All the news that fits to print—or is it?

 

Watching the nightly news on TV or reading your morning paper can be disheartening. The world, clearly, is in a mess. The former president’s outrageous behavior at his current federal trial dominates the news, but Iran and Israel sniping at each other is a close second. I don’t understand why the media refer to Iran’s “unprecedented” attack on Israel. Didn’t Israel start it by taking out a consulate and killing several of Iran’s leading either diplomats or generals. That seems a bit of provocation to me. And whoever is at fault first, their conflict could escalate tensions in the Middle East. And then we read that famine is about to be declared in Gaza where half the citizens are in danger of starvation—where does starvation legally become famine? Is there some kind of line of statistic? Ukraine desperately needs tangible support—including arms and ammunition—from  the US but the MAGA caucus in the House seems to support Russia’s position in annexing Ukraine. They have voted against several bipartisan foreign aid bills, and hotheads like MTG are calling for us to withdraw from NATO—shortsighted if not outright stupid. Speaker Mike Johnson’s position is in jeopardy, but his removal could once again throw the House into confusion. So far they have accomplished less than any other House in any term.

Closer to home, some conservative states continue to pass draconian anti-abortion laws and voter suppression measures. Inflation continues, but few will believe that it is not government-inspired but due to greedy corporations that are making extraordinary profits. The disaster clock, driven by climate change, continues to click dangerously close to doom for the earth, and yet many don’t believe that either. We are told that if trump wins he November election, he will “Drill, baby, drill” and roll back all climate regulations. The southern border continues to be a mess, with MAGA folk blaming the increase in crossings on Biden, who is supposedly rubbing his hands with glee (please note not all immigrants are illegal—most have legal status pending asylum hearings—the only illegals are those that sneak across the border instead of crossing at checkpoints). Yet the House refused to support a bipartisan immigration reform bill.

Occasionally, the news is more puzzling than frightening. I read that Russian hackers have attacked the water tower in Muleshoe, Texas. Muleshoe is a town of about 5,000 out near Lubbock. Why in heaven’s name would Russian hackers be interested in its water tower? Did their girls basketball team just win a championship? Is Muleshoe the home of a hidden, secret spy group for the US.? Is there something special about the water tower. I’m sorry for the discomfort to Muleshoe’s citizens, but that almost made me laugh aloud. Most of the news does not do that.

So how can anyone, with all this and more, be an optimist? I can be and am. This morning I read a post by an author I know who said every morning she resolves to look for one occasion of joy in the world. As I look out my desk window, I look at those wonderful yellow wildflowers I posted about yesterday. Now they are about to be hidden by the oak leaf hydrangea growing tall and laden with blooms right by my window. Trite to begin with flowers, I know, but they truly do give me joy every time I look out the window at them.

But there are bigger victories: a panel of the 5^th court of appeals has refused to lift an earlier court order that bars Texas from enforcing a ridiculous book law that would have required every vendor to check every page of every book for explicitly sexual images and references before selling to a school district—this would have put many small vendors out of business, besides reinforcing our states already ridiculous book banning laws. A victory for reason.

A new federal order allows the Bureau of Land Management to protect 4200 acres of tribal-owned land from drilling and mining for the next 50 years—a huge victory for conservation. More college loans have been forgiven—not the principal but the outrageous interest rates which had people paying long after they repaid the principal. The economy is on track to best China’s economy for the first time in years, and unemployment has remained at a record-setting low for 50 years.

See? My wildflowers look pretty good. And there’s reason for joy in the world. Now I’ve got another reason—leftover meatloaf and I’m going to go ea my supper. Please remember to look for the joy in your life. It occurs to me that in focusing on national and international things, I have forgotten to mention the joy I get daily from family and friends. Never discount that.

 

Living your best life

 

My children--perhaps the biggest reason I'm so content these days.

