A MOM BY ANY OTHER NAME...

As we near the annual Mother's Day celebration, I've been thinking about women who have been "mom" to me throughout my life.

There's first, naturally, my biological mom, whose name was Doris. I was her third child, but the only one who survived beyond a few months. From her I learned several important lessons:
   --put yourself in the other person's place
   --be friendly
   --don't hurt another person's feelings
   --share what you have
   --take care of your belongings

Life for my mom was not easy; she was divorced in a time when such action was frowned upon. She had to work to help support herself and me. We often had to make-do with whatever we had because we couldn't afford another whatever-it-was. I didn't know any of this when it was going on. Much of it became clear when I had children and experienced first hand what it meant to do without or make-do. My mom died when I was 15.

My next mom was my mother-in-law, Vira. She and I just clicked. Her house was where we often met on Friday or Saturday night for pizza--she and I made it while the guys talked in the other room. We were on the same wavelength, Vira and I. If she needed a utensil for use at the stove, I was handing it to her as she turned to ask. She was creative with fabric, liked to read, collected recipes, all of which I related to; and she played bridge with her lady friends, which never appealed to me. (Mainly because I couldn't get my head around the rules and nuances of bridge. Still can't.) She died when I was 27.

Years later I met Treva, one of the pillars of the small country church my family attended. She had one daughter, but apparently longed for a larger family. So she "adopted" all the 30-somethings in that church--boys and girls--as her own. No matter how downhearted we felt during the week, a Sunday morning of Treva's love and acceptance put things right again. Treva lived long enough to see me into my 50s.

By that time, I'd reconciled myself to being the mom, and not having one of my own in the flesh. Then I reconnected with Aunt Virginia, my mom's youngest sister, and the last of the 10 Jenkins children. 


Aunt Virginia had two little boys--who naturally became grown-up men--but she never had little girls of her own. All my female cousins and I were happy to help her out. For several years my oldest daughter and I made an annual trip to Illinois for a weekend with Virginia and "her girls." We visited cemeteries where our great-greats were buried; we shopped at Walmart; we ate one meal out so we could visit with some cousins who couldn't come to the house; we admired Virginia's garden, and ate whatever produce was ripe and ready. Virginia lived a long life, and I was in my 60s when she died.

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What is it that defines a "mom"?

Think of the people you know who've adopted children--are they any less a mom (or dad) because they aren't the biological parent?

Think of the women (since we're talking about moms today) who never married, but who spent their lives in service to children, young people, and adults: teachers, nurses and doctors, social workers, day-care people. . . .

Here's a partial list of characteristics I associate with moms:

--they care
--they want the best for you
--they laugh or cry with you
--they think of you often (you know this because they tell
   you they do)
--they have wisdom, in spades, from years of living longer
   than you have
--they share: ideas, advice, money, material goods, their physical help
--they let you make your own mistakes (they made theirs, and 
   learned from them)
--they let you go when they'd rather keep you safely with them, and 
   they keep you when you've no place to go

Make yourself a list. It will be based on how you've come to know the woman or women you call "mom."

Then take some time each day to give thanks for "mom." 

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

  IN CASE YOU WONDERED...

Or, even if you didn't wonder . . . today we're going to explore a phrase that seems to be in regular use in our country: OLD SCHOOL.

Know how long it's been around? Go ahead, have a guess--10 years? 20 years? Mid-to-late 20th Century?

Nope, all wrong. My Oxford Dictionary & English Usage lists 1749 as the first use. That's right--not a typo--1749. That's more than two and a half centuries ago!

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Now, in case you never figured out what Old School means--and even if you don't really care (I have a lot of things like that in my life)--here are a couple of definitions/usages:

1: adhering to traditional policies or practices--an old-school coach

2: characteristic or evocative of an earlier or original style, manner, or form--old-school music

Old School is also used to describe "adherents of traditional policies and practices."

I sense you're muttering to yourself--why is she going on about this, anyway? Well, I'll tell you why.

