the sound of His voice,
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.

Refrain


I’d stay in the garden with Him
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling.

Refrain

Garage sale lesson

  

We face up to awful things because we can't go around them, or forget them. The sooner you say 'Yes, it happened, and there's nothing I can do about it,' the sooner you can get on with your own life. You've got children to bring up. So you've got to get over it. What we have to get over, somehow we do. Even the worst things.

          ~E. Annie Proulx, The Shipping News

 This time of year Lanny and I like to go snooping around local garage sales. He is always on the lookout for tools and other equipment for his new workshop, and I just enjoy looking for bargains. I have purchased lots of books and toys for the grandkids at drastic price reductions, and have found a few kitchen ware items that I just had to have (a fondue pot comes to mind...) Lanny has found old, "made in the USA" tools that you can't buy anymore. And both of us have a bit of nosiness-- we enjoy driving around and seeing the county. We have been in neighborhoods we otherwise would not have seen. And we have been way out in the country in barns and other interesting places. We love it!

This week we set out with a list of sales in our hands. I had found a listing for an estate sale out in the country that was calling to both of us, and to a moving sale in another rural area of the county. We set off to the estate sale first.

Estate sales are usually large, full of a lot of junk, and often a few gems. Usually an elderly person has died and the family, after sorting through all the stuff left behind, puts whatever is left into a sale. That was the case here. The setting was the home of the deceased, way out in the country on a large lot. Not a farm-- just a large lot with a modest ranch home that had been built probably late 1960's. It had not been updated since, so the whole place was a little shabby and the decor was very dated.

Usually I am unaffected by such a setting and event, but perhaps because I myself am aging, I felt a profound sense of sadness as I snooped. There was a large garage filled with tools and a nice workshop area in one corner. Connected to the garage, which was only connected to the house itself with a breezeway, was a small den-like room. Clearly this was a "man cave" where someone had spent a lot of time puttering or watching tv or whatever. It had been a haven from whatever trials had been endured in his life.

There were also items indicating the man who had lived here had been a doting grandfather-- a few games and toys and child-sized furniture and stuff like fishing poles. At a table inside the garage were the family, chatting together and seeming to enjoy the day. My guess is one of these people was a grandchild of the man who had once lived here.

Lanny found a few tool items that pleased him and I got an old popcorn tin I'll use in my knitting. We moved on, driving for several miles to the moving sale.

The setting here was out in the country as well, but this felt more like a suburb. The house had been built probably in the 1990's, and so was not as shabby and outdated, but had a very lived-in, comfortable look.  There was a realtor's "SOLD!" sign out front. It was almost empty except for all the items that were for sale inside.  I was amazed at everything that was being sold-- room after room, tables and countertops stacked full of items. In the kitchen I discovered cake decorating supplies-- not just a few pans shaped like superheroes, but stands and pillars and fountains for large tiered wedding cakes. Boxes of little plastic trinkets meant to adorn baby shower and wedding shower cakes. In another room there were boxes and boxes of scrapbooking supplies and sewing notions galore.

There was a harried-looking middle aged woman who seemed to be in charge, and along with a few other women there were also two teenagers helping. One was a middle-school aged young girl, the other a boy I guessed to be about 15. Nobody was smiling or enjoying themselves. The longer I was in the house the tenser the atmosphere felt.

Then I noticed a little child's kitchen cupboard standing in one room with a price tag on it. The cupboard was a little crude, obviously hand made by someone. There was a note that explained the cupboard had been made by the woman's grandfather for her when she was little, and she hated to get rid of it but she had no place to put it in her new home.

That's when it hit me-- this woman was moving into an apartment with her kids. There was no male presence at the sale, which led to the assumption of a divorce, perhaps a death. She was getting rid of not just a lot of stuff, but of hobby items and cherished childhood toys. I guessed that there was a financial crisis here as well, that she had probably had to go back to work full time and had no time for hobbies any more. It was clear that the children were not happy either.  That alone was a challenge-- and probably induced a lot of guilt on top of everything else this woman was feeling.

I wanted to stop and talk to her, tell her how brave she is and that she didn't know it yet but she would get through this hard time and would someday find herself stronger and braver than she ever thought possible.  That her kids would be okay eventually too, and that if she was feeling guilty over their reaction to this move, she needed to remember that she was doing the best she could for them. And that was all any mother could do... But I also remembered how hard it was when I was in the middle of my own crisis to keep my composure while I did what I had to do to keep moving forward. This woman had a couple friends helping her so she had support. Instead of stopping to talk, I bought an item I didn't need and left quietly, saying a little prayer for her and her children under my breath.

Garage sale shopping took on a quite different tone this past weekend... I came face to face with the pain of human mortality, of saying goodbye to a cherished loved one. Of being alone suddenly, of feeling abandoned. The panic of financial woes. Of trying to rear children on your own. And of the ability of humans to rise above all this and keep putting one foot in front of the other, of walking the journey that is life and taking paths you never thought you'd see.

As we drove away I was again struck by how much pain there can be in life, and how brave people can be sometimes when faced with hurdles they had not imagined possible to surmount. How important it is for us to remember that a) misfortune can happen to anyone, any time, anywhere, and at some point it will come to each of us, b) that sometimes just surviving until tomorrow is all you can do, but you just must keep moving forward, keep trying and c) that at some point you will realize that you have survived and are stronger. And life is better because of it.  And as fellow humans, each of us must try to be sensitive to the suffering of others... we're all in this together.