Summer Days

Yesterday my husband, daughter and her cousin went for a paddleboat "trip." I dropped them off at Howard's Woods and they paddled and explored down the river until they got to the lake dock where I picked them up again. The trip took a little over 2 hours and they had a ball!

I looked at the photos my husband took, and smiled. This is what summer days are supposed to be like for kids. Though the girls are 11 and 14, they waded, splashed, looked for turtles, crayfish and other water life and got their flip flops totally encased in mud! Of course, they also listened to music from their phones while they paddled, texted and generally acted like the teen and preteen of the 21st century that they are. My husband had a lay-off day and put it to good use. I hope this is a day my daughter and her cousin remember, when they recall the good times of the summer.

It's my day off and I'm sitting in front of the computer instead of doing things I should be doing. (So what else is new??!)

I was thinking this morning, how rich my life is and how thankful I am for it. I often get in the habit of complaining about little things...either to myself or aloud to others. I need to get out of that habit. Little things are nothing. It's the big things that matter. I have a wonderful family that includes a loving husband, smart, beautiful daughters and step-daughter and adorable grandchildren. I also have a warm, supportive extended family, both those related by blood and in-laws. I have friends and a job I like and we can manage to pay for our gas and groceries. (so far!!)

It's so easy to let other things bring down our mood and ruin our day. Spilled coffee, unkind words, rain, a headache, a misunderstanding, any number of things that will be better tomorrow. We would do well to keep that in mind and keep a positive outlook. But there are perhaps a lot of things that maybe won't be better tomorrow, or the next day, or next week or next year. It helps, I think, to remember that these are the things that shape us. Or rather, our reaction to these things are what shape us. We are who we are largely because of our experiences, and it's the challenging and bad experiences that shape us the most. How do we respond to the stresses of life? Do we stress out and ruin our health? Do we plod on, one day at a time? Do we give up on life? Do we blame God and the world for our misfortune and live resentfully? I believe I've responded in each one of these ways at some time in my life.

I'm trying to react differently. I'm trying to remember that I'm here to learn and love. I'm trying to remember that I am more than this body with it's aches and pains, this mind that gets stressed and worried. In me is a spark of God that is pure love and I can choose peace at all times. The only thing we can control is what we think. My mind doesn't remember why I am here, but my soul knows. So I don't want the stresses of life to turn me into an angry, resentful, unhappy person. I want them to shape me into someone who is then compassionate to others because I realize they have their stresses and burdens too.

It's a lofty goal that I fall short of every day. But just about every day, I listen to someone tell of events in their life that cause sadness, stress and frustration. We are all the same. Even though we struggle in different ways, we all have those things in our lives for which we can be thankful. We all can choose peace each day.

So when I wake up in the morning and I'm in pain, or my mind is jumbled with all I have to do that day, or I find myself feeling for any reason that I just don't want to face the day....I can take a deep breath and say, no....I choose peace today.

"Nobody can bring you peace but yourself."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Father's Day

I was thinking about Father's Day and my own dad and thought I'd write a little bit about my dad.

As a child the main thing I knew was that my dad went to work. And he also came home again, and that was a time to look forward to arriving. "Daddy's home!" we kids would shout and run to the driveway. Dad brought energy into the house with him. I liked to listen to him tell Mom his day, often while standing, as though he were too wound up to sit. He wasn't the kind of guy to come home and sit with a beer. He was the one to ask if you wanted to do something fun, because he was likely to say yes, or tell us to "ask your mother" which probably meant he didn't want to be the one to say no.

For the most part, Dad wasn't the disciplinarian, mostly because he was at work a lot, so it was left to Mom. That, perhaps unfairly then, made him more of the "fun guy." But if you did upset him - look out! No one wanted Dad angry with them. He didn't get over it right away. I think I spent a fair amount of time trying to please my dad. I wanted his approval, as little girls tend to do with dads.

My dad played fast pitch softball, and he was the pitcher. We kids liked to watch him play and cheer him on. As a young teen, I proudly wore one of his softball jerseys. Dad sometimes took us fishing, which I didn't care for, but liked spending time with him. Dad set off the fireworks, swam with you, taught you how to catch and throw a ball, helped you learn to ride a bike and drive a car, killed bugs and mice and brought you home puppies. My dad loved having a baby in the house and hated when someone inevitably spilled their milk at supper.

When I was a teenager, Dad and Mom bought a grocery store, so there was always a job for me. I got to know more about my dad then. He knew a lot about running a business, he was kind and friendly with customers, old ladies loved him. His employees liked him. He could cut meat and would explain to me what he was doing, and I was in awe that he knew so much. I learned a new respect for him.

When I became an adult, I learned that my dad would still love me even if I really screwed up. He would always show up when I needed someone to help me move. I learned he cared about my happiness. I saw him cry only one time, when my husband died. I learned that his feelings ran deeper than he usually showed.

My dad drinks coffee when he's thirsty, even when it's hot outside, knows the price of everything he buys, knows where to get the best meal for the best price, can cook if he has to, cleans and can fix things. He plays cards, likes to fish but doesn't hunt and likes country music and dancing. He is also a talented artist, making and carving things of wood.

