I have a wonderful mother. She no longer lives in the same sphere as I do, and I miss her, but there is no doubt in my mind that she is happier where she is. She would have been 89 this year and she would not have enjoyed it. Still, had she lived a few more years, I would have appreciated it. Of course I would have; she took incredible care of me and I probably took advantage of the fact, youngest child and only daughter that I am.
Some of my favorite memories:
When we went to baseball games to watch Larry, she would draw pictures for me. I realize now that she was very talented. I wish I had some of those pictures now.
She would wash my hair by putting the ironing board up next to the kitchen sink and letting me lie on it while she washed my hair. Just when I was little. Later I would bend over and put my head in the sink. She always made my hair look cute even though I complained constantly when she combed out tangles.
She rubbed my back. I wouldn't be surprised if she did it every night. I loved it.
She won a "Make it With Wool" contest in 4-H when she was 16. She won the state contest and got to go to Chicago. She told me once she was never proud of the honor because it wasn't perfect and her mother tore some of the stitches out and put them back in. I don't know what the reality is, but I'm sure my mom did 99% of the work and deserved the prize. But she didn't think she did and didn't enjoy sewing in her adulthood. She made clothes for herself, though and I think she knew how talented she was. She made the most amazing doll clothes for my Barbies. I still have those. For a woman who said she hated to sew, it's incredible to see the little tiny zippers and buttons on pants and shirts and sequins on formal dresses. She later made cabbage patch clothes for her grandchildren's cabbage patch dolls. She also made dance costumes for me every year while I was in elementary school, awesome bedspreads and curtains for our bedrooms, clothes for me in elementary school and junior high (she was probably relieved when I could wear the sizes Ropers carried). She made a quilt for me when I got married, the tablecloths for my wedding reception, and a Temple dress for me to wear even though she didn't have a Temple recommend. (She does now!) She made bridesmaid dresses for me when my friends got married, maternity clothes when I was pregnant and the cutest 'jams' ever for my children when those wild knee length shorts were popular. She made quiet books for grandchildren to play with in Church. I'm forgetting everything she sewed for us, and I don't remember hearing her complain, but I'm old enough now, finally, to realize how much work everything was. To do something you don't love to make other people happy is a characteristic that my mother demonstrated very often.
She worked for an unkind boss so my brothers and I could go to college and have material comforts my father and she never had. The week after I gradulated from college, we went to the bank and she paid my entire student loan for me. This is when my father was dying from cancer and she could have saved the money for herself and the future.
I never saw her happier than when her grandchildren started arriving. Since I was her closest confidant by then, I heard everything she said about them. "Risa is so petite and cute! Ryan looks just like Larry!" When they got older, "Janessa is so beautiful! Justin reminds me of me--he's shy and sweet!" "Bryn plays the violin now--she's amazing! Oh, I love David's curly blond hair--he's just like his dad when he was that age." Amanda and Andrea were perfect--she loved it when they visited her when she moved to Boise--"They are so cute! Amanda is like you were--chatty and full of life. Andrea is quieter!" Well, she was then! She loved hearing all of them play their instruments--none of her own children were musical, so she was so proud of her grandchildren who were. She loved my children and much as I did and because essential to me as I stayed in a difficult marriage. She took us on car trips to see their cousins. She did Christmas shopping with me, she attended all of their sports events so I didn't have to go alone.
She was my best friend even though I was more like my father. I told jokes and read while I ate breakfast, lunch and dinner. Maybe I was a comfort after my dad died at 53 years old. She was definitely a comfort to me as I navigated through raising children on my own. I wasn't able to be the mother she was to me in all ways, but I'm doing my best to be the kind of grandmother she was.
Love you Mom! I know when your spirit hovers near me and am eager to spend time with you again.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Taking the hint or heeding a prompting?
Either way, it's a good idea. A few days ago, my daughter blogged about blogging. It was very good, as are all of her blogs. She's a writer. She needs to write. 'Tis her fate to write. Seriously. She could go pro, but she's busy doing what she does even better than writing--mothering. Her blog encouraged others to write, to blog specifically. She reminded all of us that we have stories to tell and important events to record, and that it doesn't so much matter how we write, but that we write. Easy for a gifted writer to say.
