Christmas past, present and future.

We were not a big picture-taking family when I was growing up.  My father was the one who took most of the pictures and he spent most of his time haying in the fields, spreading manure or milking the cows.  As far as I know there are only two pictures of me in front of our Christmas tree.  The first one was taken when I was just 4 months old.  Earlier that year we had moved into our 200 year old farmhouse.  It was cold and drafty, had no central heating system and very little indoor plumbing, which meant many cold trips to the out-house in the winter.  You can tell from the picture that my mother was undaunted by these inconveniences.  She was as happy as she had ever been for she had a wonderful, handsome husband, she lived in the cozy farmhouse she always wanted and she had the beginning of the large family she always dreamed of.  The Christmas tree was a white pine, known for having lots of "empty spaces".  It was the only evergreen that grew in abundance on the farm.  My father would scour the forest every year, sometimes with one of us in tow, and come home proudly dragging "the perfect tree".  The only thing I know about that first Christmas is what she told me......that she put a toy snake in my stocking (which she thought I would love) and when I pulled it out I took one horrified look at it and screamed in terror.  From the look on my face in the picture I think I was still recovering from that shock.  (And so began my life-long fear of snakes.)

The only other picture was taken many years later when I was in college. It was taken in the same corner of the room, still in front of a white pine.  Still in front of a bookcase, albeit a different one.  My mother's love of books always precluded having a bookcase in almost every room.  But instead of my mother near me, it was Paul.  We were engaged.  Life was changing.  The natural cycle of maternal-child separation was taking place.


This Christmas was the first year that Paul and I have spent alone.  Damon (the last born and single) usually comes home for Christmas.  But this year he stayed in Seattle to spend Christmas with his girl-friend. Life is changing.  But it isn't bad change.  It was a nice Christmas.  Peaceful and relaxing.  We slept late.  We had a quiet relaxed breakfast.  We opened our few gifts at an easy pace.  We read and listened to Christmas carols on the porch in front of the fire.






After lunch I took my clippers and ventured outside in the crispy air.  I clipped some branches from one of our white pines and one from a hemlock.  Tied together with baling twine and red ribbon it made a perfect, simple wreath to honor my mother who proudly held me in front of her first Christmas tree (and mine) on the farm 65 years ago.  We drove to the cemetery in Salisbury and carefully lay it on her gravesite.......my gift to her on this first Christmas without her.

Yes, we did miss having family in the house this year.  I know that there will be other years when our house is full or we will be visiting one of the children at their very full house.  Damon emailed me a picture taken of him this Christmas morning.  Seeing him look so happy is the best Christmas present I could ever hope for.   If I had my choice of having him home with us but "alone" or staying on the west coast with someone special and happy.............I will take the happy, hands down.  

I'm so glad we had this time together..........

Born 90 years ago today my mother came so close to being able to celebrate a milestone.........her 90th birthday.  It was not to be.  Three months short of her 90th she quietly passed away, my brother at her side playing his dulcimer.   It's something I still haven't gotten used to as I find myself sometimes reaching for the phone at 5 pm to give her a call just to see how her day went. 


I have wondered often today how she would have felt about celebrating her 90th birthday.  She never was too fond of "growing old".  She hated the idea so much that she NEVER would use her senior citizen discount.  I clearly remember the time a waitress handed my mother her bill and said, "Don't forget to ask for you senior citizen discount, honey".  (why do they always call anyone over the age of 60 "honey"?)   My mother's face froze and she sucked in her breath.  As the waitress left my mother said to us, through clenched teeth, "Did you hear what she said to me..........SENIOR CITIZEN discount"?  She wanted our assurance that she did not look THAT old.  One of the most difficult things for her in the nursing home was that they did not do color treatments for hair.  She lamented constantly that she did not like her beautiful white hair.  "Who is that old lady?" she would ask as she looked in the mirror.
     But I also think she would have been proud to be celebrating her 90th.  Proud that she was hale and hearty and "young" enough to have made it this far.  

We gathered together last year at the nursing home to celebrate her 89th.  It was a happy day for her.  Her family was what she loved most in the world.  Having us together was all the birthday gift she wanted.

