Mother’s Day Musings

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Home, motherhood, Mothers-Day

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day, a holiday we are all supposed to send or give love and thoughts  to our Mothers.  Seeing I am a mother I like this idea! Hey, cards, a gift, dinner, I enjoy being remembered.  Or, maybe we aren’t remembered, it happens.  Children have different beliefs, priorities, lives filled to the brim with their own activities and possibly a  mother you simply know is there and the day passes by.  Your mother loves you, or she does not.  Chances are if she does you’re one of the ones more likely to forget the day, she is not going to disown you 🙂

I remembered my mother this Mother’s Day, likely for the last time, I sent her flowers. My conversation with her today while  I was looking in my dressing room mirror;  I don’t relish looking at myself and being reminded where I am on the timeline of life, I was paying attention to my reactions, my expressions responding to my mother’s happy observations outside her window (the bird feeders), I wanted to ‘see’ (literally)  my reactions to my mother’s softly spoken (weak) words, hear about the  flowers inside her house and who had visited yesterday. Her world is small these days but she has accepted that and does delight at the bloom of a hibiscus that opened today, blooming on a plant she told her caregiver to get rid of, it was ugly.  That too is my mother.  The plant seems to have survived, not everything escapes my mother!

Mother had a little boy and his uncle visit yesterday.  The uncle is a  young man she had worked with and he wanted to pay his respects, the little guy is his nephew, just a mite of a boy and not excited to visit an elderly, very sick woman, whom he didn’t know and in a strange house.  Mother had dripped soup on her blouse when eating and wasn’t certain she wanted anyone to see her in such a ‘mess’.  This too is my mother, you do not get dirty!  If you do you fix it!

After she remembered who her visitor was (please take off his hat so she could get a good look), she worked with dozens of young people her years at The Dogpatch, a Munising Michigan well known restaurant.  My mother enjoyed working with the ‘kids’ each one of the employees as they came and went;  it seems they all remember her and like to pay her visits, they did before she wasn’t well, so these are not sick calls.  The young people she worked with in her 60’s and 70’s gave her energy, kept her up with what was happening in Munising, she would say they kept her young.  And her steel like personality garnered her respect, her work ethic perfect,  and she can be great fun.  She worked when most people would have been more than happy to give it up; she worked because she liked the job, the people she worked with and being occupied was important to her. She was a working woman all of her life.   Being raised in the depression having extra money to set aside certainly didn’t make her unhappy!

Mother took a liking to the little boy who visited yesterday.  He is an endearing little guy and she wanted him to feel comfortable at her house, not wanting him to leave immediately, just as he arrived.  So my mother, the woman who allowed no one to touch anything under threat of who knows what (most likely nothing but a dirty look, I’ve not been ‘hit’ in my life) she was a firm woman, still is, don’t touch!  She encouraged this little guy to please touch, pick up, and enjoy or explore the multitudes of things she has in her home that give her pleasure.  What he enjoyed was a clear glass globe with birds flying around as it played a tune.

While I was busy listening, looking in my mirror I heard a different mother, not changed, people rarely change, but one that was appreciative of a little boy, wanted to make him comfortable in her world, even if she had spilled soup on her blouse.  The spilled soup could have been a door barred from entrance at one time.  Yesterday it didn’t really matter other than it crossed her mind.  What will become of the little boy seemed paramount on her mind and what a gentleman his uncle is.

It is mindful for us  to remember on days when cards are often mushy and don’t fit our situations,  don’t come close to our feelings or relationships, that there is good in almost all people.  find a blank card, write your own feelings and thoughts, most of us even if childhood was difficult can remember a good thought, a memory that was loving, kind and represented our mother in a good light.  We are here!  If nothing else we can offer a big thank you for a mother who cared for our needs, gave us life.  That is the gift our Mother’s have given us. And for that I am grateful 🙂

Why Blog, Why Write?

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literature, world today

To blog or write (are they the same), that is the question.  I’ve given this question a great deal of thought, I have a tendency to over think.  What sometimes seems an impulsive decision to someone else is something I’ve more than likely been pondering for ages.  On occasion I share my perceived dilemma with another, someone who’s opinion I respect and value, but not always.  There are times you follow your own instincts and carry on.

