Welcome Christmas, Christmas Day

Welcome, welcome! Fah who rahmus!
Welcome, welcome! Dah who dahmus!
Christmas Day is in our grasp!
So long as we have hands to clasp!

I was only going to do 10 Christmas songs, and then the movie, "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" came on TV. And so I added this one, simply to write about my Uncle Ronnie. He's my mother's younger brother and he gave me the nickname I have had my whole life...Cindy Lou Who. My sister gave me the nickname Pfred when we were teens and she still calls me that sometimes. But it's Cindy Lou that most people in my family call me.

Uncle Ronnie had a nickname for everyone though, starting with my mother. He always called her Sister, or simply Sis. My cousins never called her "Aunt Pat." She was always Sister. When she was young, her brothers teased her (and each other) in all sorts of ways, not the least of which was about her speech. Being deaf, she took speech lessons as she grew up, but she never really mastered the difference between the "sh" and "ch" sounds and they loved to give her grief about it. They'd ask her if she wanted shocolate ship cookies or ice cream and she'd get so irritated with them. So when she married a man named Richard, his nickname became Rishard.

My sister's name was Susie. When she was little, sometimes they called her Susie-Q, but eventually the Q dropped off and she was just Susie. She was named after both her grandmothers, Sue and Helen which were combined for Suellen. But mostly, my uncle just called her Susie. He called my brother Axelrod. I simply have no idea where that came from. I should ask him. My youngest sister was Barbie for a long time. My dad called her Bunny. I wonder if he still does ever...

My Uncle had names for other people too. His in-laws were Monga and Bacca. His youngest son was "The Professor." Mostly because David wore glasses and was so serious compared to his brothers. I had another cousin we called Nonnie, and another we called Bumpy (and later, Bump).

I think my Uncle got all this nick-naming from his dad. My grandfather went by Gov, and my grandmother went by Mimi. Her parents were Daddy Jake and Big Muddy. Five generations later, my daughters have their nicknames too. I suppose there is a sense of belonging when you have a nickname. Sometimes, they can be a term of endearment.

"Welcome Christmas while we stand,
Heart to heart, and hand to hand"
--Dr. Seuss

O Holy Night

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.

Every once in a while, I find a song to be so deeply powerful in its words, or music, or performance, and this is one of them. Many people have recorded this song, but no one does it as well as John Berry. The video of him singing it is lovely. He's in a church, alone, and there is a single beam of light on him as he sings. The backdrop is a stained glass window of Madonna and Child. It's simple and its beautiful.

You can tell, listening to him sing it, that he has found something deep within himself, something so alive and powerful, and he brings that out in this song. It gives me goosebumps every single time I hear him sing it and occasionally it can move me to tears. No other person performing this song has the same effect.

And to me, that is what Music is all about... The power to move people. The power to make a difference. The power to inspire. The power to change lives. It can and does change people, and generations, and at times, even the world. The songwriters of today are our poets. And when music can change moods, when words can change lives, what a gift that is!

Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!

My mother never knew the gift of music. And yet it is a daily influence on my life. It lifts my moods, helps me think through situations, inspires me in difficult times, and often gives me new perspective on things. I listen to it every single time I'm in the car, constantly searching for the right song to fit my mood. I sang to my children all the time and was always teaching my students songs. The melodies affect me, the words inspire me. Every single day of my life. And that is why I use songs for my blog.

O night, O Holy Night, O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night, O night divine!

When John Berry gets to the end of this song, you can feel the divine inspiration in his voice. My daughters know I believe in magic. Music is part of the magic of our world. How can it not be?

Merry Christmas!

What Child is This?

What child is this who laid to rest
On Mary's lap is sleeping
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet
While shepherds watch are keeping


Alas, My Love, you do me wrong
To cast me off discourteously.
For I have loved you well and long,
Delighting in your company.

Two songs. One melody. There is something about this song, the melody in particular, that has always stirred something deep inside me. It just takes me to another time and place and I really think it's an older melody than people realize. I have my own words to this melody that make no sense to me and I have no idea where they came from. They've just always been with me, ever since I can remember,and I used to hum them to my babies as a lullaby. What's important here, is not the words, but the melody. It's a lullaby. It's a babe in arms. And a mother's love.

Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be a teacher. Somewhere in there, growing up, I wanted to get married and have kids. Most people do. But my dream in life was to become a teacher. Being a mother was sort of secondary. It was just the natural order of things and just what people did. Never did I imagine how central to my life it would become.

There is a huge difference between becoming a mom -- and mothering. To me, being a mom is what happens when the baby is born and entrusted to your care. It's about changing diapers and feeding and doctor appointments. Mothering is about tending to the needs of your child, falling in love, being there, taking time, providing guidance, learning patience, and a zillion other things that mean you really are the grown up here and you're going to take responsibility round the clock for the next 20-some years. Some people come by it naturally, some people have to learn it, some people never do. I had the upbringing to come by it naturally but it was hard for me. I was too matter of fact about things. To practical. I still am in too many ways. And for that reason, I am forever grateful to La Leche League for helping me learn the parts of mothering that didn't come naturally to me.

They believe that mothering through breastfeeding is the most natural and effective way of understanding and satisfying the needs of the baby. That when you sit down to nurse your baby, and all that oxytocin is realeased in your system, it not only helps relax you, but it releases endorphins that make you more loving. Nursing provides you and your baby with close contact so you take in all the facial cues and bonding begins. When you respond to baby's cries by nursing, you learn to be responsive and baby learns to trust. And it builds from there.

The gift of mothering I was given from La Leche League was so great, I felt the only way I could repay the gift I was given was to share it with others. I became a La Leche League Leader myself. Sharing breastfeeding information with other young mothers, and sharing parenting information by example. I served in that role for over 10 years. In addition to being a local group leader, I took on the role of administrator at the state level, and eventually served on their international board of directors, where I had the privilege of working with women from around the world to promote breastfeeding and mothering. When I returned to the classroom, the parenting I learned from La Leche League influenced the way I managed my classroom, and later, my school. It's had deep and long-lasting influences on me.

My girls mean the world to me. They are amazing young women, and I love being their mom.

Joy To The World

It is the little things that bring joy to the holidays and make them what they are. Some of them are so much a part of our traditions, I don't know if my girls know where they even came from...

They know the Christmas stockings we all have are patterned after ones my grandmothers made. One of them--probably my Grandma Helen--saw a pattern in the paper for the stockings and decided to make them for all their grandchildren. My Grandmothers were good friends at work. That's how my parents met. So my siblings and all my cousins got the stockings. They're white quilted fabric with felt shapes--a Christmas tree in the center, along with a snowman, candy cane, bell, and ornament, all adorned with sequins. And then the person's name in red felt and sequins across the top. And the entire stocking bordered in red satin ribbon. One grandma sewed sequins on the red ribbon, the other did not.

My girls always get a small orange or tangerine in the toe of their stocking. So did my father and his parents. This tradition comes from an age when fresh produce in the winter time was not the norm. Getting an orange in the Midwest was a treat. Getting one in the winter was rare, was special. Even Laura Ingalls wrote, in Little Town on the Prairie, about attending a party at which each guest was given an orange and no one knew what to do with it. It's a small token at Christmas that goes back generations.

We have veal kidneys for breakfast. That's part of our German heritage on my mother's side of the family. On special occasions, this was part of the meal that was served. My paternal grandmother, who considered herself a world traveler and gourmet cook wouldn't touch them. But we grew up on them as a special treat and so I always try to serve them for Christmas.

We haven't had a Christmas tree the last few years since we've gone away from Christmas, but when we've gone to get one, we try to cut our own. Part of wanting to do that, is to continue the tradition of going to my aunt's farm when we were younger to cut our own tree. We've always had a live tree. When my dad was young though, Santa always brought the tree. He said his parents probably stayed up half the night putting it up and decorating it. I believe him. It takes a lot of time to get a tree up, lights on, and ornaments hung. But then he said they'd practically leave it up until Easter.

When we were little, my Mother used to read us the poem, The Night Before Christmas, each year on the 24th before we went to bed. I did it with my girls when they were little but that trailed off. I bought a copy of the poem this year to scrapbook and frame and add to our Christmas decorations. Eventually, I want to be able to read it to grandchildren...

