"There is a certain rhythm to rearing children and growing a garden. They both require patience. And watching. And love." -- Molly Chappelett
This beautiful quotation speaks to my heart, especially in the spring as my garden wakes from its slumber. I garden as I mothered -- sowing the seeds and gently tending, with no strict requirements --allowing both my children and my plants to become what they were destined to be.
I have never been drawn to neat little beds of flowers. I love a profusion of flowers. My lily-of-the-valley migrate to the stone walk nearby; my thyme and oregano cascade over the little stone wall in my front yard. My garden evolves -- as the canopy of leaves on my maple tree has shaded more and more of one garden, the showier flowers have given way to quieter plants with tinier flowers. The birds and the winds carry new surprises to the gardens. Where phlox once thrived in one garden, it is being replaced with black raspberry bushes which I never planted.
There are disappointments in the garden, as well. Of the twelve climbing rose bushes I planted with loving care six years ago along the fence, only three or four remain -- and they look none too healthy at this point. How sad for me -- a lover of roses! This year I will try some other less fussy plants by the fence. Along the driveway, in a patch of direct sunlight, a mix of phlox, coneflowers and a lovely yellow flower thrive. Three years ago I bought one of the yellow flowers at a Garden Club sale -- the little old man who sold it to me didn't know its name, but said it grew very tall -- he was right. Not only did it grow tall, it has also reseeded itself abundantly to provide a lush contrast to the pinks and purples growing alongside it.
How imperfect my garden is -- always changing, always growing outside its boundaries, fighting for space with a weed that haunts our neighborhood and makes my weeding chores difficult. How much patience is required as I wait each year to see if the wisteria will finally bloom. How frustrating when the deer eat the tulips as their leaves come out of the ground and the woodchuck devours the phlox out back before it has had time to blossom.
But, how beautiful it is was this morning to walk out into the yard and find a carpet of blue and white forget-me-nots. Of course, this means the lawn will not be mowed anytime soon -- who can possibly mow down a carpet of flowers. And so, my untidy, lush gardens thrive -- trees, berries, herbs and flowers -- raised with patience and watching and, most of all, love.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Grandma's Potato Salad
My family gathers today at my son and daughter-in-law's home for an early Easter celebration. Yesterday afternoon I made cupcakes with pastel icing and prepared my first potato salad of the season. As I peeled and cooked the potatoes, diced the onions, snipped newly born chives from the garden, sprinkled in salt, pepper, celery salt and dill, then stirred everything together with Hellman's mayonnaise, my grandmother was in my thoughts. My potato salad recipe was passed down from her, along with a lovely little covered dish which ALWAYS was used to serve her salad.
No summer picnic was complete without Grandma's potato salad. As she grew too old to cook, my mother took over the salad-making, and the tradition continued with my sister, my cousin, and myself. I was the lucky one who claimed ownership of the pretty covered dish, which now bears a crack in its lid from an unfortunate kitchen accident.
Through the years I have made "adjustments" to the recipe. I added fresh chives and lovage when I started my herb garden years ago, and dill when I sampled a good friend's potato salad which included chopped pickles (so much of my cooking has been influenced by friends). I have deleted the chopped boiled eggs which were so much a part of Grandma's salad, because my daughter and one daughter-in-law do not like eggs.
And so, today as we gather, once again Grandma's potato salad will be part of our celebration, and she will be with us in spirit. One day I will pass along the special little dish (which is much too small for the larger salad I now make for our growing family), and the recipe will continue on in the now tiny hands of my grandchildren.
I wish you all a Blessed Easter in the company of loved ones and traditions new and old --
No summer picnic was complete without Grandma's potato salad. As she grew too old to cook, my mother took over the salad-making, and the tradition continued with my sister, my cousin, and myself. I was the lucky one who claimed ownership of the pretty covered dish, which now bears a crack in its lid from an unfortunate kitchen accident.
Through the years I have made "adjustments" to the recipe. I added fresh chives and lovage when I started my herb garden years ago, and dill when I sampled a good friend's potato salad which included chopped pickles (so much of my cooking has been influenced by friends). I have deleted the chopped boiled eggs which were so much a part of Grandma's salad, because my daughter and one daughter-in-law do not like eggs.
And so, today as we gather, once again Grandma's potato salad will be part of our celebration, and she will be with us in spirit. One day I will pass along the special little dish (which is much too small for the larger salad I now make for our growing family), and the recipe will continue on in the now tiny hands of my grandchildren.
I wish you all a Blessed Easter in the company of loved ones and traditions new and old --
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
High Tech or Well Rounded??
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.
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.
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.
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