Thinking Small

I've been trying to think small lately.  "No, you have it wrong," you say.  "Think BIG."  Isn't that the idea our society wants us to adopt.  Bigger dreams, bigger houses, bigger bank accounts, bigger number of followers on Facebook--everything and anything that is big is supposed to be better.

Truthfully, I've always liked big.  I've totally bought into the concept of big is good, more is better.  If you are in my house, you know it.  And, if you are in my attic, you would actually see it.  Our attic just got a lot more crowded when I was preparing for company recently.   I used it to store things from the house which couldn't be hidden in the microwave or under the bed or in the car.  Doing that led me to see how much better (and bigger) my house looked.   See, I told you I bought into the BIG idea.

So it's obvious that I really need to get rid of things.  (Not the first time I've had this thought.  Really it happens each change of season, each time I clean my house, each time I go to the attic.)  But this thought process has also been instigated by a book I recently bought (and rediscovered while removing piles).   It is called The Big Tiny by Dee Williams.  It is about a young woman who after some health problems decided to sell her big house, which was consuming her time and money in repairs as well as maintenance, and build herself tiny house.  

Now she is not the only one that has had this idea.  The tiny house concept has become quite popular.  This movement is almost a decade old now. I'm sure you have heard of it.  There is even a television series called "Tiny House Nation."  Some of these "tiny houses" are as big as 300 square feet.  Dee Williams house is only 86 square feet and cost her $10,000.

In her memoir she states, “The best part of living in a little house is discovering that I can now work part time.  There’s no hefty mortgage or utility bills, no credit card debt tied to fixing the furnace or purchasing a new couch to fill the void in the living room…there is no void in the living room. Now I’ve got time to hang out with my friends, and to go for a long walk in the middle of the day. I have time to hang out with my neighbor’s four year old, and show him how to plant sunflower seeds in the garden. It’s the gift of time; that’s the best part of the deal.” 


Anyway, all of this has me thinking--hypothetically, what would I have to have in a tiny house?   Obviously, just personal necessities.  The tiny houses are built with amazingly cute multipurpose spaces--like the kitchen island that is also a dog crate or the book case that is also a Murphy bed.  Or the kitchen table that makes into a lovely guest bed.  (Oh, I just made some of that up, but I'm sure it would be possible in the tiny house world of thinking.)

No matter how creative the design is, there is just so much space.  To fit in a tiny house, no matter who you are, you will have to purge.

I think about all the stuff I now own--clothes, jewelry, shoes, books, art stuff, furniture, dishes, knick-knacks, wall decor/pictures, family pictures, toys for the grandson, linens, blankets, tablecloths, keepsakes, grooming aids and appliances, hair products and makeup, children's possessions (will you keep this for me for awhile, mom?), yard stuff, cleaning equipment.  And that doesn't even include the attic.

So let's say I am moving to a tiny house.   Help me think this through...I would need a bathtub for when I get jumpy legs--okay, I promise to take my meds on time and forego the space for a tub.  I could probably just have a microwave and a fridge.  Kinda want a dishwasher though.  And those 2 burner stove tops would be handy.  Of course a washer and dryer--probably the kind that is one unit but does both things. 

Since the essentials are built-in, all I have to do now is decide what personal items I would need.  How many clothes and shoes and books, and jewelry are mandatory?  This is going to be hard.

Let's start there--with my wardrobe.  Thinking about closet space, how about if I would take 2 pair of jeans and 5 casual tops (remember now Dee and I only "have to work part time"), pair of nice black pants, 4 nice tops, a blazer-type jacket, a cardigan sweater, and a coat--can't be too big though but we don't have all that many really really cold days.  Then there would be a pair casual shoes, pair of tennis shoes, a pair of boots, gloves, sock hat. 

I'd take a set of sheets, a blanket, 2 towels and 4 washcloths (I don't know why 4 washcloths but only 2 towels), 2 kitchen towels and again 4 dishcloths. 

I'd take my Samsung Galaxy and iPhone for reading material, plus my Bible.  (Can't take all those books, for heaven's sake.)   Of course, the computer--have to get a laptop replacement.  Yes, I would have to have a TV, but that could be built in over the dining table/guest bed/dog crate/fireplace.  No problem.

