The Birthday Celebration

As I click onto my blog tonight I realize that I haven’t written since January. I have noticed in life that I am moved to write when I am happy or angry or reflective, but I have seldom written during periods of true sadness. This winter has been a long and worrisome season. There have been health worries, serious financial worries, and a general feeling of anxiety, fatigue and overwhelming stress.

Tonight, though, I am writing in sadness. Tomorrow is my mother’s birthday – March 10 – and it brings with it memories of the woman who was my source of unconditional love and the model I emulated throughout my own motherhood journey. Each year on her birthday I think of her and miss her. As I raised my own children, I was disappointed that she was not the attentive grandmother I had envisioned, and she and I did not spend as much time together as I would have liked, but once my children were older, each year on her birthday we would plan a special outing for the two of us. Some years we strolled the streets of Saratoga and ate lunch at Professor Moriarty’s. Other years we visited Stockbridge and Great Barrington and had lunch at some special little restaurant. We had tea in a Ballston Spa shop one year and lunch by the fire at a cozy apple orchard.

My mother died in 2001, and my sister and I, who had never been close, comforted each other and developed a strong and loving friendship. We continued the birthday tradition. Each year, as close to March 10 as possible, we celebrated my mother’s birthday together. Usually we carried on the tradition of lunch in Saratoga or Stockbridge. Some years time was limited and we would enjoy a local lunch together and toast our mother with a glass of good wine. And, we celebrated our relationship.

Little did I know that last year would be our final luncheon celebration. This year my sister is dying of cancer. Later this week, I will sit with her in her living room at lunchtime and we can reminisce a bit as she picks at her food, and we will remember those happier times – but my heart is not in it – my heart is broken.

Our Mothers' Voices

Saturday afternoon I went to an Estate Sale – a favorite pastime of mine – and bought a lovely old tablecloth and napkins. As I smoothed out the soft, worn cotton and refolded it to put it away, I thought, “Wait until Mom sees these napkins at our next family dinner.” The “Mom” I was referring to is my mother-in-law, who, unfortunately, has suffered a tremendous physical and mental decline from Parkinson’s Disease and Alzheimer’s. She will never again gaze with pleasure at one of my pretty table settings. Generally now, she is begging to go home before dinner is even cooked.

For over thirty years, though, we celebrated holidays and family birthdays together, and she taught me many of the fine points of entertaining and setting a beautiful table. And now, it saddens me that she is no longer able to give encouragement and approval to the efforts her daughter and I make to create warmth and atmosphere for these special occasions. Every time I prepare a special meal and set the table with my lovely china, I think of her.

And, of course, these thoughts led to deeper reflection. Little girls are influenced from their earliest years by the special women in their lives – mothers, grandmothers, aunts – and their voices linger in our heads long after their physical presence is gone. If we are fortunate, these voices are uplifting and give us strength.

My grandmother lovingly taught me “ladylike” behavior for a girl of the 1950’s. She taught me how to cook one winter when my mother was bedridden with back problems. She shared her superstitions, which haunt me to this day. Somehow she always made this tall, awkward little girl feel beautiful and loved.

My mother, by example, showed me how to be a loving, compassionate person and to mother with unconditional love. She shared her wisdom and knowledge, and enveloped me in gentleness, kindness and security. She taught me to love books and to cherish my individuality. She gave me the courage to follow my own path in life and to savor the astounding beauty to be found in quiet moments.

My aunt loved me so thoroughly that I considered her my “second” mother. I loved sleeping over at her house with my cousins and feeling so totally at home.

My great-aunt inspired my love of cooking and baking and creating a warm and welcoming home. She was a small-town schoolteacher, but in my eyes she was the epitome of social grace. I still have her old recipe cards with her handwriting in faded ink, which always remind me of the delicious aromas of baking which filled her home.

Being the nervous and anxious person that I am, I will always remember my Godmother telling me near the end of her life, how she realized that ultimately most of the things she worried so much about through her lifetime never came to pass. I try to remind myself of this as I worry and fret.

