I find cemeteries to be peaceful sanctuaries, whether they are crammed into the congestion of suburbia, or sitting silently beside woods and fields. I have always felt comfort in a cemetery -- its quiet little plots holding generations that have gone before us to the peace of eternal life.
Several years ago I began some genealogical research which led me to cemeteries in rural New York -- some in the farmland of Delaware and Schoharie counties and some in the wooded mountains of Warren County. One cemetery, in particular, in Harpersfield, felt like a family reunion with ancestors dating back to the early 1800's. In the silence of a sunny July morning, I felt a welcome of sorts as I touched the engravings of those who have passed on before me.
Wild thyme graces the cemeteries in Warrensburg and Chestertown, as it does in several local cemeteries. Walking slowly over a carpet of thyme releases its pungent aroma, as its tiny flowers create a blanket of purple over the gravesites. The deep stillness in the cemetery in Chestertown where I found my great-great grandparents was broken only by occasional birdsong.
Yesterday I bought two tiny iron crosses. I drove to the quaint little country cemetery where my stillborn baby girl lies, and placed one cross on her grave. Someday, I too, will be with her on that gentle hillside.
Then, I visited my sister's grave in another local cemetery and placed a cross by her stone. Next week will be the first anniversary of her death, and I have found myself painfully reliving the memories of her last weeks of life. After her long suffering, I was filled more with a sense of relief than grief when she finally died. The grief has come incrementally through the past year -- her birthday, the first Christmas without her, the multitude of tiny reminders that make missing her a continuing process. These next few days will be difficult, but once they are over, I will have passed all the milestones of the first year, and hopefully, the pain will begin to lessen a bit.
She lays now in the midst of carpets of thyme, beside our parents, overlooking the middle school she attended, and I trust that she is at peace now and watching over me as I place the tiny cross, tell her I love her, and walk slowly back to my car in the soothing cemetery silence.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Fathers' Day Memories
At 4:00 AM I woke from sleep to thunder rumbling and lightning flickering -- it was not a frightening storm, but as it lingered I was unable to get back to sleep. As a child I was terrified of thunderstorms, always fearing that this would be the storm when lightning would strike us -- pretty morbid thoughts for a child -- but I am a worrier by nature, descending from a long line of worriers.
Somehow, I always felt a measure of safety and security when my father was home. In my eyes he was all-knowing and strong, and could protect us from all harm as long as he was there. As I lay awake listening to the storm this morning -- Fathers' Day morning -- I pondered my relationship with my father.
I don't believe he really enjoyed fatherhood --I think he loved my mother deeply, and would have been content to have remained childless. I was never "Daddy's Girl", and always had an awareness that I irritated him on some level. I was talkative, affectionate, and needy -- he much preferred my sister who was reserved and quiet, as he was. Fortunately, my mother filled the empty spaces of my soul with her love and affection, but I remain to this day somewhat of a "pleaser", always striving to be "liked". I believe this is because I tried so hard to earn my father's affections.
He was a good man -- honest, hardworking, loyal -- the quintessential father of the fifties, whose children complain endlessly about their lack of fatherly attention and affection. He chose a simple life -- working as a mechanic, though his intellect would have allowed him to achieve much greater status. He taught me to be true to my own inner voice and to take pride in what I accomplished, even if those accomplishments were not highly regarded in the world.
He disciplined fairly and firmly, and could correct our behavior by his tone of voice with much more success than men who ruled by harsher forms of discipline. He passed on his love of nature and his contentment with the daily routines of life. He greeted each day with a smile, and, though realistic, was an optimist at heart.
He worked twelve hour days and six hours on Saturdays, and looked forward with relief to retirement at sixty-two. However, his retirement was not to be the peaceful respite he longed for. He developed emphysema and died a slow, debilitating death four years later. Watching my strong, capable father weaken and become dependent on others for his day to day care was heartwrenching for me.
As I pass through this day, I will think of him in a better place -- now joined by my mother and my sister -- and thank him for the strength of character he passed on to me.