  As we clustered together for a family "photo shoot" I remember wondering to myself if this would be the last time we celebrated birthday.   Little did we know that the cancer that would rob her of her life was already sneaking into her body.

I have thought a lot about her today.  This is the kind of day she loved.  The bright blue weather of October.  It was her favorite season, the perfect time for her to have been brought into this world.  The fall festival was being held in Salisbury this weekend.  We would often go there together as a celebration for her birthday.  I wish I could still do that.

I miss her and always will.  We have celebrated so many happy birthdays with her and thoughts of those make me smile.  Looking at her pictures makes me feel like she is sitting next to me.  I am so thankful for all the birthdays that I have been able to celebrate with her. 

  The only thing she really wanted in life was to be a mother and make us happy.  She did all that and more. She made me so happy.  It went so fast.  As Carol Burnett used to sing at the end of each show:  

"I'm so glad we had this time together.  Just to have a laugh or sing a song.  Seems we just get started and before you know it.  Comes the time we have to say so long."

Love you Mom............

Happy 90th to someone who made a difference

The picture my sister showed my yesterday was wrinkled and worn in spots, showing it's age.  It had been many many many years since I had seen the picture.  I had forgotten most of it so looking at it was like seeing it for the first time.  My memory was still true to what I did remember, as if that portion of the photograph had been copied into my brain......my sister and I in our matching navy blue jumpers, a la parochial school, that my grandmother had bought us from the Lane Bryant catalog.  Even though we were not twins we were close enough in age that we were often dressed in matching outfits.  The photo is of our Junior Choir in the Methodist Church in Falls Village.  I'm not sure why the picture was even taken.  I'm not sure why we have the funky bows across our necks or why we are all dressed in white tops and dark bottoms.  We did have choir gowns.  I have a feeling this may have been when the choir was first formed, before the church had the funds for gowns.  Standing in the back corner, looking composed and beautiful, is our choir director and church organist, Ardys Walrath.  She formed the Junior Choir shortly after moving to Falls Village and joining the church.  She was still doing it years later when I went off to college and years after that formed a senior citizen choral group.
 

The picture may show it's age but something that doesn't is our choir director, shown above on the right.  Yesterday we attended an open house celebrating her 90th birthday.  She looks and acts far younger than her 90 years.  I always remember her as being a kind and generous lady.    She hosted my surprise bridal shower.  She invited Paul and I her to home for dinner right after we got married.  Perhaps she felt sorry for us because we were living in a log cabin without electricity.   
Still active, she made visits to my mother in the nursing home, bringing her a supply of books to read.

There were three of us at the open house from her original choir to reminisce and wish her happiness on her birthday.  Choir practice was every Friday after school and I NEVER once balked at going.  Mrs. Walrath was always dressed very primly in a neatly pressed white blouse and black skirt.  She had the patience of Job when it came to dealing with giggling little girls.  One of the members admitted to me yesterday that he was often late to practice because he stopped by the local grocery store first to play pin-ball.  Mrs. Walrath was often a bit annoyed with him when he showed up late.  He couldn't decide if it was because he was late or if it was because he was playing pinball but thinks it was a little bit of both. 


It's always nice to think that you made a difference in someone's life.  She can rest assured that she has.  She never EVER once criticized my questionable ability to sing.  She just let me enjoy it.  I went on to sing in the Glee Club in college.  Even though my voice is showing it's age and sounds as scratchy as that choir picture looks, I still love to sing.  And every time I do I think of her and her patience, patience, patience.  


Happy happy 90th to a great lady......and thank you for making part of my life so much better.

Happy 31 to someone special

Thirty years ago today my last child, the sprinkles on my sundae of life, was celebrating his first birthday. As the old saying goes: "the days are long but the years are short". Yes, some of those days were very long but now I find myself asking, "How did those 31 years go so fast and how fast will the next 31 go?" Today, on his birthday, as I do a mental rewind of his life I can do nothing but smile at the happiness he has brought to us. He was a funny, quirky, ACTIVE, happy and affectionate little boy. So many images. But some of them I have to put on pause so I can savor the moments that I remember best.


Damon was known for "bad hair days". He was nicknamed "Yoda" by his brother's contemporaries.