More than anything else about Christmas though, that brings me joy, is the lights. I love to look at Christmas lights. At least once a year we try to drive around and look at the displays people have set up. I remember one year when we were pretty young, our neighbors across the street had put up Christmas lights and turned them on for the first time. My sister climbed up on the high chair to look out the kitchen window. Back in those days, high chairs had heavy metal trays on them. My mother had the tray set on the arms of the high chair but it wasn't latched in place. The tray flipped as my sister grabbed onto it...she fell backwards...and the tray flipped on top of her, cutting her lip. Don't know if she remembers that, but I do. My siblings always give me a hard time for "remembering things" they don't. I maintain it's because I'm the oldest and maybe remember things they were too young to remember.

Anyway, I have always loved colored lights. I love rainbows, I love the light you see in prisms, I love stained glass. I love Christmas lights in particular. When I was about seven years old, I wrote a poem about Christmas lights. My mother was so taken with the fact that I wrote a poem, and carried on about it so much, that I still remember the poem...

I have nine little Christmas lights
Shining bright for me
Three of them are red
Three of them are blue
Three of them are green
Shining bright for me.

At Christmas time, sometimes at night, I like to turn off all the lights in the house, excepts for the Christmas lights, and just enjoy the peacefulness of the night. It brings me happiness and joy and makes me feel content in a way I can't describe.

He rules the world, with truth and grace,
And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness,
And wonders of His love
And wonders of His love
And wonders, wonders, of His love.

Oh Little Town of Bethlehem

O little town of Bethlehem

How still we see the lie
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight

When I hear this song, I picture a clear winter night...stars shining while the town sleeps...quiet and peaceful. And Hope.

When I was young, my hopes where centered in the here and now. I remember one Christmas desperately hoping for snow. Today, I'm watching blizzard conditions outside my window and I know the weather is what it is. I spent years telling my parents the only thing I wanted for Christmas was a piano, hoping they'd finally give up and get me one. I know now that was financially beyond their means.

When my girls were young, I hoped they would just be healthy. We had the usual illnesses and orthodontics and even an occasional broken bone. But when we had the all-nighters at the hospital because of asthma, or the mental health issues, I desperately hoped they would outgrow it. Then I watched a family deal with the death of their only child due to a tumor. I realize now it's all a matter of perspective.

I hope to make a difference in this world and have talked about it with a friend of mine. We both have a lot of volunteering in our background, and we both know we make a difference in our jobs. But we've talked about what kind of difference we want to be making. I've moved beyond what I want for myself, and have been giving a lot of thought to the idea of hope -- people who feel they don't have hope -- and what might make a difference for them. I don't know where it will lead me, but it's a journey I'm embarking on and we'll see where it leads.

How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His heaven.

Christmas For Cowboys

Tall in the saddle, to spend Christmas Day
Driving the cattle over snow covered-plains.
All of the good gifts given today,
Ours is the sky and the wide open range.

Back in the cities they have different ways
Football and eggnog and Christmas parades.
I'll take my saddle, I'll take the reins,
It's Christmas for cowboys wide-open plains.

A campfire for warmth as we stop for the night,
The stars overhead are Christmas tree lights.
The wind sings a hymn as we bow down to pray,
It's Christmas for cowboys, wide-open plains.

--John Denver

Anyone who does not listen to John Denver has probably never heard this song. It's a simple song, and it congers up simple images. And that is exactly what I like about it. For many, many years I struggled with the Christmas holidays. It was overcrowded with activities and events and expectations creating a level of stress that to me made the holidays everything they shouldn't be.

So slowly I began to take stock of what mattered to me about the holidays. What parts did I want to keep? What parts was I willing to let go of? What parts had to change even if I had to address other people's expectations?

The parts that I wanted to keep were the baking--I love to do that! And the stockings I make for family members (and a few close friends). I think at last count I've made over 40 stockings. I like the little things like buying a new ornament each year for the girls, and bringing out the antique ornaments that were my grandmother's. I love our Christmas morning tradition of the youngest passing out the gifts and going 'round the room opening them one by one.

The things I let go of were the multiple events that just added stress to our schedule. When the girls were young, we slated their piano recital, but tried to say no to cookie exchanges, neighborhood parties, and work events we didn't need to be at. Everyone feels compelled to put these get-togethers on the calendar in December and then they wonder why they're stressed. We finally just started to opt out.

One area where I had to address others' expectations was my husband's lack of Christmas shopping. When the girls were small, I went a lot of Christmases with no gifts from him/them at all. I'm not a material person, and I don't ask for much, but with the routine of going around the circle and opening gifts one at a time, it got hard to take when the only gifts for me were the one or two my parents had dropped off. It made me too sad. I won't go into details, but eventually we came to an understanding on this, and it got better as the girls got older.

Another issue was making the decision as a family to start going out of town for Christmas. When I was a kid, and we all gathered at my grandma's for Christmas, we were a group of 13. But now we all have spouses, significant others, and children. If everyone is in town, we're a group of over 40 people. My family gets together the night of the 24th, then they gather again on the 25th. We finally made the decision to pare down the holidays and spend it just with our immediate family and we did it by going out of town. We rent a lodge a few hours out of town that's big enough for our girls (and their boyfriends if they want to join us).

We hole up for three days and two nights for a quiet and relaxing family Christmas. The views of the river are commanding and you are reminded of things that are simple and good. It's a time to focus on family without the distractions of the telephone, television, internet, or anything else. The girls love it and I hope we can keep doing it for a long time to come.

Tall in the saddle we spend Christmas Day,
Driving the cattle over snow-covered plains.
All of the good gifts given today,
Ours is the sky and the wide open range.
It's Christmas for cowboys, and wide open plains.

Silent Night

Every December, I lay long-stem red roses on my mother's grave. The red and green give it a look of Christmas decorations against the snow.

Silent Night, Holy Night

I wait until night, when the moon is out, and it's silent and peaceful.

Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child

I always give her four red roses, one for each of her four children.

Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.

I love you, Mama

Mary Did You Know?

Mary, did you know?
That your Baby Boy would one day walk on water?
Mary, did you know?
That your Baby Boy would save our sons and daughters?
Did you know that your Baby Boy has come to make you new?
This Child that you delivered will soon deliver you?

Several people have recorded this song. One of the more common ones you hear on the radio at Christmas time is the one recorded by Kenny Rogers and Wynonna Judd. One of the better versions I've heard is the one Kathy Mattea does. Besides this being a beautiful song on its own merit, I think it touches the heart of every single parent when they look at the face of their child and are filled with the wonder and hope and promise of who this child could become.

Did you know that your Baby Boy has walked where angels trod?
When you kiss your little Baby you kissed the face of God?

Every baby, every life, is a gift from God. And when you see a baby, you see all the good, the innocence, the pureness, that is life. And that's why babies hold such promise. I believe all parents want certain things for their children...they want them to be healthy, to be safe, to have a decent life. Some parents, unfortunately, try to live their unfulfilled lives through their children, or place too much direction in front of their children. That is one extreme.

The other extreme is the abusive or neglectful parent. The adult who harms the child, or neglects the child to the point the young one never really has a childhood. There are so many wayward and awful paths this could go, it's impossible to list them all.

But in the middle, is the parent who accepts the gift of a child with all the awe and delight and enormity of promise that a child really is. There is the parent who, looks down on that soft round face of a baby and knows they really are looking at the face of God. And they know God has entrusted them with a child just like he trusted Mary with his child. And being human and struggling with our own faults, we are going to try to help this child be their best...Play fair, learn the golden rule, go to school, get good grades, get a job, become something. And we have no idea how to do that and no idea what God wants this child to become.

I work with parents all the time to accept their child for who he or she is. Look at their personality traits (no matter what they are) as positives, and then consider how they can channel those traits constructively. If your child is demanding, help them turn that into assertive. If your child is bossy, help them turn that into leadership qualities. If your child talks a lot, give them appropriate outlets for doing so.

