I walked down the aisle of the high school auditorium and settled into my seat to watch the school production of "Anything Goes." As I waited for the lights to dim, the thought crossed my mind that this auditorium has changed very little since I was in elementary school over fifty years ago, attending "Children's Theater" productions two or three times a year. The seats were scratchier then, to a fidgety little girl who enjoyed being away from my classroom much more than I enjoyed the play I was watching. In high school I remember sitting through numerous assemblies and award programs, and as a mother I once again attended "moving-up" ceremonies and various other functions in this same room. Being assailed by memories frequently is the curse/blessing of a "townie", who has lived her entire life in the same small town.
Throughout the evening, as I watched the talented young people perform, my mind wandered back to my educational experiences in this school district. Over the past several years, as politicians have tried to "improve" the educational system in this country, I have found myself increasingly at odds with their goals and methods. It seems in their efforts to educate our children to compete in our high-tech world, they have lost sight of the value of a well-rounded education. While I agree that we must arm our young people with the technical skills necessary in this global economy, I worry that the strong emphasis on science and math, coupled with mandatory standardized testing at all levels is a detriment to our society.
As declining federal and state aid and property tax budget constraints necessitate cuts across the board, it seems to me that funds for education are being targeted at an alarming rate, and we have forgotten that well-educated children are our greatest resource. In this complicated world, we should be raising our children to think for themselves and giving them the skills to thoughtfully analyze the barrage of information coming to them constantly from the internet, TV, and social media. Instead, it seems we are teaching them primarily the information pertinent to the tests they will be required to take.
Additionally, teacher accountability has become based more and more on the scores students receive on these standardized tests. I feel this is unfair to the teachers, as well as to the students. As I look back on my school years, the teachers from whom I learned the most were those who didn't always follow the lesson plan for the day. They were the teachers who talked to us -- who listened and discussed ideas. They made us think and defend our theories. They gave us the gift of their time and knowledge. Today, those same teachers might be hesitant to get "off track", because they must spend precious time teaching facts that will be on the required tests.
Also, if teachers are evaluated based on student test scores, how is this fair across the board. A student in a low-income school district where there is little parental support is unlikely to test as well as a student from a wealthy district where education is a priority. Will the teacher in the low-income district be judged less effective?
I was a bright student who graduated with honors, but my strengths were definitely not in math and science. I had maintained wonderful grades in math until I took algebra. My teacher was experienced and extremely competent, but even with the extra time she spent with me, I just could not "do" algebra. For the first time in my life, I got a "C". I was devastated. Through the years I have learned that I totally lack technical abilities. This was not my algebra teacher's fault, but if she was evaluated on my test scores, she would have been judged less effective.
I realize that we are competing in a global economy which has become increasingly more technical and specialized. Of course we need young people who are highly trained in math and science in order to maintain an edge in this economy. However, I fear in our efforts to survive in our high tech world we are losing sight of our humanity. In our nation there has been a place at the table for people with varying gifts and strengths. Our educational system has produced great artists, musicians, athletes, and writers who have contributed to this humanity.
I do not want to see our nation become filled with one-dimensional people who have been taught to perform their jobs with perfection and precision, yet lack the ability or choice to pursue their own bliss, or to think for themselves. I want our teachers to be able to nurture the love of learning for its own sake, and to have the freedom and time to go into greater depth on a subject that sparks the interest of their individual students, rather than fearfully adhering to the limitations necessary to produce the highest test scores possible.
Most children can tell whether or not their teacher is a good teacher. Most adults can look back and remember which teachers inspired them to learn and grow. We don't need standardized test scores to govern our educational system. We need competent, caring teachers who do not feel they are "under the gun" as they perform this most important job -- the job of educating our most precious resource.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
The Birthday
I snuggled Emma close to my heart and rocked her gently, drinking in the sight of her chubby little face drifting off to sleep in the early morning sunlight. With arms filled with my precious little granddaughter, my mind drifted back to the morning, thirty-eight years ago today, when my arms were empty and my heart was broken. This day is always sad for me, as I pause to remember my little stillborn daughter, Kristin.