Happy Fathers' Day, Daddy!!
Somehow, I always felt a measure of safety and security when my father was home. In my eyes he was all-knowing and strong, and could protect us from all harm as long as he was there. As I lay awake listening to the storm this morning -- Fathers' Day morning -- I pondered my relationship with my father.
I don't believe he really enjoyed fatherhood --I think he loved my mother deeply, and would have been content to have remained childless. I was never "Daddy's Girl", and always had an awareness that I irritated him on some level. I was talkative, affectionate, and needy -- he much preferred my sister who was reserved and quiet, as he was. Fortunately, my mother filled the empty spaces of my soul with her love and affection, but I remain to this day somewhat of a "pleaser", always striving to be "liked". I believe this is because I tried so hard to earn my father's affections.
He was a good man -- honest, hardworking, loyal -- the quintessential father of the fifties, whose children complain endlessly about their lack of fatherly attention and affection. He chose a simple life -- working as a mechanic, though his intellect would have allowed him to achieve much greater status. He taught me to be true to my own inner voice and to take pride in what I accomplished, even if those accomplishments were not highly regarded in the world.
He disciplined fairly and firmly, and could correct our behavior by his tone of voice with much more success than men who ruled by harsher forms of discipline. He passed on his love of nature and his contentment with the daily routines of life. He greeted each day with a smile, and, though realistic, was an optimist at heart.
He worked twelve hour days and six hours on Saturdays, and looked forward with relief to retirement at sixty-two. However, his retirement was not to be the peaceful respite he longed for. He developed emphysema and died a slow, debilitating death four years later. Watching my strong, capable father weaken and become dependent on others for his day to day care was heartwrenching for me.
As I pass through this day, I will think of him in a better place -- now joined by my mother and my sister -- and thank him for the strength of character he passed on to me.
Happy Fathers' Day, Daddy!!
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Of Pelicans and Greed
It is the sight of the pelicans drenched with oil, trying desperately to free themselves from this unknown predator, which is my undoing -- my heart breaks as I watch them struggle valiantly and finally lie exhausted in the muck.
This is the tip of the iceberg, as such, in the tragedy of this massive oil leak. We mourn the men who were killed and injured in the original explosion, the almost certain destruction of the ecosystem of the rich marshes which nestle along the beautiful Gulf Coast, and the disastrous economic toll on this area which relies so heavily on the fishing and tourist industries.
The greatest tragedy of all is that this is a man-made disaster -- one born of tremendous greed and the overwhelming haste so prevalent in our corporate world today. As our industries strive constantly to make more money more quickly, sacrifices are made, and most often these sacrifices trample on safety and environmental regulations. Time and again, after an accident, it is discovered that the company involved had a poor safety record, or even blatantly ignored government regulations or warnings from employees. The recent mine explosion in West Virginia is a perfect example -- so many miners killed and families grieving, because the higher powers decided to let serious safety issues slide.
And yet, we let these large corporations go blithely on, amassing their billions of dollars in wealth, while trampling the safety of our two most valuable resources -- human beings and the natural environment which sustains us all.
As a society, we must be cognizant of the fact that not only are regulations needed to protect our workers and our environment, but there must be strong oversight as well. We must not, in our race for "homegrown" energy sources, let greed usurp sound judgment and painstaking research. Before we mindlessly drill for natural gas in New York State, we need to seriously listen to the possible effects of this drilling on the water supplies for New York City and other areas. Before we hurriedly construct more offshore drilling sites, we must make sure that safety is the priority. We can't afford to contaminate more of our oceans with oil. Instead of disparagingly viewing environmentalists as "tree-huggers," we need to listen to their concerns as we grant corporations the right to tamper with our beautiful environment.
We must be aware that the majority of large corporations today have only one goal in mind-- to make money and lots of it!! Capitalism and the free market brought wealth and power to our great nation; unbridled greed and lack of regard for our people and resources may well be our downfall.