Today at church, we had two speakers who also spoke about the importance of keeping records. One speaker read from his journal. It was a nice entry about his little boys and how they tend to learn by experience instead of instruction. Something about not believing their dad when he told them that breaking up chunks of obsidian will create sharp, jagged pieces that might cup fingers. Two boys and four cut fingers later, they believed him. It will be a journal entry read over and over and will probably be used in upcoming talks by various members of the family.
I am also a writer. Or was. No, I still am. I started writing when I was in elementary school as my daughter did, and I, too, may have been able to go pro had I dedicated more time to the prospect. Whether it is that frustration of a dream not fulfilled or not believing that my stories, real or imagined, matter anymore, I have stopped writing. It's time to start again.
I also agree with my daughter. We all need to consider putting our stories into some format that will last. Journals are fine, blogging is great, and even scrapbooking can be a valid form of family history. It all has value. We gain perspective and clarity when we write and looking back on those writings can often add even more clarity in hindsight. I'm also old enough to have multi-generation experience with diaries and journals. I'm grateful for my grandmother's diaries and moreso her family histories. I'm relieved that I interviewed my mother and wrote a short history, because she was not a diary writer. I actually believe that my grandchildren and even my children may read my various journals some day with appreciation.
So, I think I'll take the hint; follow the prompt. I have several journals I can add to, a dozen unfinished scrapbooks, numerous creative works in progress and this blog. Thanks everyone. I feel better already.
Today at church, we had two speakers who also spoke about the importance of keeping records. One speaker read from his journal. It was a nice entry about his little boys and how they tend to learn by experience instead of instruction. Something about not believing their dad when he told them that breaking up chunks of obsidian will create sharp, jagged pieces that might cup fingers. Two boys and four cut fingers later, they believed him. It will be a journal entry read over and over and will probably be used in upcoming talks by various members of the family.
I am also a writer. Or was. No, I still am. I started writing when I was in elementary school as my daughter did, and I, too, may have been able to go pro had I dedicated more time to the prospect. Whether it is that frustration of a dream not fulfilled or not believing that my stories, real or imagined, matter anymore, I have stopped writing. It's time to start again.
I also agree with my daughter. We all need to consider putting our stories into some format that will last. Journals are fine, blogging is great, and even scrapbooking can be a valid form of family history. It all has value. We gain perspective and clarity when we write and looking back on those writings can often add even more clarity in hindsight. I'm also old enough to have multi-generation experience with diaries and journals. I'm grateful for my grandmother's diaries and moreso her family histories. I'm relieved that I interviewed my mother and wrote a short history, because she was not a diary writer. I actually believe that my grandchildren and even my children may read my various journals some day with appreciation.
So, I think I'll take the hint; follow the prompt. I have several journals I can add to, a dozen unfinished scrapbooks, numerous creative works in progress and this blog. Thanks everyone. I feel better already.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Multiple Sclerosis
A little while after my MS diagnosis, someone gave me a book called Taking Charge--Overcoming the Challenges of Long-Term Illness. I looked through it. It was depressing. I decided I didn't need it since my MS was never going to be bad. According to me. And since my neurologist still is pleased as punch that I can walk two or three miles with only a little left leg weakness (actually quite a lot of left leg weakness--I limp by the time I'm done and I walk really slow), it's easy for me to keep believing I dodged the MS bullet. And I did in so many ways. At least so far. Hey, I don't use a cane. I don't use a walker. I don't use a wheel chair. Things could be so much worse. But, it doesn't mean I don't have MS. I have plenty of symptoms. Mostly invisible to most people. I need to read the book. I'm having a really hard time right now that I feel guilty that I can't do everything I used to do and I'm tired of pretending I can. I've actually convinced the most important people in my life that I must just be lazy and that's why I don't do everything. I also fear I may need to cut certain things out of my life--owning a home and pets, for example. Oh, well. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Or sadder. The challenge is to still be me in the best way I can. Heavenly Father will help.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Bucket List
It's Thanksgiving, 2012. I'm at home, making my jello salad layer by layer, and am, by tradition, running late. Will it have all 10 layers? Maybe, maybe not. I had full intentions of getting an early start last night, but Larry and Iris called me at 7:00 saying they had an extra ticket to an ice hockey game, so I went with them. Time well-spent.