The world is filled with mothers who share this unspoken bond -- the loss of a baby before its first breath. A loss that to the world is somehow not quite as real as that of a child who has been born into the world breathing, warm, and called by name. People try to comfort you with assurances that you will have another baby, that it is probably for the best because there must have been something wrong with the baby -- and in those moments you hate them for their insensitivity. There are no words which comfort, and only another mother who has experienced this loss can understand. And, even though time goes on and you do have more children, and are even blessed with grandchildren, there is always that quiet place in your heart that remembers the one you lost and grieves.
While I could never carry you in my arms, Kristin, I will carry you in my heart forever -- Happy Birthday! Love, Mom
The world is filled with mothers who share this unspoken bond -- the loss of a baby before its first breath. A loss that to the world is somehow not quite as real as that of a child who has been born into the world breathing, warm, and called by name. People try to comfort you with assurances that you will have another baby, that it is probably for the best because there must have been something wrong with the baby -- and in those moments you hate them for their insensitivity. There are no words which comfort, and only another mother who has experienced this loss can understand. And, even though time goes on and you do have more children, and are even blessed with grandchildren, there is always that quiet place in your heart that remembers the one you lost and grieves.
While I could never carry you in my arms, Kristin, I will carry you in my heart forever -- Happy Birthday! Love, Mom
Sunday, February 19, 2012
The Waiting Year
This year has been one of "waiting" -- waiting to see if we would be able to save my beloved house and our car as the bankruptcy process unfolded slowly, waiting to file the necessary taxes and paperwork to dissolve our business, waiting for Emma to be born, to smile, to crawl, to become a little person, waiting for snow. Slowly, the waiting has progressed, and now we seem to be at the end of our financial uncertainty. Emma has made all the milestones and is on the verge of walking -- her precious little smile and determination are a joy to watch.
But, I am still waiting for snow. This winter has known a dearth of snow that leaves me, the birds, and the gardens a bit confused as to what season it really is. We have had none of the deep cold of winter, and the very few snowy mornings have gifted us with only an inch or so, which often has melted by afternoon. I miss the snow!! I love the change of seasons, and this year it seems that we have had one very long autumn, and now spring. The birds are singing outside my window, staking out their territory, and I am wishing the landscape instead was a blanket of white with frosty air.
Of course, my sensible side realizes that this snowless winter has made my life easier -- delivering my two little grandchildren to preschool each morning with robust little Emma in my arms would have been much tougher with snow and ice underfoot. But, my sensual side is still longing for at least one heavy snowfall before spring.
The coming week is February vacation -- Luke and Emma will be home with their Mom, and I will have Alivia for four days only, so this will be a vacation of sorts for me, too. Of course, Alivia and I have many plans -- she wants to go to the library, invite her Nanny to a tea party which we will enjoy preparing, and browse through her baby pictures. She also wants to spend part of the week at her house, since most days we are at Luke and Emma's. Though our schedule sounds a bit daunting, it won't be as tiring as my weeks with all three little ones (at least I hope not).
And today my plan is for peaceful activities -- I will linger over my Sunday newspaper, shop for groceries, perhaps enjoy a trip to the library, spend some time feeding the birds and checking to see if my snowdrops are making an early appearance this year. Slowly, I am beginning to relax from this year of waiting. I can once again enjoy my beautiful home without the threat of losing it. While our income is severely curtailed now, there is a freedom of sorts in living a more austere lifestyle. In my heart I have always preferred a simple life, and without the constant pressures and endless paperwork of running a business, I can enjoy the simple pleasures that are my bliss.
But, I am still waiting for snow. This winter has known a dearth of snow that leaves me, the birds, and the gardens a bit confused as to what season it really is. We have had none of the deep cold of winter, and the very few snowy mornings have gifted us with only an inch or so, which often has melted by afternoon. I miss the snow!! I love the change of seasons, and this year it seems that we have had one very long autumn, and now spring. The birds are singing outside my window, staking out their territory, and I am wishing the landscape instead was a blanket of white with frosty air.