Texas weather did it again! For two days we got dire warnings of severe storms, hail, and a slight chance of tornadoes. We got not a drop of rain. Nothing. I thought once in the night I heard the distant rumble of thunder, but I can’t be sure. They always say if you don’t like Texas weather, wait a minute. But the other thing is that the more frightening the warning, the less likely we’ll really have bad weather. But you’d be foolish to count on that because when you did would be the one time we really did get that storm or whatever. Jordan tells me the storms were south of us. But now we’re anticipating a low Monday of nine degrees, and I’m afraid my cozy cottage won’t be so cozy. The outdoor faucets are all covered, and a space heater is in the closet. Fortunately, this is to be a short if severe cold spell. We’ll see.

Last night I had a late-night conversation with my youngest son, Jamie. He had a birthday yesterday—good golly, how did he get this old?—and I called to wish him a happy day, even if it was the tag end of the day. When I asked about Eden, his daughter still in college, he said, “She’s living her best life.” The phrase struck me, although I know it’s a common one these days. But she’s only twenty—does that mean she’ll never again have as good a life as she’s having now? I hope not. And then I got to wondering what your best life is, though of course it varies for each of us. For Eden, it’s college, sorority life, some dating, but a real dedication to her studies, with her eyes set on graduate school in the future. Is your best life happiness or contentment?  The two are very different.

Then, of course, because I can be quite self-centered, I got to thinking about myself. I’ve always thought of my thirties as the happiest years of my life, the age I would return to if I had a genie in a bottle. My babies were young; my marriage was, I thought, happy; I was a bit frustrated professionally, but I was so wrapped up in being wife and mother, I didn’t really worry about it. There were tensions of course, prime among them that I was blissfully unaware that early in my forties, the man who had promised to love and cherish me would leave me to raise four children alone (it’s another story, but one that worked out very well). So I was happy, but I wouldn’t say I was content. It was like there was an itch inside me that I couldn’t scratch, a premonition that something less joyful was coming.

Now, well into my eighties, I think I am more content than I have ever been. I don’t feel the desperate need to produce two or three books a year—perhaps whatever I have done has to stand for my career. These days I still have projects, still consider myself a writer, but I am not driven as I once was. I have a comfortable, safe home with plenty in the refrigerator and on the dinner table. I am surrounded (and coddled) by loving children and grandchildren. As someone who's fought anxiety most of my life, I now don't have to do many of the things that make me anxious (okay, there was that rough parking lot at a doctor's office today but Christian saw me through it). I have good friends that I see often, a church where I find spiritual comfort (even when I only attend remotely), and a dog that I love—I think she returns that love, though with Soph one can never tell what’s in that mischievous little brain. Am I happy? Perhaps not in the joyful sense of the era of new babies, but yes, I’m happy. One lesson I’ve learned—and work hard at remembering—is not to bemoan the things I didn’t get to do, didn’t have, but to treasure the memories of all I did do—travels in many states and once to Scotland, a sentimental visit to Chicago with my grown kids, a high profile in some professional  writing organizations, lots of parties in my home and elsewhere, countless restaurant dinners that helped turn me into a foodie. I will probably never get to go back to Scotland, never take that cross-country railroad trip that Jamie wants me to take, never again be the belle of the ball (was I ever?), never have a best-seller book on Amazon or the New York Times,  but there are so many good things I have.

Your best life differs for each of us. In a way I think it’s fitting that you live that fairly young. If you’re lucky, you can carry it through several decades. But I suspect there’s growth in there, a spiritual growth from great joy to contentment. I don’t consider myself a spiritual person (and I separate that distinctly from religious), but I do believe in growth of the spirit as we age. And with that growth, maybe, comes some bitter knowledge about life that nudges us from the joy of our best life to the contentment of age.

Or maybe I just had an extra glass of wine wth my dinner tonight. How do you feel about living your best life? Or the Texas weather?

