Mother's Day thoughts

I have somehow stumbled into a very weird algorythym on my FB page recently featuring estranged parents and estranged adult children (and in-laws) discussing their various issues.  I have fed the beast, unfortunately, by clicking on these stories, because the problems piqued my curiosity, so then the algorythym gives me even more of them, and of course, the more you click, the weirder the situations get.  It has become obvious that I live a very sheltered life, if some of these stories are true.  But reading all this has caused me to think a bit about the generational waves of parents and children through the decades, especially mothers and daughters, what with Mother's Day upcoming, and I have thoughts about it, of course.

My mom is from what has been dubbed the Silent Generation, a moniker which certainly does fit her, in particular.  My mother has shared with me that her upbringing was spare.  She was born in 1926, into a big family with a small bank balance, and everything was tight, including emotions.

Time flies

 Eleven years ago, I was looking forward to the imminent start of one of life's exciting transitions - becoming a grandparent.  Of course, at the time, I didn't really understand what that meant for my life, because I had never been one, and like most life changes, you don't really understand it until you go through it.

I didn't have grandparents.  They all died when I was very young or before I was born, so I never had the grandparent experience myself.  So I didn't know what it was like to have a grandparent.  I did know from some of my cousins that I missed out on something special.  But I wasn't really clear on what, exactly, that experience was.  Because I didn't really see myself in the role that they described their grandmother filling - a woman always in the kitchen cooking and baking and making treats and loving her family by feeding everyone.  That just isn't my style.  So what was my style of grandmother going to be?

Lets just say I spiraled from there.  What kind of grandmother doesn't bake?  Was I going to be any kind of grandmother?  What do I know about grandmothering, anyway?  I barely know about kids, I'm not great with kids.... Spiral, spiral....  (I'm just gonna be honest here.  I don't handle change all that well.  Even good change.  It takes me a hot minute to get with the program, but I do eventually get there.)

And justice for all

We are watching the Epstein cover up continue to dribble on in slow motion, and we can only hope we are a long ways from the conclusion of this case, because if we aren't, there is going to be yet another cover up, and that is just not acceptable, or it shouldn't be to anyone calling themselves a morally upright person.  I just read a meme that really hit for me.  It said something along the lines of how pathetic it is that a 15 minute halftime show at a football game has garnered more national attention than the Epstein case.  While not exactly true, I think every single woman who has ever been the victim of a sexual assault feels that to her very soul.

Social realities

One of the most interesting aspects of social media is that it gives you a perceived access to celebrities where you believe you know them more personally than you do, and your opportunities for illusion (and delusion) is thus proportionately higher.  There are a lot of examples of this, but I will give one from my own recent experience which is a reminder of the danger of how seeing is not necessarily believing in this day and age.

You are enough....

I am not quite sure how it happened, but I got into a cycle of reels on my facebook account while I was scrolling recently, and while it would seem I have nothing in common with the subject, I have been quite surprised to find that, on the contrary, I have quite a lot of unexpected understanding.  The reels are from the TLC show Curvy Brides, which was on some time ago, and was hosted by Jo Cooke and Alison Law, who are, I have to say, amazing life coaches, in addition to the bridal consulting they were doing.

The premise is that plus sized brides deserve to have choices in making the most important clothing selection of their lives without fear or judgement, and their boutique in Essex provides that.  My heart has repeatedly broken watching these videos, as beautiful young women reveal to Jo and especially Ali their fears, lack of body confidence, feeling unloved because of their weight, etc.  What has surprised me, though, is how much I relate to everything they are saying.  Every single word resonates for me.

Iceburg in a Titanic World...

 Many years ago, I was going through a very difficult time in my life.  A lot of people had a lot of opinions on what was happening, but very few of those people knew much of the story, much less the whole story.  Even my closest friends didn't really know everything, because you never really do, right?  Closed doors don't just keep people out.  They also serve as barriers to keep people in, and when we are in messy places, all too often we want to hide the mess behind a barrier, because, you know, people are judgy, and who needs that when you are already judging yourself?

Anyway, I just read something that really resonated for me, and thought I would share a few thoughts about it.  

