A Mother's Love

My mother knows my attitude about flowers and funerals - I think you give the flowers while the person is still alive instead of putting them on a grave, and you let the person know how you feel while they can still appreciate it, instead of saving it all up for everyone else in a eulogy when they are gone.

On Monday, my mother will be 95 years old.  That is a grand age, and one well worth celebrating.  She is a quiet person, and hates to be the center of attention, so we are having a small family party, not a large affair.  But I am a proud daughter, not because she is 95, but because she is the person she is at any age.  So I feel a need to brag about her a little bit, to let the world know the person I get to see all the time.

A cautionary tale....

I have thought a lot about the Gabby Petito case, lately, and its on my heart.  There is a message in this case that hasn't really been talked about much, at least as far as I have seen.  And if there is anything good to come out of this terrible tragedy, it is the cautionary tale of Gabby's life and death.

No one, literally no one, even our closest friends and relatives, knows what goes on behind closed doors.  People cover up all sorts of things, from the petty and insignificant, to the serious and even deadly.  Gabby (and Laundrie) covered up an abusive relationship, and it cost them both their lives.  So here is my serious advice to anyone, man or woman, when you get involved with someone, even if you think you already know them well or someone you know gives them rave reviews.

The first time, the VERY FIRST TIME, someone is abusive to you, walk away and don't ever go back.  People do not suddenly become abusive because you did something wrong, they abuse others because they lost their self control and feel they have a right to lash out however they want.  It was a choice, not a forced reaction.  If someone hits you or harms you or threatens you, get out and tell someone immediately.  You don't owe them your silence, and it wasn't your fault they chose to lose control.  Verbal abuse is still abuse, and if someone threatens you, even if they don't carry it through, you are still at risk.

Maya Angelou once said, "When people show you who they are, believe them the first time."  This is good advice in all walks of life, but particularly for intimate relationships.  Those who abuse are telling you who they really are, deep down, and they most likely won't change.  Don't hang around for the second round.  There will be no winners.

Freedom

Some years ago, I visited a communist country.  While it has opened to the wider world over recent years, it was just in the process of opening and much more restrictive at that time.  I didn't really know what to expect when I went there, and I was appropriately cautious in every way.  I made sure I understood ahead of time what I could and could not bring into the country.  I was careful about everything from reading material to my necessary prescription drugs, especially my EpiPen injector, which I was concerned would be misinterpreted in a country where bringing in illegal drugs is a death sentence.  I understood there would be a military presence, and I was aware that I had to be careful about what I said and did while I was there.

When I arrived, things went pretty much as I expected.  The military presence was especially pervasive, soldiers on every corner, which was quite an adjustment.  And loudspeakers would blast messages to the public periodically, which I was told were government propaganda, which was pretty interesting to me.  And there was a strange, pervasive aura of caution everywhere, which would be difficult to describe, but you definitely knew it was there.

But it actually wasn't the overt eye of the government which wore on me over the succeeding days.  Instead, it was the constant watching of my words which I found so difficult to maintain.  I found myself pondering the difficulties of never being able to express myself freely, having to be out in the open away from anyone in order to ensure privacy, and not even being confident that my hotel room was a "safe zone" from prying intrusion.

I also found it difficult to have any meaningful conversation with people, although many spoke English quite fluently, because they didn't trust me, and truthfully, I didn't really trust them either.  Who was spying on me, I would think to myself?  Sound paranoid?  Perhaps, but it is a reality in a dictatorship that has to be considered. This mistrust is corrosive, and prevented me from fully engaging with anyone, because you simply didn't know what they would say, think or do.  And I was an even greater danger to them, no doubt.

It gave me a much deeper understanding of countries where people are afraid to express themselves, even to family members, for fear of what could happen or who might report you for thinking or saying the wrong thing.  There are more ways to be imprisoned than being in jail, I realized.

It was a relief to leave after a few days, although I loved the country and the people, and would happily return if only I had the time and money.  It has caused me to think seriously about the freedoms I have in the United States, and I value them much more than I did before that trip.  I no longer take it for granted that I can say what I want and express what I feel, because not everyone can in this world.

This Veteran's Day, I appreciate those who were willing to sacrifice themselves for my rights, even when I disagree with them.  What a gift they have given to us all.

Thank you to all the veterans.  I honor you this day, and I thank you.

Changing times....

I was thinking this morning about how much things have changed in the world since my grandparents were born.  From horse and carriage to driverless vehicles, telegraph to cell phones, the advent of movie and newsreels to live streams and Zoom, steam ships to supersonic jets, everything has changed.  They lived through Spanish Influenza, WWI, the Great Depression and WWII, all before we knew the outcome, when everything must have seemed so uncertain and topsy turvy, when money was scarce and inflation was rampant, and then into the heady days of post WWII affluence and excess and the dawn of the Boomer generation.

The price of love...