What else?  Kitchen things--my coffee maker, 4 plates, 4 cups, 1 pot, 1 skillet, spatula, wooden spoon, can opener (manual), 4 place settings of silver ware.  Oh, I also will need a mixing bowl and 2 or 3 serving dishes for when company comes over.  (You will come over, won't you?) 

Well, I guess I have figured it out.  I would just pack one suitcase and really not even need a "carry-on" and drive on over to my new tiny house.  No need for a moving van.  Unpacking and arranging won't take long.

I guess I'd better meet my new neighbors and hang out with their children and plant some sunflower seeds.  Uh-oh,  I didn't bring my gardening tools.  Hmmm.  Well, forget that.  We'll read a book.  Nope, no books.  We can make cookies--yikes!  No oven.  We will go for a long walk--hope it's not too hot or too cold cause I don't have any shorts or a really big coat.

Maybe a tiny house is not for me, but at least, I have a clearer idea of what is really important and necessary and what is not.  And not surprisingly, lots of my things would fall under the "not necessary" side of the tally sheet which is probably true for all of us.

I have convinced myself to do a purging in this house and attic.  I am going to try to reduce the clutter, clothes, decorations, papers, books, toys, and all those other extras.

I am going to think smaller--less is more.  Yes?  (we'll see....)

Spirited and Spiritual

I've been going to church a lot the last few months.  That probably shouldn't be a significant statement--I was brought up going to church every Sunday morning for Sunday School and Church, every Sunday night for Training Union and Church, and every Wednesday night for Choir, G.A.s and Church (actually on Wednesdays Church was called "Prayer Meeting.")

But I must admit I have been less than faithful in church attendance the last few years. I guess if we still had to fill out the offering envelopes like we were given each week back then, I would not be getting 100% these days.

You remember those envelopes.  They had the little boxes in which you checked the categories that you did that week.  The boxes were labeled something like "Present," "On Time," "Daily Bible Reading," "Contacts," "Offering," and maybe some other categories.  As I remember, they all had a percentage attached to each box.  I'm not sure which ones ranked higher in the percentages,  but somehow they all equaled up to a 100%.  I guess that meant if you could check them all then you were a 100% Christian at least for that week.

I was diligent back then.  I wanted to be a 100% Christian, so I tried my best to be able to complete each category.  The hardest category was the "Daily Bible Readings."  Naturally, that would be the hardest--there wasn't a question of being "Present" or "On Time" although now I wonder how Mom did that with four children.  I don't think I was ever on time to church (or practically anywhere else) with my three young children.  And the older they got, the later we got there.

The "Offering" was a given too.  Mom would give us our money to put in.  So that was done.  And as for the "Contacts," my sister and I were always checking with each other or our friends from church to see if they were going to church.  I'm pretty positive that it was more a matter of making sure we had someone to sit with than their spiritual health.  Plus then we could check the "Contacts" box!  Important.

But that pesky "Daily Bible Reading" took the most discipline.  (It's kinda like taking your make-up off now.  You feel guilty if you skip it even if you are too tired to do another thing.  Nevertheless, you drag yourself to the bathroom and clean your face--feeling quite righteous afterwards.)  I remember a few times (okay, many times) thinking I was too tired to read all those verses--in the King James Version, no less. However, knowing come Sunday I would have to fill out my envelope, I would drag the Bible and quarterly to the bed and "read" it.  (This too creates that "righteous" feeling--at least back then...well, maybe now a little too!)

Actually, I remember my sister and I sometimes would take turns reading aloud so one person could do the work and two could get the credit.  We were both good readers, so it wouldn't take long to say the words.  I can't say I was always really reading the words or listening too much to the words, but the Bible was opened and the scheduled readings were duly completed for the day; therefore, even that box could be checked.

So, with such strong and worthwhile habits instilled in me while growing up, you would think it would be a given that I still had these habits.  My thoughts exactly.  But I have unfortunately learned that bad habits are way easier to keep than good habits.  So the fact that I have been returning to my good habit of being "Present" at Sunday School and Church feels right (and maybe, once again, a little righteous!)