As an example, some time ago I finished reading a mystery by Alan Hunter, a Brit, who wrote the George Gently series. In the very first book in the series the term "old school" was used to describe Chief Inspector Gently's methods--he thinks of himself as a traditionalist, following prescribed protocols for detection. The out-of-town police force he's been sent to assist have their own tried-and-true methods--you can almost hear them saying, "That's not the way we do things down/up/over/out here." So he's branded "old school." (Incidentally, he isn't unduly bothered by their opinions of him. Good thing, too, because he later uncovers the true villain.) (Not only that, he isn't a "letter of the law" kind of detective; he uses what he has, mainly his brain and his intuition. He says police work isn't only science, it's an art, too.)

Alan Hunter's debut in the crime novel genre was in 1955. When I came to "old school" in a book as old as that (admittedly, I am older than that myself), I was intrigued. Really? Used in 1955?

That's what sent me off to look in whatever reference books I own to see if there was any chance the term was around longer ago. 

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I'm not sure why you need to know about a 270-plus-year-old phrase. Not sure why I need to know either.

Could it all boil down to how we view ourselves? If it's a new word, a new phrase, or simply a new way of using that word/phrase, did we just invent it, say in the past few years? Did we hear it on TV, or read it in a printed work, or come across it on the Internet (that repository of practically everything you'd ever want to know, or not)?

Are we so vain that we think all "new" things are really new? Wouldn't surprise me a bit.

-----

But we might remember the following:

     That which has been is what will be, That which is done is 

     what will be done, And there is nothing new under the sun. 

          Ecclesiastes 1:9 (New King James Version)

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While you ponder and mull this week, enjoy our shift into the month of May--springtime is moving right along! 

Til next time,

Blessings!

Thursday's Child

APRIL 23RD...

I have a thing about the 23rd day of the month--any month. Probably, it all stems from my birthday, which is the 23rd day of a winter month.

Today is April 23rd. Here's what I gleaned from a short trawl of the Internet:

 

Know who this handsome devil is? Born in 1654, and so far as is known, also died on this day in 1616. If you guessed William Shakespeare, you're a winner!

You probably know the Bard's work from high school English classes. Or from well-known (or well-worn) phrases that have made their home in our everyday language. "To be or not to be," is one of his (from Hamlet).

Other birthday folks you might know:

Max Planck, 1858 - German theoretical physicist, known for his work in quantum theory

Shirley Temple, 1928 - American child actor; then later Shirley Temple Black, former Chief of Protocol of the United States

Roy Orbison, 1936 - singer, songwriter, guitarist, pioneered new music styles in the age of rock 'n' roll

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Here are some interesting happenings on April 23rd:

• 1789: George Washington moved into the Franklin House (New York) which was the first presidential residence
• 1914: Wrigley Field saw its first Major League Baseball game
• 1954: Hank Aaron hit the first home run in his MLB career
• 1984: Discovery of the virus causing AIDS was announced
• 2005: First video uploaded to YouTube, "Met at the zoo"

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If April 23rd didn't ring your chimes, do a quick search of your own favorite date. Just type in, "what happened on _____ in history?"

See how easy that was? And fun! You never know what you'll have show up on your screen. And besides, it's cheap entertainment, no shipping costs, and nobody has to know (if you keep it to yourself).

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

  In Just-

spring

[A re-posting you've seen before. . . I'm going through a rough patch (it's a spring thing) at present and I'm a little distracted. April is the month my mother died, and to this day, 70 years later, I recall those last days and weeks. They fade a little, but they never go away. And I'm okay with that. Re-reading this post has helped me--I can now begin to celebrate the opening-up of another spring.]

This is what I call the e e cummings season, "mud-luscious" and "puddle-wonderful."

Just-spring here in Northeast Indiana comes with a full basket of tulips and dandelions, mowed yards, birds courting, bushes in red and green and yellow, trees in pink and white and magenta and yellow-green.

Landscaping is newly mulched. Gardeners grow antsy waiting for the frost-warnings to lift so they can be the first kid on their block with annuals shoving each other aside in hanging baskets and flower boxes and any little patch of soil that doesn’t have anything in it.