Dad likes a funny story. He likes kids. He's willing to help people when he can. He delivers "Meals on Wheels."

My mom used to tell me that I was like my dad. I don't know if that's true, but I hope I have some of his traits. He is a good man. I'm proud to call him my dad.

Amber and the quilt

It's a very poor quality picture, and I couldn't seem to do much with it, but this shows a 3 year-old Amber doing her best to make her bed with the quilt. This would have been in September or October, 1984. Looking at it causes me to remember what a joy she was, and how she always wanted to do things by herself! I thought at that time, that I loved her so much, I could never love her more. I was wrong.

Grandma Squares Blanket

Sometime in the mid-seventies, my grandma made my sister and me each a quilt. Polyester knits were the rage then, you may remember. Everything from ties to t-shirts were being made from colorful polyester knits. So my mother gave my grandma some items of clothing that were outgrown to use in the quilts. I would look at it and say, "Oh, that was that tank top Mom wore when she was pregnant with Anne. And that's Kathy's skirt and my dress..." It was backed with a white sheet that had pink flowers on it. I liked it well enough. I took it to college with me and used it on my bunk bed along with the afghan my grandma had made for me for my high school graduation. They were a tie to home and security.

Later, when I had a child, I let her use it on her bed and she took it with her to college eventually. Now, my 3 year old grandson uses it on his bed. He drags it around the house with him sometimes, using it for a tent or to snuggle on the sofa. My daughter informed me one day, that the "Grandma Squares Blanket," as my grandson called it, was falling apart. She wanted to know if I thought maybe it could be fixed. Sure enough, that very fabric that was my mom's tank top was in shreds, and some of the other squares weren't looking so good either.

I happen to know a woman who is very talented at making quilts, among other things. So one day I asked her if she thought we would need to get someone who knew about quilts to fix it, or if any seamstress could. That's all it took, she is in the process of doing the job now! She and some of her friends work on such things in the meeting room of the library where I work every Wednesday afternoon and today, it was my quilt she was working on. She had it all taken apart. It seems that more needed to be repaired than I knew. Seeing the quilt, or rather, the squares part of it, in pieces laid out on the table made me catch my breath. It was rather like my life on that table, ripped apart at the seams and out there for everyone to see. I couldn't stand to see it that way. I wanted it back together. What would my grandma think? But the woman proudly showed me how she'd gotten all the "tank top" pieces replaced. She did a wonderful job and no one would know those pieces of fabric hadn't been there in the beginning. Except me, and my daughter. And...my grandson?

Turns out the backing should be replaced too. After all, why go to all this work and then leave fabric on the back that is at least 35 years old? So I think my grandson is going to notice. I hope it doesn't bother him though. I hope the quilt lasts another 35 years and gives him a sense of security too. Then maybe, one day, his son or daughter can drag it around the house.

Thanks Grandma. I still think of you when I see it.

My daughter likes to be like her mom. She says, "I got my reading smarts from Mom." This is because she is ten years old. In a few short years she will be a teenager, and will start the ritual of separation. Then she will not want to be anything like me. This is as it should be. A girl has to become independent of her mother to grow up. This is sometimes difficult for moms, as t-shirts and birthday cards abound using the image of a woman screaming something like, "Aaack! I've become my mother!" Women joke about how they live in fear of becoming their mothers, and often they aren't really joking! As part of that separation process we think the most terrible thing in the world would be to be like our mothers, as if then we wouldn't be unique individuals.


My sisters and I have joked in this way for years. If you make a phone call early in the morning, you've become Mom. If you leave your purse or coat behind, you've become Mom. We've teased how much one of the others looked like Mom or did something like Mom whenever possible. But as we get older, we find ourselves doing more and more things like Mom and admitting it. My sisters and I know now, that sometimes one has to make that phone call early before getting on with a busy day. We realize that when our minds are filled with so much to do we sometimes get absent-minded and leave something behind like a purse or coat. We wonder how our mother managed to do all that she did while managing a household with six children.

More importantly, we can now see and appreciate who our mother is as a person. Why wouldn't we want to be bold, courageous and willing to stand up for ourselves and for what we believe in? Why wouldn't we want to be loving, kind, compassionate and caring towards other people? Why wouldn't we want to be intelligent and have the ability to do a variety of things and juggle a variety of commitments? Just what is so wrong about becoming our mother? After all, as daughters through time "become" their mothers in different ways, they are carrying on traditions and traits through generations. All mothers can live on through eternity, through their daughters.

For my sisters and me there is another component as well. As we see our mother's traits and yes, even eccentricities, in each other it gives us a sense of connectedness. We are each of us like Mom in our own way, so we know that as long as we have each other, we will have a little bit of her as well.

So, today, I will proudly say, "I've become my mother!"

Me, Blogging?

Well, my husband said I should start a blog. I guess he thinks I have a lot to say and maybe I should write it all down so he wouldn't be the only one that would have to hear it! Anyone who knows me well, knows I have a lot of opinions and I'm not afraid to use them.

I've always enjoyed writing, though, and I never think anything I write is good enough for anyone else to read. He seems to disagree, so for my husband, I start this blog. We'll see how it goes.