And so, this blog is dedicated to all women who give their best to the people they love, but especially to these women whose love and caring follow me through each day, and whose voices will forever remain in my heart.

Christmas Blessings

I rose this morning to clouds and a drizzle of rain which has diminished my Christmas snows into a bleak reminder of the lovely mounds of white that gently molded our landscape last weekend. That is winter in the northeast now – instead of the winter-long snow cover we enjoyed years ago, our snows are sporadic and quick to disappear. But, this year we were blessed with a White Christmas, which always enhances the holiday for me.

My time was limited for pre-Christmas activities this year – caring for my grandbabies during the day, working in the office on evenings and weekends, and trying to keep up with mundane household tasks leaves me with little time or energy.

One of my fondest memories of this year’s Christmas, though, will be the afternoon I spent baking cookies with my sixteen-month-old granddaughter. I thought she was probably too young to really participate, but I unearthed a pretty child’s apron from the chest upstairs, and she was transformed into a little baker. Actually, she loved it. She helped stir the dough; as I rolled each ball of dough in sugar and placed it on the cookie sheet, she grabbed it off and took a tiny bite. Then she kept an eye on the oven window as they baked. I have a photo of her standing at the counter in her little apron, wooden spoon in hand, that will always warm my heart.

Last week we enjoyed a Christmas brunch with my sister and her husband. I love visiting other peoples’ homes during the holidays – enjoying their lovely decorations, delicious foods, and conversation.

After several evenings of furious wrapping and a trip to the grocery store on Christmas Eve morning, I was already a bit exhausted. However, I managed to put together three arrangements of roses and greens for my daughter-in-law’s Christmas tables, bake a chocolate cream pie for dessert, and prepare a delicious cream of chicken soup to enjoy with my husband and daughter on Christmas Eve.

On Christmas morning, my three children and their families came to open gifts. It was a meager Christmas this year, but we all enjoyed watching the babies open their gifts. At sixteen months, Alivia was a pro at opening the packages, and was particularly taken with a new doll and stroller. Lucas was celebrating his first Christmas at six months, but he jumped right in, ripping paper and playing with each toy as he opened it. Kirk, our fourteen-year old, passed the gifts around to everyone. My family gave me a live Alberta Spruce tree, gaily decorated with tiny gifts; I will plant it outside in the spring and next year my grandchildren can help me string tiny lights on it for Christmas.

My son and daughter-in-law hosted Christmas Dinner – the first time in years I haven’t had dinner here, and it was blissful to see them carrying on the tradition. It was a large gathering of loved ones, and her lovely table settings and delicious food created a memorable time for all of us. Then, we all sat peacefully in the living room and watched the babies play – a quiet time to reflect on the joy of families.

Both of my grandbabies will be with their mothers all next week, so my time will be my own. I have plans for entertaining – with my limited time now, I socialize so little – but, this week will be filled with friends and family. This afternoon I am reconnecting with cousins I haven’t seen in a few years. Tomorrow my husband’s family will gather here for an early supper. I have plans for lunch and shopping with a favorite cousin, a quiet dinner here for a favorite friend, and a day-long shopping trip to the Woodbury outlets with my daughter, daughters-in-law, and a close friend.

This morning my house awaits in its Christmas finery. I baked a cake and some brownies yesterday for today’s visitors, and just before they arrive I will light some candles, turn on some peaceful Christmas music, and enjoy these special moments of the season. The birth of our Lord is the focus of our holiday celebrations, but these precious times with family and friends are indeed reflections of His great love for us.

May His love enfold you at Christmas and always.

The Legacy of Grandmothers

For the past few days, a voice in my head has constantly reminded me of my grandmother’s birthday this coming Monday – for some reason, I have been moved to reach out to my sister and cousins to come together for a celebration. My grandmother was born on December 15, 1898 – 110 years ago – and I can’t get her out of my mind this week.