Lessons in gratitude

 

Sophie and me with new haircuts

Each day I am more convinced that we make our own happiness. It’s up to us to decide if we’re going to be happy or sad, full of joy or full of regrets and “what if” dreams. Oh, sure, everybody has down days, but I’m talking about overall general attitude.

And I think that starts with the daily-ness of life. So here are the things I’m grateful for today: A beautiful spring day, with lots of sunshine and lovely temperatures, plants showing their spring glory all around. The ground cover in the back yard went so suddenly from dull brown to brilliant green, and the big oak trees that make my driveway a known hazard seemed to leaf out in less than a week. I’m particularly glad to see the oak-leaf hydrangea coming back, and the bed is cleared for this season’s crop of pentas to be planted. Some questions remain—like most of the shrubs on the north-facing front of the house, including the big rosemary bushes. And I don’t get up to the front daily so I’m not sure what the lantana is doing but my understanding is you can’t kill that stuff if you want to so it should survive a freeze. And like trees all over town, my redbud is blooming.

Sophie and I both have new haircuts, though I must say she wears hers better than I do. I’m working on getting her to look directly at me for a good picture—do you have any idea how hard it is to photograph a black dog?

Jordan and I got some errands done today—mailed some give-away books, went to the pharmacy and to the delicatessen to get matzoh so I can make matzoh crack for Easter. I thought it only fitting to have a Passover dessert with what will be a rather odd menu for friends Subie and Phil and me—home-cured gravlax, Russian potato salad, egg butter that Subie learned to make in Finland, and asparagus. A midsummer’s feast.

My cottage is shining clean. Zenaida got into all the nooks and crannies this morning, and I have clean clothes, a sparkling kitchen, wooden floors without puppy tracks on them. And the whole place smells so good.

Things I’m a little less grateful for: it is impossible to reach the county tax office. You must appear in person, notarized form in hand, to renew a handicapped parking tag. So we went out there today only to find it locked tight—apparently they closed for lunch without advance notice. But I am uncertain if we need an appointment and if I have to appear or Jordan can go in and get it. Their phone messages is left over from February. Tried to call the main office, mis-dialed and got the weather forecast. Most frustrating! Anybody remember when you could call an 844 # and get the weather? Well, the tax office is 884, and I mixed the two up and was indignant when I got a weather forecast.

Just got the email receipt for Sophie’s new haircut. She looks gorgeous, but I am going to be a dog groomer in my next life—costs way more for her to get a haircut than it does me, and I’m fairly sure she’s as well behaved as I am. This writing business is fun and challenging, but it does not quite make one rich.

And today I read that whatever you spent on hand sanitizers and masks is a tax deductible medical expense. Since thanks to trump’s great tax cut for the rich, all medical deductions were disallowed for 2020, who thought to save those receipts? Surely not me. Now they tell us!

On the whole just for today, I’d say the things I’m grateful for outweigh those I’m a bit hesitant about. I’ve known several people with various ways of recording their gratitude—one friend had a gratitude month, where she posted each day one thing for which she was grateful. Another friend kept a joy jar—every time something good happened she jotted it down on a piece of paper and stuck it in the jar. Said at the end of the year it was enlightening to read all those bits and scraps of paper. I haven’t gotten so organized as to follow either of those suggestions yet, but it seems to me stopping every once and a while to count your blessings moves you ahead on the road to joy.

Have a happy evening everyone.

 

 

The dog in my life

The good and the bad, and the in between

The good news today, for many of us, is that the election has been called in favor of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris. More of our countrymen—and the international community—are rejoicing tonight than not, but I know that there are many who are disappointed, angry, and convinced the world—or America—is going to socialist/communist/whatever hell in a handbasket. To them, I say I’m sorry. I know their disappointment. I felt it sharply four years ago, and I have lived with it ever since then.