But it has also made me wonder about things like "Spirituality."  (I wonder if "Spiritual" was one of the boxes that I may have forgotten?   Maybe it would be one now if they still had those envelopes.)  I know these days more and more people, young and old, have given to being "Home Churched" rather than going to Church--they are "Spiritual" rather than "Religious."

I'm sure there are lots of "official" explanations for this trend.  But I am looking for my own personal answer.  I guess I am wondering how I can be spiritual, religious, church-going, a 100% Christian each week yet still be me--spirited yet growing in spirituality. 

Maybe I'll resort back to the checklist--revisited and revised.  This will be my own little church envelope:

        

Present

Bible Reading

SS/Church

Offerings

Spiritual Growth

Well, it's a start!  Obviously, I won't be turning this in each Sunday, but, hopefully, the accountability will be here with this post.  I'll let you know.  Plus, I really like these cute little pink squares!
                                
Leta

Mr. McVeeBee

I wish I had been Andy Taylor, Sheriff Taylor, that is, when my children were growing up.  Oh, heck, I wish I were him now.  I'm sure he would have been as good a grandparent as he was a parent--a single parent at that.

Here's why--in case you have forgotten the gentle sheriff or if you haven't watched "The Andy Griffith Show" recently. (Why you should watch this delightful show is for a whole other post!)

But this morning I joined the husband while he was watching some old "Andy Griffith"--the early black and white series with little Opie, Aunt Bee, Barney, and, of course, the oh-so-wise and patient Sheriff Taylor.  In this episode, Opie got himself in trouble (at least with Barney) about his imagination.

At first it was the black horse that he galloped around on and then, when called into breakfast, he tied the horse to the hitching post outside the back door.  Literal Barney totally bought into the black horse story and of course was puffed up and indignant when he realized it was a "play-like" black horse.

Then Opie, while roaming around in the woods, discovered a telephone lineman working high in the trees.  Mr. McVeeBee and Opie became friends at once.  (Remember this was in the 50's--in the time that kids could play outside, walk around in the town or woods, visit with strangers, and go home in time for supper.)

The conflict is this episode was whether to believe Opie or not when he claimed to have met Mr. McVeeBee.   

In an online summary of the show, it says, "Opie talks excitedly about his new friend, Mr. McVeeBee, and describes him in fantastical terms (he walks in the treetops, wears a silver hat, has twelve extra hands, blows smoke from his ears, etc.). At first Andy and Barney accept this as childhood make-believe, but when Opie starts coming home with a series of gifts (including an Indian hatchet) supposedly from Mr. McVeeBee, Andy is forced to call the fantasizing to a halt. Meanwhile, we are made privy to the fact that Mr. McVeeBee is indeed real and that his whimsical quirks all have a rational explanation. Andy tells Opie he will not punish him if he denies Mr. McVeeBee's existence."

Although Opie tries to deny Mr. McVeeBee's existence to stay out of a punishment, he can't.  Nor can Andy punish him for his determined belief.  Does one have to see Mr. McVeeBee to believe he exists?  What a choice:  reason or faith?

Even though that series is old, the parable that it illustrates is still relevant, impressive and thought-provoking today.  What an impact that had on me.

But I also was touched once again by the gentleness, kindness, and patience that Andy had with little Opie.  Of course, that was fiction; that constantly calm, rational, and soft-spoken parent really doesn't exist, right?

Let me say, they do exist.  The way Andy handled this situation with Opie in today's show reminds me of how my daughter and her husband deal with my grandson.  Never raising their voices; always removing him from a situation when he is having a problem or a disagreeable moment, and then talking to him gently, not losing their cool, using logic--not threats.  Yes, it exists.  It exists in my sweet daughter and son-in-law's home.  Oh my, they are so good with that little "Opie" of theirs.  I am so proud of them.

Like I said, I wish I had been that "Andy Taylor-wise" while my own children were growing up.  Maybe if I just spend the day watching more of him, it will rub off on me.  I'm suggesting that simply to learn, you know, not to put off my chores.  Hmmm, now how would Andy handle that?

Okay,  off to work I go..........maybe!  But if you don't have chores, tune in to Andy!