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Spring returns every year (March 20th or 21^st in the northern hemisphere), with new growth in the earth; with hope for new beginnings (Easter is a spring festival, you know); with beauty so abundant you feel it will run right over you.

It’s overflowing and everywhere. And it’s for everyone.

Spring (with apologies to Janne Robinson for her lovely poem) doesn’t care: whether you’re black, white, Hispanic, or other. If you’re super-sensitive to pollen or criticism or penicillin. If you’re grieving or rejoicing. If you’re too old to, too young to, or don’t give a damn. If your income exceeds your outgo or you have no income worth talking about. Spring breathes on us, whether we like it or not.

-----

All the therapy in the world won’t take away Spring. All the fervent prayers, tears, threats, tantrums—no effect on Spring.

We’ll have to deal with Spring--endure it, embrace it; enjoy it, avoid it. Spring doesn’t care.

-----

If you see a white-haired woman in a black sweatshirt and New Balance walking shoes, carrying a box of Kleenex, that’s probably me. I’ll sneeze from car to grocery store and back again.

Spring doesn’t care.

But I do.

Celebrate Spring! And I hope you enjoy what She has to offer.

  ATTITUDES & GRATITUDES

When I was young, long before I could drive a car, I rode with my parents. If we wanted to get somewhere quickly, we took what my dad called "hard roads"--meaning, the surface of the road was probably concrete, or maybe asphalt. We called asphalt "the black top" because that's what it looked like.

If it didn't matter how long the trip took, or if the people we were going to visit lived 'way off from civilization (or so it seemed to  my young mind), we drove on gravel roads. These were supposedly maintained by the township where the roads were located. Sometimes they were.

I bring this up because whenever we found ourselves on the lesser improved roads, we often hit a rough place. Literally. The road might be deeply rutted, due to heavy rains followed by vehicles, trucks or wagons, that sank down in the mire. Somehow or other, we always got through.

Right now, a lot of folks are going through a rough place. The way ahead is uncertain, though we hope there's no detour or sliding off the road into a water-filled ditch. Metaphorically speaking, you understand.

I don't recall my parents and I ever had a bad outcome to our jaunts. Somehow or other, we always came through--maybe a little muddy on the outside, or possibly with a flat tire out of the ordeal. Overall, though, not so bad. Maybe that's the genesis of my basically positive attitude--we always came through.

So today, in case you're in, or nearing, a rough place, I'm sharing some thoughts that may make the going a little easier.

First, Attitude:

• You cannot control what happens to you, but you can control your attitude toward what happens to you, and in that, you will be mastering change rather than allowing it to master you.( Brian Tracy)

• The secret of genius is to carry the spirit of the child into old age, which means never losing your enthusiasm. (Aldous Huxley)

And now, Gratitude:

• Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow. (Melody Beattie)
• As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them. (John F. Kennedy)

I'll give Winston Churchill the last word:

Until next time,

Blessings

Thursday's Child

 SPRING ALBUM!

Tomorrow will be two full weeks of Spring! Some years there's not much to cheer about in our yard . . . a too-cold or too-warm winter can influence the new growth. But this year--! WOW!

I'm sharing my pics of the yard with you--not because it's a prize-winner, but because--well, just because I can. In a mere two weeks (which included rain, wind, more rain, even more wind, sun, no sun--you name it, we had it)--as I say, in two weeks, shrubs and bushes and flowers came out and greeted us. Enjoy!

Resurrection Lilies - leaves only at this time. The leaves die down and stems--with lilies--arrive in August. Stay tuned!

Lilac Buds - outside my kitchen window

This Lilac was given to me by my son several years ago; it had to be transplanted from its former location, and now seems quite happy mixed up with an old-fashioned rose and some formerly disruptive peppermint. The three of them appear to enjoy companionship--I never saw it coming, but I'm all for it!

