Cousin Nancy

           Cousin Nancy was born five years after my mother.  She was about a toddler when her young mother died.  When her dad remarried within the year, he did not want the child to know that his new wife was not Nancy’s real mother.  Therefore, he forbade any contact with his first wife’s family for fear that the truth would come out.

           This was devastating for my mother, who was an only child and had no cousins within a hundred miles.  She was not allowed to acknowledge or talk to her cousin even though they went to the same church and school for many years.  She was not to enjoy the friendship of her cousin, Nancy, a beautiful, sweet and talented girl, and she longed for this relationship.

           Mom certainly had an ache in her heart about this, as I am sure her mother, grandfather and aunt did as well.  They had tragically lost a sister and then they were not permitted to have a relationship with her child. Yet, they saw her regularly.

          Mom never had the opportunity to know her cousin until a mutual relative died and the attorney located Nancy for legal purposes.  My mother, in her late 70’s, seized the opportunity and the courage to write to her cousin a heartfelt letter and invite her cousin, who now lived on the East Coast, to visit her in Central Ohio.  One of the best days of my mother’s entire life was the day she spent reconnecting with her cousin after seven decades. My mother was so happy and genuinely joyful that she had done this. It was a delight to hear he talk about this meeting.  The cousins corresponded for about a year. Then, the letters stopped. Nancy was a victim of Parkinson’s disease and Mom of Alzheimer’s.

         The focus of this blog is this: take the effort today to mend an ache in your heart, to repair a breach, to reconnect with someone you care about. Sometimes it takes courage as it did for my mother, but you will be glad you did.  In doing, this you will likely find JOY!

        When I was growing up my mother would always speak of her cousin Nancy with love and sadness.  Those heartaches can be so painful. When my mother had her second daughter and youngest child, it was an honor and gift of love to name her beautiful and sweet baby (who would be very talented, too) with her mother’s name for a middle name and the first name of Nancy.

Homemade Clothes

 Homemade Clothes

       Mom definitely did not make all of our clothes, but the special ones she made were memorable to say the least.   I am not sure I always appreciated her labor of love as I do today.

       When I was a very little girl, my mother made my sister and me matching dresses.  They were lavender checked gingham and had solid lavender accents.  They had puffy sleeves and a full gathered skirt with a sash that tied in back.  The best part besides the great color was the little purple, embroidered piggy bank pockets stitched on the front of the skirt.  I remember wearing it so proudly. That was my favorite dress that Mom made for me.  My sister, who was younger than I was, got to wear the dress two years.  First, she wore hers, then; she got to wear mine when I outgrew it! I know she was just thrilled…

        The next special outfit that I remember her making me was for a sixth grade winter dance.  All of the girls were wearing fashionable solid light colored or bright colored dresses. (I do not think the other mothers of the girls in my class sewed.)  Mom, wanting to save money, made me a dress from an old formal of my grandmother’s.  It was beautiful for a 6o year old woman, but not for me. It was not that it was just ugly; it was just not in style. It had a black velvet top with short sleeves and a dropped-waist, full skirt made from turquoise taffeta with white stars all over it.  The turquoise taffeta was made into a Peter Pan collar, cuffs on the sleeves and a band around the hip. I even wore a turquoise-with-stars bow in my hair.  Donning my black patent leather shoes and my pink glasses, the look was complete!  I was so embarrassed, but, of course, I could not say anything, because the giver had put so much love into its making.

      

        At the dance, I stood in the corner of the room feeling very out of place.   Along came a sweet boy, who came up to me and said that he liked my dress. I am not sure what negative comment I made, but he said, “I really like those stars.”  Charlie Meng, I will always remember you and love you for saying that!  What a gentleman!

        The outfits Mom made me for seventh grade got even more memorable, because she would use the same pattern over and over to save money on patterns.  The green corduroy jumper with a matching green blouse seemed cute enough to me until I heard that the other students were calling me a Martian.  Maybe it was the matching green knee socks that clenched the look. I had a grey jumper; too, that was the identical style.  I also had a brown and blue outfit out of the same pattern as the sixth grade dance dress. Mom was thrifty. 

        I was glad when Mom started letting me start picking out my own patterns and material.  It was a great bonding time. Eventually, we even got to regularly purchase  “store-bought” clothes.  The great thing about homemade clothing, however, was that you never ever had to worry about someone showing up at school, church or an activity in the same outfit you wore. What a relief!! I was the only sixth grader around with stars all over my dress and the only seventh grader anywhere who was dressed from head to toe in green and not in a Girl Scout uniform.