Leta

Judging

Judging:  1.   a balanced viewpoint through careful weighing of evidence; discernment
                2.   criticism

I looked up this word even though I "know" what it means.  You, too, know what it means, right?  We do it all the time although we may not use the actual word.   In fact, we may not even use the first definition.  The second one is so much easier.

How easy it is to "judge" other people by criticizing them (of course when they can't hear us).  What an abundant amount of material there is to "judge" them by.  We may judge a person by the way she dresses, talks, where he lives, what they do.  So I guess unfortunately all my "judging" fits the second definition.  But look at that first one--"a balanced viewpoint through careful weighing of evidence."  My!  Who has time to carefully weigh evidence when you are judging!  I say that with sarcasm but I think it may be truer than I would want it to be.

In a courtroom I expect a "balanced viewpoint."  The judge will look at all the sides of the evidence before announcing an opinion.  But out of the courtroom, we all too often become "judges" but not necessarily with care or balance or discernment.  We, or I, go directly to the criticism definition.

We've been taught that it is wrong to judge.  It's in the Bible; it is part of parents' and teachers' instructions to their kids.   So why do we do it?

Maybe we don't think we are doing it; maybe we have done it so much that it really doesn't phase us anymore.  Nevertheless, why am I thinking about it today?


I guess it started when my son-in-law who lives nearby asked if he could borrow my paints.  I said, "Of course, but I have to find them."  I knew they were in my room, but that night my room was a mess.  (Don't judge me!)

He followed me to the room and I looked in all the places I thought they might be in.  Well, it was really a little more complicated than that because I had to step over piles all around my unmade bed to do so.  (I have excuses if you want to hear them.)  Nevertheless, I finally found them.

I also found that I was exceedingly embarrassed about the state of the room--enough so that I attacked the room the very next day and put it in perfect order.  I was quite pleased with myself and decided to send Shaun a picture of it.  I wanted him to see for himself that the room was clean and is most of the time (okay--some of the time).

So I sent him the picture of a very clean, organized, neat room with a message that stated something like, "See, I can clean it up."  He sent back this message:  "I won't judge you if you won't judge me!"

Wow!  What an amazing young man.  And the truth of it is that he means it.  I know how easy it is to say the right thing but it is hard to always mean it.  This guy is so genuine and sensible and nonjudgmental.  He taught me something that day and I have thought of that comment many times since.

Judging--at least the second part of the definition, criticism--is so a part of our culture.  We see in politics the constant judging and criticizing.  In churches, the ministers are the first to be judged.  Even in small groups of friends, we judge.  We may like to call it discussing (gossip?), but in doing so, do we "achieve a balanced viewpoint?"  Or do we just point out how someone is different from us (generally meaning they are wrong or not as good as we are)?

Judging others is not the only way of judging.  I see it frequently as a personal thing.  I judge myself often and I must say rather harshly.  I think I ought to be as organized as so-and-so.  Or enjoy cooking as much as that person.  Or have a perfect marriage like "those" people.  When expressing these shortcomings of mine, a very wise person said these words to me:  "Do not judge others' outsides by your insides."
   



Wow again!  I must admit I have done that.  Those people living in those big, beautiful houses must have it made.  That couple is always holding hands; they must have a great marriage.  That top dog executive has it all!  What a life.   The Life looks so good from the outside.  However, we really don't know their stories;  we don't know what all goes on the inside of that house or that person.  Their real stories may make us grateful for ours. 



Okay, so all this judging, criticizing, or discerning--whatever you call it--happens.  We deal with it.  We resolve not to be so judgmental.  We try to have a more balanced viewpoint.  We fail and we try again.

I doubt that judging others or ourselves will stop; maybe reading this and thinking about judging will help.  Maybe Shaun's comment will stick in your mind as it has mine.

But in case I have become too didactic, let me close with the quote:

If you care to walk in my shoes, go ahead.  Plus, I'll tell you right now, you can even keep the shoes.  They probably hurt my feet anyway.

Judging not,
Leta

Is Free Too Expensive?

Lately, I have become quite engaged with finding treasures, getting them practically free, and trying my hand at reselling them in my booth at an antique mall.    I call it "my hobby."  Hobbies are good, right?  Well, for me this "hobby" has started having some definite down sides. 