From an early age, we realized my oldest daughter loved to read. She also has an excellent memory which makes her an excellent at languages, editing, spelling, and such related things. She kind of hopped around with her interests in college and we kept encouraging her to pursue what she was interested in, not necessarily what she thought would get her an immediate job right after graduation. She's not really happy with her factory job right now, but she got a well-rounded degree in an area she really liked studying. She's thinking of grad school. We still don't know where she'll end up. Neither does she. Her path is far from over.

My middle daughter got a dual degree, one of them being in engineering. She's in the midst of interviews. Something will pan out for her soon. She's also considered med school. She's smart and talented. Once she's in the work force, I'm certain more opportunities will come her way.

My youngest is all over the map. She is bursting with life and ideas and possibilities. They all seem to center around criminal justice in some way whether it's the FBI or law or some other related field. I think she will probably try on several jobs in her life time.

For all of them, the possibilities are exciting, and I'm glad we've given them the message they can pursue whatever direction they choose. I cannot imagine deciding for them. And I cannot imagine the enormity of what Mary knew about her child.

Mary, did you know?
That your Baby Boy is Lord of all creation?
Mary, did you know?
That your Baby Boy would one day rule the nations?
Did you know that your Baby Boy is heaven's perfect Lamb?
The sleeping Child you're holding is the Great, I Am.

Adeste Fideles

Adeste fideles, Laeti triumphantes; Venite, venite in Bethlehem; Natum videte, Regem Angelorum

O Come All Ye Faithful. Faith. People don't ask me about my Faith very often. I know one or two people who get pretty preachy about their faith and it annoys the heck out of me. It's a pious sort of attitude that really bugs me. I'm sure they really do believe in their faith, but there is something about the way they go about things that almost seems as if it's for show. I don't like that. I have another few friends who simply live their faith, and I have deep respect for them. Sometimes it comes up in conversation; often it does not. They might mention something they did at church but it's no different than something they did at the store, or at work. They might quote scripture, but it's no different than mentioning something they read in any other book or heard on the news. It's simply part of their day-to-day and who they are.

I do believe there is a God, a Supreme Being, a Diety. I believe that Diety crosses many boundaries and no one religion can lay claim to being right, or the one true religion. In fact, much of the fighting that has taken place over history and over religion is not about IF there is a god, but HOW people ought to be worshiping. Far more has been done to label people heretics and heathens and sinners in the name of whatever religion than to create kindness and inclusion. And for that reason, I don't believe in organized religion. I believe that Faith is a covenant between the individual believer and their God and there that's where it should begin and end. There doesn't need to be an organized church in the middle. If the Bible, or Koran, or any other inspirational writing helps you find that covenant and lead a life of service, then you have found Faith. If you have shown Grace to others, you have found Faith. If you strive daily to make the world a better place, you have found Faith. If you trust that a Deity will guide you and give you strength through dark moments, you have Faith.

Do I pray? Rarely, and then only to ask for understanding. I believe that if you have Faith, you also trust that God has a plan. And who are we to question it? Who are we to think that our insignificant supplications will change what is meant to be? Instead, I believe in trusting in God (having Faith) and seeking understanding. How do we seek understanding? By learning, listening, watching, and accepting that what does not make sense to us now, will at some point down the road. And in the mean time we need to do our best, do the right thing, try to make the world a better place by giving others Grace, and having Faith.

I grew up hearing this hymn in Latin. It's one of the few I remember in Latin. There is something ancient and beautiful about it ...

Venite adoremus,
Venite adoremus,
Venite adoremus Dominum!

The Friendly Beasts

Jesus our brother, kind and good
Was humbly born in a stable rude
And the friendly beasts around Him stood
Jesus our brother, kind and good.
--Garth Brooks

My grandmother had an electric organ in her living room. With a flip of a switch, you could add a samba beat, a waltz beat, an oboe sound, or any other variety of instruments. I don't ever remember seeing her play it. But it was always there for us to fiddle around with. She had simple music, and those of us who could read music would plunk our way through various songs and come December, an assortment of Christmas carols. I loved this song. Each animal tells the others what he gave to the Christ child. I think it's the bit of Doctor Doolittle in all of us that believes deep down animals really can speak.

"I," said the dove from the rafters high,
"Cooed Him to sleep that He should not cry;
We cooed Him to sleep, my mate and I."
"I," said the dove from the rafters high.

At Christmas, we alternated which grandmother would spend the holiday with us each year. Every Christmas Eve my aunt and uncle had a huge open house. It was mostly relatives, with a few friends and neighbors thrown in. Over the course of the evening, there were probably 40 or 50 people that came and went. Once in a while, a family friend dressed as Santa would show up. We'd get all dressed up,and go over there for a dinner of snacks and drinks. Grownups sat around the living room, dining room, or den, or were bustling around the kitchen. Kids hung out in the downstairs and would drift in and out of the upstairs rooms for food and adult attention.

Then we'd leave for midnight Mass. I think my parents didn't particularly like staying up late enough for midnight Mass but once we got old enough to lobby for it, we did. We preferred that to having to stop the Christmas morning festivities to go to church. So we'd leave my aunt and uncle's, head to church, and get home sometime around 1am. One grandma or the other would be with us, and would get my brother's bedroom for the night, down on the first floor with my parents. He'd join us girls upstairs, usually camping out in a sleeping bag.

The rule was, we couldn't come downstairs in the morning until Santa (or my parents) rang a bell. So here we were, coming home from church at 1am. Too excited to fall asleep and up talking and giggling until 2am or later. And then someone would invariably wake up around 5am, too excited to go back to sleep and wake the others up. And now what to do? We wanted our parents to wake up so we could get up. My dad could sleep through Armageddon. My mother was deaf. We were upstairs. They were downstairs. And we tried all sorts of things to wake them up. I remember one year my sister put her trumpet to the floor at 6am and started playing Christmas carols. In hindsight, I feel sorry for my grandmothers.

We'd finally be allowed to get up and see what Santa had left in our stockings. Then breakfast. Somewhere along the line, my mother tried a recipe she found in the paper that became known as the Christmas Morning Hotdish that we had every year after that. I make the same Christmas breakfast for my girls that I grew up with...grapefruit, bacon, veal kidneys, hotdish. Then we'd open our presents. Usually way too quickly for my mother's liking. Then time to run our grandma home. If it was Grandma Helen, she went back to her house to get started on the dinner. Our other grandma went to back to my aunt's for the rest of the day. But we always went to Grandma Helen's for dinner, and so did my cousins. All of us were crowded into her little house--very fond memories for me.

Thus every beast by some good spell
In the stable dark was glad to tell
Of the gift he gave Emmanuel,
The gift he gave Emmanuel.

Tonight I had a wonderfully full house. All three of my girls were here. All of their boyfriends were here. My brother stopped in for a while. The girls spent the evening making gingerbread houses. Their boyfriends helped here and there. There was a lot of good food, Christmas music playing, and a lot of laughter. These are my most favorite evenings. I loved watching them have this time with each other. I love that they get along with each other and enjoy spending time together, doing simple things like this. I am happy that they family is a good place for them to be, like it was for me. These are the gifts we give each other.

The Twelve Days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me...

I went through a list of Christmas carols to pick out my 10 favorite. It was hard narrowing it down. This one made the list because of my daughters. And the Muppets.

When my brother was in Kindergarten, he came home from school with information from his teacher about an educational program on public television called "Sesame Street". That was my family's introduction to Kermit, Oscar, Cookie Monster, Big Bird, and Bert and Ernie. When my girls were born, I fell in love with the show all over again and began to appreciate the adult humor that the writers snuck into the show. Singing songs like Bruce Springsteen's "Baby we were born to add" was one of my favorites. And I loved all the guest stars on the show.

One of the stories we tell a lot in this family, and one of my worst parenting moments, stems from Sesame Street. My oldest daughter, when she was two, was convinced that Oscar the Grouch lived in every garbage can she saw. If we were on walks, and I didn't keep close hold of her hand, she'd dart into people's yards when she saw a garbage can, grab the lid off it, and look to see if she could find Oscar. I'd have to drag her away. It alternated between embarrassing and annoying.