       

Knot Sewing

Knot Sewing

       Sewing was something that all young ladies did. Actually, it was something that middle aged and elderly women did, too.  My mother had tried teaching me to sew at home, but she thought I definitely needed to take it in school.  In seventh grade, I made a duster with a cap.  Later, in high school clothing classes, I made other articles of clothing that, thankfully, I choose not to remember. 

       It was a chore to sew at home on mom’s machine, because of dropping bobbins, out of control stitching and constant ripping out of knots.  The sewing machine would regularly make horrendous stitching and the thread would break after only making a few stitches. The machine was not a very good one. In fact, it was in terrible condition.  I would get so upset, because the machine just would not do what I wanted it to do.

       I had seen the many beautiful things that my grandmother and my mother had sewn.  I did so want to make those beautiful things, too. 

       One of my first purchases with my teacher’s salary, after the necessary car, was a sewing machine.  It was a symbol to me that I wanted to be a wife and mother someday to make exquisite home decorations and cute clothes for my children, just like my mother and grandmother had done.  In the meantime as I waited for Prince Charming, I could be thrifty and make my own clothes. Certainly, Prince Charming would recognize worth in this.

       There was a time when I make most, if not all, of my own clothes. (I shutter to think of them now.)  I took adult sewing classes. I made a “stretch and sew” red blazer, slacks, many dresses, tops, cushions, and curtains. That was what I was supposed to do. I could be thrifty: I could be domestic.  That was the right thing to do!

       Eventually my new sewing machine started doing the same horrible things that the old machine at home did.  Often, I would go no more than a few inches without the thread breaking, the bobbin dropping, the stitches balling up or the needle breaking. There were knots instead of stitches up and down the seams. Maybe, it wasn’t the machine after all. 

       Then, at some point in time, I realized how expensive the material was, how much time it took to sew, how frustrating sewing was for me, how less than mediocre the items I made really were and I decided to start buying clothes instead of sewing.  It was like a big burden being lifted from off of my shoulders.  The joy of not sewing had arrived! No more knot sewing!  I had found my joy and only a little guilt!

        

A Tale of Two Movies

A Tale of Two Movies

        The two cities were Washington DC and Paris (and other French towns).  The time frame for both movies was within a general period of the mid 1800’s. (“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”) There were some general themes that were similar: oppression of the poor, law and grace, the courage of those fighting against tyranny, freedom and God’s will.

       Both lead characters died for others and their cause. Both had Christ-like qualities.   Both lead characters were powerful examples. Both characters were and are totally unforgettable and, yes, extremely famous.

       One story was done in music and one in words. One was fiction and one was fact. Both of these stories were told in two and a half hour movies.  Two and a half hours of intensity and total absorption into the stories. Both offered lessons for life. You know I am talking about Les Miserables and Lincoln, two recent films and two of the best movies I have seen in a long time.  

      Though I read Les Miserables and saw two other stage versions and one film version of the story, I was totally enthralled. Though I have read at least 20 books about Lincoln and consider him to be a personal hero, I was overwhelmed with this movie.

      The “tear factor” is a gauge I use to determine how involved I am in a movie and how moved I am emotionally. Sometimes my “tear factor” gauge does not work, because a movie is just too sad for tears. However, it usually does work for my purposes.  I cried a little while watching Les Miserables, but there was no surprise since I had seen it before.  The music was totally moving, though.

       Now, Lincoln should not have brought even a tear to my eyes, because I knew the story, or so I thought. Since Team of Rivals has been on my night stand for over a year untouched and unread, I was totally, surprised and moved by the story. (Most of the ideas from the movie came from this book as I understand.) I just bawled.  The film was so realistic and well-done. The acting was superb as was nearly every aspect of the film. I cried mostly because it seemed to be such a realistic portrayal of this most humble, loving, courageous leader.

      Lincoln, the movie, like Lincoln, the man “belongs to the ages” as the Edwin Stanton said upon his death.  Let us not forget the gift that Lincoln was to our nation.  Let us not forget how really great he was. For his words, deeds and example, we should be grateful.

       Though I enjoyed both movies, there is no doubt in my mind which I liked better. Truth can truly be more powerful than fiction. In the case of Lincoln, joy was brought to me just realizing that someone like Lincoln really lived. (And, yes, I have already started reading Team of Rivals.) 

      

       

      

      

      

Snow

Snow

 

       I have always loved snow.  There is something so pure and good about it.  Some think that it symbolizes the dull, dreariness of winter, but I think it symbolizes a purging and cleansing to prepare the world for the new beginning of spring. It is like God is cleaning the slate to make a new beginning.  I do not think of the old that is erased, but the new that is coming. The layers of new fallen snow remind me of heavenly beauty and an upcoming fresh start.  Nothing is more pure than fresh clean falling snow. Nothing is more relaxing to observe. Snow represents lots of wonderful things to me.