You don't owe anyone your story.  Let me repeat, with emphasis.  You. Don't. Owe. Anyone. Your. Story.

Burdens of the heart...

I have been watching a show recently that has slowly changed my entire vision of empathy.  I am a naturally empathetic person, I think, and my life has had some hard moments, which give me insight into other people's painful situations which accentuate that trait.  So it is generally easy for me to feel empathy for others.  But in watching this show about people struggling with a condition that is completely unfamiliar to me, I find myself in new territory.  And I have had a slow realization.

We do not have to walk a mile in someone's shoes to understand their pain is real.  In fact, it makes no difference at all if we have any idea of what they are going through.  Because their pain is real to them, and it should still matter to us, if we have any ounce of humanity in us.  Even if we don't understand it, have never felt it, can't relate to it, even if we don't think its that big of a deal, even, and this is the big one here for me, because I tend to engage in a lot of self-blame, if it is self-inflicted, their pain is still legitimate, its still big to them, and its still a burden on their heart.  Isn't that really all we need to know?

Advice to my younger self...

I recently turned 65, and it has been a trigger for a lot of introspective thinking.  I have looked back over a relatively long life, and thought about all the decisions I've made, all the things that have happened, and my hopes for the future.  One thing I've thought about a lot is what advice I wish I could have given myself back then, when I was 19 or 20 and making major life decisions that would direct or affect the entire course of my life, but I just didn't know enough to realize it or understand the importance of it all.  So here are some thoughts on what advice I would give my 18 year old self.

Choose a major that will get you a satisfying career right out of college.  Research your hidden interests and strengths, and don't be afraid to explore the things that you didn't know you were good at.  Don't accept other people's opinons and judgements of your strengths, because they don't see all of you and usually have a hidden preconception that blinds them to your realities.  Don't worry about starting salary, but do worry about average salary ten years down the road, because that is when you will be making mortgage payments and raising children and saving for their college and your retirement, and by then it is a lot harder to make changes.

Family affair!

This past weekend we had a mini family reunion.  It is summer in Minnesota, and a busy time for everyone trying to pack in the maximum activity time while the weather is warm, so getting people together can be challenging.  But several of my cousins, their children and their grandchildren managed to get together at our family farm (been in the family for almost 150 years now) and spend a little time reminniscing and catching up.

In the midst of the celebration, something occurred to me.  The house looked nice, but not perfect.  The rain caused some issues.  The house isn't really big enough, so some people ended up eating on the wrap around porch while others were gathered around the buffet inside.  (That made getting seconds easier, of course!)  The grass was wet, but the kids didn't care, and the barn, although messy, was still a real working barn with cats and cows and calves and a pig or two and the rope swing in the haymow still works!

We don't need perfection to have a good time.  If we wait for the perfect moment, it will never come.  If we try to get everyone, we will have no one.  In this day of disconnection, we have to connect when we can, even if its not possible to have everyone every time.  If the house is messy, does it really matter?  Does anyone remember that my mom has stuff piled up in her bedroom because she hasn't got enough space to put everything away after 99 years of living, most of them in that very house?

What I remember is laughing together as memories were shared.  Eating a great meal prepared by everyone. Enjoying the time together with people I love and don't see nearly often enough.  Honoring grandparents I never knew who started the ball rolling by having our parents.  Seeing yet another generation introduced to the farm where our roots run deep and wide.

Don't wait for the right moment.  That moment is now.  Nike had it right.  Just do it.  And take lots of photos to share around.  You won't regret it.

40 years of Sonshine!

Today is my son's 40th birthday, which is not only a big birthday for him, but, as it turns out, for me as well.  Of course I have been thinking about him as we approach his big day, but I've also been thinking about what that meant for my own life.  Because becoming a mother turned my world on its side in ways I couldn't have begun to imagine, and now that same child hitting middle age is once again making me see myself differently.

At 24, I was barely more than a kid myself when he was born, and his arrival heralded a whole new age for me.  Even when I was pregnant with him, I didn't realize how entirely my universe would shift the moment I held him in my arms the first time.