One day, shortly after my second daughter was born, we had a particularly difficult day a local store because the baby was being colicky (screaming) and my oldest was convinced that her imaginary pet mouse was lost in the store. She, too, started crying. Here I was, trying to manage the shopping bags and two crying children. I tried to convince my two year old the imaginary mouse was in the shopping bag. No dice. She just screamed louder. In exasperation, I just packed them both up in the car and headed home. But NO! In our garage, there sat the garbage can! My two year old refused to go in the house, screaming, "Oscar, Oscar, Oscar! I want Oscar!". Keep in mind I was about two weeks post-partum here, and I just snapped. I opened the lid of the trash can and with whatever was in my hand, I went, "Bam, bam, bam! There! Oscar's dead! Now come in the house."

I do not expect you to understand that if you haven't just given birth. And gone to the store with the baby. Who is colicky. And a two year old. Who has an imaginary mouse. That is lost. And needs to find Oscar. It was absurd. My husband was appalled. And I still get grief about that day some 20 years later.

But we all still love the Muppets. We had a Christmas CD of songs John Denver recorded with the Muppets...for his children and for all children. And the song The Twelve Days of Christmas on that CD is absolutely delightful. When the Muppets get to "five golden rings" they sing "bum bum bum" and with each verse they get louder and more enthusiastic. It so completely captures the spirit of joy of children and Muppets and I love it.

The day after Jim Henson died, there was an editorial cartoon in the paper of Kermit the Frog sitting alone on the curb under a street lamp. The sign on the corner read "Sesame Street". Kermit had his head in his hands and he was crying. I still have that cartoon. Jim Henson touched the lives of hundreds of thousands of children and adults. The gift he gave us with his Muppets is far greater than any golden ring.

Here Comes The Sun

Little darling, it's been a long, long cold lonely winter.
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here.
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
And I say...it's all right.
-The Beatles

This is the happiest song I know. The melody is happy, the words are happy. It makes me happy to listen to it and I cannot help but sing along with it when I hear it. It seems like an odd song to post on the last day of November. This is the time of year when the days are so short that I drive to work in the dark in the morning and drive home in the dark in the afternoon -- we live that far north. You would think this is a song for the spring time. But it came on the radio as I was driving to work this morning and I couldn't help smile...and sing along. Me. Me who is not a morning person.

I used to get really tired of our long winters. Almost everyone here does. Winter can start any time in October or November and usually goes all the way into March. Snow is usually on the ground into the beginning of April unless we have an unusually warm spring. So people who are young and/or active do things like ice skate, or ski, or snowshoe, or whatever else gets them outdoors. You have to or you'd go crazy being cooped up that long. People still walk their dogs, run errands, and all sorts of other things. Until it gets to be 20 below. Until the wind chill drops to dangerous levels. But it's the short days where daylight is at a minimum that gets to be hard to take. And so we take our sunshine when we can get it. What people don't realize if they don't live in a cold climate is that the cloudy days are the warm days. The clouds form a layer of insulation that keeps the heat in. When it clears up, that's when the heat escapes to the upper atmosphere and temperatures drop.

What turned winter around for me was the Solstice. Calendars and weathermen had always noted the first day of winter, but I hadn't really looked at it in terms of being the Solstice. The turning point. The time of year when we celebrate the triumph of lightness over darkness. When we reach that turning point and we know that even though it is dark, and it is cold, and there are still weeks and weeks of winter left....every single day from there on out is a day of more light. And that is a wonderful, happy thing! It makes winter no big deal any more.

Which means that attitude -- perception -- is everything. It's hard to remind yourself of that when life feels crummy. When you're angry at someone. When you're looking at darkness at all the time.

You have to remind yourself there are pockets of light and find a way to look at it differently.

Feed Jake

Now Broadway’s like a sewer. Bums and hookers everywhere.
Winos passed out on the sidewalk. Doesn’t anybody care?
Some say he’s worthless, just let him be.
I for one would have to disagree.
And so would their mamas.
-Pirates of the Mississippi

Today we drove to my oldest daughter's for Thanksgiving. A gorgeous, two and a half hour drive, most of which was along the river. Our Baby Girl came with us, and later in the day we were joined by my brother and his family, and my sister and her partner. It was a cozy day, with good food, and truly a lot to be thankful for. We all have jobs, we have good homes, things for the most part are running on an even keel for everyone. Life is good. And yet we know it isn't that way for everyone. And so what do we do about it?

My uncle used to ask his kids, every night at the dinner table, "What did you do today, to make the world a better place?" I never knew that until he died and every one of his kids talked about it at his funeral. But it made me realize how much my siblings and I were ingrained with a mentality about the importance of helping others, of becoming involved. And how have we done that?

So many people in my family have gone into helping professions, particularly teaching. In fact, in my uncle's family, he and my aunt were both teachers, as were three of their four children. My father was active in his church in so many ways and my mother was involved in community ed. I volunteered my time to La Leche League for 10 years and later to the Girl Scouts. My sister is part of the Big Sisters program. My brother has coached his kids sports teams. My youngest sister has been involved in various social activism groups. All of us have also donated financially to organizations that matter to us...The American Cancer Society, CARE, America's Child, Toys for Tots, The American Lung Association, La Leche League, Salvation Army, Vietnam Vets, and so many more.

Now I am watching my daughter become involved in organizations that help others and I'm glad to see that. It's important to give back what you can. To make the world a better place. Someone at work saw all the NFL memorabilia I had on the back of my office door and asked if I was a season ticket holder. I told her no. She wanted to know why not, especially since she knows I talk about football all the time with her son. I told her that as much as I love football, if I had that kind of money to spend on a regular basis, I would rather put it towards a charitable need. She didn't quite know what to say. But I believe that once you have a comfortable existence, the rest is just being selfish. And you should be trying to make the world a better place. You should care. If there were more people who cared, we'd have less people on the streets.

Feed Jake is an odd song, but it's sweet. You don't hear it very often on the radio any more.

Now if you get an ear pierced, some will call you gay.
But if you drive a pick-up, they'll say, "No you must be straight."
What we are, and what we ain't, what we can and what we can't.
Does it really matter?

Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake, feed Jake.
He's been a good dog, my best friend, right through it all.
If I die before I wake, feed Jake.

Blue Kentucky Girl

Don't wait to bring great riches home to me
I need no diamond rings or fancy pearls
Just bring yourself, you're all I'll ever need
That's good enough for this blue Kentucky girl

-Emmy Lou Harris

My grandmother was born in Kentucky. So was my mother... unexpectedly. My grandmother was seven months pregnant and although she was now living in the Midwest, she had gone home to visit her parents in Kentucky. While she was there she went into premature labor. My mother was only about 3 1/2 pounds when she was born and not expected to live. This was in 1924, a time when babies were still born at home, and even if they weren't, ICUs and life-saving medical care for premature infants didn't exist. Her grandmother, my great-grandmother, administered the Last Rights herself because she didn't think the family priest would get there in time to do it. But against all odds, my mom fought, and she made it.

Growing up, I remember there had always been discussion about why the family had moved from Kentucky. No one seemed to really know why. It always seemed to be a hush-hush topic and people joked that it was almost as if the family up and moved in the middle of the night, leaving things behind. I came across a book about prohibition and local gangsters once, and some of the names mentioned in the book were names I remember my mother talking about as acquaintances of her father's. My grandfather had a license to sell alcohol to pharmacies during Prohibition and I asked my mother if she thought he might have been "on the take". Oh no, she said. Her father was an honorable man. I showed her the book and some of the people mentioned in it. She didn't know quite what to think.

A few years later though, she approached me with an idea. She'd pay for a trip for the two of us to go to Kentucky if I'd help her look up her family's roots there. Never did I expect what we'd find... We started with the house she was born in, and met the current owner who was renovating it at the time. We got a great tour. Next stop was the public library to do a search of the newspaper archives. I set mom off looking up wedding announcements and obituaries while I did a more general search and that's where I got one of the biggest discoveries -- and shocks -- of all my genealogy research ever. Her grandfather, along with the chief of police and five others had been caught breaking into a warehouse on New Year's Day, stealing several kegs of whiskey, and transporting them across state lines for sale -- all the more serious because this was during Prohibition. (Her grandfather had been a successful saloon keeper before Prohibition.)