Sometimes I wonder if the neighbors are looking out their windows at all the junk I take into the house and all the junk I bring back out.  Now, I'm not being paranoid.  I know they don't watch or care what I do, so maybe I am just wondering myself why all this junk is being brought in and out of the house; maybe I am questioning the value of my "hobby."

The obvious reason for the transferring of all this junk is to fill my booth and become rich!  Well, at least, to make enough to support my hobby.  It has been a break-even endeavor for awhile.  In fact, I did well enough to have two booths for a few months.  Now for some reason I haven't even made my rent on one so I decided I would stop for awhile. 

Booth I now share with Susie!

But, (isn't there always a "but?"), a friend I met since starting the booth wanted me to share her booth.  Well,  needless to say, I was talked into it.   The rent will be a lot less; the fun part of this racket will continue for awhile anyway; but, alas, the junk will still be going in and out of my house.

Today was the day to totally close my booth and move stuff to hers.  In the process, I had to move many of my treasures (junk?) home again.   I have just finished unloading the trunk by putting it on the porch to expedite the process of getting stuff out of the trunk in the rain. 

Then I dragged the stuff into the house to decide what will go back to the trunk to take to Goodwill.  And while I'm at Goodwill, I might as well cruise through the shop and see if there are some good things at good prices (practically free) to take back home and eventually to the booth.

That's why the image of the neighbors slyly peering out their windows, clucking in disapproval, texting their neighbors to watch the fiasco, and writing down some of the items that were littered around the porch to be sure to discuss at their next neighborhood get-together came into my mind.  (It probably happened on "Desperate Housewives.")

This parade, of course, starts when I buy the "whatevers," unload them out of the trunk, and bring them into the house.  Then the scenario continues when I clean the stuff up,  paint it, or simply get the price tags off (not an easy project) and lug it back to the trunk to go to the booth.

So you can imagine why I am wondering about all of this today after once again carting these "treasures" in and out of the car, the house, and the car again.

However, to make this all seem a little more worthwhile, I should tell you that I have learned some things from this experience.  I have grown.  I am probably a better person because of it.  Let's see if I can verbalize it so you can totally see how much smarter I am about this business and life in general than when I started a year and a half ago.

1.  If you don't leave something in the booth long enough, it won't sell.
2.  If you leave something in the booth too long, it won't sell.
3.  If it is priced too low, it won't sell.
4.  If it is priced too high, it won't sell.

So, you see, I have it all figured out, don't I?  Okay, I am being a little jaded.  This is a tricky business though.  You get something you think will sell the next day, and it takes weeks (if at all) to sell.  Then some things are gone the next day.  Yay!  But it is pretty trendy.  My problem is that I really like trends, but I'm usually into the last trend not the latest trend.  

So you may be actually wondering, like I imagine my neighbors are--if they cared, why I am doing this, the answer is, "I don't know!"  I'm trying to figure it out.  It is fun, but time-consuming.  It is costing me more money than I would like.  It is cluttering up my house (at least my attic) and my mind.  It is leaving too little time for other things I want and need to do.

Hmmm.  Maybe I am figuring it out after all; it is dawning on me that this "hobby" and/or obsession is becoming too expensive and not just financially.  The quest, the parade, the trade, and all the rest may need to be minimized in my life.  In fact, it may need a complete break.  I know!  I know!  What will the neighbors do without having a parade to watch??? 

I guess it is true:  "What you get free costs too much." (Jean Anouilh) 

An Honest to the Core Man

My Dad popped into my mind this morning.  Maybe because one of my uncles, Dad's youngest brother, is terribly sick.  Maybe because I was getting some tape off something I just painted and thinking about how Dad would do it.  He was always so meticulous.  Or maybe it was because of the lemon and avocado I got yesterday from the grocery store.

Oh, I think of Dad quite often actually.  It is interesting to me to see what triggers my memories of him and Mom.  But this morning, I think it was all of those things, but the lemon and avocado are the point of this story.  (Yes, there is a point!)

Late yesterday afternoon I bought groceries while waiting to get my prescriptions filled in the in-store pharmacy.  I bought the usual essentials and grabbed the avocado and lemon as I passed the produce table and threw them in the purse part of the shopping cart--that is what that little seat thingy in the cart is for, right?