This isn’t surprising to me – she lived with us during my growing up years and was a tremendous force in my life – providing loving security and all of the lessons needed by a girl child of the 1950’s to grow into a “lady” with morals and faith and “manners.” She was far from perfect, and as I grew up I recognized her flaws as powerfully as I appreciated her love, but her voice forever speaks to me as I make crucial decisions in my own life.

In earlier blogs, I have mentioned that I share the daily care of my grandson, Lucas, with his other grandmother, Sheryl. We each have him at our separate homes two days a week, and spend Wednesday at my house, giving Lucas and my granddaughter, Alivia, a double dose of grandmothering. I jokingly call it “doubles day”. This arrangement works out wonderfully for Lucas – he is secure and happy, and always surrounded with the loving faces he knows so well.

Sheryl and I have become very close friends since our children were married, and we enjoy sharing this precious time with our grandson. Our day together is filled with conversation and laughter, and we handle the stresses with grace. Sheryl often says that we “zig and zag” well together.

Over the past few days, as I was pondering this strong feeling of my grandmother’s upcoming birthday, I also thought about Sheryl’s stories of growing up with her grandmothers. Both of them lived with her for a long period of time during her childhood, and had a strong influence on her – passing on a deep religious faith, a love of crafts and needlework, and a loving security.

I wonder if being raised with grandmothers intimately involved in our lives has made us more determined to care for our own grandchildren. Maybe on some level we are called to pass on the love and security that they provided to us – we realize the importance of their unconditional love and will perpetuate this grandmotherly love for another generation.

These three women, who have been gone from our lives now for a long time, are still alive in our hearts, and passing on the greatest possible gift to their own great-great-grandchildren – a grandmother’s love and care.

Happy Birthday, Grandma!!!

A Time to Mourn

Black Friday – this day has taken on an entirely new meaning for me. Yesterday our family celebrated the perfect Thanksgiving – my sister-in-law prepared a delicious meal and all of us gathered together in her warm and lovely home. My grandbabies were so adorable I had to pinch myself to believe they were really mine, and my older grandson looked so handsome and grown up. It was a day that will live in my memory as one of the very best!

I arrived home early in the evening, and proceeded to begin my Christmas decorating – treasuring the memories as I unpacked each ornament – my St. Nicholas collection, my tiny birds, and my tree decorations so lovingly chosen through the years. By bedtime, my home was transformed.

This morning my daughter and daughters-in-law hurried out to enjoy the Black Friday sales, and I had a bit of time with my sons and grandbabies. It began as a totally relaxing and enjoyable morning.

However, within a few moments in time, our Friday indeed turned “Black”. My son’s best friend, a “son of the heart” to me, lost his father to suicide. A sudden death is always a shock and heartbreak, but this was especially painful, both because of the tragic circumstances, and because this family has also lost two beloved grandmothers within the past two years.

When we are fortunate enough in life to share close bonds of friendship and love, we also share the deep sorrows that go along with these bonds. My son is grieving tonight for a man who treated him like a son, and my daughter grieves for this “almost brother” who has lost his father. I grieve for the intense agony of this entire family, who, through the years, has become so dear to me. And, as we always do in these situations, I wonder if there was anything I could have done at any point to help this troubled man.

Last year on this same day, Black Friday, my daughter lost an “almost brother” in a tragic motor vehicle accident – his sisters were her best friends, and even though an entire year had passed, in her heart today she was also reliving that tremendous loss. Tonight I want to hold my daughter and comfort her for both of these terrible losses in her young life – and yet I know this is not a pain I can “kiss away.”

Unfortunately, there are so many times in life when there is nothing we can do, other than to be close by – to listen and reassure, to give hugs and hold hands, and to cry and grieve along with those we love -- and to place our troubled hearts into the gentle hands of God.

It will also be a long time, I’m sure, before my daughter and I will be able to look forward to Thanksgiving without worrying about the day after, which has over the past two years become our virtual “Black Friday”.

Oh What A Night!!

OH WHAT A NIGHT!!!

I have agonized over the election this year because of my personal economic situation, and my total disillusionment with Republican administrations during the past thirty years, from Reagan to Bush to Bush!