But for the rest of us, there is a much-needed sense of joy. Joy has been absent in the current presidency. Many pictures of trump and Melania show a dour-looking couple, bored, unhappy, wishing they were someplace else. Pictures of Joe Biden and Dr. Jill Biden are filled with laughter, secret smiles shared, gestures of affection—and dogs. Donald Trump has apparently never had a dog and considers pets low-class, at least that’s what I hear he said to the Pences, who have pets. I remember a meme on Facebook that showed trump at the podium saying he would have a dog, but he didn’t have time. Below it was a picture of a small dog in a prayerful position, with the caption, “Thank you, Jesus.” The White House will now have dogs—two big German Shepherds.

This isn’t as insignificant as it seems. You can tell much about a man’s soul by the way he treats animals. Loving an animal, to me, shows an ability to reach out beyond yourself, to have empathy, to care even about the helpless among us. You can tell a lot about a man by his reaction to a dog, but you can tell even more by the dog’s reaction to the man. I have always trusted a dog’s instincts.

There is also something—a whole lot—to be said for a man (or woman) who lives life with joy. I think joy bespeaks a certain comfort in your own skin, again an ability to reach beyond yourself. In this administration, joy has been lacking in the White House—there have been no arts performances such as we’ve seen with previous administrations, few if any state dinners (maybe a few ostensibly welcoming foreign dignitaries), no welcoming people into what is supposed to be the people’s house, no seeming enjoyment of the role of leader of a major nation. A president should bring us more than health and wealth. He (and someday she) should bring us art, literature, music, crafts, the best of man’s creative and imaginative minds. I hope to see that restored.

Our country made history today with the confirmation of the first woman to be vice-president. We are, however, way behind the world. Several countries have women at the helm—Germany’s Chancellor Angela Merkel, New Zealand’s Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern (who successfully controlled the corona virus in her country), Iceland’s Prime Minister Katrín Jakobsdóttir. Finland, Denmark, Norway and Taiwan are all led by women. I have great faith that Kamala Harris will one day take her rightful place on that stage and show us that the twenty-first century is the era of women coming into their own.

In the midst of celebrating, I had an “Aha!” moment: that toothache I’ve been nursing is not a toothache at all—I have the shingles. I should have known—the characteristic skin lesion on my chin, the intermittent shooting pains, the fact that pain skittered from throat to mouth to ear. My mom had this in her eighties and was miserable for a month or better. I am grateful that my case seems to be milder. Still it is one of those diseases that caught early can be wiped out by medication. I did not catch it early and am now five or six days in.

Jordan is concerned (that’s a mild word for it) about contagion. Shingles results from having had chicken pox sometime in the past—I did as a child; she never did. The skin lesion is the key to contagion—once it is dry and crusty, you are no longer contagious. So I will stop putting hot cloths on my chin immediately. Still, I am sort of ostracized out here in my cottage. I am, however, optimistic and relieved to know what it is. Also relieved I’m not facing extensive dental work—at least, I hope. I have had the first shingles vaccine several years ago, and I wonder if that is not making mine a milder case.

And the in between: I was looking forward to a writers’ conference tonight, the highly  respected Crime Bake usually held in New England. I signed up for this year’s Zoom version and set aside the hours six to eight for it. But when I tried to “zoom” in, the program told me the host was already hosting another meeting. I think I just hit one of the glitches about Zoom. So I’m reading and waiting for President-Elect Biden to speak

Happy dreams, all. Tonight, may you dream of joy and good times and dogs and health and democracy triumphing.

 

Everybody’s Mom

Wonderful rehearsal dinner last night at Lonesome Dove. Jordan’s “brother from another mother,” David, marries Kelly tonight, and we are all singing and dancing for joy. David has been like family to us for—gulp! —thirty years, not that he doesn’t have a perfectly wonderful (and big) family of his own.