Why does a person start a blog? Why do people write books?  One  must expect someone is going to read it, our words, our opinions, our thoughts, knowledge on a certain topic, our creativity, whatever the topic of the book, the blog.  I found myself wondering why do I think I have anything to say, share or expound on that other people might want to read!  And then even promote it! Seemed rather self-serving and ‘looking for attention’ kind of an adventure. What’s left of those thoughts is:  I really enjoy writing, even if it’s not profound or going to change the world.

Today we live in a world where social media has become a way of communicating, a way of life, blogging certainly is social media and a way of sharing our thoughts, although at times like all good things extremes happen.  Look at Facebook, I’m afraid I don’t have 498 friends, I don’t know 498 people!  I have a handful of friends, my family and people I’ve lost touch with and this enables me to stay in touch, so used properly it’s a good thing ( I sound like Martha Stewart).  And I do enjoy following my children’s friends and see (is that creepy?)  as they become interesting (most of the time) adults and sometimes parents themselves. It’s an easy leap from Facebook to writing a blog, technology, which I’ve always loved, makes it very easy.  Everything you have is at your fingertips and instructions make even a novice like me able to come up with something that’s easily read.  Getting people to read, to follow, is another story, I do have some friends

The Helicopter Spies (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

that are still concerned if they read my blog  a world-wide network of spies will find them!

Some people who write a blog are planning to write a book.  I have no intention of writing a book (never say never).  I don’t have the ability to make up characters and complicated plots.   The abilities of writers is amazing; how a tidbit mentioned in passing at the beginning of the book somehow ties in to the very essence of the story or plot.  So many talented writers and so many topics and styles of writing;  books are wonderful!

My writing could only come from what I ‘know’, what I’ve experienced in life, people I’ve met, enjoyed, disliked, or simple observation of life.  After 65 years you tend to learn a lot about people, yourself and how life takes us on paths we’ve not expected.  At times we  meet people whose lives seem  to be always the same, they live and through good fortune or choices made, their life seems a ‘cakewalk’.  I don’t believe anyone’s life is a ‘cakewalk’.  Truthfully all of us have a life worthy of a good story.  That’s the problem I find if I were to ‘really write’.   I am left to write the truth!

It would be easy to offend someone, it’s difficult to disguise a person in a story of life, they know who they are. You’ve then hurt someone or maybe many others. Even if there is a good story sitting right in front of you, maybe more than one, waiting to leap on to the pages and you expose it to the world (perhaps world is an exaggeration).  What have you done?  If you are not famous perhaps only a handful of people will read or care, if you write and you’ve done a fair to middling job of writing what will be your reward or punishment?  Will it have been worth your poetic license to write about people you knew/know?  Does this mean we can only write about people who are dead?  And how long do they have to be gone before we can ‘not hurt’ anyone who cared about them?

Writing ‘vanilla’ is a term that I’ve heard.  It’s safe, it touches the surface of the story, and it doesn’t dig deep into the soul of what drives the characters to behave as they do.  There are times that finding out the unsavory secrets of a persons past shines a light who they’ve become and why. The truth helps us to decide if we care or understand a person/character.   I like this form of story telling, it helps us to understand human nature, what makes us tick and sometimes not tick so well.   It is how I would like to write if I were to write a book.  I’d like to tell the truth and nothing but the truth so help me god. And of course use a little poetic license!

In the meantime I will continue to write my blog.  It’s bits and pieces of what I know and enjoy and sometimes it even comes close to the ‘real’ truth.  As for what do I get out of it, I enjoy writing, I enjoy the communication, I enjoy hearing from other people and I have a place to share and use my mountains of photographs.  I will continue, at least for now to write a ‘vanilla’ blog 🙂

A Ride With Grandpa Joe

In my mind there were few things I learned to do that equaled the sheer pleasure of driving a car!  I learned to drive when I was young, fourteen as I recall.  I learned on country roads, places I couldn’t hurt anyone other than ruining my boyfriend at that times car!  And I was young to have a boyfriend but I was strong-willed young woman and there I was on my sixteenth birthday (and having passed drivers training in school) ready for my license.  Hooray!  I passed with flying colors.  Passing with flying colors in Munising Michigan isn’t saying much seeing there wasn’t even a street light, no merging highways, the hardest thing for me is I did need to learn driving ‘a stick shift’.  So at one time I could drive with the best of the guys, at least I thought so.  The good thing was my mother drove an automatic shift and so the family car was automatic.  The test would be a piece of cake!