My mortality has been harder to ignore lately. What with doctors prescribing things like compression stockings (honestly!) and tut-tutting about my blood pressure, and adding to my prescription list ad nauseum, I have realized I may not, in fact, live forever. At least not in mortality. Don't get me wrong; I still plan on living until I'm 84 (the age at which I decided all of my grandchildren would be at least 12), and death itself is not really even on the agenda then (heard of twinkling?). However, in the interest of full disclosure, there is this survey I took yesterday on my personal life span that is haunting me a bit. Because of recent good habits--exercising and losing weight--and my life long abstinence of drugs and alcohol, my biological age came back at 48, a full ten years younger than I am. My life span number was 98! Wahoo. Way older than 84. Unfortunately, my age of feeling healthy and acting healthy was 58. Dang. Does that mean ten years from the 48 number or does that mean right now? Well, who knows? But it sobered me. (It should sober my caregivers for the last 40 years of my life; btw, great program on NPR yesterday about the value of multi-generations living under one roof!) So, in the interest of realism, I have decided to at least make a bucket list. Things I want to do before I die:
1. Read all of the Newbery Medal books.
2. Finish Trick and maybe a couple of others.
3. Visit Scotland again. At least once.
4. Go on a mission.
Hmmm . . . This is harder than I thought. That's all I can think off right off the top of my head. Surely there are more.
4. Read a lot more books. Duh.
5. Oh, I know--finish all the scrapbooks I've started. Well, there's ten years.
6. Have a flower garden from April to September that I'm proud of.
Seriously. Have I no sense of adventure? Most of this stuff I can do while I'm sitting up in bed at the nursing home. Okay, I'm being realistic. Maybe I'll think big, but I have no intention of getting to do all these things.
6. Visit Africa and China.
7. Publish a children's book and become sort of famous.
8. Visit every single Temple.
9. Wear a size 10.
10. Get married. Haha!
Mostly all I want to do is be as happy as I am right this minute! If I can make a difference with the students I teach, pay my bills and see or talk to one of my children or grandchildren almost every day, I'll have a very nice life.
It's Thanksgiving, 2012. I'm at home, making my jello salad layer by layer, and am, by tradition, running late. Will it have all 10 layers? Maybe, maybe not. I had full intentions of getting an early start last night, but Larry and Iris called me at 7:00 saying they had an extra ticket to an ice hockey game, so I went with them. Time well-spent.
My mortality has been harder to ignore lately. What with doctors prescribing things like compression stockings (honestly!) and tut-tutting about my blood pressure, and adding to my prescription list ad nauseum, I have realized I may not, in fact, live forever. At least not in mortality. Don't get me wrong; I still plan on living until I'm 84 (the age at which I decided all of my grandchildren would be at least 12), and death itself is not really even on the agenda then (heard of twinkling?). However, in the interest of full disclosure, there is this survey I took yesterday on my personal life span that is haunting me a bit. Because of recent good habits--exercising and losing weight--and my life long abstinence of drugs and alcohol, my biological age came back at 48, a full ten years younger than I am. My life span number was 98! Wahoo. Way older than 84. Unfortunately, my age of feeling healthy and acting healthy was 58. Dang. Does that mean ten years from the 48 number or does that mean right now? Well, who knows? But it sobered me. (It should sober my caregivers for the last 40 years of my life; btw, great program on NPR yesterday about the value of multi-generations living under one roof!) So, in the interest of realism, I have decided to at least make a bucket list. Things I want to do before I die:
1. Read all of the Newbery Medal books.
2. Finish Trick and maybe a couple of others.
3. Visit Scotland again. At least once.
4. Go on a mission.
Hmmm . . . This is harder than I thought. That's all I can think off right off the top of my head. Surely there are more.