My effort to pick up just a few things ended up totaling $92.00.  It was just a few things, but of course, anymore a "few things" generally totals about $100.00.  That makes me think of Dad, too.  He used to say that no matter what you went into a big store for--even if it was just one thing--you could count on spending at least $20.00--a "cover charge," he explained.    In his estimate you could not get out of the store for less than $20 a bag.  Now I think it is even more than that.

Nevertheless, after cringing a tad at my "mid-week-grab-a-few-things" grocery stop, I had to repeat the expense when I picked up my prescriptions.   Criminey!

Then to the car, I trudged, contemplating the amount of money I spent in such a short time and how tiring it was to wander around the grocery/big box store.  While throwing the sacks into the car, I saw them.  Right under my purse in the "purse thing" of the cart were the lemon and avocado.  Darn it, I thought, or words to the effect.

I looked back at the store miles and miles away from where I parked and decided that the next time I was in the store (which likely would be the next day) I would tell them to add the price of a lemon and avocado to my bill.  That assuaged my immediate guilt and I went home.

So that brings me to this morning and Dad.  I remember this story so clearly because it was so Dad.  One time Mom got home from grocery shopping at her local big box store and was examining her receipt which she did frequently.  However, this time she noticed that the clerk had not charged her for the cokes.  As she also frequently did, she asked my dad about it--what should she do?  It amounted to probably $2 or $3.

Well, Dad, being the most ethical person ever, answered her by asking her, "What would you do if they had overcharged you?"  That was all Mom needed to hear.  She got back in her car and drove to the store and paid for the cokes.

That was Dad.  He was honest to the core; he really didn't believe in those wonderful gray areas that we--or at least I--sometimes like to live in--where things can be justified to fit one's immediate need.  He lived without rationalizing--"well, that store makes plenty of money" or "they sure are making a profit on those meds so what's a couple of dollars?  They won't miss it."

But in Dad's head it was wrong.  I agree it is wrong.  But it was a gray-sorta day.  And I was very, very tired--I had been on my feet doing art with the preschool kids for a couple of hours (that's a good thing, right, God?) and I had spent an hour or so before that wandering around a couple of other stores and Keith was home and hungry.  See, how good I am at rationalizing!   So I went home without paying for the lemon and avocado.

Hmmmm.  I guess I'd better get my store clothes on and go back to the store and pay up!

Thanks, Dad.  I feel better already!

May is for Mother

I think about my mother almost daily.  I would guess that I probably think about her more now than when she was alive.  Oh, I wasn't inattentive to my mom at all;  I guess I just took her for granted.  But I can't help but focus on her even more when May rolls around.  May was Mom's month.  She was born in May, 1922; we honored her every Mother's Day in May; and she died in May. That fits her.  She lived a full cycle and she tidied it up before she left on the last day of May, 2006.

I use the word "tidied" because Mom was tidy--her house, her wardrobe, her make-up, her hair.  She insisted on tidiness.   Rarely would she leave the house without every bed made, every dish washed, every thing in the house in place and everything on her as well.  Like I stated, she was tidy.

Now, I must say she didn't chose to leave this world on that last day of May.  But it happened.  And just as she left her house tidy and then some, she left this earth at a time that was tidily wrapped--like a period at the end of a sentence; or maybe an exclamation point.

To me her life was an exclamation point.  She was one talented woman and mother.  With her abilities, had she been born later, one would not have been surprised to see her as an executive of a large company.  She had the skills to lead; she had the skills to get cooperation; she had the skills to multi-task; and she had the skills to get to know people and get them to do things. 

However, she was born in a time when women's roles were to hold the fort down, to raise a family, to do the things necessary to keep the home running smoothly.  Yet, even then, she had the personality to use the skills she had and run our household of 6 plus a dog with great ability.

She, along with my dad, started out their adult lives with little, but they had the desire and drive to better themselves.  Reaching their goals was hard--they both worked long hours and taught us by example to be successful.   There was a competitive side to them that they used to light the fire of achievement in themselves.  And we kids all caught that competitive spirit.  Because of them and their example, we didn't mind putting in the labor to achieve our own successes.  Or maybe we didn't realize that there was another way to approach life, family, careers.  Working long hours was what one did to do a good job.