He was a hard working student, even when it came to doing things he REALLY hated and just didn't get.....like writing stories. He'd bang his head on the table and cry in exasperation "I just can't think of ANYTHING to say".


He always loved things with wheels, even at a very early age.



He loved dressing up in suit jackets. Every school picture has him adorned to the nines. He always had to have a jacket in his closet.


And he was still doing it in high school. But things have changed. I'm not even sure he owns a suit jacket today. The jacket has been taken over by the t-shirt with techie sayings plastered across the front.



Damon was always a warm and affectionate little guy, generous with the hugs and snuggles.

He loved his Dad.


He loved his Grandpa Joe.


He believed in Santa Claus. (There really is a Santa Claus, you know)




He played basketball, even making a 3 point shot once......in the other team's basket.


And he played soccer. And played soccer. And played soccer.


But just to balance it all out, he could play a really mean piano.



He always treated the opposite sex with respect and always had lots of girls who were "friends". Just a babe magnet. When he was little............



.......And when he was older.




But he wasn't perfect. Sometimes he did things he shouldn't do. (takes after his father that way)



He graduated from Taft.



And then graduated from RIT.



From the time he was able to move fingers across a key board he had a real affinity for the computer. I mean, really, what child would write a paper on Mozart in the 3rd grade and dedicate it to "my computer"?? I always thought the first dedication of most children would be to their "mother". Right? He was steadfast and unwavering in his passion for the computer and has now started his own successful business.



We're so proud of you, Damon. Happy 31st to a really neat young man. May you enjoy many more happy and sweet years.

Good-bye To My Mimsy

MY MIMSY
10-10-1921 - 7/20/2011

Last Saturday was the annual Antiquarian Book Fair at Searles Castle in Great Barrington. Each year, for many years, my mother would drive from her home in Glastonbury to my house and we would drive together to the book fair. My sister would drive down from Albany and we would meet her there. It was an event we all looked forward to.
We loved poking around the old books, looking for a forgotten treasure. We loved going out for lunch together afterward. Most of all we just loved being with each other. We loved laughing together. We loved exchanging stories. We were with the people we felt most comfortable with. They were special moments in time that can never be forgotten. Even though her health prevented her from going to the fair the past few years, I still went and called her up as soon as I got home to relay the adventures of my day. Sometimes I would buy her a special book.

This Saturday I did not go to the fair. Instead, on that day, I said good-bye to my dear life-long friend and mother at a memorial service that was fitting in it's simplicity.

I said goodbye to the person who has known me the longest. The person who has been with me every step of my life, and even before. She loved me intensely even before I was born. One of the last things she said to me was "I love you".

She was funny, quirky, intelligent, creative and in love with motherhood. She taught me to love the written word. She made me laugh. She taught me to ALWAYS wash my hands after being in a public place. She taught me to be kind to those less fortunate. She taught me that "handsome is as handsome does". She taught me that......
"There is so much good in the worst of us, And so much bad in the best of us, That it hardly behooves any of us, To talk about the rest of us".....
Oh yes, she also taught me the love of quotes. She grounded me when I needed it (yes, I was naughty). She loved me even when I didn't deserve it. She never judged me or criticized. She taught me how to enjoy the simple things in life, like a sparkling autumn day or the sound of the katy-dids on a warm summer night. She was there when I left for school in the morning and she was always there when I came home. She taught me to accept what life deals out to you.


There was nothing she loved more in life than her children. She was the happiest when we were all together. At the nursing home where she lived her last two years they had a "Just One Wish" program. If your name was chosen they would grant a wish for you. One man wanted to see a Red Sox game so they took him to Boston. When my mother's name was chosen the thing she wanted the most was to be together with all her children. Her wish was granted with a steak, lobster and wine dinner for all her children and their spouses at the nursing home. It was one of her happiest memories there.


I miss her so. Especially in the late afternoon when I used to call her each day. There wasn't much to say because her world had gotten so small..."What did you do today, Mom?" "Oh, the usual". It was a wonderful connection on the days I couldn't visit. She left a message on my phone once when I was away for the weekend, just to tell me that she missed me and she loved me. I can't bring myself to delete it from my voice mail. It's as if a tiny part of her is still here. My mother always used to say to me, when I was young and living on the farm, "We may be poor but we're rich in land and love". I'm also rich in memories. Thanks for those memories, Mimsy.