Of course, my sensible side realizes that this snowless winter has made my life easier -- delivering my two little grandchildren to preschool each morning with robust little Emma in my arms would have been much tougher with snow and ice underfoot. But, my sensual side is still longing for at least one heavy snowfall before spring.
The coming week is February vacation -- Luke and Emma will be home with their Mom, and I will have Alivia for four days only, so this will be a vacation of sorts for me, too. Of course, Alivia and I have many plans -- she wants to go to the library, invite her Nanny to a tea party which we will enjoy preparing, and browse through her baby pictures. She also wants to spend part of the week at her house, since most days we are at Luke and Emma's. Though our schedule sounds a bit daunting, it won't be as tiring as my weeks with all three little ones (at least I hope not).
And today my plan is for peaceful activities -- I will linger over my Sunday newspaper, shop for groceries, perhaps enjoy a trip to the library, spend some time feeding the birds and checking to see if my snowdrops are making an early appearance this year. Slowly, I am beginning to relax from this year of waiting. I can once again enjoy my beautiful home without the threat of losing it. While our income is severely curtailed now, there is a freedom of sorts in living a more austere lifestyle. In my heart I have always preferred a simple life, and without the constant pressures and endless paperwork of running a business, I can enjoy the simple pleasures that are my bliss.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Passings
The church was lovely -- warm woods and simplicity -- as I listened to the funeral service for my cousin's husband. His death was particularly sad because he had fought so valiantly for life during six months of devastating illness. My cousin was exhausted from the long ordeal, as hopes were buoyed and shattered again and again, and then he was gone. I never knew her husband well, so I listened intently as his daughter, his brother and his sister spoke of him. I am unable to eulogize loved ones -- my throat aches as I try to hold back tears, and even when there is much I would love to say, I cannot give voice to my grief. I envy those who are strong enough to speak as their hearts are breaking.
As I grow older, funerals become more difficult for me. As I hear the familiar words and sing the beautiful hymns, memories of other funerals and other losses surface again, and my tears flow for all of the loved ones who have passed on. I relive the moments in simple country churches and large cathedrals and tiny funeral home chapels where my heart has bid farewell, or where I have watched beloved friends grieving.
Unfortunately, love and loss are as inevitable as sunrise and sunset. A life rich in love is a blessed gift, but loving freely and deeply also means learning the harsh lessons of grieving. I believe we will all be reunited with our loved ones when we ourselves pass on, and this softens the pain, but my belief does not lessen the immediate sense of disbelief and loss. I have watched my parents and sister suffer slow deaths, which left me with a sense of relief that they were free from their pain; I have also experienced the shock of sudden deaths -- I lost my cousin in his early forties to a heart attack, and still cannot quite believe that his humor and vitality were taken from us with no chance for good-byes.
Somehow, each funeral is harder to bear -- even those where I am more a bystander than griever. I cry for my friends who stare numbly at the casket of their loved one. After so many years of living, instead of feeling wiser and more able to give comfort, I kneel in the pew or stand at the gravesite, and know that there is really nothing I can say or do. I know that time does heal the immediate devastating sense of loss, but I also know that my eyes still well with tears when I remember my father's struggles to breathe in his last months, or when I think of my sister's laughter.
And so, as I sit at new funerals, I relive them all in my heart. I remember the lovely eulogy for my father by a close friend. I remember the biblical references read as we buried my friend's father -- "he fought the good fight...". I remember the soaring feeling of the beautiful "On Eagles Wings" as we buried my uncle. I remember the agonizingly beautiful bagpipes playing my beloved "Amazing Grace" as we buried firemen friends. And I cry a few more tears with each memory.
As I grow older, funerals become more difficult for me. As I hear the familiar words and sing the beautiful hymns, memories of other funerals and other losses surface again, and my tears flow for all of the loved ones who have passed on. I relive the moments in simple country churches and large cathedrals and tiny funeral home chapels where my heart has bid farewell, or where I have watched beloved friends grieving.