Her long hours of work did not stop her from making us feel the unconditional love she had for us.  Although she was a busy mom, she loved us and showed it through words and actions.  I'm not sure how many times my sister and I went to bed at night leaving Mom sewing in the den.  Then miraculously when we woke up a new skirt or dress, perfectly made, hung proudly on a door, crisply ironed, and ready for us to wear that morning.  Amazing with that exclamation point!

She has been gone since May 31, 2006 and even eight years later, I still miss her.  I miss hearing her call "Leta" with a definite pronunciation of the letter T in my name.  Most people, including me, will soften that T into more like a D sound.  When I say it or hear it said with that T sound, I think of her.

I miss her frequent phone calls to check on my family.  I miss her encouragement.  I miss going to see her.  I miss her funny stories and questions--"Leta, how do you dust with all these things displayed on your furniture."  Actually, I even miss her calling us to the kitchen to help.  

Like I said, she was a multi-task maniac.  She never missed a beat to get us involved in the many tasks of keeping a tidy house.  For example, many Saturday nights when I was young and my oldest two siblings were out, my other sister and I would gather around the television after supper to watch Saturday Night at the Movies on our black and white TV.   Mom would be at her sewing machine a few feet away, busy sewing or mending or cutting out a pattern.  Then when a commercial came on, she would have us jump up and run to the kitchen (a few steps away) with her leading the way to wash and dry the dishes--by hand of course.    It might have taken a few commercials to get it all done, but it did get done and rather painlessly, although I'm sure I protested at the time. 

We have laughed many times when we talk about how Mom would get us all up on a Saturday morning.  She would come through our rooms announcing, "10 (plus or minus a few) wagon loads of day have already gone by."  Or "You're burning daylight"  meaning get up out of bed--now.  So, you say, "What's the matter with that?"  I'll tell you--it was usually before 8:00 a.m. when she made her rounds.  She, I'm sure, had been up since at least 6:00 and when you are up, I guess you think everyone is up or at least should be.  No need to tell you what we did then, but I will.  We got UP!

But, to her, there were things that needed to be done at our house!   There were things to do, places to go, and people to see (but not until the chores were done!)

The funny part of this is, although a teenager at the time, I don't know that my siblings and I questioned it.  Well, maybe we did question it but it was the way things were.  But whenever I spent the night with a girl friend on a Friday night, I was always amazed that when we woke up, it might be as late as 11:00  or maybe even noon!  Hmmm.  I guess not every household was "burning daylight."  But with Mom, the longer you sleep, the less time you have to do what needs to be done or what you want to do.  That was what she did; so that's what we did.

It was done, however, in love.  She was training us to meet our responsibilities by love and example.   This love for us was unconditional which of course did not mean there were no rules, no discipline, no boundaries.  We had those.  Mother saw to that.  There were high expectations in that house.  Of course, it was showered with love.

A quote I found from Erich Fromm says, "The mother-child relationship is paradoxical...It requires the most intense love on the mother's side, yet this very love must help the child grow away from the mother, to become fully independent."  How true.  As a mother, I was so enamored with the beauty of my own little babies, the perfection of their bodies, and the joy of each stage they went through.  I loved those babies so much it hurt.  I'm sure you can relate.  It is intense.  But that is the job of parents--to love them and to guide them toward independence.  I believe my mother achieved that.  She loved us fiercely and she guided us to that independence that was necessary to become not just independent adults but also successful as well.  She did all that while instilling us with high standards and high hopes and supplying plenty of love.


So May was all about Mom.  Her having a birthday in May plus our celebrating Mother's Day made May a very special month.    Then when Mom was 55 years old, she became a grandmother for the 7th time but for the first time for me making May a special time for another reason as well--my first daughter was also born.   In fact, she was born just the day before my mom's birthday.  That's been a few years for sure, but it is one I will never forget, as you mothers well know.  Actually, fathers, too, but in a different way.  I remember after that sweet baby girl finally got here, my mom and my sister-in-law came to visit us at the hospital the next day--Mom's birthday.  (We didn't go to the hospital, have a baby, and the next day go home in 1977.  By 1981, we did.)  Nevertheless, they were there to visit me and see the baby.  Maybe they were going to go eat lunch for her birthday; I don't remember.