4. Read a lot more books. Duh.
5. Oh, I know--finish all the scrapbooks I've started. Well, there's ten years.
6. Have a flower garden from April to September that I'm proud of.
Seriously. Have I no sense of adventure? Most of this stuff I can do while I'm sitting up in bed at the nursing home. Okay, I'm being realistic. Maybe I'll think big, but I have no intention of getting to do all these things.
6. Visit Africa and China.
7. Publish a children's book and become sort of famous.
8. Visit every single Temple.
9. Wear a size 10.
10. Get married. Haha!
Mostly all I want to do is be as happy as I am right this minute! If I can make a difference with the students I teach, pay my bills and see or talk to one of my children or grandchildren almost every day, I'll have a very nice life.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Happy Birthday To Me
When I was a teenager, I used to write in a journal quite regularly. Often, I would light several candles in my room at the same time and listen to melancholy music. I wrote special entries two times a year. Inventories. One was on New Year's Eve and the other was on my birthday. Sadly, but perhaps wisely, I threw out those journals, filled with teenage angst as they were. In later years, I wrote in journals and continued, for a while at least, the yearly inventories. Unfortunately, they devolved into really sad accounts of everything I was failing at. They would always end with goal setting. Lose weight. Read my scriptures more. Be nicer. Keep the house cleaner. I stopped writing in my journal.
Still, it is in my nature to write. I've attempted comebacks from time to time. Vacation journals. Spiritual thoughts journals. Scripture memorizing journals. Food and weight loss journals. And most entries start the same way--"It's been so long! I can't believe I haven't written in so many months!" Then blogging came along. I decided to write essays to satisfy the life long dream of writing; my thinking being that if I wrote semi-public blogs, it would inspire me to edit and re-write and thus improve a talent. I blog less often than I write in my journals.
It is less than an hour before my 58th birthday. Inventory time. I'm still trying to lose weight, still not reading my scriptures as often as I could, I'm still not nice to everyone all the time, and I will never have a house to which I'm comfortable having company visit unannounced. I have not fulfilled my goal in writing fiction for children. Well, that's not true. I've written plenty, but never worked hard enough to be published. I'm a decent teacher, my students know I love them and most of my co-workers like me. Not all of them. I'm single, wish I were married but can't imagine how that could ever happen. I have four children and six grandchildren on whom I am too dependent for love and approval, but are unquestionably the greatest joys in my life.
I sound as though I am filled with middle aged angst. Perhaps I am.
Oddly, one thing saved me as a teenager when failure and discouragement weighed me down, and it still saves me today. Forty some years ago, I had a deep knowledge of a Heavenly Father and Savior who loved me. I knew that no matter how imperfect I was, they would always love me. And despite my other failings, I pray often, and am subsequently blessed and comforted.
So, when I lose 5 pounds and then eat banana bread muffins all day and gain it back, when I waste time watching TV instead of writing or cleaning or exercising, even when I am unforgiving or cause offense, I can honestly say that it's a wonderful life. I will get up in the morning, feeling a little older, and spend time with friends, talk to family on the phone, and count my many, many blessings.
Still, it is in my nature to write. I've attempted comebacks from time to time. Vacation journals. Spiritual thoughts journals. Scripture memorizing journals. Food and weight loss journals. And most entries start the same way--"It's been so long! I can't believe I haven't written in so many months!" Then blogging came along. I decided to write essays to satisfy the life long dream of writing; my thinking being that if I wrote semi-public blogs, it would inspire me to edit and re-write and thus improve a talent. I blog less often than I write in my journals.
It is less than an hour before my 58th birthday. Inventory time. I'm still trying to lose weight, still not reading my scriptures as often as I could, I'm still not nice to everyone all the time, and I will never have a house to which I'm comfortable having company visit unannounced. I have not fulfilled my goal in writing fiction for children. Well, that's not true. I've written plenty, but never worked hard enough to be published. I'm a decent teacher, my students know I love them and most of my co-workers like me. Not all of them. I'm single, wish I were married but can't imagine how that could ever happen. I have four children and six grandchildren on whom I am too dependent for love and approval, but are unquestionably the greatest joys in my life.