This is the tip of the iceberg, as such, in the tragedy of this massive oil leak. We mourn the men who were killed and injured in the original explosion, the almost certain destruction of the ecosystem of the rich marshes which nestle along the beautiful Gulf Coast, and the disastrous economic toll on this area which relies so heavily on the fishing and tourist industries.
The greatest tragedy of all is that this is a man-made disaster -- one born of tremendous greed and the overwhelming haste so prevalent in our corporate world today. As our industries strive constantly to make more money more quickly, sacrifices are made, and most often these sacrifices trample on safety and environmental regulations. Time and again, after an accident, it is discovered that the company involved had a poor safety record, or even blatantly ignored government regulations or warnings from employees. The recent mine explosion in West Virginia is a perfect example -- so many miners killed and families grieving, because the higher powers decided to let serious safety issues slide.
And yet, we let these large corporations go blithely on, amassing their billions of dollars in wealth, while trampling the safety of our two most valuable resources -- human beings and the natural environment which sustains us all.
As a society, we must be cognizant of the fact that not only are regulations needed to protect our workers and our environment, but there must be strong oversight as well. We must not, in our race for "homegrown" energy sources, let greed usurp sound judgment and painstaking research. Before we mindlessly drill for natural gas in New York State, we need to seriously listen to the possible effects of this drilling on the water supplies for New York City and other areas. Before we hurriedly construct more offshore drilling sites, we must make sure that safety is the priority. We can't afford to contaminate more of our oceans with oil. Instead of disparagingly viewing environmentalists as "tree-huggers," we need to listen to their concerns as we grant corporations the right to tamper with our beautiful environment.
We must be aware that the majority of large corporations today have only one goal in mind-- to make money and lots of it!! Capitalism and the free market brought wealth and power to our great nation; unbridled greed and lack of regard for our people and resources may well be our downfall.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Evening Reveries
Dusk has settled, the sparrows have finished scuffling for their resting spots in the ivy, and the only sounds in the neighborhood are the sleepy notes of evening bird calls. I love this old porch and the cool seclusion it provides -- shaded by towering maples and the trellis of ivy. But, I especially love it in these evening hours, as I sit alone with my journal -- thinking back on the day that is quickly becoming night.
I rose early this morning, still a bit achy from my busy Saturday -- a day filled with lawn mowing, gardening, grocery shopping, and hours of office work. As I sipped my coffee and read the thick Sunday paper, I savored this gift of a lovely Sunday. Of course, there was cleaning and laundry to be done, and still more office work, but there was also time to water the garden and feed the birds, to rescue a beautiful old rocking horse from the attice for the grandbabies to discover tomorrow morning, and to enjoy Sunday lunch at a favorite restaurant.
We sat in the courtyard of Lanie's, under a cheerful yellow umbrella, beside a planter filled with flowers and herbs, as I sipped my wine and savored a delectable seafood chowder. My marinated swordfish sandwich with dilled mayonnaise and a side of tasty macaroni salad was perfect, and the leisurely hour enjoying the sunny May afternoon was a relaxing interlude. These past weeks have been filled with tremendous stresses and problems, and this quiet Sunday will be a treasured memory.
Now, darkness has fallen -- the bird calls have ceased, and the air is filled instead with the chirping of insects and perhaps a distant frog, as well as the contented clucks of my next-door chickens as they settle in for the night. Such a peaceful and lovely evening!
Thank you, Lord, for the gift of this day --
I rose early this morning, still a bit achy from my busy Saturday -- a day filled with lawn mowing, gardening, grocery shopping, and hours of office work. As I sipped my coffee and read the thick Sunday paper, I savored this gift of a lovely Sunday. Of course, there was cleaning and laundry to be done, and still more office work, but there was also time to water the garden and feed the birds, to rescue a beautiful old rocking horse from the attice for the grandbabies to discover tomorrow morning, and to enjoy Sunday lunch at a favorite restaurant.