Table Hunting

Many many years ago, before I got married, I had an image in my mind of the kind of table I wanted in my dining room. A narrow plank antique harvest table. Simple. Very simple. I never wavered from that image. I used to visualize the wild flowers I would have sitting in the middle of that table or my yet-to-be born children seated around the table making new memories on an old table that had seated so many families before ours.


This was the kind of table I had pictured in my mind. And that is where the table has stayed all these 40-plus years, in my mind.


Our first apartment came furnished. Oh joy! So we had to settle for the table that was there. One of those glamorous formica top tables, considered today to be antiques. When Paul graduated from school and we moved to an unfurnished condo, the only thing we could afford was a small, unstained pine table that had to undergo a do-it-yourself staining job. When we moved into our new house we bought a used massive Hunt County table. It had the antique look but it just wasn't what I had pictured. It has served us well and can seat ALMOST our whole huge extended family. It easily holds all the fixings for a big Thanksgiving dinner. As Paul would say "it's rock solid". There are 30 years of great memories stored in the grooves of that table. But it's too big. It's too dark. It's not that table I always imagined.

So we took a trip to the Brimfield Antique Show last week. Billed as the largest antique sale in the world it has 6,000 dealers. Twenty-three huge fields covering a mile long strip of highway. "If they don't have it there, you won't find it". We walked and walked and walked, and walked some more. We arrived at 9:30 and left at 2:30. That's a LOT of hot and dusty walking and made these old folks tired and sore by bedtime. To shorten our time we each would take an aisle and meet at the end. We saw everything from door knobs to a chair made out of deer antlers to a full size statue of a horse and rider just right for your front lawn. We saw ugly. We saw beautiful. But we couldn't find my table. It certainly didn't help our cause that the massive "fine furniture" venue was closed that day. But we didn't go home empty handed. Paul was looking for a potato fork and found one at the very last table we looked at, right after the vendor said "Nope. No potato forks" when Paul asked if he had any.

When I came home, tired and disappointed, I checked the internet and found there are some fine craftsmen who make what I'm looking for. It's not antique, but at this point I'll settle for new. Their work is stunningly beautiful. Now I need to search for a craftsman who is near enough for me to check out their work. So far I've found one in Lancaster and Buffalo, both a little far. If anyone knows of someone who does this kind of work, let me know. I'm looking and won't stop until I have that table. I have a great antique wooden salad bowl that is looking for place to sit.

43 years.........and still counting

"Summer romances begin for all kinds of reasons, but when all is said and done, they have one thing in common. They're shooting stars, a spectacular moment of light in the heavens, a fleeting glimpse of eternity, and in a flash they're gone."
-from the movie "The Notebook"

It was a summer romance. There were shooting stars. It was a spectacular moment of light in the heavens. But fortunately it wasn't gone in a flash. We met 47 years ago and the romance is still there. When summer began to fade away into fall we went our separate ways. I went to school in West Virginia. He went to school in Connecticut. I dated but couldn't wait for school breaks so I could see him again. We wrote letters to each other. Sporadically at first and then daily. After two years I knew I had to keep him with me for the rest of my life.


It was forty-three years ago this past Wednesday that we said "I do" on a beautiful late spring day under sunny blue skies. The ceremony and reception were simple. Probably boringly simple by today's standards. A reception on the lawn of the parish house. Punch served with sandwiches and cookies made by the ladies of the church. The most expensive item in the reception was the wedding cake. My brother, who is a minister, once told me that from what he has seen the length of a marriage is often inversely proportional to the amount of money spent on the wedding. No wonder we're still together!

More money was spent on our honeymoon than the wedding. Back then a week in Bermuda cost $600, including air fare. It was all the money we had. We only could afford the cheapest room in the hotel, a room that was smack dab against the boiler room and had a view out the window of a concrete wall. But someone said "do it because you will probably never have another vacation like it". They were right. We had schooling to finish, then came children and a mortgage. Paul opened his own business. Then came college tuition. There was never time or money for another trip like that. It did not matter. The memories of that week have kept me happy for 43 years!