Unfortunately, love and loss are as inevitable as sunrise and sunset. A life rich in love is a blessed gift, but loving freely and deeply also means learning the harsh lessons of grieving. I believe we will all be reunited with our loved ones when we ourselves pass on, and this softens the pain, but my belief does not lessen the immediate sense of disbelief and loss. I have watched my parents and sister suffer slow deaths, which left me with a sense of relief that they were free from their pain; I have also experienced the shock of sudden deaths -- I lost my cousin in his early forties to a heart attack, and still cannot quite believe that his humor and vitality were taken from us with no chance for good-byes.
Somehow, each funeral is harder to bear -- even those where I am more a bystander than griever. I cry for my friends who stare numbly at the casket of their loved one. After so many years of living, instead of feeling wiser and more able to give comfort, I kneel in the pew or stand at the gravesite, and know that there is really nothing I can say or do. I know that time does heal the immediate devastating sense of loss, but I also know that my eyes still well with tears when I remember my father's struggles to breathe in his last months, or when I think of my sister's laughter.
And so, as I sit at new funerals, I relive them all in my heart. I remember the lovely eulogy for my father by a close friend. I remember the biblical references read as we buried my friend's father -- "he fought the good fight...". I remember the soaring feeling of the beautiful "On Eagles Wings" as we buried my uncle. I remember the agonizingly beautiful bagpipes playing my beloved "Amazing Grace" as we buried firemen friends. And I cry a few more tears with each memory.
Monday, January 2, 2012
And So It Goes ...
This morning is the last day of my five-day "mini vacation" -- five days without the daily care of my grandchildren. How wonderful it has been to wake slowly each day, sit quietly in my cozy old robe and ponder the day ahead. I have always been a putterer. Long vacations spent lazing on the beach are not my style. When I have time to myself, I prefer to putter away at little chores. In an old house there is always something which needs tending, and I am the inveterate "tender". Unless I am reading or writing, my hands must be busy. How I have enjoyed my little vacation this week. To be able to savor the moment -- to work at something slowly and with concentration is a pleasure.
As I packed away my Christmas decorations and redecorated my house to its much simpler, soothing wintertime mood, I was unhurried and calm. There was time to search for just the right pieces to grace the old sideboard, and to choose family photos in lovely frames for the hall table. There has been time to carefully store away my beautiful Christmas tablecloths as well as to tackle the more mundane chores of cleaning the stove and polishing silver.
There is solace in these simple tasks -- after a few hours of mindless chores, my spirit is renewed and calmed.
These few days have been a gift. While I have spent much of my time on these solitary pursuits, I have also enjoyed the company of family and friends -- lunch at a favorite restaurant with my husband, an evening with special cousins, New Years' Eve dinner at my sister-in-law's lovely home, a surprise breakfast with a neighbor, a simple soup & bread lunch on New Years' Day with my father-in-law and brother-in-law.
And now, I have one day left. There are still several little items on my "to-do" list. The bird feeders need replenishing; my desk needs organizing, and my bedroom closet and dressing table could use a bit of attention. First, though, after I leave my cozy chair and get dressed, I will put a pot of soup on to simmer, and savor the process -- the chopping, the sauteeing, the stirring. Then I will enjoy its musky aroma all day as I putter along -- the perfect ending to a lovely little vacation and a warm and happy Christmas season.
As I packed away my Christmas decorations and redecorated my house to its much simpler, soothing wintertime mood, I was unhurried and calm. There was time to search for just the right pieces to grace the old sideboard, and to choose family photos in lovely frames for the hall table. There has been time to carefully store away my beautiful Christmas tablecloths as well as to tackle the more mundane chores of cleaning the stove and polishing silver.
There is solace in these simple tasks -- after a few hours of mindless chores, my spirit is renewed and calmed.
These few days have been a gift. While I have spent much of my time on these solitary pursuits, I have also enjoyed the company of family and friends -- lunch at a favorite restaurant with my husband, an evening with special cousins, New Years' Eve dinner at my sister-in-law's lovely home, a surprise breakfast with a neighbor, a simple soup & bread lunch on New Years' Day with my father-in-law and brother-in-law.