When Al Gore lost to George Bush in 2000, I was devastated, and the past eight years of “George W reign” has justified my worries a hundred-fold – the loss of our civil rights, the loss of our respect on a global basis, the unjust war in Iraq, the blurring of lines between executive, legislative & judicial branches which has damaged the checks & balances system of our government, and now, the economic meltdown.

I also must admit - and I don’t think it is a bad characteristic – when I first heard Obama speak at the 2004 Democratic Convention and was so totally inspired by him, I didn’t “see” his color. In general, I don’t see people “in color”, which is probably unusual when I grew up in a town that was known as a white, Anglo-Saxon Protestant (WASP) community. As I learned more about Obama, I respected his intelligence, depth of thought, calm demeanor, and empathy for the common people of this world. I wanted him to be our President. I don’t think the fact that Obama was an African-American really became important to me until he won the primary. Then I began to worry that the inherent racism in this country might cause him to lose the election.

It was about at the same time that I began to think what a wonderful role model he would be for the African-American youth of our country, who often see no real opportunities in their futures. But, still, I didn’t “get it”. I didn’t realize what a powerful event his election would be for our citizens of color.

Last night I was watching avidly for election results, my nerves on edge, but it became a much more emotional night than I had expected. Watching the crowds and listening to the interviews, I was awed by the tremendous jubilation of his supporters, especially African-Americans. As I saw Jesse Jackson standing in the Chicago crowd with tears streaming down his face, and listened to the incredulous joy of generations of African-Americans, I finally realized that this victory was not just a victory of Democrat over Republican; it was finally a validation that we are all created equal and that there is now opportunity in this country for the tiniest little child of African-American or Arab or Asian or Hispanic descent to reach the loftiest heights that at one time were open only to white males. Oh what gates have been opened --

May God Bless America and our newly elected President and Vice-President!!

A Legacy of Roots

What a lovely day for a walk -- warm sunshine and cool breezes, brilliantly colored trees, and two precious babies snuggled into their “twin” stroller.

Actually, the morning which preceded our walk was less than perfect. At best, juggling naptimes and bottles for babies ten months apart is not easy, and this morning was not one of our better mornings. By lunchtime, my sleepless grandson finally fell asleep over his strained carrots, only to be wakened by his giggling little cousin a half hour later as she toddled over to the cradle to peek at him.

It was at this point that I threw up my hands, got the stroller out, zipped them into sweatshirts, and set off to enjoy a bit of serenity. They were ecstatic – they both love the outdoors. Of course, Alivia loves it with the vivacious excitement with which she greets life in general, and Lucas loves to sit quietly and gaze around with his big blue eyes, a look of complete satisfaction on his little face.

We walked along, Alivia alternately bouncing in her seat, pointing out squirrels and babbling to Lucas. We stopped along the way to talk to my neighbor and her baby granddaughter, also out for a stroll. We took an old familiar route – when you’ve lived in a neighborhood for thirty-six years, every route is familiar – and as I walked in the calming autumn air, looking at the Halloween decorations and the beautiful colors of the landscape, memories accompanied me.

I remembered the years when my children were young – the pleasures of holiday celebrations, my years as Scout leader and room mother, the everyday routines of meals and homework and conversation, the paper routes and the summer jobs and the school dances. I remember driving a group of girls to one of my daughter’s high school dances, and realizing that most of them had been in my Daisy Girl Scout troop in kindergarten. Time passes so quickly. I remember the importance of creating memories for all of these precious children --

There are times when I feel a bit provincial, having lived in one town for my entire life. But, this afternoon I was feeling grateful. There is a comfort of sorts in living in an area where many people have also stayed on for years – to know them, and their children, and to “catch up” on each other’s lives when we meet in the grocery store, or on an autumn afternoon walk.

In today’s uncertain world, this is a blessing -- to know and to be known. And, it is a blessing that I will share with my grandbabies, as we head out on our walks and meet these people who knew their fathers when they were little. They will realize that they are part of a larger family -- this feeling of belonging will bring a measure of security as they navigate life in our impersonal global society.