Tonight we went to the Falls Village Inn to celebrate our years together. Very appropriate since Falls Village is the town where we first started our long affair. While there we happened to see someone who worked a couple of summers for my father when I was very young. He invited us to sit and chat with him after dinner at his table on the porch. We sat and reminisced about old times as the sun set and sent a cool and summer scented breeze our way. That is the nice thing about growing old. There is so much more to reminisce and talk about. On the way out we stopped on the front porch and chatted with some young hikers from the Appalachian Trail and filled their heads with local ghostly legends.

Before leaving for home we took a ride down the Mosquito Path. I wanted to take myself back to where it all began so long ago. He was the lifeguard at the local swimming area situated on the Mosquito Path. I can remember him (and I thought "him" was really hot!) walking over to me as I was sitting next to the water and asking me my name. "Okay, maybe he's a little interested in me, too", I thought. I smiled up at him (probably a pathetically flirty smile) and told him my name........"Mary Margaret". "Well, Mary" he said as he patted me on the head like a kid sister, "could you watch the children for me for a minute while I run inside?" Little Mary-Margaret was shot down.



The town has built a new swimming area in another part of town. There is nothing left here but a sad skeleton of happy days. Most of the water is gone. Weeds have replaced the neatly mowed lawns that used to surround the pool. The tall grass has attracted an army of mosquitoes that attacked us and made our stay very short. This place that was once so lively and filled with laughter and the sounds of cannonballs and the smell of Coppertone and the swoosh swoosh of the pucks being pushed down the shuffleboard court and the slap slap of the tether ball as it was being sent around the pole now is silent except for the buzzing of the deer flies around your head.

I'm glad that our marriage fared better over the past 43 years than this old swimming hole did. I still love to hear him come in the door at the end of the day. It's a comfort at night to hear his slow and even breathing next to me. When the phone rings I like to pick it up and hear him at the other end. Even when he is completely and totally annoying (and he can be) I am still happy that he is still here with me. In 7 years we will celebrate our 50th anniversary. That sounds REALLY scary. Scary because I always thought someone married that long was...........old. But even scarier would be if this had just been a summer romance and gone in a flash. It hasn't always been easy, but the best things in life aren't always easy. And this is the best thing in my life!

A Mother's Wish Fulfilled

When I was a very little girl the thing I wanted most in life was to be a mother. I had no lofty aspirations. I just knew I wanted to be a mother. I would mother my dolls until they were smudged and ragged from love. I loved to tuck my doll into her doll carriage with her baby bottle, give her a kiss and go for long walks around the yard. If my doll had an ear-ache (she always had an ear-ache because I always had an ear-ache) I would cover her up in her little doll crib and put the miniature hot water bottle against her ear and sit and read stories to her until she was better. When I was presented with a little doll that could wet it's pants one Christmas I was in heaven. Now I could feed my baby AND change her diaper. All that I learned about baby-care I learned from the master teacher, my own mother.

By the time I was in college and studying nursing the women's lib movement was in full swing. I was not interested. I did not want to follow that crowd of women who wanted equality with men. I only wanted to do what a man could not and that was to bear a child. Secretly I wanted an even dozen.

There is nothing that brought me more joy than the day I was told that I was expecting my first child. Most people do not like it when I say this but I LOVED every single second of pregnancy. EVERY SECOND! Never have I felt so good. I would have been happy if I could have spent my young years in perpetual pregnancy. And loving them after they were born was the culmination of that nine month high.


I loved my job as a stay-at-home mother. We had little, very little, money but I would not have traded those years spent with them for a bank account with a plus balance. It wasn't always easy. I had to endure the usual craziness of raising children such as Kara's hormonal door-slamming sessions, Brett's unusual fashion statement......blue hair and shaved eyebrows, and Damon's store tantrums when I wouldn't buy him Count Chocula cereal. But the good times far outweighed the difficult.


