What - give you away?? 

With special thoughts to my daughter and a tribute to my mother on Mother's Day 2015

Recently on April 18 we had a bridal shower for Lyn.  For weeks I had been hoping my muse would bring new thoughts to pass on to her on the threshold of her new life.  But I just felt the joy for her as she was to embark on a new future with a wonderful young man we are happy to embrace as a son, and sadness for me as I felt her move a little further away.  My thoughts kept going back to the words I had written for her as she was about to leave for college.  My feelings are so similar - so here we are 10 years later, I read to her the gently updated version....

It will be gone before you know it.  The fingerprints on the wall appear higher and higher.  Then suddenly they disappear.   – Dorothy Evslin

It’s nearly time….. my mother told me these days would go by fast though certain wintry days might appear very long. Once when you were a very young baby, I felt seduced by the glamour of being a working mother like so many other women I knew who juggled work and motherhood very adeptly.  As I stood by the sink washing tiny dishes and spoons one day I declared, “I could be doing something so much more important than this.”

“Like what?” said a voice, though there was no one there. 

I got the message and felt instantly free to embrace the feeling that I had been called to a loftier task to just be a mother and to enjoy our time together.

Now I still treasure the times when we go shopping and talk over lunch, when we go to Starbucks on a cold school holiday and talk by the fire, when we drive home together, and we talk about the news, school days, friends or difficult and unexpected situations.  I realize that I am very privileged to share these times as they are not the prerogative of every parent.   But I recall times when I used to talk with my own mother who had tea or hot chocolate waiting when I arrived home from school, and with whom I later shopped and shared my thoughts, concerns, and ideas.

The best conversations often begin with a probing or leading question.  Your deep questions always led me to spend many pensive moments thinking not just about the question, but about the deeper issues behind it. In your early years, these were never evident to you at the time.  As a student and for years after, I used to think that understanding Les Pensées de Pascal and the bleak side of the world of existentialism of Jean-Paul Sartre were the important issues to grapple with.  Yet, as a child you led me to think more deeply about other, and more precious, mysteries.  It didn’t take long before my literary books were relegated to the lowest shelves of the bookcase and replaced with the true wisdom of Winnie the Pooh, Anne of Green Gables and other children’s books which speak more deeply to the heart of the listening adult.

One day, when you were three, you asked, “Mummy, when I’m six or five or four, will you not give me away?”  At first I couldn’t understand what would prompt such a question; as far as I recalled I had tried to be an enlightened mother and never threaten to give you away! In response, I assured you quite simply that I would love you forever and never give you away.  Additional questions on the topic in an attempt to solve the lingering doubts on your side and further assurances from mine did nothing to resolve the matter until it finally dawned on me that you believed parents must give their children away because I no longer lived at home with the people I called my mum and dad and had to communicate with them through the medium of the telephone.  Clarity followed – for me anyway!  You were able to let the matter drop when you resolved it in your mind with the reasoning, “I suppose you’ll just give me away when I’m a mummy.”

“When you’re going to marry the special person that God has for you, we’ll give you our blessing to marry him, but we’ll always love you and keep you in our hearts. We’ll always love you, for ever and ever.” It seemed so important to reassure a tiny child on this very crucial and scary issue. And yet, over the years you have been slowly but surely gaining confidence in your ability to go away.  We love the cell phone though–a.k.a. the family tracking device–that offers comfort and assurance to all involved.  

While we will never really ever give you away, we have entrusted you to the keeping of many people over the course of these years to help you gain your independence.  There have been the family members and friends, teachers - some of whom have been excellent role models and easy to entrust you to: tutors, swim coaches, youth leaders, and schools with challenging programs.  The search for a college during this past summers was difficult for us all because the search was to find the right environment, people, teachers, swim coach and team mates to whom we could entrust you all at once! Strangely enough, on our visits to Franklin and Marshall we had the feeling that this would be such a place: you were comfortable, and as we walked the campus and talked to people we had an assurance about the years that lay ahead.  

So be assured, while it will soon be time to let you go away, we are not giving you away. (Neither will we give away your things, not even the bunny, though I must once again hunt out the pate recipe in case she decides to try and take advantage of me!) We are simply entrusting you to  Corey in faith that he will provide the right environment for you to continue to grow, study, and mature. There we hope you can build on all that you have been taught and nurtured at home and in the places that we have provided until now.  We will be anxious for the phone calls to say you are coming home, alone, or with others who want to visit the Nation’s Capital, and we will be anxious for the times we can spend together, to talk, to hug, … .and then to let go again, because that is the nature of the safe place we call home. 