The wedding is in Dallas, and Jordan decided—and I agree—I shouldn’t try to go to Dallas. They left early this morning, so they could watch the Red River Shootout (Texas vs. OU)—an activity that doesn’t appeal to me at all. I have better things to do. Tonight, they will spend the night in Dallas, and Jordan wasn’t sure who she trusts to bring me home late at night. So, David’s parents kindly invited me to the rehearsal dinner. In his remarks, David’s father alluded to my having helped raise David.

Several of Jordan’s longtime (from high school) friends were there, all people dear to me. Jordan hung out a lot with David and Rob (who now works with my Jamie)—they called themselves the Three Musketeers. At one point last night, Rob’s wife adjusted the jacket I was wearing, and I said she was just like Jordan, always fixing me. Rob said something, and she replied, “She’s everybody’s mom.” And that’s how I felt at that gathering—like I was everybody’s mom and in the midst of family.

The sense of family was further enhanced when Jordan wanted to make a toast to the happy couple. David’s father introduced her as “my daughter.” She was cute and clever, telling David she thought she’d go to Jacob’s rehearsal dinner before his and asking if he remembered when—she let it hang there and then said, “Mom remembers.” Indeed, this mom remembers so many things from over the years.

We are delighted to welcome Kelly into our “branch” of the family. She is beautiful and bright, and as David told Jordan, she “gets” him. Turns out I have some connection to Kelly’s mom and grandmom. One of the fascinating things last night was to watch the blending of David’s friends and family with Kelly’s. It’s going to be a happy union.

Lonesome Dove was great. I haven’t been there in years and came away with a new appreciation. We dined in the wine cellar—easy access for me from the alley. A lovely sitting area planted with xeriscape greens and overlooking Marine Creek opens off the wine cellar. For dinner, we had a choice of tenderloin, redfish or quail. Most people got the beef, but I chose the quail and was so unsophisticated as to whisper to the girl next to me that I longed for some ranch dressing. She laughed and said she’d really like some ketchup for her steak. Only on Fort Worth’s North Side. Dessert was a sinfully rich ancho chile chocolate brownie topped with vanilla bean ice cream. All tastefully done with great service and plenty of wine flowing.

So tonight, I’ll go back to the North Side, with a friend, to eat chicken-fried steak at the Star Café. But a big part of my spirit will be in Dallas.

Here’s to David and Kelly and a wonderful future together.

Spreading Christmas Cheer

Don’t let Donald Trump fool you, as he fooled all of us so many times. Saying “Merry Christmas” never went out of fashion, and President Obama said it often enough. I’ve adopted it as a slogan this year, and I hope those of other faiths know that when I speak those words, I am really saying, “Happy Holidays.” But for me, because I celebrate Christmas, those particular words are the way to wish people the happiness of the season. It’s amazing in some cases how their faces lighten up when they hear that wish directed at them.

I’ve been out and about, celebrating the season, so I’ve had lots of opportunities to say those words. Two friends came for supper Monday—I cheated and reheated frozen spanakopita from the Greek festival, and we had a jolly time. Yesterday, lunch with good friends from my old office and dinner with three women I’m close to. Tonight, Betty and I went to one of our favorite haunts for supper. For me, that’s a veritable social whirl.

I saw a post on Facebook that suggested several “giving” ways to celebrate the holidays, and one was to reach out from friends that had fallen by the wayside. So I sent one an email, sent another a Jacqui Lawson card, and tonight called a third. Also, since I didn’t do Christmas cards, I did quick, personal email replies to three cards that I received today. Doing my bit to spread Christmas cheer.

Okay, so the Republicans finally shoved through the tax bill with which they’ve been threatening us—but the House couldn’t even get it right, and had to vote twice. Anyone think there’s an omen there? And net neutrality is gone, in the sitting president’s zeal to erase everything President Obama accomplished—but he can’t erase the goodwill and respect Obama earned from most of us—what is wrong with those who continue to hate him? Net neutrality will end up as a Congressional vote and maybe a court case. We’ve got an old, bitter, angry, narcissistic man envying a younger, vibrant, enthusiastic and charismatic man. Petty.