I sound as though I am filled with middle aged angst. Perhaps I am.
Oddly, one thing saved me as a teenager when failure and discouragement weighed me down, and it still saves me today. Forty some years ago, I had a deep knowledge of a Heavenly Father and Savior who loved me. I knew that no matter how imperfect I was, they would always love me. And despite my other failings, I pray often, and am subsequently blessed and comforted.
So, when I lose 5 pounds and then eat banana bread muffins all day and gain it back, when I waste time watching TV instead of writing or cleaning or exercising, even when I am unforgiving or cause offense, I can honestly say that it's a wonderful life. I will get up in the morning, feeling a little older, and spend time with friends, talk to family on the phone, and count my many, many blessings.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Acknowledging Him in All Things
"Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways, acknowledge Him and He shall direct thy paths." Proverbs 3:5
Day after Thanksgiving acknowledgements. I am thankful for and acknowledge my Savior for:
1. The basic necessities of life given in rich abundance: food, shelter, clothing. I have immediate access to nutritious food and clean water; I have a warm, safe house with lots of stuff I love; I have clothing for every need and every season.
2. The love of family and friends--considered by many the fourth basic necessity of life.
3. My children. Kind, loving, interesting, compassionate, and humorous--one and all. They make me proud and allow me to experience the love my Heavenly Father has for all of His children.
4. My son- and daughters-in-law. I love them as much as I love my children. Which says a lot.
5. My grandchildren. For me, as close to a fifth basic necessity of life as possible. I know that many people never are given the blessing of children and grandchildren, so I am even more grateful that Heavenly Father has allowed me this opportunity. My fondest desire is that my love for them can help them in their lives in whatever way is needed.
6. Temples.
7. My students who teach me to listen and love while I teach them the order of operations and when to use commas.
8. Books.
9. Chocolate. I think it's more than just food.
10. Cats. Really. I know it makes me sound lonely and pathetic, but I really really like cats.
Day after Thanksgiving acknowledgements. I am thankful for and acknowledge my Savior for:
1. The basic necessities of life given in rich abundance: food, shelter, clothing. I have immediate access to nutritious food and clean water; I have a warm, safe house with lots of stuff I love; I have clothing for every need and every season.
2. The love of family and friends--considered by many the fourth basic necessity of life.
3. My children. Kind, loving, interesting, compassionate, and humorous--one and all. They make me proud and allow me to experience the love my Heavenly Father has for all of His children.
4. My son- and daughters-in-law. I love them as much as I love my children. Which says a lot.
5. My grandchildren. For me, as close to a fifth basic necessity of life as possible. I know that many people never are given the blessing of children and grandchildren, so I am even more grateful that Heavenly Father has allowed me this opportunity. My fondest desire is that my love for them can help them in their lives in whatever way is needed.
6. Temples.
7. My students who teach me to listen and love while I teach them the order of operations and when to use commas.
8. Books.
9. Chocolate. I think it's more than just food.
10. Cats. Really. I know it makes me sound lonely and pathetic, but I really really like cats.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Give Peas a Chance
Recently, President Obama (whom I like, for the record, even though I am willing to accept he may be like President Carter, whom I also like, when it comes to getting things done--or it may be that no one in Wash DC has the slightest interest in working together, I just don't know) said we should all cowboy up and eat our peas. Actually, he said something about eating our peas as an analogy for doing something difficult but that may be good for us. He didn't say 'cowboy up' but he should have because a plethora of pea growers got into a little snit because he was implying that no one likes peas. I don't think the cowboys would have minded being used in a presidential analogy.
Anyway, I know people who don't like peas and I'm just here to say that they are loaded with fiber and protein, have no fat and not many calories and they come in really cute little packages. So, people, cowboy up and eat your peas. I love them and I'm not afraid to let it be known.
Anyway, I know people who don't like peas and I'm just here to say that they are loaded with fiber and protein, have no fat and not many calories and they come in really cute little packages. So, people, cowboy up and eat your peas. I love them and I'm not afraid to let it be known.
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