And now, I have one day left. There are still several little items on my "to-do" list. The bird feeders need replenishing; my desk needs organizing, and my bedroom closet and dressing table could use a bit of attention. First, though, after I leave my cozy chair and get dressed, I will put a pot of soup on to simmer, and savor the process -- the chopping, the sauteeing, the stirring. Then I will enjoy its musky aroma all day as I putter along -- the perfect ending to a lovely little vacation and a warm and happy Christmas season.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Merry Christmas to All
I rose in the darkness this Christmas Eve morning. After the utter exhaustion of caring for my three little ones for long days this week as they struggle with the crazed anticipation of pre-Christmas, I am thankful that my daughter-in-law is hosting Christmas Dinner tomorrow. For almost forty years, Christmas dinner has been at my home, with numbers ranging from ten to twenty family and friends, and although I cherish the memories of those lovely Christmas gatherings, it is time to pass the torch -
Today my "to-do" list is long, but manageable. I will be wrapping some gifts, putting together a casserole and preparing sausage stuffing, simmering a delicious soup for my daughter to take to work for her 3:00 shift on Christmas Day, and trying to fit in a short nap to re-energize myself for Christmas Eve mass, and a late-night gathering at my nephew's house.
I love Christmas -- the music, the decorations, the warmth and love of this special season. However, as deeply as I have enjoyed Christmas past, I have very few specific memories of gifts given and received. There is one Christmas, however, that stands out from all others. When I was growing up, we were quite poor -- not the poverty of so many today who cannot afford heat and food, but still with much less money than the average suburban family of the 1950's. My father worked twelve hour days and still money was tight. While my parents made sure that Santa always brought us gifts, there was no money left over for my parents to exchange gifts.
My parents had a good marriage, and gifts were not necessary for them to express their love for each other. This love was expressed on a daily basis with kindness, understanding, and comfort as they faced the struggles of life. However, there was one Christmas when my father excitedly drove my sister and me to Montgomery Ward one Saturday afternoon. Montgomery Ward was a large department store near Albany, the shopping hub long before Colonie Center and Crossgates Mall changed the "shopscape" of our area.
I remember that long ago afternoon clearly -- my father had some extra money and he was buying my mother a Christmas gift for the first time in my memory. He knew exactly what he wanted, and we went first to the jewelry counter where he bought her a lovely gold bracelet watch; then it was on to the clothing department, where he picked out a leopard jacket (of course it was fake -- and I don't know if it was in style). Our final destination was the cosmetics counter, with its enticing scents, where he picked out a bottle of my mother's favorite perfume, Tours Ju Moi (sp??). My father never stopped smiling that afternoon, and on Christmas morning, my mother was overcome with joy and appreciation. He placed the beautiful watch on her wrist, and she lovingly caressed the leopard jacket. I was so excited that my mother finally had gifts to open. Today, that well-worn bracelet sits in a little wooden jewelry box in my bedroom. From time to time I open the box and hold it in my hand, feeling the loving spirit in which it was given and worn.
As the Christmases in our lives come and go, we find that some are very special and some are best when they are over. Sometimes the decorations, the food, the gifts, the gatherings and the spirit are perfect, and other years we are left with a vague feeling of disappointment. Sometimes our families are all together and harmonious, and sometimes we are grief-stricken with the loss of one more well-loved face at the table. Christmas is really about the birth of Christ, but to many of us, it also has become about the gathering together of our loved ones. We look forward to the traditions, the gifts, and the love. And, once or twice in every lifetime, there is a Christmas that will touch our hearts so deeply that its memory remains clear -- I still can summon the scent of my mother's perfume, and the huge smile on my father's face as he held the soft leopard jacket in his calloused hands on that long ago Saturday at Montgomery Ward.