We sat in the courtyard of Lanie's, under a cheerful yellow umbrella, beside a planter filled with flowers and herbs, as I sipped my wine and savored a delectable seafood chowder. My marinated swordfish sandwich with dilled mayonnaise and a side of tasty macaroni salad was perfect, and the leisurely hour enjoying the sunny May afternoon was a relaxing interlude. These past weeks have been filled with tremendous stresses and problems, and this quiet Sunday will be a treasured memory.
Now, darkness has fallen -- the bird calls have ceased, and the air is filled instead with the chirping of insects and perhaps a distant frog, as well as the contented clucks of my next-door chickens as they settle in for the night. Such a peaceful and lovely evening!
Thank you, Lord, for the gift of this day --
Sunday, April 25, 2010
The Dress
The dress has a long-sleeved bodice of heavily crocheted mushroom-colored lace, with a long, flowing chiffon skirt of a slightly lighter shade. It is breathtaking. As I looked through my closet for garage sale items, this dress was hanging peacefully in the back. It was my "mother of the groom" dress in 1998, and it was the dress that made me feel really beautiful for the first time in my life. I gently took the dress from the closet and placed it with the other clothing, with tears in my eyes. There is really no reason to keep it -- my lifestyle does not include formal gatherings where a dress of this elegance is required. But, how do I part with something that gives me such exquisite pleasure to merely touch.
In the pile it went, as I got down to the real business of preparing for the sale. For the rest of the evening, though, each time I looked at it, I was reminded of its importance in my memories. I am a tall, big-boned woman, whose shape has been "matronly" from puberty on. My family was relatively poor, so the clothing I was allowed to buy as a teenage certainly was not flattering. The sleeves were always too short, the belts a little too tight, and the slacks never long enough. My hair was drab brown and shapeless, and I was the girl that people described by saying, "She has such a pretty face; if only she wasn't so big." People can be cruel, whether unwittingly or deliberately, to a young girl who doesn't fit the prescribed mold.
When my children were young, I was a stay-at-home mom, and with a limited income, I never had extra money to spend on my own clothing -- every clothing dollar went to outfitting three children. I never thought much about myself in those days. I had lost quite a bit of weight as I chased little ones around, so it wasn't as difficult to find clothing that fit. As long as my clothes were clean, my hair washed, and my make up on, I felt fit to face the day.
However, when I saw that dress at the bridal shop on the sale rack, I fell in love. The crocheted lace sleeves covered my wrists and actually brushed my hands with their softness. The chiffon skirts flowed as I walked, and it was so long I actually needed it hemmed a bit to avoid tripping. I felt like Cinderella! The day of the wedding I had my hair done in an upsweep, and as I waltzed through my son's special day, I felt absolutely beautiful. Of course, the wedding pictures told the true tale, and I didn't look as beautiful as I had felt, but that brief feeling of beauty will remain in my heart forever.
You guessed it -- the dress is now hanging back in my closet. I smoothed the lace gently, ran my hands over the ever so delicate chiffon, and tucked it safely away again. How can you possibly put a price on such sublime sentiment!
In the pile it went, as I got down to the real business of preparing for the sale. For the rest of the evening, though, each time I looked at it, I was reminded of its importance in my memories. I am a tall, big-boned woman, whose shape has been "matronly" from puberty on. My family was relatively poor, so the clothing I was allowed to buy as a teenage certainly was not flattering. The sleeves were always too short, the belts a little too tight, and the slacks never long enough. My hair was drab brown and shapeless, and I was the girl that people described by saying, "She has such a pretty face; if only she wasn't so big." People can be cruel, whether unwittingly or deliberately, to a young girl who doesn't fit the prescribed mold.
When my children were young, I was a stay-at-home mom, and with a limited income, I never had extra money to spend on my own clothing -- every clothing dollar went to outfitting three children. I never thought much about myself in those days. I had lost quite a bit of weight as I chased little ones around, so it wasn't as difficult to find clothing that fit. As long as my clothes were clean, my hair washed, and my make up on, I felt fit to face the day.