Recognize this one? Baby rhubarb . . . in a few weeks we'll be cutting back the red stalks for freezing. They make a wonderful fruit crisp, mixed with blueberries and chopped apple. Pretty, too.

The only blooming flowers at the moment are daffodils and narcissus. They're not long-lasting, but they do make a pretty addition to the green of spring.

What I like most about the flowers, shrubs, and trees that bud out and eventually bloom is that they show us what patience is all about. They don't show up in full dress--they go through the processes they are born to do. I could use a little more patience (sometimes). I'll have to pay more attention to my garden.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

  

SPRING TONIC

In my grandmother’s day a good dose of blackstrap molasses and sulphur cleaned out the human system, warded off any lingering malaise from winter’s icy clutches, and tuned up the body for three seasons of hard work on the farm.

In my youth, the Spring Tonic on Grandma’s shelf was replaced by a few cups of Sassafras tea or stewed rhubarb, which pretty much worked the same way as the dreaded tonic. By the time I became a grandmother, a week in Cancun or Barbados or Aruba was the remedy. Or if your pocketbook resembled mine, five days in Kalamazoo.

Some of my friends—whose pocketbooks may be anorectic—swear by a day at the spa.

Say “spa day” and right away you’ll conjure up a jumble of images—pummeling and pomading through ten hours of sauna, massage, styling, tweaking, manicure, pedicure, every-kind-of-cure for the common blahs and disenchantments of the face and figure. Wintertime, springtime, anytime.

View of one of the "Chain"

By happy accident, I discovered another kind of spa day.

We drove from Auburn, my friend Janine and I, in her 4X4, to Chain-O-Lakes State Park about 30 minutes away. Picture a day in late April. Spring sunshine, leaves taking their time unfurling their shades of green. Water standing in fallow fields, running in ditches, swelling creeks, all from late winter snow that had no chance against a young spring breeze and honest-to-goodness sunshine.

In northeastern Indiana we celebrate the first day of spring with the rest of the civilized world—around March 21^st when the spring equinox shows up on the calendar. We know that’s a token celebration—on a par with a green Christmas—because real spring, the one worth celebrating, comes on a day when you least expect it. It’s a mid-week day, when offices and schools and businesses are up and running, expecting their employees and clients and students and customers to show up as well.

But.

On a real spring day, some of us are privileged to get in a 4X4 and cruise the trails and roads of a state park. 10 mph cruising. No hurry. No agenda. Only the journey.

The 4-by heads into the park, makes a loop around one or two of the lakes in the chain, from which the park gets its name, and climbs one of the steep hills into a wooded area. Campground, cabins, fish-cleaning station…. Down another hill into the valley floor. What used to be a racing creek has expanded into a flowing meadow. The water’s nearly level with the bridge over the no-longer-dashing waterway.

We stop and park on the side of the road. Janine takes out one of her cameras, a monster thing with a long lens that allows her to poke her eye into Nature’s intimate business from a safe distance. I watch last autumn’s leaves float down the lazy stream and let the sun fall on my face.

Our only companions are woodsy inhabitants, too shy to come out.

When Janine winds up her photo op, we continue our loop around the park, and end up at one side of the biggest lake where a pier juts out into the main channel. I stand in the sun, my arms propped on the side supports of the pier, while Janine snaps photos of me in various hats and scarves for future use as publicity pics.

We’ve spoken fewer than fifty words since we entered the park. No pummeling, no pomading. No need for the delights of the day spa.

Because here, in this natural setting, we’ve bathed in warm spring air so delicious you can almost taste it, spied out elusive greens that will soon be in full leaf to delight the eye, caught the springtime perfume of sun on old leaves and new growth. Our souls have basked in Nature music: bird song, trickles of water running over stones, dry leaves from a year ago whisked away by a sudden breeze.

We’ve spent no money. Yet we’ve received simple gifts: cures for the common winter blahs, and disenchantments of the spirit. You can’t bottle this tonic and sell it for profit. This cure is free for the taking. If you want it.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

Autumn @ Chain-O-Lakes
Another inspiring season