May this Christmas bring loving memories to you all --
Today my "to-do" list is long, but manageable. I will be wrapping some gifts, putting together a casserole and preparing sausage stuffing, simmering a delicious soup for my daughter to take to work for her 3:00 shift on Christmas Day, and trying to fit in a short nap to re-energize myself for Christmas Eve mass, and a late-night gathering at my nephew's house.
I love Christmas -- the music, the decorations, the warmth and love of this special season. However, as deeply as I have enjoyed Christmas past, I have very few specific memories of gifts given and received. There is one Christmas, however, that stands out from all others. When I was growing up, we were quite poor -- not the poverty of so many today who cannot afford heat and food, but still with much less money than the average suburban family of the 1950's. My father worked twelve hour days and still money was tight. While my parents made sure that Santa always brought us gifts, there was no money left over for my parents to exchange gifts.
My parents had a good marriage, and gifts were not necessary for them to express their love for each other. This love was expressed on a daily basis with kindness, understanding, and comfort as they faced the struggles of life. However, there was one Christmas when my father excitedly drove my sister and me to Montgomery Ward one Saturday afternoon. Montgomery Ward was a large department store near Albany, the shopping hub long before Colonie Center and Crossgates Mall changed the "shopscape" of our area.
I remember that long ago afternoon clearly -- my father had some extra money and he was buying my mother a Christmas gift for the first time in my memory. He knew exactly what he wanted, and we went first to the jewelry counter where he bought her a lovely gold bracelet watch; then it was on to the clothing department, where he picked out a leopard jacket (of course it was fake -- and I don't know if it was in style). Our final destination was the cosmetics counter, with its enticing scents, where he picked out a bottle of my mother's favorite perfume, Tours Ju Moi (sp??). My father never stopped smiling that afternoon, and on Christmas morning, my mother was overcome with joy and appreciation. He placed the beautiful watch on her wrist, and she lovingly caressed the leopard jacket. I was so excited that my mother finally had gifts to open. Today, that well-worn bracelet sits in a little wooden jewelry box in my bedroom. From time to time I open the box and hold it in my hand, feeling the loving spirit in which it was given and worn.
As the Christmases in our lives come and go, we find that some are very special and some are best when they are over. Sometimes the decorations, the food, the gifts, the gatherings and the spirit are perfect, and other years we are left with a vague feeling of disappointment. Sometimes our families are all together and harmonious, and sometimes we are grief-stricken with the loss of one more well-loved face at the table. Christmas is really about the birth of Christ, but to many of us, it also has become about the gathering together of our loved ones. We look forward to the traditions, the gifts, and the love. And, once or twice in every lifetime, there is a Christmas that will touch our hearts so deeply that its memory remains clear -- I still can summon the scent of my mother's perfume, and the huge smile on my father's face as he held the soft leopard jacket in his calloused hands on that long ago Saturday at Montgomery Ward.
May this Christmas bring loving memories to you all --
Friday, December 16, 2011
Away in a Manger
I was moved to tears as I watched the little angels, shepherds, sheep and wise men gather around Baby Jesus, bringing the age-old story to life for an audience of parents and grandparents. Both Alivia and Luke attend the Bethlehem Community Church Preschool, and today was their last day of classes before Christmas. The Nativity Play performed by the four-year-olds was an example of the hard work and love that permeates this preschool all year. My grandchildren are so fortunate to attend this school -- they are gently nurtured in the ways of the world and the Lord, as they learn basic educational concepts.
The Christmas season has always been my favorite time of year. When my own children were young, I cherished the traditions we created. The weeks before Christmas were filled with cookie baking, decorating, choosing and cutting down a fresh tree, Christmas Eve services in our candlelit church, 5:00 AM awakenings on Christmas morning, and a large family dinner. And now, in this latest stage of life, I am reliving the magic of Christmas through my grandchildren's eyes.
My grandchildren are very fortunate that they have large extended families who work very hard to celebrate both long-time and new traditions. We all realize the tremendous gift of family, and work together to strengthen family bonds. One afternoon this month, I cut strips of red, green and white construction paper so Luke and Alivia could make chains for their Christmas tree. We made "family love" chains, writing the names of people they loved on each link of the chain. They each had so many family members they wanted to include that we had to start doubling up names because we were running out of paper. And, as a testament to the closeness of our combined families, they aren't really sure which cousins, aunts and uncles belong to whom. How wonderful to love so many people!!