A series of articles chronicled the trial and then that one of the men had connections in Washington that commuted the two year sentence in Federal Prison to a three month sentence in the county jail. That "connection" was never identified, but I strongly suspect it was my grandfather. My grandparents were married just as all this was happening. And my grandfather worked as a page in the US Senate and had connections. And as for the move to the Midwest, I suspect that once my great-grandfather got out of jail, either the family felt their reputation was ruined, or else they simply needed to start over with a new job. Now that their daughter and son-in-law had moved to the Midwest, that's where they eventually headed too.

Don't wait to bring great riches home to me
I need no diamond rings or fancy pearls

There is a legacy we have in some of the family jewelry. My mother wore two diamond rings. Her wedding ring was the diamond that was given to her by my father, his mother's diamond ring. And when my mother died, that diamond was passed down to her son, my brother, with the intention that eventually it will go to his son's bride some day. The other diamond she had was her mother's diamond ring. That was passed on to my sister. There was a heart-shaped pin set with pearls that I wore on my wedding day. It was her grandmother's and was worn by most of the women in my mother's family on their wedding day. It wasn't mine to keep, but I wore it. But in our family, the most important legacy are the garnets.

When my father was in college, and traveling with the theater department in Brazil, he had the opportunity to buy some garnets. He bought one large one, and several smaller ones. The smaller ones, he had set in a gold cross for her and gave that to her as a wedding gift. The large one, he had banded in gold and put on a simple gold chain for my mother. She rarely took that one off. When I got married, I asked if I could wear her larger solitaire garnet. It symbolized who my mother was, and I treasured the opportunity to be able to wear it on my wedding day. I graduated from college four weeks before my wedding. My graduation gift from my parents was my own garnet necklace, just like my mother's. It means the world to me. Each of my sisters was given one when they graduated, and my brother was given a garnet ring. When my mother passed away, my youngest sister was given her garnet cross and I was given my mother's garnet solitaire. Now I had two. Because my youngest daughter had spent so much time with my mother as she was dying, I felt it was appropriate that the garnet go to her. It was passed on to my Baby Girl when she turned sixteen. When each of my two oldest daughters graduated from college, they were given a garnet necklace as well. This family tradition carries on and is a little bit better legacy than the one we discovered in the papers...

Small Town Jericho

Goodbye to memories that I saved
Goodbye to all the friends I made
Goodbye to all the home I'll ever know

I was looking up my husband's grandma on my genealogy database/website tonight. Still trying to find out more on where she came from. Who her parents were. Here's the little I know...

She was born in Finland, one of several children, probably the youngest. At some point, while she was still a young girl, her father went to America. He went to start a new life, save money, and send for his family. Only he never sent for them. It seems he abandoned his family--or so we are led to believe. Who knows? His wife died of consumption and the kids were farmed out to various people. One son went to a good family and was treated well. Grandma would never really tell me much about the family she stayed with other than to say it was "very bad."

When Grandma was about 18, she married a 54 year old man who was a friend of her father's. This man had immigrated to America but was back in Finland for a visit. He agreed to bring her to America as his wife and once there, grant her a divorce so she could go her own way.

And every road here looks the same
This ol' town won't ever change
And that's what I love the most
And it's the reason I must go

So her brought her to America, but once here, he didn't give her the divorce he promised. In doing my genealogy, I found out she applied for U.S. citizenship but then never pursued it. That was right about the time she must have found out she was pregnant. I suspect that's why she didn't pursue naturalization. It's one thing to be on your own, it's another to be a single parent in the 1920s. He also didn't let her out of the house much or let her learn English. Grandma said she pretty much taught herself English using a Finnish-English dictionary to decipher the captions under the pictures in the newspaper.

In my genealogy I also found an interesting string of events that happened in rather quick succession. About 9 years after her son was born, she finally filed for and was granted her divorce. She then married Grandpa, and she reapplied for citizenship. All in about 3 months time. Within the year, my father-in-law was born. I suspect she met Grandpa and had things pretty well lined up before she finally filed for divorce.

Grandma was a neat lady. I liked her a lot. My in-laws and husband lived with Grandma and Grandpa for a while when my husband was young, so he has fond memories of her. She was good to my girls. She passed some good holiday recipes on to me.

I look at my own girls, and I can't imagine any of them immigrating half way around the world at the age of 18 but I suppose if your parents are gone, and your circumstances aren't good, you're assuming it can only get better. And sometimes you do what you have to do. I just wish I could find out more about Grandma in my research. Sooner or later the links will show up. It would be really nice to be able to know more about her and her background.

Already Gone

My momma mapped out the road that she knows
Which hands you shake, and which hands you hold

My mother majored in Home Economics. And insisted that all of her daughters learn how to cook and sew so we wouldn't "waste" our college education learning those things. Beyond that, my parents didn't map out any life plan for us other than the expectation that we go to college. I hear so many parents make pronouncements about what their kids will or will not do. As if their kids have no life of their own. No free will. And then they wonder why they always seem to be at odds with their children...

In my hand-me-down Mercury, ready to roll
She knew that I had to go

Or a 20 year old Honda Civic. Or what the girls jokingly call "the ghetto van". But it isn't really about the car, it's about being ready to spread their wings to fly. Off to the West Coast. Off to the East Coast. Off to another town in the southern part of our state. What's important is...have I created a home they want to come back to? Frequently?

Make the mistakes that she made
Cause she knew all along...I was already gone

I try not to interfere to overly much. All moms interfere to some degree. We get to as part of being a mom. But I try to give my kids information and point out options, and then back off. People are going to make mistakes and it's not my job or anyone else's to save people from their own mistakes, not even my own children. Sometimes, people actually learn better if they're allowed to make a few mistakes. So if my kids are doing something I disagree with, once I've said my piece, I try to disengage myself and let them take it from there. They're all strong-willed enough to know what they want, and are going to do it anyway.

Life is a runaway train you can’t wait to jump on
-Sugarland

Stand Back Up

Go ahead and take your best shot,
Let 'er rip, give it all you've got,
I'm laid out on the floor, but I've been here before.
I may stumble, yeah I might fall.
I'm only human but aren't we all?
I might lose my way, but hear me when I say,

I will stand back up.
You'll know just the moment when I've have enough.
Sometimes I'm afraid, and I don't feel that tough,
But I'll...stand...back...up.

How many times have we felt beaten down, exhausted, at the end? Everyone has the things they fear, the times they feel lost, the situations when they feel everyone keeps coming at them and it's all they can do to keep their balance. Worst of all is when they question themselves...

I've been beaten up and bruised.
I've been kicked right off my shoes.
Been down on my knees more times than you'd believe.
But when the darkness tries to get me,
There's a light that just won't let me.
It might take my pride, and tears may fill my eyes,
But I'll...stand...back...up.

But no matter what, you keep your head down and keep trudging forward. No matter how tired you are. No matter how difficult it is. You try to shut out the negative and the naysayers. You blink back the tears. You ignore the pain. You quell your doubts...

I've weathered all these storms,
I just turn 'em into wind, so I can fly.
What don't kill you makes you stronger.
When I take my last breath,
That's when I'll....just...give...up.

You refuse to give up because you believe in what you're doing. Or because people you love depend on you. Or it's the right thing to do. You don't quit even though you have your difficult moments and it gets hard, so very very hard...

So, go ahead and take your best shot.
Let 'er rip, give it all you've got,
You might win this round but you cant keep me down.
'Cause I'll stand back up.
And you'll know just the moment when I've had enough.
Sometimes I'm afraid and I don't feel that tough.
But I'll...stand...back...up.

This song has such conviction. I find myself humming it when things get difficult. It helps me keep going. It reminds me that there are people in far worse circumstances. It gives me the will power to stand back up.