One thing I do remember is telling my mom happy birthday and telling her how I wished that Holly had been born on her birthday.  Then I quickly added--"I mean, I wish your birthday had been the day before because I wouldn't want to think about going through that again!"   Well, of course, I did go through that again.  In fact, two more times, but not the next day.  Way too soon to think about "birthing a baby!"

But likely our relationship changed somewhat on that occasion, maybe it deepened.  I had joined the sorority of moms and gave her baby a baby!  (Mom was the baby of her family as was I.)  Having a child creates a bond no doubt but it also equalizes the mother/daughter equation somewhat.  By the time I had become a mother, Mom was well acquainted with the ways relationships change.  She was also well aware that her children may or may not use the same techniques as she did to raise their own children.  The adage "Imitation is the best form of flattery" and its antithesis may have been very personal to her.

My generation and the younger ones now realize that child-rearing is an ever-changing phenomenon.  New authorities pop up; new books are written proclaiming the latest and best way to deal with children; and attitudes and parental actions change.  But, you know, that adage packs a powerful punch.  Honestly, who isn't at least a little bit flattered if someone does something in the manner you do because you do it.

I think insecurity enhances that feeling in me and maybe Mom.  She was a very young mother, and likely a little insecure about certain things.  She was only 18 when she had her first child.  But like they say about a building, she had good bones.  Her "bones" consisted of good common sense as well as a sharp brain.  So as she grew into an adult, she grew significantly in her viewpoints and attitudes.  She was always willing to learn.  In fact, she kept a dictionary under her kitchen table in case there was a word she didn't know in the morning newspaper.  She believed in education and made sure to instill in her four kids the necessity of graduating from college.

The fact that all four of us graduated and took post graduate hours proves that we bought into her belief.  In fact, even all of her grandchildren earned a college degree.  Ten out of ten is pretty darn good.  And those ten grandchildren loved her.  There was a special bond between them.  Mom could always relate to young adults. So naturally as my children grew, so did their love and adoration of her.  She was so supportive and positive to all of them.


In spite of all this love she gave and received, I think she wished she had done some things differently.  (Don't we all?)   But the fact is, she was an amazing mother.   I knew that; my siblings knew that.  But I'm not sure she always knew that.  Some of us frequently second guess ourselves and I know she did.   On occassion,  she would confide in me telling me that I was a much better parent than she was.  No, I wasn't;  I wish I were more like her in many ways.  I am thrilled when someone says I'm like her in this way or that.  Oh, I wish I truly were.

My wonderful and sweet mom had so much love and so many talents and she never stopped sharing them.  Even in her 80s she would make her famous bread and give it to neighbors, friends, or anyone who may have needed a lift.  (It was that good!)  She continued to mend and sew if one of us (especially her grandkids) needed something made or repaired.  She continued to be interested and concerned about us, her friends, and the world.  She could have fun--lots of fun, and be fun; she could laugh; she could tell some good stories; she was kind; she was loving; she was tidy.

I miss her.

mother-child relationship is paradoxical and, in a sense, tragic. It requires the most intense love on the mother's side, yet this very love must help the child grow away from the mother, and to become fully independent.

Erich Fromm

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/mother_2.html#zl0gKJCPBT0VLHec.99

The mother-child relationship is paradoxical and, in a sense, tragic. It requires the most intense love on the mother's side, yet this very love must help the child grow away from the mother, and to become fully independent.

Erich Fromm

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/mother_2.html#zl0gKJCPBT0VLHec.99

The mother-child relationship is paradoxical and, in a sense, tragic. It requires the most intense love on the mother's side, yet this very love must help the child grow away from the mother, and to become fully independent.

Erich Fromm

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/mother_2.html#zl0gKJCPBT0VLHec.99

The mother-child relationship is paradoxical and, in a sense, tragic. It requires the most intense love on the mother's side, yet this very love must help the child grow away from the mother, and to become fully independent.

Erich Fromm

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/mother_2.html#zl0gKJCPBT0VLHec.99