I think the day I got my license I was off running errands or making up errands as soon as my mother got home from work.  The car was so freeing and fun to drive, a whole world opened up for me. My mother and dad’s car was never so clean once I could drive it!  I could hardly wait to buy my own!  Which I did within a very short time.

My parents were very free allowing me to use their car, and I was pretty useful driving off to the grocery store to buy something my mother had forgotten.  Of course each trip took far longer then it needed seeing I had to drive all the streets of Munising hoping I might see someone I knew to wave at, maybe even an ‘older’ boy.  One summer day my dad asked me if I’d take the car and  give his father,  Grandpa Joe a ride to the doctor’s office.  Grandma and grandpa lived in Shingleton, about 12 miles from Munising, a nice ride.   I would be able to show  grandpa how well, and fast I could drive, how grown up I was.

Can you imagine how comfortable he must have been?  I wasn’t a very big young woman, most likely 100 pounds wringing wet and I didn’t look old for my age.   Although I was chatty and I really did enjoy my grandpa.  He was I thought very ‘old-fashioned’, he didn’t drive, he didn’t write and I’m not certain he could read, he spoke English rather well, I think he preferred his native Croatian.   He walked everywhere he went, many miles through the woods to go hunting or fishing, he was a competent man. He had been a lumberjack earning his land by helping to log the forests of  his part of Upper Michigan.   He built his and grandma’s house, all the out buildings and an extra house to rent.  That included two out houses, one for the little house and a rather deluxe one with three openings and I do think I remember one was smaller for the children.  One of his out buildings was a work shop, from the time I was small I loved to go in there to see just what mysterious thing I might find or see.  He had all sorts of tools and sharpeners, warned to not go near the scythes because they were really very sharp.  He sharpened them on a grinding wheel and that was how the lawn got mowed.  It wasn’t cut until the daisies stopped blooming.  Grandma and grandpa’s house and property was one of my favorite places to spend time.  I believe my love of gardens started right there in Shingleton Michigan on grandma and grandpa Dolaski’s piece of America.

Back to our summer day and grandpa’s exciting ride with his grand-daughter, Trudy Lee.  I drove the top end of the speed limit all the way, passing cars if needed; I was out to impress grandpa.  I don’t think I did, but I felt special taking him to town for his appointment.  He was most likely very happy to reach the doctor’s office in one piece.

When I picked grandpa up  at home he was carrying a brown paper bag with him.  The time was late morning; I asked him what was in the bag.  Well, he was pretty sure he was going to miss lunch while he was waiting to see the doctor so he brought it with him.  I knew grandpa always planned ahead, usually anticipating anything that might happen but bring his lunch to the doctor was a new one and I knew better than to giggle on the outside like I was in the inside

We made it to the doctor’s office in record time, I assume that was because I felt the high-end of the speed limit was the proper  way  to drive.   We found a seat in the waiting room; I helped him get checked in and found us a place to sit, the office did have other patients waiting.  Grandpa must have decided either due to his stomach or his pocket watch it was time for his lunch.  He took out his ever-present pocket knife, opened his brown bag, cut a nice piece of onion, a chunk of bologna and began to eat.  I’m sure he offered me a bite and I can’t say I remember having any but I know I didn’t have any onion.  To someone else this may have been an embarrassing moment, for me it was not.  People knew one another in Munising, I’m certain everyone in the waiting room understood this was grandpa’s ‘way’ and I was smiling on the inside at how comfortable he was.  He had no false ‘airs’ about him, he was who he was all the time.   I was proud of him.

Our ride home was uneventful, I didn’t even know why he was seeing the doctor.  I expect it was serious otherwise he’d not have been there.  I must not have given the why much thought then seeing I remember being quite happy on my ride back ‘to town’.  I was ready for another adventure driving!

Heidi Spring Joy a Dog Story

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guinea pigs, hunting dog, loving heart, rainbow bridge

                                Heidi Spring Joy a Dog Story

After a year of sorting out my life, my emotions, all that follow after the death of a spouse of 28 years, a man I’d known all my life; I decided I was able to once again nurture another living thing, a dog.  Animals are a large part of my life.   In the beginning it was difficult to nurture myself, let alone anything needy like a frisky pup.