But when I saw his perfect little face, his ten fingers and ten toes, his curly dark hair and his whole precious self and realized that this helpless person was entirely dependent on me, it transformed me in an instant.  I went from being the center of my universe to being the protector, provider and Person In Charge.  He needed me for everything - even holding up his own head.  He gave my life purpose and meaning, just by existing.  And even today, although he probably doesn't realize it, he continues to give my life purpose and meaning.  I am still his mother, different but the same.  I still want to be there when he needs me, still want to search out answers when he is seeking help, still want to support and uplift and grow with him as he grows.  I am realizing that my own mother has continued to do the same with me, and it is a life long process of love that continually circles from mother to child to mother to child, eternally changing yet eternally the same.

He always had a serious personality, and it started at birth.  He was not a big smiler, even as a baby.  But when he did smile at me, it made my whole day.  He was inquisitive and intelligent, and asked a million questions, half of which I couldn't answer, even on a good day.  But we would go looking, and I learned right along with him.  And when we would figure out the answer, he would beam at me, like I hung the moon.  Sometimes I miss those simpler days, when the questions were easier and the answers more obvious. 

He is still inquisitive and intelligent, but he doesn't ask me the questions too often any more, because he has more answers than I do!  He is smarter, cuter, and more interesting than me.  He is living his life on his terms, exactly as I hoped and prayed he would when I held him in my arms.  And I still live for the smiles he gives when he sees me, and the fun that we have arguing this opinion or that, or sharing an adventure or two together.

For 40 years he has put up with his less than perfect mother, and together we grew up into the mother and son we are today.  I have always been proud to be Adam's mom, and I always will be.  Happy Birthday, Sonshine.  Wishing you many more happy birthdays to come!

Laughter for the soul....

I thought about something today. Nothing earth shattering, or even new to me, although I seem to have forgotten it lately. We all need laughter in our lives. It helps lift the spirits, gives us a hormone rush, makes us feel better. The world is stressful. Find whatever makes you laugh and then make sure you indulge yourself in it. We cannot control a lot of the stress we are all under, but we can definitely help ourselves by actively seeking ways to relieve it.

On that note, I found a comedian online today that literally made me laugh out loud. I was working on transfers and listening while I worked, and I burst out laughing several times. It was good for my soul. I have often read inspirational writing, and all the Chicken Soup for the Soul stuff, and its all great. If its the written word, I enjoy it. But honestly, listening to this comedian today lifted my spirits in a way I haven't been lifted in quite awhile. I felt better emotionally, physically and mentally.

It is easy to let the world get you down. Take my advice. Comedy. Natural prozac for the soul. Its the real deal.

One more hour....

I am not sure what is driving it, but recently there have been a lot of memes on my facebook about missing someone, and how nice it would be to have one more hour with that person who is missed.  I have thought a lot about it in the past few days, because today, January 4, 2025, would have been my dad's 102nd birthday, and I always think a lot about him at this time of year.  

Choices

Sunday is Mother's Day, and I am grateful to still have my mother with me.  At 97, every single day is a gift, and I'm thankful for the opportunity to give back to her a little bit of what she has given me for 60 plus years.  

But I have also been thinking about what it means to be a mother to my own children.  Life is a complicated dance between competing obligations, and it can be very hard to decide which steps are most important at any given moment.

Grandparenting 101

 Sometimes the obvious is just not that obvious to me, as I have realized over the last few days.  My grandsons have their birthdays two days apart at the end of April, so I always spend time thinking about them this time of year, reviewing the past year and everything that we have done together and experienced.  And I also spend time thinking about my role in their lives, and what I bring to the table as a grandmother.

But this year, we laid to rest my aunt at age 100, as the boys turned seven and nine, and the juxtaposition of those two events has made me understand this relationship in a whole new way.

My mother's hand....

 I recently had the opportunity to observe, up close, my mother's hand as she lay still and quiet. I wondered what other people saw, when they looked at that hand. It is an elderly hand, one that has seen a lot of hard use over the 97 years it has served her. It is fragile, worn, chapped, swollen, and a little weary from all the work that has been accomplished, and it is ready to have some well deserved rest from its labors, just as my mother is.