You'll know just the moment when I've had enough.
Sometimes I'm afraid and I don't feel that tough.
But I'll...stand...back...up.
-Sugarland

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PpLoD723kx8&NR=1

My Favorite Things

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things

When I was little, we used to go down to my Grandma's house every time certain shows came on TV. Mostly because she was the only person in the family who had a color television at the time. A great big floor console. The grown ups had the chairs and sofa, and all the kids would sprawl on the floor. The two main shows we would all gather for were the annual airing of The Wizard of Oz and The Sound of Music. But I also remember the night we all went to Grandma Helen's and were allowed to stay up unbelievably late to watch the first ever moon landing. I was still of an age when anything was possible and my siblings and cousins and I didn't understand why it was such a big deal that someone was landing on the moon or why the adults kept shushing us every time we talked.

Of all the favorite things at my Grandma's house though, was Christmas time. She had a miniature tree she brought out every Christmas, and the "ornaments" on this tree were trinkets and charms (as in charm bracelets) she bought from her many travels around the world. She always looked for the tiniest, most intricate of charms, and every year we would try to guess which ones were the new ones that had been added. The tree stood all of about 12 or 14" tall and had tiny gifts and toys around its base. I have that tree now and I treasure it. I also have several antique ornaments from her large tree. The one that fascinates me the most is a two sided mirror about 1x4" that has a chimney on one side and Santa on the other. If you twist the string round and round, and then let it go, it will spin so fast that you will see Santa coming out of the chimney.

And of course my grandma baked. Her most famous recipe of all was her caramel recipe. Her caramels were rich and buttery and I've never tasted any others as good, either store bought or homemade. Other people's caramels are grainy or bland. These are phenomenal. I seem to be the only one in the family carrying on the tradition. Every year, when I eat that first one, if I close my eyes, I am amazed at how much of my grandmother's house I can remember, just from the taste of those caramels. Little details that I don't usually keep with me come back to me with unbelievable clarity. It's a sweet thing.

Tonight, even though it's not Christmas time yet, I made her caramels. I tried them as a candy with a chocolate topping and some other variations. They were exquisite! I need about six life times.... To pursue the work I love as an educator, to be a writer, to do the art work I enjoy and would like to learn, to pursue the cooking and baking I love to experiment with, to travel and explore, and who knows what else. Life is just too short for me, I think.

But come the holidays, I do bake. I have a long list of cookies and candies I make--every year. And I give most of them away. I just love to make them. Here's the list...

Russian Teacakes
Toffee Bars
Spritz Cookies
Sugar Cookies
Gingerbread Cookies
Fruitcake
Chocolate Drop Cookies
Peppermint Bark
Christmas Pretzels
Chocolate Pizza
Chocolate Krumkake
Fudge
Peanut Brittle
Rosettes
Wreaths
Caramels

And I love when my girls come home for the weekend when I do my holiday baking. Sometimes even their friends come over for the day and help. It's a good time. A family time. It's how it should be.

Suzanne

Suzanne takes you down to her place by the river
You can hear the boats that go by
You can spend the night forever...

Today was a rare October day for this part of the country. Temps in the 70s when it's more typical to have highs in the 40s or 50s. It was also an emotional day for me and I don't know why. Many, many days in a row of putting out fires and dealing with problems I shouldn't have to deal with because other people are screwing up -- badly -- and I'm the boss so I have to clean up messes. Or at least put pressure on them to clean up their own messes. And meet a whole bunch of deadlines that other people don't get the significance of. And deal with a bunch of parents who email me over every little thing. They want their kids in a rigorous school and they want their kids to have top-notch grades and test scores, but they want this to all somehow happen by osmosis. No homework, no effort, no accountability. And then there are family members and friends who have all sorts of drama. Some of it's real and some of it's self-inflicted. But oh-my-gosh, can I just have a break? For a little bit? I'm putting in 12 hour days at work and trying hard not to stress because I really do love my job, but it's demanding.

I kind of had a bit of a melt-down at work today. No one saw it except my admin assistant. She's been through some pretty serious personal stuff, more so than most people, and I watched her keep going with work despite things. This was unusual for the roles to be reversed today when she tried to give me some comfort. She sent me a long email about doing too much and making sure I was taking care of myself, and made sure to tell me she wasn't lecturing me. I know that. She's an extremely kind person and we are a safety net of sorts for each other. But I realized I've tanked out. And so have a few other people at work. It's too early in the school year for that.

So I decided I needed to do what is core to my being. What nourishes my soul more than time with my Baby Girl, more than a massage, more than being creative, more than writing, more than anything. I needed to spend time by the river. Time watching the water go by. Time drifting with the current and letting it take my spirit to another place. Letting it wash away everything that eats at me. More than anything, it is water that calms me. It is this river that brought me some of the best times of my life. That introduced me to my husband. It is where I want my ashes spread after I am gone so they will travel to the sea. It is the most important place in the world to me. And so after work, I drove there.

And the traffic was so bad I gave up. Par for the course for this week, I guess.

And Jesus was a sailor when he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching from a lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain only drowning men could see him
He said all men will be sailors then until the sea shall free them

There are days and weeks like this. There will be better ones. And the river will still be there.

And on a more positive note.... Several people have recorded various versions of this Leonard Cohen song. I have always loved it. It was the second song played at my wedding reception and the song I chose to dance with my father with.

My Old Man

My old man had a rounder's soul.
He'd hear an old freight train, then he'd have to go.
Said he'd been blessed with a gypsy bone.
That's the reason I guess he'd been cursed to roam.
Came into town back before the war.
Didn't even know what it was he was looking for.
--John Denver

This is for my Baby Girl. It's a beautiful ballad. I wish I could find a better quality version of it online for you. I listen to your plans, your impatience with people, your desire to be doing things. I see your hunger for what is out there, sometimes not even knowing what it is you want. I know the feeling. There's a passage in one of the Little House books...

There came a night when the moonlight shone silver clear. The earth was endless white and the wind was still. Beyond every window the white world stretched far away in frosty glitter, and the sky was a curve of light. Laura could not settle down to anything. She didn't want to play games. She hardly heard even the music of Pa's fiddle. She did not want to dance, but she felt that she must move swiftly. She must be going somewhere.... [and once she went outside] ...Laura's heart swelled. She felt herself a part of the wide land, of the far deep sky and the brilliant moonlight. She wanted to fly.

It's called wanderlust. It's a blessing and a curse. It's what makes people want to travel, it's what drives them to seek new horizons even when they're staying put. It makes you successful, and it keeps you awake at night because you know there are roads calling to you. It's what called to you at Tara and it's what is calling to you right now. Your great-grandmother had it. Your mother has it. You have it. It runs deep in your genes. Not everyone has it--some people are content to just be. No one explained it to me. It took me years to figure it out and come to terms with it. Now I am learning the lessons of patience and empathy and living in the moment. Things I was always too impatient to pay attention to before.

My hope for you is that early on you can harness the energy of your wanderlust and couple it with the lessons of the moment--however insignificant they seem. If you have both, you will do amazing things. I am sure of it.

Amazing Grace

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound...

I've been thinking about this song a lot these last few days. A friend of mine shared a definition of Grace with me: "the freely given, unmerited favor and love of God." That simple statement has a lot of depth to it.

When my mother died, and emotions were running high, and people were getting short with each other, I suggested more than once that we give each other Grace. Meaning simply that everyone needed patience and understanding. I've used that phrase many times since then. I suppose in any of these situations, the love of God, freely given, fits too. But it makes me question...are we open enough, patient enough, and loving enough to emulate the love of God towards each other? That's a tall order, but certainly something to strive for. In most instances, we probably don't deserve it but God grants it. So can't we try to do the same?

And it's had me thinking about the song, Amazing Grace. This song has always been my favorite hymn, ever since I can remember. I love the words, and find myself singing them or humming them quite often. When I pick up the flute after months of not playing, it's usually the first song I go back to. And of course I love the bagpipes that you hear with it so often. But it made me start thinking about the words...how sweet the sound. The Sound. We might know what Grace looks like in actions or deeds. We know what it feels like when we receive it. But what does Grace sound like? When you think about it, that's an odd thing....the sound of Grace. When John Newton wrote the hymn, he probably meant God's word. The Gospel. But think about what it means if you're giving someone Grace...that saving Grace.

That saved a wretch like me.