One week ago, my aunt Alice passed away.  At 93, she had lived a long and happy life, ending her time on this mortal sphere still living in her own home, surrounded by a lifetime of belongings and photos and loved ones.  It is how we all would wish to go, but for those left behind, it is always a struggle to let go.

The price of love is the grief you feel when they are gone.  The cost is very high, although, of course it is worth the price.  But that does not make it easier in the moment.  And this moment is painful.

Being in clover....

 I had to mow the lawn this morning.  The grass was not long - it has barely grown since I mowed last week.  In fact, I think I know Crayola's secret as to where they got the term "burnt orange."  They took a look at people's yards in July in Kansas City and that is the color they saw, which is what yards are starting to look like around here right now.

Except we are in Minnesota, and it is only June, and we are already having the hottest and driest summer I can  recall in years, which is just fine with me (although not so much the farmers I live around.  Especially the one I live with, who would like rain Right Now.)  Oh.  I digress.

Quiet Grace...

 This Sunday is Mother's Day, and this year I am especially mindful of how fortunate I am to still have my mother in this life.  At 94 (and a half, as she likes to joke) she recently reminded me, in her own words, "at this age any of us could go at any time."  Considering that she delivered this pithy assessment in the middle of her large garden while planting potatoes, it would be easy to forget the truth of that statement.  I giggled when she said it, but it is impossible right now to ignore that reality.  None of us are guaranteed tomorrow, but in your 90's, you are more fragile than you were when you were younger, and we would do well to remember that fact.

Our mothers and grandmothers and great-grandmothers are a resource to call on, a treasure chest of memories and thoughts and feelings lived over a lifetime.  They have perspective that is impossible when we are young.  I have noticed, through this pandemic, that the elderly, although appropriately concerned, have not been overly worried.  They have done what was asked, as they always have.  They stayed home and stayed isolated, but carried on, hardly missing a beat.  That is a message to us, I think.  They have survived a lot more than a pandemic, and they know that this too shall pass.  I take that to heart, because of their lived experience.

                              

This Mother's Day, I will give my mom the best gift I can give to her - I will spend time with her.  She doesn't need more stuff.  She has accumulated a lifetime of things, and has more than anyone will ever want or need, really.  But because I am all too aware that her time is increasingly limited, I crave spending the time just hearing her memories and thoughts and feelings.

My mom has lived in her hometown pretty much her entire life.  She still lives on the farm where she was born.  She still has a few of her earliest friends to reminisce with.  She is a person of simple needs, quiet, shy and unassuming.  She loves her family, her yard, and puts God first.  But that doesn't mean she is a simple person.  She has traveled and experienced and lived a long and productive life.  At 94, she has more to offer than ever.  And her experiences aren't over, because she continues to live a full and active life.

Mom is not someone that asks a lot of us.  She is a strong and independent woman, someone who has shown us what real woman power looks like.  She has overcome so much in her life, with so much grace and no resentment.  I cannot imagine a better role model for a young person who wants to know how to live their best life.

Mom, I love you.  I value you.  I cherish you.  I cannot imagine my life with any other mom, because you were simply the best mom I could have asked for.

I know I speak for the whole family when I say Happy Mother's Day.  Thank you for being you.  <3

Sugar and spice are nice, but so is brave and outspoken and loyal and...

My wonderful daughter is 29 years old today.  From the moment she made herself known in the summer of 1991 (I have never been so miserable for the entire 7.5 months she was in utero and I still have to fight the urge to feel sorry when I hear someone is pregnant and just congratulate them instead of giving them my sympathy, although the outcome is worth it!) until this day, she has brought the same character traits to her life journey that made her the survivor she is.

I hadn't planned on a second child.  Oh, I wanted one, wished for one, tried for one.  But after a series of miscarriages, I had given up and was grateful for the one child I did have.  I knew I was missing out, but you can't really miss what you have never had, so I didn't understand what I was missing, and I was okay with it all.

Then she showed up.  And I realized that my daughter was going to have to be strong and brave and bold and fierce, from the moment of her premature birth.  And I also realized pretty quickly that she was totally up to the job, and a spunky survivor, just like another woman I know and admire so much, my mother.

Listening...

On this day 48 years ago, we buried my father.  It was a bitterly cold, windy day, I recall, and I know there were many people present.  I know there was a processional, there was music and a sermon, my dad was in a casket at the front of the church, and there was lunch after.  But I don't really remember any of that. 

I have one overriding memory of that day, having nothing to do with my dad or the reason we were there - I had a hole in a my nylons, and I could not stop messing with it.  What started as a tiny finger sized hole, stopped from running with clear fingernail polish, by the end of the day was a run from the waist to my toe.  I picked and pulled and prodded and messed with that hole through the early visitation, the service and the lunch after.  The only time I wasn't messing with the hole in my nylons was at the graveside, where it was simply too cold to do anything but stand and shiver as we quickly did what had to be done so we could get back inside.