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.

My LIttle Girl

Gotta hold on easy as I let you go
Gonna tell you how much I love you
Though you think you already know
I remember I thought you looked like an angel
Wrapped in pink so soft and warm
You've had me wrapped around your finger
Since the day you were born

You're beautiful baby from the outside in
Chase your dreams but always know
The road that'll lead you home again
Go on, take on this whole world
-Tim McGraw

I was searching for the perfect song for this blog entry and this is it. Today is the day my little girl turns 20. And she celebrated her birthday 4,000 miles from home, from all the people who love her and she loves in return. I have struggled the whole time she's been in Morocco. I worry about her safety in general when she's gone like all mothers do. I worry about her being a female in a Muslim country even though none of her posts seem to convey anything of concern--other than the fact that men propose to her as she's walking down the street and she ignores them. I miss not being with her. Probably because she and I do so much together. We scrapbook, we talk, we get silly together, we cuddle, we finish each others' sentences. Or sometimes we don't talk at all and we can carry on whole conversations just by looking at each other.

Being that she was my youngest, I was a lot more comfortable in my mothering with her. I knew what mattered to me, how I wanted to raise my babies, and didn't really worry too much what other people's opinions were. I carried her in a sling almost non-stop...or carried her. I had come to believe in the importance of human touch--how it could make babies thrive and how healing it could be when people are tired or sick or upset. I nursed her until she was almost 4 years old. Four year olds are eating table food and plenty of it. Nursing at that age isn't for sustenance. It's for drifting off to sleep in your mother's arms, for getting calm when you're crying and upset, or for that extra boost of immunities when you're sick. She slept with us. Adults prefer to have someone to sleep with, so do children. How much more peaceful can it be than to lay down with someone you love, wrapped in their arms, and drift off to sleep? I never believed in letting my babies cry it out.

People expressed opinions and concern. How do you nurse a child who has teeth? You're going to have trouble getting them out of your bed. How will they ever separate from you? It takes a lot of backbone and self-assurance to follow parenting decisions like that. You nurse a child that age just fine because you talk to other people who have done it and you teach your child there is a time and place for it. You don't worry about getting them out of your bed because you believe it's okay for them to be there in the first place and although you offer them their own bed, you don't force it. Eventually they would rather be in their own room with their own toys. Separation is another thing...

We believed in doing things with our kids. All the years they were growing up, we went for a "picnic" lunch or dinner for at least one meal almost every single weekend (nice weather permitting) to a local park or state park. We hiked, we swam, we played with them on the playground equipment, we taught them to climb trees. We took them camping, to museums, to family gatherings. We read to them--a lot. We had them involved in activities like scouts and art lessons and riding lessons and karate lessons. Sometimes we even participated along side them. We gave them a ton of love, tried to instill our values, and joked about activities gone wrong as "adventures". And when life didn't go as planned, it was a "learning experience". Adventures and learning experiences still get a lot of discussion.

And when they were ready to stake off on their own, it wasn't because they were being rebellious, it was because it was the natural order of things and they wanted to. My oldest daughter moved to a college two hours away and after graduating, has made that town her home. My middle daughter moved to the west coast and after two years came back, mostly because the degree program she wanted to pursue was here in the Midwest. My youngest daughter moved to the east coast, came back for a year, and then started making plans to study abroad. I have had to deal with separation from her the most. Partly because she's my youngest and there's something different about your baby being all grown up. Partly because she's pursuing a career that will continue to take her to new places. I am trying to tell myself I need to get used to this. It's only the beginning for her.

There are small little things a mother notices that other people don't. Small shifts that are big things. She's been studying abroad for the last many weeks and will be coming home soon. I cannot wait to see her, and was asking about her return flight. She told me her boyfriend would be picking her up at the airport and then they would come straight here. That set me back. With all the guys she's ever dated, none of them have ever superseded my relationship with her. None of them would have been asked to pick her up at the airport. And so I have to look at this young man differently. If he is the first person she wants to see after being gone so long, that's significant. It's part of the natural order of things, but it's a shift in my relationship with her and I want to take her boyfriend aside and ask him, "Do you understand how important you are to her? Do you understand what you have here?"

She plans her life. Every few weeks she sends me her new "life plan" and I love reading them. They are so full of energy and excitement and life. The world is her opportunity and she's ready for it. I am so proud of her. Happy Birthday, Baby Girl!

Chase your dreams but always know
The road that'll lead you home again
Go on, take on this whole world
-Tim McGraw

16th Avenue

There is a reason every post in this blog starts with a song title. Music affects my mood (or reflects my mood) greatly, and I find the words to so many songs poetic and inspirational, and thought-provoking. I turn to music to work through the deep dark moments, and as an outlet for my exuberance.

Last weekend, my husband and I went to a Kathy Mattea concert. She was phenomenal. At one point in the evening, she talked about how you can listen to a song for years and then one day part of it jumps out at you in an entirely different way....

Ever since I first heard it, "16th Avenue" has been my favorite song. It's held that spot for more than 20 years. 16th Avenue is about walking away from everything to make your dreams come true.

From the corners of the country, from the cities and the farms
With years and years of living tucked up, underneath their arms
They walked away from everything just to see a dream come true

I am goal-oriented. I always have been. I really believe that sometimes you have to be willing to say no, give up things, walk away from everything, if you're going to pursue your goals or make your dreams come true. If you can't do that, then you're just hoping things will fall into place for you. Life takes grit and perseverance and often, quite a bit of it. Sometimes other people don't understand your dreams, or try to talk you out of them because your dreams don't mesh with theirs. And so you have to make choices. The song "16th Avenue" refers to the street in Nashville where so many of the recording studios are located--and the song ends the way it should...