However, when I saw that dress at the bridal shop on the sale rack, I fell in love. The crocheted lace sleeves covered my wrists and actually brushed my hands with their softness. The chiffon skirts flowed as I walked, and it was so long I actually needed it hemmed a bit to avoid tripping. I felt like Cinderella! The day of the wedding I had my hair done in an upsweep, and as I waltzed through my son's special day, I felt absolutely beautiful. Of course, the wedding pictures told the true tale, and I didn't look as beautiful as I had felt, but that brief feeling of beauty will remain in my heart forever.
You guessed it -- the dress is now hanging back in my closet. I smoothed the lace gently, ran my hands over the ever so delicate chiffon, and tucked it safely away again. How can you possibly put a price on such sublime sentiment!
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Garage Sales That Break Your Heart
Lines from a long-ago popular Robert Goulet song keep running through my mind tonight – “If ever I would leave you, how could it be in springtime, Knowing how in spring, I’m bewitched by you so”.
Today was the first garage sale of our household cleanout. We plan to work diligently this summer to gather together the accumulation of forty years of items that are not necessary to our daily existence, and sell them at semi-weekly garage sales. This is not a pleasurable chore; It is not as if I am looking forward to selling our house and retiring to some long dreamed-of location. This is a sale in anticipation of losing this house that has been in my husband’s family for almost 75 years and that holds my heart deeply in its grip.
Life is unpredictable, and things could suddenly take a turn for the better financially. Our family business might ultimately survive this terrible economy; to be realistic, though, we must begin to clean out forty years’ of “things”. I must reconcile myself to watching strangers leave with some of the treasures I have collected through the years.
This past week has been tough – our business lost a large project to another company in a truly unethical deal, which is typical of today’s business climate. And, we spent much of the week preparing for this garage sale.
There were two defining moments for me today. One of the items I placed for sale was a lovely eyeglass holder that had been a gift to me several years ago. I priced it and laid it out on the table sadly, and today a sweet woman, who is herself a “collector”, as I am, said to me, “this is so beautiful, I think you should keep it.” In the end, though, she bought it, and she reassured me that it was going to a “good home”.
As we were putting the finishing touches on the garage sale early this morning, I looked out over my gardens – the plants that were so tiny three weeks ago are now covering the garden with green. They seem to grow inches each day. I think back over the years I have spent planting and tending and loving my trees and gardens and birds, and the strains of Robert Goulet’s song played in my heart, “If ever I would leave you, how could it be in springtime….”
I don’t want to leave this house – I have been totally content here for almost forty years. It may be outdated and weathered, and my gardens and my possessions may not mean anything to others, but they mean the world to me.
Today was the first garage sale of our household cleanout. We plan to work diligently this summer to gather together the accumulation of forty years of items that are not necessary to our daily existence, and sell them at semi-weekly garage sales. This is not a pleasurable chore; It is not as if I am looking forward to selling our house and retiring to some long dreamed-of location. This is a sale in anticipation of losing this house that has been in my husband’s family for almost 75 years and that holds my heart deeply in its grip.
Life is unpredictable, and things could suddenly take a turn for the better financially. Our family business might ultimately survive this terrible economy; to be realistic, though, we must begin to clean out forty years’ of “things”. I must reconcile myself to watching strangers leave with some of the treasures I have collected through the years.
This past week has been tough – our business lost a large project to another company in a truly unethical deal, which is typical of today’s business climate. And, we spent much of the week preparing for this garage sale.
There were two defining moments for me today. One of the items I placed for sale was a lovely eyeglass holder that had been a gift to me several years ago. I priced it and laid it out on the table sadly, and today a sweet woman, who is herself a “collector”, as I am, said to me, “this is so beautiful, I think you should keep it.” In the end, though, she bought it, and she reassured me that it was going to a “good home”.
As we were putting the finishing touches on the garage sale early this morning, I looked out over my gardens – the plants that were so tiny three weeks ago are now covering the garden with green. They seem to grow inches each day. I think back over the years I have spent planting and tending and loving my trees and gardens and birds, and the strains of Robert Goulet’s song played in my heart, “If ever I would leave you, how could it be in springtime….”