But I don't see any of that as I gaze at her today. Instead, here is what I see when I look at my mother's hand.

Slán abhaile.

 I have been thinking about Sinead O'Connor quite a lot the last couple of days, as many people no doubt have.  Full disclosure:  I was not her biggest music fan, for a variety of reasons.  And yet... I was a true fan of her, Sinead, the person, and it is that which I have been thinking about.

Of course, I recognized she had the voice of an angel.  Haunting, emotional, tearing you this way and that.  She had a power like very few ever have to move the listener.  She did not need autotune and lots of special effects to do it.  Her voice, alone, was enough.  Sometimes it was too much, really.  She was almost too real to bear.

On being a grandmother....

 Every year at this time, I contemplate what it means to me to be a grandmother.  My two grandsons have their birthdays two days apart, and it always shocks me, each year, how quickly the years are flying by.  This year it is even more so, as they are both in school and they are so clearly growing up.  Their faces are no longer the faces of babies or toddlers - they are boys, growing and thinking and in possession of their own personalities and thoughts and plans.

I did not grow up with grandparents.  I always knew I was missing out on something, because my friends would talk about how great it was to go to their grandparents' homes, but mine all died before I was born, or when I was so young I don't remember them at all.  I didn't really spend time with friends at their grandparents' homes, either.  The only real example I had was my own mother as a grandparent to my kids, and while she did so much right, I thought about ways I would do it differently, also.  

So when I was approaching grandparenting myself, I felt like I finally had a clean slate to make the role my own.  I don't have to live up to anyone else's memory.  I don't have to follow anyone else's example.  I don't have guidelines or expectations to meet.  I get to be the grandparent I want to be, just the way I want to do it, and no one else is involved except the kids, who don't know any better.  Perfect!  What freedom!

The Worth of a Man

 I have been thinking about my dad a lot lately, especially this month.  He would have been 100 years old on January 4, and as of today, he has been gone 50 years, the same amount of time that he lived in this world.  It is sort of a weird milestone, one that most people don't have to ponder, and it has caused me to think about my dad maybe more than I normally would.

I wonder what he would think of this world of ours, if he could come back today and see it.  When he left us, we were in the midst of wrapping up the Vietnam War (that was the day before the peace accords were signed,) the Watergate hearings were in the news, Richard Nixon (remember him? Shady presidents are not a new thing) was inaugurated for the second time but already on shaking ground, and we were in the midst of the early 70's with free love, drugs and rock and roll.  I wonder what would he make of computers and a cell phone in every hand, big screen televisions, video games and the much fancier cars and trucks we drive?  And what about all the other changes in the lives of the people he loved the most?

Choosing Joy

 January is a gloomy month in Minnesota.  Well, really, I think its gloomy everywhere, but especially in Minnesota.  The holiday season is over, with nothing really fun on the horizon for months.  The weather is cold and frequently overcast.  I tend to get depressed from the confluence of several things at this time of year, and I am not that fun to be around.

In November, I decided to start each day thinking of something for which I am grateful.  It improved my attitude, and made my day better.  I shared my thoughts on my facebook page, and heard from a number of friends that they enjoyed my thoughts, and they actually looked forward to reading what I wrote each day.  (And I do thank you for that encouragement!  You have no idea what it means to a writer to hear that someone enjoyed what they wrote.)

Gratitude and hope

On January 2, 1962, I met my family for the first time.  I came fully dressed, with my own silverware (a Christmas gift from my foster grandmother, apparently!  We still have it, of course,) and already potty trained (a serious bonus if ever there was one!)  My social worker, who was bringing me to the meeting, was running late, and ran for the elevator my family had just stepped into.  My mother looked at me, and leaned over to whisper to my dad, "That's her!"  Our hearts met in that moment, and somehow, in this wide world, I was already theirs, and they were already mine.  

It strikes me as funny that they had to go "home" for the night, which for that night was actually my aunt and uncle's home, to think about whether or not they actually wanted to take me for keeps.  (Yes, the similarily to adopting a pet is not lost on me!  Haha!)  Mom spent the entire night sick with anxiety that something would go wrong, and somehow, I wouldn't be theirs after all.