Ah but then one night in some empty room
where no curtains ever hung
Like a miracle some golden words rolled off of someone's tongue
And after years of being nothing they're all looking right at you
And then for a while they'll go in style on 16th Avenue.

For years, my second favorite song has been "Baby Girl". It also talks about working to pursue your dreams:

This time, I’m gonna make our dreams come true...

I know that I’m on my way
I can tell every time I play
And I know it’s worth all the dues I pay

And that's where Kathy Mattea's words jumped out at me. "16th Avenue" and "Baby Girl" are the same song. Only "Baby Girl" adds in the love of family. She turns to her parents for help when she's pursuing her dreams. And when she reaches her dreams, she tells her parents how much she loves them.

Whaddya know, we made our dreams come true
And there are fancy cars and diamond rings
But you know that they don't mean a thing
They all add up to nothin' compared to you
Well, remember me in ribbons an' curls
I still love you more than anything in the world...
Love, your Baby Girl

The only thing I can think of that is better than pursing your dreams, is doing it with people you love. I think, after 20 years, I need to re-order my favorite songs and put "Baby Girl" on top. I've been fortunate enough to pursue--and reach--so many of my dreams. Now I am enjoying watching my daughters pursue theirs. They know I'm here to help them if they want me to, but the dreams are theirs to pursue, not mine. "16th Avenue" will take second place on my list.

"Fishing in the Dark" has always been third.

Dreams come true...
--Sugarland

I Hope You Dance

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Living might mean taking chances
But they're worth taking
--LeeAnn Womack

When have I taken chances? When have I doubted myself? Too many times to count.

I doubted I could catch up to my classmates after not taking band for a year and a half. I went back to the saxophone and was in tears for days because I seemed to have lost the ability to make sound. But I kept at it.

I doubted I was going to make it through college. They didn't really have orientations, you just got accepted and got mailed a course catalog. My parents didn't really have the money to pay, so I had to figure out how to hold down a job and keep up with my classes. I almost quit my sophomore year when I had to have my tonsils out and missed three weeks of the quarter. They told me it would take six weeks to recover. I didn't understand that the older you are when you have your tonsils out, the longer it takes you to recover. That was grim. Even at three weeks, it took all my effort to get myself back to class. Odd that something as small as tonsils can do you in like that.

I doubted I was ever going to be able to rock climb at the North Shore. My fear of heights combined with my fear of deep water was just too much to overcome. To this day I don't know how or why I kept at it. Sometimes I could do it, and some times the fear was so paralyzing, my friends would have to haul rope and manually pull me to the top of the climb.

I doubted I would ever downhill ski. A friend who used to be a ski instructor finally talked me into a lesson. She said I did really well. I hated it. It scared the daylights out of me. I settled for cross-country skiing and water skiing. Those were in my comfort zones. Oddly enough, I was badly injured water skiing, not downhill skiing. Go figure. That was the first time I came face to face with my own mortality and had to start viewing my activities through my daughters' lenses. What would it mean for them if something happened to me?

I doubted myself as a mother when I had a screaming baby I didn't know how to calm. Twenty-one years later I remember exactly where I was standing in the living room when my sister-in-law called and I burst into tears and told her what a failure I felt like because my baby would scream every night for hours and I couldn't get her to stop. It would be months before we figured that one out.

I doubted myself as a parent because I didn't understand what one of my daughters was going through when she was dealing with mood swings. I didn't know where to be supportive and where to draw the line. Parenting is full of a zillion reasons to doubt yourself.

I doubted myself when I went back to college at age 42 to get my Master's degree--and spent the next 6 years plugging away at night school. Was this really what I wanted to do? What if I got all the way through this and decided I didn't want the change in career after all? What if I was trading away precious time with my babies for something that wouldn't matter in the end? I did it anyway because I came to realize that the things I was learning were valuable regardless of what I did with my career. I have always felt that personal learning is never wasted.

I have never doubted myself more than when I took an administrative job. I doubt myself every single day of the job. Part of it is because I hold myself to incredibly high standards and I feel that I am not meeting them. Part of it is because I am dealing with the competing demands of so many people and there is no way to make everyone happy and by the very nature of their demands, one cannot help but question themselves. It is the hardest thing about my job. Am I good enough? Can I do this? When I am used to being right, being on top, being capable, doubting myself does not sit well with me. So why do I keep doing it? Good question. I guess part of it is because when I break it down into the individual tasks, I know I am doing a good job. I did a good job on the report I filed. I did a good job helping an upset parent. I did a good job working on the budget. My sense of doubt comes from the huge "to do" pile on my desk.

One thing I am sure of though: some of the most important things in my life have come about through risks I've taken. Probably the most important risk was quitting my job to stay home with my daughters. In this day and age, it's no small thing to go to a single income family. We had to make a lot of sacrifice to do it, but it was worth it.

In all these situations, I end up doing one of two things. I adopt a "what the hell" attitude and just jump into it. A lot like jumping into the deep end of the swimming pool to get wet instead of wading in. If I'm going to do it, I might as well just throw myself into it. That's kind of what I did when I went back to college.

Or I know it's going to be a long hard haul and I steel myself and take it one step at a time, one day at a time. I do what I have to do to get through it. That's what I did with my screaming baby. That's what I do at work every day. I commented to my mom once that it's too bad that the time when you hold babies the most and give them the most love, is also when they are too young to remember it. She disagreed and said, "They may not remember it, but it will never leave them." I hope, 21 years later, that taking it one step at a time with my daughter was worth it and served her well. I hope, down the line, that taking it one step at a time in my job will serve the school well too. Right now, I don't know, but at least I'm not taking the path of least resistance.