Telling someone you love them...there are lots of ways to say, "I love you." I tell my siblings and daughters I love them every time I say goodbye. My husband does a lot of little things that are his way of saying I love you...like starting my car for me on cold winter mornings. I tell my friend I love her sense of humor. I love my cat. Just like there are different shades of blue, there are different shades of love. The books and movies that we remember are about the great once-in-a-lifetime loves. If people are really lucky, they find that love. It may be with a friend, a lover, a relative, God. Someone they are so accepted by, so at peace with, so complete with, because love is so freely given. So freely given it makes them feel whole. And that is so rare.

I've had that kind of Grace. Twice. One of the times being my mother. That's why my siblings and I took it so hard when she passed away. And I have been lucky enough to have it a second time. I cherish it deeply. What I think is this... We all probably have it more than we realize. We probably don't recognize it very well because human flaws and the busy-ness of the day-to-day get in the way of expressing it whole-heartedly to the people we care about. We get impatient, tired, angry, indifferent. That's why we need to make room for Grace. And let people know how much we love them. Not just in our own way of saying it, but in ways they can see.

I once was lost but now am found. Was blind, but now I see.

Like a Bird I Sing

Sometimes music is so powerful...

It can be the lyrics that stir strong emotions.
It can be words that heal when nothing else can.
It can be a shared experience with 13,000 other people.

Last night was one of those perfect summer nights...

The sky was clear and the temperature was just right.
The American flag was snapping in the breeze, lit from below.
Tim McGraw, the most played country music artist in history, was singing hit after hit on an outdoor stage.

1-2-3 Like a bird I sing
Cause you've given me the most beautiful set of wings
I'm so glad you're here today
Cause tomorrow I might have to go and fly away

I love this song. For many reasons.

I absolutely love birds. I always have. As a child I used to dream of being a bird. Of being able to spread my wings and start circling. Of being able to look down at the lakes and trees below me and simply drift on the air currents with a slight shift of my wings. We are lucky enough to live on the edge of a large pond and have the pleasure of seeing egrets, cranes, wood ducks, and geese. Once we even had six swans! I have bird feeders to attract cardinals, jays, finches, and hummingbirds. I am in awe of hummingbirds and consider them one of nature's most spectacular jewels. I never tire of watching them dart and flit around. I have a collection of carved wooden birds that fills my kitchen window that includes hummingbirds.

1-2-3 Like a bird I sing
Cause you've given me the most beautiful set of wings

At the end of this song, Tim McGraw drops the instrumental and all you hear is his three little girls singing the refrain. It is touching. It is sweet in its innocence.

Sometimes, people get caught up in a grand event like I was at last night, simply because it's larger than they are. That wasn't it. Sometimes the weather and music just come together for one of those rare and perfect summer nights.

Daddy's Hands

There was always love in Daddy's hands
-Holly Dunn

It was my father's birthday this week. I called him to see how he's spent his day and he told me about the Wild Game Show he went to, where there were hunting exhibits and hunting dog competitions. He used to have hunting dogs and hunt for pheasant and deer, neither of which he has/does any more. I used to go deer hunting with him. Partly because I love venison and am actually a fairly accurate shot, and partly because I didn't want him wandering around the woods by himself. But I was thinking about my dad and his influence on my life. He's had a bigger influence than he probably realizes. What were those influences? Things I learned from my dad?

In no particular order....

1) Go to where you want to go. Then look for a place to park. I take that one literally and figuratively. He used to tell me that when I was learning to drive. Go to the front of the parking lot, up by the front door of the store. Then work your way to the back of the parking lot looking for a space -- instead of taking the first spot you find. But that's good advice for life too. Be assertive and don't settle for the first thing that comes along.

2) Kids are drip-dry. One March day we had a marvelous time playing on the local ice rink as it was melting. We came home sopping wet and my mother had a fit. My dad just shrugged and said kids are drip-dry. That had an influence on my parenting and probably my teaching. Were the kids safe? Was it hurting them? Then don't get all worked up. They dry off, clean up, whatever. It's why I didn't worry if my girls went mucking in the pond, climbing trees, and all the other things they did.

3) If you're cold, you'll remember your coat next time. Unless safety's an issue, I'd rather let kids learn from experience than lecturing. Better for everyone. Even when you do tell 'em, it helps you put it in the context of a suggestion or at least a conversation instead of a directive. Makes the teen years a lot easier. Makes managing a classroom easier. In fact, at the start of the school year, I used to tell my students about this. That I was raised this way and that I wasn't going to bug them about certain things...but if they were unhappy with the outcome, I was going to expect them to remember the lesson learned and do it differently next time.

4) Never stand a shotgun on end with your thumb over the barrel. He did that once when he was hunting with his dad and when my grandfather saw it, he just packed everything up and went home. He figured if my dad wasn't thinking enough to be safe with a gun, he was better off not hunting. Lesson learned? Sometimes you just don't bother to argue the point. Quiet actions can speak louder than words.

5) Some things are worth getting out of bed in the middle of the night for. He used to drive us nuts when, on school days, he would sing us awake with "Good Morning To You" to the tune of Happy Birthday. But I'll never forget the time he woke me up in the middle of the night up at our cabin, a night when there was a full moon, and we walked through the birch trees to an open field where every blade of grass and every leaf of the nearby trees was bathed in silver from the moonlight. It was breath-taking and a sight I still carry with me. He instilled in me--in all of us siblings--a love of nature.

6) How to upright a swamped canoe. One day he took my sister and me out in a canoe and we were puzzled at his request that we leave our glasses on shore. We kept asking why and he finally said because he wanted us to know what to do when a canoe tipped and with that he immediately threw his weight to one side and we ended up in the lake. Then taught us how to get the canoe upright again and get ourselves back into it. Not as easy as you might think. He also taught us how to tread water, build a fire, use an ax and a machete, and a whole host of other outdoor skills.

7) How to tell a good story. It probably comes from my dad's theater background, and probably a bit from his mother, but I grew up hearing stories all the time. And it heavily influenced my teaching. Children love stories and teaching through stories is so much more effective than lecturing your way through a lesson. Stories bring the material alive for students. It also weaves generations of families together. I love hearing family stories and hope that my daughters do too.

8) To take things in stride. I remember getting in my first car accident. I went home and told my folks and my dad's response was, "Well if no one is hurt then let me finish this Bridge hand and then I'll go take a look." He's that way about most things. And so when my kids come to me with things, I try to take a step back (sometimes more successfully than others), make sure everyone is okay, and then simply deal with what needs to be done. I do get passionate about some things, but I want my girls to feel like they can always come to me if they need to.

9) How to cook. My mother taught me how to follow a recipe. My father taught me how to cook. You do that by tasting what you create. You need to check the chili to see if you've added enough chili powder. You need to try the gravy to see if it's the right consistency. You need to taste the vegetables to see if they're done. But you need to do the same thing with life. You can't just sit back, do things by the book, and wait. You need to get out there, try things, and go for the gusto.

10) Take time for the small things that show love. I am 50 years old. I still have the teddy bear I got for my first Christmas as a baby and slept with every night until I got married. I will never forget a night when I was maybe 10 or 12 and was getting into bed when I discovered my teddy bear's head had fallen off. I screamed and was hysterically upset. I went running downstairs with my bear's head in one hand and his body in the other. My mom was out for the evening and I was beside myself. My dad got out a needle and thread and patiently sewed Henry's head back on. He didn't have to do that. He could have sent me back to bed and told me to wait for my mother to take care of my bear. But he didn't. Sometimes, it is the little things that mean the most to people and doing them can be a better way to show love than saying it.

Happy Birthday Papa.

Matthew

I have a blog called Sixteenth Avenue.  It's full of family stories that I call "my love letters to my daughters."  Each entry in the blog starts with song lyrics.  This one is about a young man who lost his home to a tornado and was taken in by his aunt and uncle.  I actually wrote it for Michael Boe Jr,  who was taken in by his aunt and uncle, Tom and Robin Boe.  So as you read it, you'll see references to both a Matthew (in the song) and Michael (my cousins). Here goes....

 I have a young cousin named Michael. I saw him when we had a big family gathering at my Aunt Mary's Farm.  Michael's had a rough time.  [and here is where the song lyrics are listed...]