When my husband died it was a shock that one can’t imagine or begin to predict what the reaction may be, we are all quite certain we know just what we’d do, we don’t.   Not long after he passed, our beloved Shih Tzu, Lady Panda Bear had to leave for the Rainbow Bridge, sixteen years of delighting my children, the neighborhood and even the school.  What better to bring to school for show and tell then an adorable ‘dust mop’ that did tricks (often the opposite of what she was being asked to do). I had enough loss for the time being thank you very much!

I was living alone at that time (I’m not mentioning the two GIANT guinea pigs who would live on and on as they are poor company).  My youngest child Christina had left for college and the house was pretty quiet and my heart had an empty spot, (quite honestly, many empty spots).

After a small dog I wanted a BIG dog.  Maybe a German shepherd would work? I had one once in my life and he was amazing but was protective and I now had a fence with small children living nearby that would surely be sticking fingers through to pet my dog.  I called my veterinarian (don’t laugh) Dr. Barker and asked him to recommend a dog that would be happy, big and the life of the party.   A Golden Retriever was his suggestion and as it happened he knew a family who had newborns!  Be still my dog loving heart!  I called and they asked me to come over and I could pick the ‘second’ of the litter.  One was already promised, she came from good hunting dog breeding stock, like that would matter to me.   Guess there was always that option, although hard  to imagine me hunting anything.

Fat, balls of golden red fur, a whole mess of them all wiggling and tumbling over one another made for a hard choice.  I wanted a female so started my process; each was identified by pink or blue ribbon.  One just stood out for me, she was very active and liked to be held by people!  My name was placed on the pink ribbon.  I hurried home to call everyone I knew what I’d just done!  Hooray!  My kids were happy (they love animals) my friends wondered what I was getting myself into (they often question my sanity), a BIG dog!  And I did work at a botanical garden.  Duh!  I’d find a way, there’s always a way.  See any life lessons in here; always a way?

I visited her as often as the people would let me in the door, often with my daughter who was as delighted as I was with this new ball of fur.   She was coming home on Mother’s Day; I know how to treat myself right!  What a gift for me.

The wait for her to be able to come to her new home seemed forever to me. I had to come up with a name meaningful to me and fitting for a big red dog.  Most weekends in this time period I drove my trusty Rodeo (another story) to Upper Michigan to wander the shores of ‘my’ beloved Lake Superior.  The lake gave me strength when I needed it, often rough and black, huge foamy waves, sometimes beautiful light blue and smooth as glass How could someone not gain strength from such a thing of beauty and strength.  On my three CD drive to get to Lake Superior and my home town I had time to think, I came up with my favorite childhood story Heidi.  It was spring and the puppy would be a joy.   I had it!  Heidi Spring Joy was her name and she did fit the name well.  Heidi would later come with me on these journeys to Lake Superior. Heidi chased waves and was delighted with the water and the holes she could dig in the beautiful white sand with no one telling her to not dig there!

Heidi was an adorable pup and when she was old enough I started to take her to work with me.  I had an understanding boss, and the garden was just beginning so wasn’t’ flooded with people as it now is.  Heidi was nurtured by the beautiful garden, woods, paths to run on and lots of people to love her and play with her.  The only problem she caused, and it wasn’t a big one, she liked to eat the doorstops made out of wooden wedges.  Otherwise everyone was happy to see her and for the most part my “you are working” issue was solved.

Heidi and I had a change in store for us, I got a cat Daisy May from the Humane Society, and they got on well.  Another thing I’d always wanted was a Siamese cat.  No problem!  I found one and off friends and I went to bring her home.  They were certain I again had lost it but were patiently understanding with a bawling Siamese on a two-hour ride, Poppy never stopped bawling at the top of her lungs the whole drive.  Heidi liked her too, and she also liked Sweetie Pie who was the next, a rescue from Texas.  Little did Sweetie know her life would come full circle and she’d end up back in Texas!  Bless her heart.

My life at that time kept changing at a fairly steady pace!  I eventually met my husband Hal; a man who never had a pet in his life unless one counts the two turtles he dropped from a few floors up to see if they could fly.  They couldn’t.   When he came to visit me the first time he was greeted by a big dog, and three cats.  A cat that wouldn’t leave him alone, he thought she was growling when she was purring.   That would be The Popper as he came to call her.  And of course he didn’t mind Heidi too much either, and of course he was on his best behavior seeing we really didn’t know each other well and I don’t doubt he ever thought then he’d end up living with all these animals.