I refuse to let politics dampen the season’s joy, even as I realize the enormity of what’s been foisted on us. This is a season to celebrate and give thanks—come January, maybe about the 8^th (after Twelfth Night), I’ll start worrying about the world again. Meantime, Merry Christmas. Reach out, do what you can to make it a joyous season for others.

And take time to contemplate the wonder of Christmas lights, the joy of the music. Enjoy, whatever holiday you’re celebrating.

Hallelujah! A new day has dawned

It is particularly appropriate that this morning my church, University Christian Church, welcomed a new minister and his family. I say appropriate because this is the time of year we think of new beginnings and gifts from God. Dr Russ Peterman, his wife, and four teenage children come to us from northern California, but I understand from church gossip that he has Texas roots, grew up in the Panhandle, and is named Russell after Russell (better known as Red) Steagall. Good recommendations!

I liked him. I liked that when he spoke informally he emphasized that he was not God’s gift to us; we were God’s gift to him. We’ll see how he feels about that in a year or so. I liked that he was up front that his family would always come first with him. I liked that he said any parent knows that the way to make a child be good is not to tell him how bad he is—I took that to apply to us as the children of God as well as to literal parents and children, though I was temped to poke Jordan who was sitting next to me. I liked him because his sermon was clear, interesting to follow, and made a good point. I think I’ll like his theology. And I liked him because he speaks clearly and was easy for me to hear and understand. Jacob liked him, because he was funny and didn’t preach too long.

I think the arrival of the Peterman family, if not a gift from God, is a sign from Him that good things are going to happen in our church. We’ve been without a resident minister for some time now and while we’re all grateful to Rev. Chuck Rolen for his interim service, there is a different feeling in the church now that we have a minister who plans to stay for years—yes, he said so. The congregation turned out in large numbers for both services, and if you listened and waited, you could sense an upbeat in the air, the sense of joy and optimism.

A personal bonus from being in church, besides the lovely greetings and hugs from friends: one woman told me she’d read Pigface and the Perfect Dog and couldn’t put it down; another told me that when she inherited her late mother’s Kindle, she found all my mysteries on it, and she was currently reading the third Blue Plate Mystery. I had enjoyed several “bookish” lunches with her mom and was anticipating another when she died suddenly.

Tis the season to be joyful. We made a good start this morning at UCC. Merry Christmas, everyone, and particularly the Russ Peterman family.

PS: Should I tell him my mother’s maiden name was Peterman? A church friend said to me, “Well, you both fell out of the same tree. But it’s an awful big tree.”

And another year begins .

            As I wrote those words, I wondered how the world will reflect on them in 2037. There’s been much moaning and groaning about what a bad year 2016 has been—for celebrities, for our country with the bitter divisiveness and what I at least see as an unsatisfactory and scary outcome, and for me personal—one shattered and one broken hip, lactose intolerance, etc. Briefly putting aside the good things that happened (moving into my cottage, a Chicago visit with my kids, etc.) I admit 2016 didn’t seem to lay the groundwork for a bountiful and joyous 2017. Most predictions are that it’s going to be worse, a year that requires all our strength and courage and faith, and I admit it may well be. But despite some naysayers, I don’t think the world will fall apart nor will our country. There will be bright moments and happy spots, and circumstances may conspire in ways we’ve not even imagined to make it a happy new year.

It’s been years since I wanted to spend New Year’s Eve at a fancy restaurant or huge, noisy party, and I never had the slightest urge to spend it in Times Square waiting for the ball to drop. But I do believe the fantasy that how you spend the evening of December 31 sets the tone for the coming year. With that in mind I invited a few close friends—six couples to be exact—to come by on their way wherever they are going and help me welcome 2017 to the cottage (all but one couple came—and they were out of town). Most were spending a quiet evening at home and liked the social break.