They have grown into amazing and beautiful adults. They are successful, responsible and caring. As parents, Kara and Brett have far exceeded my expectations. They all make me happy. They make me proud. Because of them I have fulfilled my earliest wish, to be a mother. That is the best Mother's Day present they could ever give me. Thank you thank you thank you!

Sweetness

Her little brother called her Geeka. I always called her Sweetness, because she was. Browsing through Bradlee's Department Store when she was small we came across a box of large plastic letters. Letter with legs on them so they could wobble down an incline. Kara pawed through the box looking for a "K" for Kara. Sadly there were no "K's" to be found. I picked up an "S" and said "Here, this one is just for you. "S" for sweetness." I still have that plastic letter tucked away in the attic, a reminder of the sweetness that came into my life 39(really?) years ago today.


When Kara was small my sister-in-law gave me this statue for Christmas. She said it reminded her of Kara and me. She was right. That was our constant pose when Kara was small. Kara leaning into me, her small hand in mine, my hand on her head. She was my constant companion. Newly moved to Torrington, I knew no baby-sitters and had no family living in town so Kara went with me everywhere. Grocery shopping, the bank, swimming at the "Y", the dentist, the doctor. At home we took walks, we read, we did "workbooks" together. I hung my laundry on the line and Kara had her own little line where she hung her doll clothes out to dry. She would trot off with me to Paul's office when I was needed to help. Always the creative one she would climb into one of the cages and pretend she was a cat, meowing at clients as they brought their pet to the back.

The past 39 years have flown by at hyper-thrust speed. Kara has stayed just as sweet, always thinking of others before herself.


I loved her even before I saw her beautiful face.

And I love her today.

Happy Birthday Sweetness.

Spring (?) vacation

My long awaited spring vacation has arrived........and is almost over. Except for two beautiful days the weather has been very un-springlike. Although it has been typical New England April weather......damp, dreary and cool. But as they say "April showers....." So bring on the rain so we can have the flowers.

Despite the dreary weather there have been some signs that spring is peeking around the corner. The landscape is still brown and barren and ugly but with every rain-storm the grass looks a bit greener and the buds on the trees are that much closer to becoming leaves. Our hungry neighborhood bears have awakened from their winter nap and are making nightly raids of bird feeders and garbage cans. Today I drove 20 miles to the ONLY store that carries the ONLY sneakers that make my feet happy. The comfy sneakers that I so eagerly change into after work have now become my "garden" sneakers, ready to be called into service for a season of outdoor work.

My rake and garden gloves have come out of winter storage in the old goat house and are now in the open for the next 8 months. By the time November comes I will have gone through at least 4 pair of gloves.


My first daffodils to bloom, my mini-mini's, have blossomed and are already getting ready to call it quits until next April.


The daffodils we planted over Katrina-the-goat's burial mound are in full bloom, reminding me every spring of that pesky, playful and willful goat and that life indeed does go on.

And there are the leaves, piles and piles and piles of them that I heaped on all my plants last fall to keep the ground from heaving and pushing the plants out into the cold. As sure as sap runs every February there will be those piles and piles and piles of leaves to remove.

I spent our two nice days loading all the piles into my Garden-way cart and carting them off the other side of the property to the leaf burial ground. Two days of back-breaking hard labor and I'm only 1/6 of the way finished with the raking and carting. Every once in a while, just once in a while, I almost wish I had a tiny 20 x 20 foot yard to take care of.

I don't mind the rain. It gives me a good excuse to work inside. The basement.......oh the basement. I'm really trying to clean it out for real this time. I really cannot believe the STUFF that I have kept. Do we really need old burners from an electric stove that we don't have any more? Or a chemistry book from 1927? Or an old rock tumbler that tumbles endlessly for weeks before the rocks are even close to polished? Or a non-functional light meter for an old camera? And all those not-very-pretty baskets that come with fruit gifts? I used to look at this stuff and think....hmmmmmm.....I'll save it to donate to the Boy Scout tag sale. But no, I would be too embarrassed to haul this to the Boy Scouts. I don't even think the Salvation Army would want this stuff. So off it goes to the trash man. It feels SO good.

What I really want is for someone to drive a dumpster up to my back door and leave it there for a month so I can spend day after endless day just tossing.