       I can think of nothing more fun that playing in snow, building a fort or snowman, sledding, tubing, skiing, or making a snow angel. I remember ice skating outside and warming up by a fire.  I remember making snowmen and snow angels. I remember laughing and laughing and laughing.  Snow makes me think of fun and laughter.

      Bundling up for an adventure in the snow is fun, too.  You put on all your layers of clothing, your hat, mitten, boots and scarf and outside you go.  You are so warm that nothing could make you cold you think.  The contrast on your cheeks of the cold, wet snow is scintillating.  As you move through the snow you get hotter, until you start getting wet.  Then, the chill can hit you. Snow is full of dramatic contrasts.

     

       I have been caught in snowstorms on my way to and from the small town forty miles from home where I taught for my first nine years of teaching.  I was not a very experienced driver in my 20’s and had many times that I was stuck in a ditch on those country roads.  I experienced the kindness of friends and strangers many times.  Students’ and teachers’ families offered to put me up for the night because of the snow.  Snow brings out the best in people.

    

       As a young teacher, when we had snow day from school, my teacher friends and I would go skiing.  It was just the best time. We took a day that could have been dull and boring and turned it into the most wonderful of adventures.  Snow represents adventure!

       When I had a child, it was really important to me that my son loved snow, so I would bundle him up when he was very small and take him out to play in it even if he did not act like he wanted to go.  It was always a lot of fun for both of us.( Sometimes I could even drag my husband along.) I took him ice skating, tubing, and sled riding many times.  My sister enjoyed this too, so she was always game! When my son was five, my sister and I took him skiing, so that winter would be fun for him; and to this day, it is!!! Snow had a way of binding us together. Snow is relationship building, too!

       There was a day in February, twenty-six years ago.  What a beautiful sunny day it was!  It was a day full of hopes and dreams!  After church, my fiancé and I stopped by to see my elderly great aunt and when we left her apartment, we were immersed in the most beautiful fresh falling snow. It was a totally unexpected snow!  It was not a cold day, but the falling snow was thick and luscious.  The flakes were big, sparkling and precious.  I can still remember the feeling of exuberance and joy that I felt when I saw the snow on that particular day.  I remember my little white satin shoes stepping in the snow and the warmth of my fiancé’s hand. On this day, snow represented love and joy.  It was our wedding day and God gave us the gift of pure, good, lovely, fresh fallen snow to start our lives together. 

Uncluttering to Find Joy

Uncluttering to Find Joy

        Uncluttering our homes, our offices, our social relationships, our eating habits and our lives may be one of the best things we can do. It will help us keep our focus on what is truly important and give us time to appreciate what we have. It will help us to have time for gratitude and joy.  Resolving to simplify life and uncluttering may seem like a daunting task, but it is worthwhile.

        Many of us talk about multitasking and even find delight in multitasking, because it helps us get things done faster.  We want to get things done more rapidly so we can accomplish more.  The more we accomplish the closer we are to our vision of success or a feeling of being uncluttered. Maybe the multitasking approach is part of the problem, however. If I do the dishes, mop the floor, nurture my little child, spend time with my husband, talk on the phone, bake bread and give myself a facial all at the same time, perhaps something will be slighted. Some things need my entire focus of attention. I am only uncluttering my life, when I repeatedly multitask, to find time for more clutter.

         There is actually a speech disorder called cluttering.  It is characterized by lots of starts and stops; racing thoughts, saying things that were not meant to be said, leaving off parts of words; omitting endings of words; using lots of “um’s and ah’s” and being unaware of how one’s speech sounds to others. It is as though the person has a cluttered mind. Isn’t that metaphorically what we are doing when we clutter our lives?  Isn’t that how our brain feels when we are cluttered in physical, spiritual or emotional ways? It is like being on a treadmill and not being able to get off.

       Being cluttered can be a way of talking, thinking, living and even hiding.  Have you ever been in a room where most everyone is someone you know and you say “hello” and a few words to everyone in the room, but realize that that was all there was time for? You feel cluttered because you did not have time to really connect to anyone. Maybe, that is how we hide.  We just do not have time to let anyone really get to know us or really get to know someone else. Moving through life that way will not lead to strong relationships.  It is another way of being cluttered.

       Eating without a plan can be an act of cluttering. Cluttering one’s body with foods that are not nutritious and not beneficial can be another form of confusion to one’s health and well-being.  It is true that good food tastes better when one eats primarily good foods. Healthy eating promotes good health.  How simple and uncluttered is that?