I intended to serve drinks and no more, but Jordan got hold of it and suddenly my “party” was the focus of her Saturday planning. She served meatballs, hummus, and the artichoke/spinach dip I asked Christian to get at Costco.

At six tonight, the cottage was filled with laughter and loud voices, and I said to one guest that was exactly what I wanted-it will be a happy, joy-filled year. Oh I’m not guaranteeing it, nor am I saying that hard times won’t come. I think I’m hedging my bets and trying to ensure that there will be good times if we all stick together.

Another neat note for New Year’s Eve—at the invitation of my good friends Betty and Don Boles, Jordan and Christian took Jacob and his pal Collin to the Stockyards to watch the herd today and then have lunch at the Star. Jacob loves to go to their restaurant, the Star, and reports they had a really good time. And a good grilled cheese.

Now the Burtons have gone to a local party, and I am at my desk. But that’s how I want my new year too—early fun and a quiet period before bed. I’m off to put the finishing touch on my evening—read a good book.

May your new year be filled with the blessings you wish for, with love and friends and fellowship. And may our country prosper and recover its moral ground and strength.

Spring blessings

For Christians, Easter marks a season of hope and renewal. For many other faiths, holiday or holy day celebrations round the spring equinox provide the same kind of hope. So for all my friends, I wish you hope, joy, renewal and all the wonders of the season.

Blessings on each and every one of you.

Thoughts on mothering

Like everyone else, my thoughts are on motherhood this weekend, not just my mother but the chain of mothering in my family. My own mother was a wonderful, warm, joyful person—my favorite memories are of her telling funny stories—some about family, some on herself, and some on me. She’d laugh till the tears rolled down her cheeks. Like the time I put nine tsp. of baking soda in a cake and served it to my parents; she was astounded, until she checked the recipe—it was a typo. Or the time she was worrying about feeding a friend while at the same time signing an important document that guaranteed she was legally responsible—she signed it Alice P. Mac, went to check the toast, and came back to write Bread. (Our name was MacBain.) Or the time she found herself in the middle seat of our station wagon, between two toddler grandchildren—the harder they screamed, the harder she laughed. She taught me to cook, she tried to teach me to be a lady, and she taught me both love and strength. In her mid-eighties she slipped into dementia due to small strokes. I’m sure it was distressing to her, and I know it was terribly distressing to my brother and me. Sometimes I feel the disturbing memories of those few years get between me and all the joy and laughter of my life with her up until then, and I struggle to reclaim the wonderful woman who raised me. She's been gone almost thirty years.

Do I miss her? Not in the usual sense. She is with me. Often when I wake in the night or early morning I’m aware of a presence in the house. In rapid order, I discount the peacefully sleeping dog, the grandson who is not under my roof that night, and I realize that my mom is in the guest room. Watching over me. She is with me when I cook something or do some other small thing I learned from her or I quote one of her many favorite aphorisms. My mom is like the angel that sits on my shoulder—she may frown occasionally but generally I think she’s happy. I talk to her a lot, but she doesn't answer.

Motherhood was not something that came naturally to me—I assumed it would happen but I didn’t think much about it. Only it didn’t happen, and my husband and I adopted four children. By the time the oldest was twelve and the youngest six, I was divorced and raising them alone. I would not trade for the richness of that experience, though I don’t think I was a particularly good mother. There’s so much I didn’t do—homework, discipline, etc. though I did feed them regular, healthy meals, see that they had nice clothes, lived in a nice house, and were loved by lots of adults. They tell me I just don’t remember the small things. They are wonderful adults, all happily married and parents now, and when people praise me for the good job I did, I say it was just luck. But I love them all fiercely and rarely miss an opportunity to be with one of more of them.