2005 and April 2015 :)

Mother's Day - repost 2015 - Just a few weeks before the wedding of Lyn

“One fair daughter, and no more…..,” Hamlet, II,ii,416

Thoughts on Mothers’ Day 2004

Having a child is a positive declaration to the world: it’s a belief in the future and a desire to contribute to it.  On one level, one has a child for personal and selfish reasons: to love, to cosset, to nurture, and, of course, to pass on those incredible genes!  On a greater level, one hopes to affect the future and to make the world a better place.  What mother in her heart has not looked into that tiny form of a helpless child and seen the possibilities – the one who will accomplish all that we could not, the one who might accomplish great things in his or her chosen field, or the one whose name will be loved and cherished on account of talents or beauty of character.

We are caretakers and nurturers, at once scared and awed by the power that this role apparently offers us, but even more terrified at our total inadequacy for the task that parenthood involves. 

Afterword: May 2015 

The future is in great hands as I consider all the wonderful girls in this family!

My mother's hands

My mother’s hands

A while back I was showing pictures of a family gathering to a friend.  She looked back and forth at the pictures remarking and noting on family resemblances.  As I was the dark haired (once upon a time..) and the bespectacled one of the group, she had difficulty placing me precisely, but at one point she looked as I turned the pages of the album and noted, “You have your mother’s hands.”

Later in the day I examined my hands but did not see the long slim, elegant fingers and beautiful skin of my mother’s hands. In a way I was relieved ,but the song “You need hands to show someone you love them….” popped into my mind, and I began to think of all the ways my mother's hands reflected her love and generous nature.

These were the hands that shared with others. If mum had ten pounds, (UK sterling) she would have shared it with each of us - so everyone got 2 pounds. Then she probably would have rethought and given most of the other two away after considering that your needs were greater than hers. These hands looked after the family finances, shared everything, and made sure that everyone was generously looked after even while she went without herself so that we could have all the necessities.  It was in her nature to give and provide even in later years when we had all we needed… and more; it may have been in the offer of cups of tea, a packet of biscuits,  or small gifts that were a small token of love and friendship. If you helped her in any way, you generally received some gift of appreciation in return. In short, these were the hands of a truly selfless person who lived for her family. There was nothing that she would not do to help others in the same way that she welcomed everyone into her home.

These were the hands that held and hugged and rocked her children, her grandchildren, and great grandchildren both to help out or to bring comfort and care. All of 27 years ago she even made the trip to the States on her own to help with her new American grand-daughter - a trip that she needed more than a little coaxing to make as she was not one who liked to travel far beyond home.  But she made it through two New York airports alone and down to the Washington area––a long and arduous journey into the unknown––and no small feat for this homebody. As her children grew, these hands nurtured and taught lessons for life - like to put your coat on, wear a scarf round your neck, and to always carry an umbrella.  (Not daring to disobey, to this very day I keep one in my car at all times!) Like most mothers she subscribed to the belief that unless she told us something, we would never learn it for ourselves so these little life lessons went on.....well.... for life!  We probably all had several admonishments just in the past week.  While dad told her we were big enough to look after ourselves, she never quite trusted us with the wisdom that age is supposed to bring.  She told us we were always her children - a fact that aggravated us at times as we gained families of our own and passed into middle age and even (I hate to say it…) slightly or well beyond.  Then we passed on her lessons to the tune of her familiar voice ringing in our ears even as we proffered the same advice, much to the frustration of the younger generation no doubt, but what could we do otherwise!  If we know how to be caretakers, it is because we had an excellent and generous role model.

These were the hands that accompanied us on the first trips to school, to new experiences and to university to assist us in exploring the new surroundings and to coax us out into the wider world, loathe as she was to watch us go and gain that independence. At the same time they made sure that we had our lunch, enough money for the bus, and, of course, a clean hanky!! They also made scones and tea or hot chocolate to welcome us home from school at the end of busy and damp days, and hugged us tight and waved good-bye as we headed for more distant shores.

These hands also saw that she was dressed elegantly, and they made punctilious lists for shopping and Christmas. They also penned notes in a variety of notebooks that chronicled the significant minutiae of life’s events. In the past couple of years and much to our surprise, these frail hands that struggled with a mobile phone managed to learn how to use an iPad, because that’s what dad had done and it was her way to keep in touch with life beyond her walls.

So while I turned my hands over and over to inspect them to see if there was any similarity – I found none.  But almost with relief I thought that while it might be flattering to have my mother's hands, I realized that having her hands would set a standard and carry a responsibility that I could not possibly live up to.

Jill Moore J 2014  (March – September 24 2014)

And in the fullness of time...

A long time ago a student gave me a Christmas cactus ; it bloomed copiously and defied all my usual ungreen thumb efforts. It basically proved that it could take care of itself and survive sporadic waterings and feedings, and each year, around Thanksgiving, it surprised me by bursting into gracious blooms that I did not deserve. 