I don’t want to leave this house – I have been totally content here for almost forty years. It may be outdated and weathered, and my gardens and my possessions may not mean anything to others, but they mean the world to me.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
March Ponderings
March has been a tough month for my family. There have been worrisome health issues with my grandchildren, financial problems that worsen daily, a stomach flu that passed through and left all of us shaky and weak for several days, and the increasing stress of competing in today's uncertain business world. My mother's birthday -- March 10 -- was especially sad for me this year because my sister was not here to remember her with me. Tomorrow -- March 22, would be the 36th birthday of my stillborn daughter, and this day is always painful for me.
March itself is one of the least favorite months to many of us in the Northeast. We live suspended between winter and spring -- a seesaw ride -- as spring breathes its first stirrings of warm air and snowdrops, and then retreats quickly to a cover of wet snow. It is a month of mud, bare trees, brown grass and disappointments.
This past week, though, spring won the battle for a few days. I took the babies for walks in the warmth of the March sunshine. Friday afternoon I left my office work undone and raked all the leaf mulch from my front gardens. As always, I was filled with wonder at the tiny green plants forming already despite the cold darkness of heavy, wet leaf cover. The lilacs and roses have tiny buds -- while we may wonder if spring will ever truly be here, these plants are certain that God will not fail us. We still have a long way to go, and I still have several flower gardens left to uncover, but, finally, the spirit of spring is within me.
Last night was a highlight of this month -- a surprise 30th birthday party for my beloved nephew. What a wonderful evening it was. When we were younger, these large family gatherings were frequent and sometimes thrown together at the last moment. As our families have grown and the pace of our world has become more hectic, we find that we gather only for these milestone celebrations now. But it is wonderful to be together again -- to laugh and hug and see our babies grown now into young adults, some with babes of their own.
My sister-in-law put together a lovely video which made tears flow as we watched our little ones transform before our eyes, saw ourselves young once again, and savored the faces of loved ones no longer with us.
As a family, we are a rich tapestry of personalities, woven together by the bonds of blood and love, and I left the party last night grateful to my mother-in-law and her sister and brother who kept the traditions of their family alive and passed them down to us all - a gift that enriches all of our lives -- and a family where love abides.
March itself is one of the least favorite months to many of us in the Northeast. We live suspended between winter and spring -- a seesaw ride -- as spring breathes its first stirrings of warm air and snowdrops, and then retreats quickly to a cover of wet snow. It is a month of mud, bare trees, brown grass and disappointments.
This past week, though, spring won the battle for a few days. I took the babies for walks in the warmth of the March sunshine. Friday afternoon I left my office work undone and raked all the leaf mulch from my front gardens. As always, I was filled with wonder at the tiny green plants forming already despite the cold darkness of heavy, wet leaf cover. The lilacs and roses have tiny buds -- while we may wonder if spring will ever truly be here, these plants are certain that God will not fail us. We still have a long way to go, and I still have several flower gardens left to uncover, but, finally, the spirit of spring is within me.
Last night was a highlight of this month -- a surprise 30th birthday party for my beloved nephew. What a wonderful evening it was. When we were younger, these large family gatherings were frequent and sometimes thrown together at the last moment. As our families have grown and the pace of our world has become more hectic, we find that we gather only for these milestone celebrations now. But it is wonderful to be together again -- to laugh and hug and see our babies grown now into young adults, some with babes of their own.
My sister-in-law put together a lovely video which made tears flow as we watched our little ones transform before our eyes, saw ourselves young once again, and savored the faces of loved ones no longer with us.
As a family, we are a rich tapestry of personalities, woven together by the bonds of blood and love, and I left the party last night grateful to my mother-in-law and her sister and brother who kept the traditions of their family alive and passed them down to us all - a gift that enriches all of our lives -- and a family where love abides.
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