Now I have two daughters and two daughters-in-law who are mothers to my seven grandchildren. Each has her own style, and sometimes I am full of praise, while other times I bite my tongue. It ain’t easy, this mothering thing. There’s a fine line between too little and too much, and nobody sees it quite the same way. I used to get so frustrated when my mom, in her dotage, would jump one of my kids, and I’d say, “Please, Mom, I’ll discipline them.” She’d retort, “Well, then, do it.” One of the memories I’d like to discard, and one of the reasons I try to button my lip, even when I simply think a child should say “Please” and “thank you.” I keep Jacob, my youngest daughter’s son, a lot, and she sometimes says, “What is wrong with you? You’d never let me do that.” So he gets more strictness than the other whom I only see on visits. But my grandchildren are growing up to be fine, well-loved children.

The chain of mothering goes on, and I feel we are blessed, even if it always surprises me a bit—so unexpected. I probably took my mom for granted but I never expected to be a mom myself, let alone a grandmother. It all pleases me a lot, and I feel we are blessed as a family.

 

 

Shirt-tail relatives

As a child I had many shirt-tail relatives--people who were connected not by blood but by love and shared experiences and mutual affection. Today, as an adult, I am still blessed with several such relationships. People have told me they don't understand or have never heard the term, but to me it makes perfect sense.
Jacob is also blessed with several such relationships--many of his parents friends adore him but a few stand out as special. One is Elizabeth, who has been my friend for well over twenty years and who lived in my garage apartment for a year. Jacob's first question every day coming home from school that year was, "Can I go see Elizabeth?"
A year and a half ago she moved to Pennsylvania to be with the man she loves, and we all grieved. But last night Elizabeth was back for a visit, and we had a party. I fixed dinner for neighbors she'd been close to, and Jordan and Christian came by on their way to a fancy party. We had a joyful dinner, but for Jacob the best part was when everyone else went home, and he and Elizabeth had a lively conversation--I was strictly an outsider. But they chattered and giggled and had a wonderful time. At one time they tried to Facetime Brian, Elizabeth's love, but I don't think they were successful. When Jacob left the room briefly, she said, "I wish I could just put him in my pocket and take him home with me." And as he drifted off to sleep last night Jacob said, "Tonight was really fun."
Elizabeth came into my life twenty-some years ago when as a non-traditional student she applied for

a work-study job in my office at TCU Press. It wasn't instantaneous bonding but almost that quick. Over the years I've watched her transform herself from an overweight, maybe a but insecure person into a svelte yoga instructor, highly skilled and certified, and a confident person who enjoys life. If beyond my own children, I have a success story, she's it, and I couldn't be more proud of who and what she has become.
Oh, dinner! Elizabeth is gluten- and dairy-free--not a diet I fully understand or am sure I agree with but it works for her, and I am glad to follow her rules. Except it makes menu planning difficult. I was more into it when she lived here. But last night I served corned beef and cabbage (my belated tribute to St. Patrick's Day) only with a twist--it was a cold salad--cubed corned beef, blanched haricort vert, cubed potatoes (I cheated and put a bit of salad dressing on them), and sliced raw cabbage, all with a mustard vinaigrette. To our amazement, Jacob loved it and asked for seconds. I wish I'd learn to take pictures of food before I serve it, because it really made a pretty platter.
This morning the sermon was on joy, and I'm not sure I agree that happiness is transitory and joy is permanent, because for me--and I think for Jacob and Elizabeth--last night was one of those moments of joy, a memory to treasure, in the midst of lives of happiness.
Photos by Jay Mitiguy.

Flowers in the house

I love having fresh flowers in the house, and today I am blessed with them in three places. To me, these blooming things signal that spring at long last is going to arrive. Today I went to get my flowers of the month and placed them in their customary spot on the sideboard in the dining room.
Then I turned to the dining room table where Jordan has been kind enough to share with me the lovely flowers her friends bought for her Saturday night birthday celebration. And finally there is the orchid Jordan brought me for Valentine's Day. I feel surrounded by flowers and they brighten my day. Here they are, in reverse order--orchid, birthday flowers, flowers of the month. Lucky me! Just thought I'd share the joy tonight.