The winter of 2001-2002 was long and difficult - not on account of the weather, but on account of threats to our sense of safety and our impending move to a new home. That year the cactus began to bloom in November and continued to put out blooms throughout the winter until it was settled in a sunny window location in the bathroom of our new home where it continued to bloom until close to Easter.  Each day it provided a reminder that if it could keep blooming despite the upheaval, I could reciprocate with a positive attitude. 

This year, now three times its original size, the cactus, as usual, was put outside to dry out for the summer.  We had a busy summer with more trips and visitors than usual, and the poor cactus was essentially forgotten until the end of September when I was tidying round the garden in pre-fall clean up mode and discovered it  sitting behind a wall looking shriveled, dusty, and forlorn. However, I decided it was time to bring it in, water it, and feed it, though I feared that it had been abandoned for rather too long this time and would fail to survive. Week by week the leaves resumed their their succulent appearance as the wrinkles plumped up and disappeared ( I don’t know why this doesn’t work for me...). And then, early November, right on cue, little flower buds appeared on the extremity of each leaf.  Finally, during Christmas week, the first blooms opened and continued to flower during the long and empty winter days.

Once again, I am amazed at the miracle of nature’s power to teach lessons of grace and redemption, and provide me with the reminder to “bloom where you’re planted.” 

Aesop's Flowers

This morning, while doing my usual round of weeding and deadheading  (a task that makes me think of scenes from bloody British history or the French Revolution), the fable of the tortoise and the hare came to mind also. As a teacher and a parent, I have found myself referring to it to keep students and myself on track, and to remind my listeners, all aware that I might be sounding merely platitudinous, that the long term efforts will eventually bring success.  

But the truth is always more complex; and this morning’s gardening forced me to face the fable's characters again. A crape myrtle tree has been in the garden for several years and each year it has grown a little and finally at the end of August, when all the other flowers are looking tired, it generally puts out a couple of stingy blooms; however, this year, it is for the first time covered and weighed down with magnificent plumes of flowers.  Clearly it has been following the tortoise plan and has been ignoring my exhortations (and curses) of the past years. On the other hand, I sit in amazement before the hibiscus bush, covered in plate sized eye-popping flowers; a mere two months ago, there were only tiny shoots as evidence of its life. I have to admire these blossoms today as tomorrow they will be limp and dull and supplanted by other eager blooms. These are the hares of the garden, fast and furious but soon wilted and lifeless. In truth, the garden and life has room for both. The slow and steady brings security and routine; but now and again we need our reckless day in the limelight, the time when things go right and we can radiate with success and enjoy our moment to bloom on center stage; and if others notice--that just adds to the pleasure!   

Confessions of a reluctant blogger

Confessions of a reluctant blogger

I am ready to start my blog – well, sort of; I’ve been meaning to start many times, but never made the commitment to hit the “publish” button that shares my writings with a larger audience. Why not?  I’ve often pondered but dismissed the question with the easy response – too busy..., nothing of importance to say. Recently, someone again asked me the question, and I couldn’t quite provide a substantial answer, so I promised I would think about it. 

A visit to the dentist’s chair provided the perfect opportunity. Lying still under a piercing light and anxious to distract myself from the tiny instruments and sounds of torture, I focused on the question. Was I following Baudelaire’s philosophy: “… giving the public details about oneself is a bourgeois temptation that I have always resisted.” Nothing held with quite that conviction; I love to write; I have notebooks filled with essays and reflections over the past 35 years about living in the States; my letter writing and notebook entries chronicle--for willing readers--the import I assign to fairly mundane events in my life. Writing for me is important to encapsulate and make sense of experiences.

So – why not blog? Are my thoughts coherent and logical? Yes – mostly! Have the recipients of my writings appreciated them? Yes.  So….  The dentist adjusted his light and, urged on by his sharp probe, I dug deeper for an answer. When I want to write and the thoughts flow – where do I go? My brain hummed along to the whirring and polishing of the dentist’s equipment, and the confession – almost too simple – came into focus. I just love paper. I love the texture of quality notepaper; I love to crack open a new notebook and write words on a blank page with a pencil that permits me to erase and rewrite, to shape and perfect. A new notebook speaks of new beginnings – of a chance to start over. In moments of indulgence, friends buy shoes or bags; me – I head for my favorite shop that indulges my need for a new journal, writing paper or even a new pencil or colored pens.

The light shifts again and the dentist hands me a mirror; as I inspect my smile, I realize that for me it’s a question of loyalty and identity:  I belong to and love the age of paper and I write primarily for me. My notebooks map my experiences and journey in life:  they reflect who I am.  And if I switch the medium and expand the audience, can I be true to my identity?  Will the topics lend themselves to free expression or will they be reworked and lose their sincerity? Can I share my thoughts between blog and paper? But there was no more time for my mental question and answer session as the very productive dental appointment was over.   But maybe it’s just time to write and find out!