Eventually all these animals and I moved to Punta Gorda, Florida.  Hal and I built a house; long distance building is great fun!  All of my animals were being crated and flown to Florida with me; my car was going with my moving van.  Then 9/11 happened, such an unforgettable tragedy for America.  And new restrictions were placed on flying.  My only choice was to drive my car and my animals (now numbering four) to Florida.  Another challenge.  My oldest son Mike was coerced into driving with me so I wouldn’t need to make the trip alone.  And thank goodness he did, he’s a good traveling companion but it was like a traveling zoo with a bleating cat all the way.  Even with tranquilizers she bleated all the way to Punta Gorda, think Linda Blair in the Exorcist, horrible sound. Heidi Spring Joy was great, slept in her spot and I think put her paws over her ears.

Hal, Hal’s wife Annie Girl, Heidi and I moved into our new home (another day, another story) and all the animals were delighted and Heidi was a happy dog.  She walked with me in the neighborhood and delighted everyone we met; everyone knew her name, they did NOT know mine.  Not quite as friendly as Texas, at least where we lived.  A boating and golf community, something we did not do.  What were we thinking?

Heidi matured into a lovely Golden; she was working for her certification to be a visiting dog at nursing homes.  She was doing well. She had Annie at home to practice with, head in lap, wait for a crumb, or sleep by her chair.  Golden’s calm down after a few years (yes, it takes that long) and are perfect to take visiting people who miss having an animal or even find they like one that will lay her head in their lap to be petted.  Heidi looked forward every week day for Hal to go pick Annie up from day care, a ride!  Nothing better.

The summer of August 2004 the 1st named hurricane of the season was named Charley.  Punta Gorda hadn’t had a hurricane hit since the 60’s; we all felt relatively safe but took precautions.  We did not leave our house.  Charley hit us as a strong category 4 hurricane.  It devastated our town and did a darn good job on our house after a window was breached.  It was a frightening time for all of us in Florida.  More hurricanes followed that year.

The repair from such devastation takes time; piles and piles of debris, becoming toxic lined our streets and neighborhood.  The crews cleaning up got to us when they could.  In the meantime Heidi still needed to be walked, our yard was a big mess, my gardens ripped to shreds; they would recover nicely with a lot of gardening repair.

Walking along in her usual manner Heidi would sniff everything in sight, she was a dog after all, and it’s what they do.  The piles of fermenting debris we could do nothing about and at the time didn’t think they would be harmful.  Although shortly after all these walks and sniffing Heidi started to get sick.  Our vet couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her.  She simply got sicker and sicker.

One day Hal & I couldn’t find her.  We went in the back yard (she had a doggy door) and nowhere to be found.  Then I remembered that an animal would go away, hide, and find a place to die.   We found her, she wouldn’t come to us, and she was still alive, we brought her to the vet, they just didn’t know what to do, and the doctors had been treating her for some time at this point.  We brought her home, went out for the evening with friends and when we came home we found her.  She was heading for her doggy door and died on the pool deck.  Our hearts were truly broken.  We can’t talk about her today and that she died so young (6) without tears coming to our eyes.  The man who never had a dog, and his animal crazy wife were overcome with sadness, never to have a dog again, we’ll stick with our cats seeing they don’t go outside to sniff and inhale toxic waste that will destroy their liver.

Our hearts can break in so many ways, losing a beloved pet is only one of them.  The only cure is time and it simply softens, takes the edge off  your sadness.  Good memories, kindness of friends and our environment sustain us.

More hurricanes followed that summer of Charley, we repaired our house as fast as Hal could get contractors and after one look at Cedar Creek Texas we built another home.  We moved our household (again with the bleating Poppy Cat) and with Annie Girl from her nursing home in Punta Gorda to an even nicer one in Buchner Villas.  And we started again, new gardens, new people, new everything.  We did already have Tracy and her husband Rob here (one of our daughters) so we had a head start.

To connect this to my love for gardening I believe we transplanted ourselves quite nicely, it wasn’t easy and there were many obstacles but we once again began to thrive in our new home with 4 cats.  Although, we do now have another dog, Calla Lily (never say never) we’ve lost our beloved Poppy Cat but have added two more cats. And of course we have gardens.  Life goes on, all of us waiting for the next adventure, good or bad.