Lucas and Emma's "other grandmother", Nana, and I planned a cookie baking afternoon last week for Alivia, Luke, Emma, and their cousin Mia. We had lunch together, and then sat the three older children at the kitchen counter to cut out cookies and decorate them, with little Emma sitting in her highchair to watch. It was a little crazy for the grandmas, but will be a lovely memory for the little ones. Next week we are planning another day together.
Alivia's "other grandmother", Nanny, has been a dear friend of mine for over thirty years, and two weeks ago we enjoyed a special Sunday together with Alivia. First, Alivia helped me create a little tea party for the three of us, with Alivia using a teacup which belonged to her Great-Grandma, whom she never knew, but whose spirit was certainly with us that day. Then we went on to a pottery painting shop where Alivia painted a ceramic bunny with the help of her artistic Nanny.
While much of Christmas for children is about toys, the long term memories they will carry in their hearts will be the memories of family -- the special, private traditions of their immediate family, and the larger, sometimes crazy memories of their extended family and friends. They most likely will forget the toys they receive this year, but the love and warmth they feel will fill their souls forever.
This afternoon when I was talking to my daughter-in-law, Lisa, about the nativity play, she told me that when she attended the same preschool twenty-some years ago, she played Mary in the play, and she still remembers it. I hope Alivia will remember today -- she played an angel, and she certainly looked like an angel to this grandma who sat in the audience with tears in her eyes and love in her heart.
The Christmas season has always been my favorite time of year. When my own children were young, I cherished the traditions we created. The weeks before Christmas were filled with cookie baking, decorating, choosing and cutting down a fresh tree, Christmas Eve services in our candlelit church, 5:00 AM awakenings on Christmas morning, and a large family dinner. And now, in this latest stage of life, I am reliving the magic of Christmas through my grandchildren's eyes.
My grandchildren are very fortunate that they have large extended families who work very hard to celebrate both long-time and new traditions. We all realize the tremendous gift of family, and work together to strengthen family bonds. One afternoon this month, I cut strips of red, green and white construction paper so Luke and Alivia could make chains for their Christmas tree. We made "family love" chains, writing the names of people they loved on each link of the chain. They each had so many family members they wanted to include that we had to start doubling up names because we were running out of paper. And, as a testament to the closeness of our combined families, they aren't really sure which cousins, aunts and uncles belong to whom. How wonderful to love so many people!!
Lucas and Emma's "other grandmother", Nana, and I planned a cookie baking afternoon last week for Alivia, Luke, Emma, and their cousin Mia. We had lunch together, and then sat the three older children at the kitchen counter to cut out cookies and decorate them, with little Emma sitting in her highchair to watch. It was a little crazy for the grandmas, but will be a lovely memory for the little ones. Next week we are planning another day together.
Alivia's "other grandmother", Nanny, has been a dear friend of mine for over thirty years, and two weeks ago we enjoyed a special Sunday together with Alivia. First, Alivia helped me create a little tea party for the three of us, with Alivia using a teacup which belonged to her Great-Grandma, whom she never knew, but whose spirit was certainly with us that day. Then we went on to a pottery painting shop where Alivia painted a ceramic bunny with the help of her artistic Nanny.
While much of Christmas for children is about toys, the long term memories they will carry in their hearts will be the memories of family -- the special, private traditions of their immediate family, and the larger, sometimes crazy memories of their extended family and friends. They most likely will forget the toys they receive this year, but the love and warmth they feel will fill their souls forever.
This afternoon when I was talking to my daughter-in-law, Lisa, about the nativity play, she told me that when she attended the same preschool twenty-some years ago, she played Mary in the play, and she still remembers it. I hope Alivia will remember today -- she played an angel, and she certainly looked like an angel to this grandma who sat in the audience with tears in her eyes and love in her heart.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)