"Well, I guess there were some hard times
and I'm told some years were lean
They had a storm in '47
twister came and stripped 'em clean
He lost the Farm and lost his family
lost the wheat, he lost his home
But he found the family Bible
faith as solid as a stone

Yes, and joy was just a thing that he was raised on
Love was just a way to live and die
Gold was just a windy Kansas wheat field
Blue was just the Kansas summer sky

 I remember when Michael was born. His dad was so proud to have a son. So proud!  Michael gave him his name.  And so  young Michael, who is reserved and shy, is thrown into this group of raucous relatives he barely knows and he's not sure what to do. And Taylor Boe, another cousin, about his age, bless her soul, boldly announced, "I'm going to show Michael how to be part of a family!"

And I've been thinking about that ever since...

What does it mean to be "part of a family"?

And how do you show someone how to do it?

I think it means being able to let go...being able to be silly and laugh at yourself and with others.  Tom did that in a way only he could.   It means being able to do what you want to do to have fun without worrying what others will do or think or say.  The  way the cousins would all push each other in the pool...and laugh about it...and NOT get mad about it...and chase each other...and shriek!  Shrieking is important!  The Boe family loves each other deeply.  That's why we're all here right now.  In person and in spirit.  Supporting each other.

I have an angel collection that was Mimi's and I add to it every time someone in the family passes away.  Today in the store I was looking for Tom's angel and instead, a box of Christmas nutcracker soldiers jumped out at me.  They seemed more appropriate to add to the shelf for Tom and I think he would have found it much more funny too.  You can almost hear his laugh over that one can't you?  That was Tom, always laughing.  Just like all the Boes.  That's their legacy.

Yes, and joy was just a thing that he was raised on
Love was just a way to live and die
Gold was just a windy Kansas wheat field
Blue was just the Kansas summer sky

I am truly blessed to be part of this family.

The Dance

Holding you, I held everything
-Garth Brooks

I took today off of work and spent it with my Baby Girl. A lazy mother-daughter day after her return from studying abroad. We drove to a town about half an hour away--a nice drive down back country roads. Then we wandered through shops on Main Street in this small town, mostly antique shops and gift shops. We found a nice little restaurant for lunch. Then we headed closer to home, to a shopping area where we had appointments at a local spa for massages. We do that every once in a while...go for massages. When I went into the massage room, the masseuse asked me if I wanted any aromatic oils with my massage. I told her that was fine as long as it wasn't lavender. I associate lavender with my mother dying. The hospice nurses told her it was calming and she had her bedroom scented with it. So we stayed away from the lavender and just as I began to relax under the hands of the masseuse, a piano version of "The Dance" started to play through their piped-in music. And that song, more than anything, reminds me of my mother dying.

Sometimes, if I'm tired and missing her, it makes me cry when I hear it.

My mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in the fall of 2001. My dad noticed she was looking jaundiced and so she went to the doctor. They referred her for further tests. I was with her at the appointment when they gave her the news. It was one of the few times in my life I ever saw my mother cry.

Pancreatic cancer is a quick cancer--and it's untreatable. Doctors don't even bother. The only thing they can do involves re-routing your whole insides and they don't usually do that unless (they said) you have something extreme you're shooting for like the wedding of your only child. So instead they set my mother up with folks from hospice who would work with her to manage her pain and make her as comfortable as possible. My mother was adamant about wanting to die at home. Mostly, I think, so she could be with her family.

My sisters deserve most of the credit for taking care of her. I was dealing with my own difficulties at the time and couldn't be there physically or emotionally for her--or them--like I wanted to. When I was at my parents, I let my girls be there as much or little as they needed to be. My older girls weren't very comfortable with all that was going on. My youngest seemed to need to be there a lot. I don't know if she needed to be where I was, or needed to be near her Grandma, but she was there a lot. Somewhere in the middle of all that was going on, I had one of the premonitions I have from time to time...this one was that my mother was going to die in my arms. There's no good or bad or emotion attached to these premonitions. They just are. They're an overwhelming sense of already being in the situation and I recognize them for what they are.

Things degenerated for my mom over the coming weeks and months and Christmas was especially hard for everyone. She insisted on going to the Christmas Eve party at my aunt's that we always went to and we staggered everyone's time with her so she wouldn't get tired. Most of the cousins and relatives knew it was their last time with her. One night in January I had been over there and things were particularly bad for her and as I drove home, a part of me worried that she might go in the night when I wasn't there, and at the same time, feeling this wasn't the end if I wasn't there to hold her.

I went back the next day, and my Baby Girl was with me. All of my immediate family was at the house and so was one of my aunts. My sister said Mom had had a really bad night and the hospice folks said Mom was really close to the end. My sister and I took turns sitting with Mom. My sister was laying with her and then I just knew it was time. I asked her to let me lay with Mom. She got up and I lay down next to Mom. I slid one arm under her and then cradled her in my arms telling her over and over it was okay. Mom had been heavily sedated with morphine for days but suddenly she started to try to speak. Something very deep within her was trying to get words out and my sister, who is closest to Mom of all of us, intuitively knew what she wanted. "She wants us all in here."

She went out of the bedroom long enough to get our dad and the rest of our siblings. I continued to cradle Mom and they all lay their hands on her. She could not hear us--she had been deaf her whole life--and even so she was heavily sedated. But I know she could feel us all holding her. Mom's breath became very slow and very ragged. It is a very powerful thing to hold someone as they breathe their last breath, as the life goes out of them. Especially when that person is someone you love. It's a feeling I still carry with me. But just as firmly as I believe babies should not be left alone, I believe our elderly should not die alone. As traumatic as it was (and still is) for all of us to lose Mom like that, there could not be a more loving way for her to end her life--being held by the people she loved the most. When I had to tell my aunt and Baby Girl that Mom was gone, the three of us just stood in a hug for the longest time. It was almost 3 months to the day of her diagnosis.

She was a fantastic mother. She loved us all unconditionally. She was fun and funny. She spent time with us and we loved spending time with her. She was tiny--we called her "Little Mom" and her head stone says "Our Beloved Little Mom" -- but there was nothing tiny about her spirit. She overcame her disability beautifully. She was strong, determined, and a phenomenal role model for us. To this day, all four of us siblings miss her terribly and struggle with our loss. I really do feel that "holding her, I held everything." I have a photograph of her on my desk at work, of her in the house she grew up in, with that line inscribed below her picture. I treasure that photograph....

For a moment all the world was right
How could I have known you'd ever say goodbye
And now I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain
But I'd of had to miss The Dance

Love you, Mama

I've Got A Name

And I carry it with me like my daddy did
-Jim Croce

I chose this song is because I was thinking about the importance of names. The Native Americans place great emphasis on names and their meanings. Each of my daughters is named after family members and I believe that has meaning too. Our ancestors are part of us in more ways than we realize....

My oldest daughter is named after an aunt I love dearly. They share the same first and middle name. Some of my fondest memories as a child are the hot summer nights I spent on my grandmother's cool back porch, cool because of the thick cement floor, where my aunt and uncle and cousins would gather to eat and laugh, and tell stories. The love and laughter that was shared on those summer nights is something every child should grow up with. And a way to extend the memories of that love and laughter is to pass those names on. But my aunt was so named because of two favorite grandmothers. One was a wealthy step-mother who married into the family and stepped into the role of adoring grandmother and, on the other side of the family, a matriarch who was fondly remembered by everyone. I also like the fact that, by chance, my oldest daughter shares the name of many oldest daughters on her father's side of the family as well. At the time I named her, I didn't know this. It was only later while doing my genealogy that I realized this coincidence.

My middle daughter shares my confirmation name. Catholics have to research saints and choose one at confirmation. I picked someone I thought sounded somewhat interesting, took that as my confirmation name, and passed that name on to my daughter years later. She and her paternal grandmother share the same middle name. I like that. And of all three girls, I think her name sounds the most musical when you say it.

My youngest daughter is named after my favorite author. First name, middle name. I adore this author. There is some part of me, some make-believe part of me, that would love to think they share some personality traits along with their name. That this author I love so much is somehow a little bit there in my daughter. My youngest daughter also shares a middle name with my sister.

We are all connected. And it is all good.