      Can uncluttering even promote weight loss?  Ms.Lynne Johnson, a professional organizer, said in the January 5, 2008 NewYork Times that she often sees a link between her client’s efforts to get organized and weight loss. “I think someone decides, ‘I’m not going to live like this anymore. I’m not going to hold onto my stuff, I’m not going to hold onto my weight,’” she said. “I don’t know that one comes before the other. It’s part of that same life-change decision.”

       Collecting junk and saving useless things is the obvious form of cluttering that we think about when we talk about this issue.  I try to clean out closets and drawers periodically and this activity proves very positive.  It gives me a feeling of control of my life to a degree.  I like to control my “stuff”, not let the “stuff” control me.  What we hold on to says a lot about what we value, as does what we are willing to part with. “Less is more”.

         We give our children in America so many things that they do not have time to appreciate them.  When you look at most suburban children’s rooms, you see numerous colorful toys, stuffed animals, gadgets and craft supplies.  These items are layered upon each other and then stuffed in boxes so quickly that there is little time to enjoy or appreciate them.  The children are easily bored, because they have not been given the time to delve into anything.  They are given one stimulating item after another without the time to explore them.  They are taken to lots of classes and sports activities, but time to enjoy the simple things is not available.  We are a nation of doting parents, but the fruits of our labors are cluttered children who will soon become cluttered adults.

        Simplifying our lives and controlling our clutter is a possible task if we see this as important.  Cluttering in our lives can be seen in many ways.  It can be seen by how we multitask, how we over-stimulate our brains, how we interact socially, how we eat, how we collect “stuff”, and how we prioritize our lives.  It can be seen prominently in how we rear our beloved children to become cluttered adults as we are. 

        G.K. Chesterton said, "The modern world has far too little understanding of the art of keeping young. Its notion of progress has been to pile one thing on top of another, without caring if each thing was crushed in turn.  People forget that the human soul can enjoy a thing most when there is time to think about if and be thankful for it.  And by crowding things together they lost the sense of surprise and surprise is the secret of joy."  That is exactly what I think!

       

      

Willow

Willow

I look out into my backyard which is two and a half stories down and I see a faded trampoline and right beside it is a pussy willow tree.  The tree is absolutely beautiful.  It was given to us by my dear friend Willow and her husband.  It had gotten really big in the 20 plus years since it had been planted there, the year my husband and I were married.   Though it had been pruned many times, we decided three years ago that it had to go.  Part of the trunk had split and was growing parallel to the ground. It seemed dangerous when my son tried to mow.  What a surprise to find that after chopping it down, it was still there the next year and still growing strong!  Such it is with a willow tree. It has a hardy root system and is nearly impossible to destroy.

Willow is just like that.  She is strong and dedicated and her roots run deep.  She is tenacious and loyal.  Once you are her friend, you are her friend for life. You can leave her, but she will not leave you. There are “friends for a reason, friends for a season and friends for life.”  She is a friend for life.

My first encounter with Willow was when she called me telling me that she was given my name by the school superintendent as a potential roommate.  I was a single teacher and so was she.  I had said to the superintendent in passing that I might want to live in the small town where I taught.   Little did I know that he would give my name to a new teacher.  

When I met her, she was very graceful, beautiful and a little shy.  I could not think that she would want to room with me; especially when I told her that I was getting very interested in religion.  How geeky was that!  I, honestly, did not think she would want to live with someone like me.  I tried really hard to talk her out of the arrangement, but she was determined and, as matter of fact, she too was interested in religion.   We both taught similar subjects and had remarkably a lot in common, as it turned out.

We were baptized on the same day and definitely felt that God had put us together.  We were in each other’s weddings and our families were very close.  Willow and I would spend lots of days hanging out with our kids in the summer when the guys were at work.  We would talk and talk.  Time just flew by when we were together.  Our time together always ended before we were ready.

I did not even know she read my blog when in the mail I received numerous little books about all of the subjects I had written about. She just knew I would like them. I was about to throw the package away when I found a pressed gardenia in the bottom.  It was a bit wilted, but the scent was perfect.  (I had just blogged about how much I loved pressed flowers and…the scent of a gardenia.) It is so like her to notice even the tiniest detail.   

This is another amazing quality that she has. She is an attentive listener. In today’s rat race, this is a rare quality.  She remembers the details of your life and makes you feel as if those details are as important as her own. 

Willow has many strong characteristics. Willow loves to read, travel and learn new things.  She is a wonderful mother, wife, teacher and friend.  She knows about all kinds of useful things.  She is thoughtful, artistic and creative.  Her loyalty, tenacity, faithfulness and all of her other amazing qualities go back to her Christian roots. I expect to enjoy my friendship with Willow and our willow tree as long as I live, because of… the roots.

Happy Birthday, Willow!