On being a mom...

Today's moment of thanksgiving... 88 years ago, the world was made a better place because my mother was born. She is an amazing person in more than one way, but her greatest quality, to me, is her unwavering calm support during life's difficult moments.

She is always, and has always been, just quietly there for me, even when she has her own problems to handle. She is never judgmental. She has never once said "I told you so," even though I am certain she had grounds plenty of times. She is the best role model in the world for calmly carrying on when things are rough.

A love note...

I was thinking about being a parent today.  It is such a crap shoot, giving birth to a human being.  You start out with a few cells, and before you know it, there is a whole person eating lemon meringue pie (um... what??) and telling you their opinion, and it may not exactly gel with your own, which is all a bit... disconcerting, to say the least.  I am always surprised when one of my offspring spouts off with an opinion in direct conflict with one of my long held beliefs.  (And it happens a lot, let me tell you.  I have one who will disagree just for the fun of debating the topic, so I know what I'm talking about here.)

Speak now, because forever is a long time....

One year ago, I wished my cousin a happy birthday.  Two years older than me, but only one grade ahead in school, we grew up in the same small town and the same smaller church, which means we saw a lot of each other.  And it wasn't always fun.  But he was a part of my growing up, always there, ever present, solid and dependable.  Over time, I didn't even mind the nickname he called me, because I knew it was said out of affection, although he likely wouldn't have admitted it.  From the outside it probably didn't appear that we were close, but over the years we forged a weird, but important, relationship of love and support that meant a lot to each of us.

Circling....

This past weekend I got to witness something very special, even if it is pretty ordinary and happens all the time - I saw my mother-in-law meet her newest great-grandson for the first time, and watched her carefully cradle him in her fragile arms.  I saw the glow on her face as she looked down upon the countenance of the sleeping child, and am reminded in a weird sort of way of all the Madonna and child paintings created by the masters.  There is something about holding a new baby in your arms, cradling this innocent and completely helpless human being, that brings out the maternal instinct in every mother, no matter how old.  And it is always beautiful to see.

Karma....

I have been following the news about the recent Ebola outbreak in Africa with interest.  I am not especially afraid of contracting Ebola.  The odds of me coming into contact with someone who has the disease in the virulent stages while they are contagious are slim to none, so it's not so much personal as it is a matter of pondering the vagaries of life.  It is easy to think you are in isolation in safe little rural Minnesota, but in fact, a man was heading back to this very state from Africa when he was found to be carrying the disease from which he ultimately died.  We are not really alone in this world.

Change is good, change is good. No. Seriously. Change is GOOD.

When I began this blog many years ago, it was a gut reaction to something very difficult that had happened in my life.  Writing has always been the way I worked through emotional distress, and thus, in the throes of one of the most difficult periods a person can endure in this life, I turned to the written word.  Over time, I have shared a great deal about myself - my thoughts, my feelings, my experiences, in the hopes that if another person out there was experiencing the same things and searching for someone who understands, maybe I could give them hope that while I cannot make it go away, they are not alone.  Someone out in cyberspace has been there and survived and they can too.  Sometimes that's all you need to keep going, and it is something I can offer.

But something funny happened on the way to the publish click.  Instead of dwelling on the dark things that haunted me, I started to find the humor in it all.  Instead of angst, I found joy.  At some point, a few years down the line, I realized I had moved from shock into anger, and finally from anger into indifference, a much more peaceful place to exist.

Father, Where Are Thou?

For some time now, I have been following a group on Facebook.  It all started innocently enough.  They were discussing the inequities of pay scale between men and women for the exact same job, and how far women are lagging behind in the income for the same work.  The cause is one of justice, and it caught my attention, because it is not only unfair, it is wrong.

But since then, the site has gone far afield on the subject of women's "rights."  I haven't yet unliked them, (although I probably will soon,) because it sort of fascinates me to see how other people think.  In this case, I think they have totally missed the point.  They are like a drowning swimmer, flailing around in the shallow water, foolishly missing the opportunity to simply put their feet on the bottom and stand up.  It is disturbing.

Resting in the peace that passes all understanding....

Great parents have one quality in common.  They have great children.  It is easy to look good when your children are easy, or at least not really difficult.  They may get up to the usual childhood shenanigans, but ultimately, they want to do the right thing.  Although it makes you look good, it isn't really about your parenting as much as it is about their basic personality.

Unconventional harmony....

An obituary is never satisfying for me, because when I read it, there is so much left unsaid.  Although it gives a few facts, there is always so much more that I want to know.  How did they feel?  What did they think?  Who did they love?  A person is not the sum of the years they lived, where they grew up or even where they ended up.  That leaves so much out about who they were inside.  But I think, ultimately, the problem in writing an obituary is that every relationship is different, and no one ever knows another person in their totality.  It is hard to sum up a life that you didn't ever fully know.

Getting testy....

Back in the day, when I was a youngster, girls read magazines aimed at self-improvement.  (Maybe boys did too, but if they did, I didn't know about it.)  They had catchy names like Seventeen and Glamour, and their sole purpose, as far as I can tell, aside from bringing in advertiser dollars, was to convince young women that they were not good enough to exist as is, requiring them to engage in all sorts of self-improvement.  Lo and behold, most of that self-improvement came directly to them in the form of the aforementioned advertisers' products, which I know will come as a shock to all.  But indeed, these quizzes routinely identified problems and provided solutions all at the same time.  It was a service, really, from their point of view.