Happy Mother’s Day!!

Mothering continues 

as long as child and mom 

share this earth. 

Nor should it be any different. 

For if taken from me, 

a vast hole in my heart 

would not easily mend. 

Should any mom go missing, 

another often fills the gap 

with the same love and learning. 

Their name may not be ‘mom’ 

but their heart is called ‘mom.

And with all the growing 

from birth into toddlers years, 

pre-teens, 

  adolescence, 

young adulthood and onward 

child~parent blossoms through 

joys and sorrows; 

    health or sickness. 

For each mom who grows 

alongside her child, 

another mom will be born

in another day or time 

to learn the ways of being.

“Motherhood is hard enough without judgement 

from others who don’t know the whole story.”

~ Sarah Addison Allen,  First Frost

Being Alive ~1

“I just want to feel alive.” I couldn’t believe I said that! Suddenly I realized what day it was. My mom passed on this day 1971, suddenly and tragically. With that realization, I felt alive. Still missing a certain amount of energy, but I felt my toes, my skin, my face. And I felt grateful and sad. Not unhappy. The sadness had become too heavy to carry and did nothing to honour mom’s life. 

On my walk home this afternoon, I looked up at the sky, clouds barely covering the blue, through the heavy lace of old elm tree branches with awe. I no longer remember the touch of her hand or the sound of her voice; photos remind me of her face, yet I feel her presence daily - especially in the kitchen!

“I love you every day. And now I will miss you every day.”

~ Mitch Albom, For One More Day

This post dedicated to my mom.

988 Suicide Crisis Helpline

 - calls or texts to 9-8-8, free of charge.

 - the 9-8-8 service can be used by anyone in Canada, 

including children or youth

 - Go to 988.ca for more information

Hand and Heart

one mother births us ~

offered the opportunity 

to care, nurture and protect; 

life’s twists and turns 

gifts each of us with 

with mothers all around

for the heavy days when 

each mother needs mothering

the circle of kindness and care

passes hand to hand, heart to heart.

“Our world needs our mothers.”

~ Liya Kebede

Where to Land

Where to Land

Rita, Phil’s mother, was worried about her son. He was almost 30 years old and didn’t seem to have any direction. At one time, she thought he would do great things. Become a big shot lawyer, like the ones he watched on TV as a boy. She wasn't that sure he was ever interested in law, just the way most of the lawyers dressed. She shook her head and muttered. “Always the fashion plate. He had to have after school jobs just to keep ‘in style’. Always had girls flutter around him. They’ve all gone to University and my boy is working construction.” Her husband Ralph came out to the garden. “Rita, are you talking to yourself or the birds?” He knew she chattered on to herself, especially out in the garden. Sometimes she was talking to the birds or the squirrels, or the calico cat that sat on their fence where tulips bloomed. “Oh heavens Ralph! You scared me. I’ve pulled out a weed instead of planting my tomatoes!” She sat up on her knees, wiped her hands clean of dirt and squinted up to her husband. A floppy straw hat shaded her eyes. Ralph helped her up. “Come to the patio. I’ve got some ice tea for us and a couple of sandwiches. You’ve been out here in the sun for two hours and need a break.” Rita gave him a peck on the cheek. “Careful, I’m all dirty and sweaty. Ice tea sounds about right  - I am hot and thirsty. Did you make the sandwiches yourself or did you stop by the Deli down the street?”  Ralph pretended to look guilty. “You caught me. Can’t fool you, can I? It was the Deli - they gave me some Kosher pickles to go along with the sandwiches. There’s a salami and Gruyere cheese, and a vegetarian one. You get to choose.” They ate their lunch in silence, enjoying the early afternoon sun. “Are you still worried about Phil, Rita? Working with his hands, outdoors, is good for him. Gives him time to think about what he wants to do. Who knows? He may want to get out of the manual labour part and take over my business. Make it a family affair. What do you think?” Rita poured herself another glass of ice tea and passed the pitcher to her husband. An innocent look on her face she said. “Well, if I recall, you were one of those rude guys that whistled at girls from two stories up on a scaffold. I didn’t think you had any direction either.”  Ralph leaned over to his wife, looking a bit of a devil. “And if I recall, you were a little bold yourself……..asking for me a date without even knowing me!” She stood and put her hat and garden gloves back on. “I don’t want him taking over the business unless he ………I just want him to be happy. And right now, he doesn’t seem to be. He just gets up, takes the lunch I have ready for him and goes to work. Gives me a quick hug before he goes. When he comes home, he barely says hello and goes upstairs to get out of his work clothes. Yes, I am still worried about him…..Thank you for lunch, honey. I need to get back to my planting now that the shade has come over the garden.”

~~~~~

Phil did come home as usual in time for supper, his mother just cleaning up from her gardening day. She did love her garden. Instead of barely speaking to his mother, he almost lifted her off her feet in a big hug. They danced across the kitchen, almost knocking Ralph over as he was setting the table. Laughing and singing, he let go of his mother and hugged his father. He suddenly realized what he was doing and stopped and said “I’ll just go upstairs, wash up and change. Be right down for dinner.” And then he was gone. “What just happened here, Ralph? I’ve never seen him like that since he graduated with honours.” Ralph had visited with Malcolm, Rita’s brother earlier in the day. “I suspect he has something to tell us at dinner. Some good news that may ease your worries.” Phil ran down the stairs and into the kitchen, crisp blue jeans and a fresh t-shirt on. “Yes mother, Uncle Malcom talked with Mr. Digby at that old Beaufort Estate. I don’t have a full time job out there, but I can work with him….Mr. Digby that is…..he’s the butler you know. Right now, it’s more like an interview and then just a couple of hours a week. I’ll have to keep my construction job, but I think there’s more for me to do than wield a nail gun.” He looked at his father. “I hope you don’t mind, dad. Construction’s ok and I like some of the people I work with, but it’s not in my blood like it is in yours.” His father just shook his hand. “Of course I don’t mind, son. You need to find out, like most of us do, where you want your feet to land.” 

“‘I want to make my mark,’ he says. 

‘But what target, I wonder, are you going to hit’”

~ Cecil Castellucci, Boy Proof

Chapter Two, Episode 130 - Being A Mom - Situationally Theirs

Being A Mom

Respect for education was one thing, but respect for being a mom was the most important. Joanie Richardson was caught with both titles. She wanted to push her daughter Abby to pick up her grades, which had begun to slip in the past few weeks. She wanted to support her in her goal to become a scientist, even if she was only seven years old. Joanie had seen too many kids, stars in their eyes about what they wanted to do in life, only to be discouraged by a teacher or parent who just wanted the grades. “You’re too young to be thinking like that!” Or “You’ll change your mind next week and then where will you be.” Or some other discouraging something. Up early, she had tossed and turned most of the night. Today was her day off, a Saturday. There were no scheduled events at the school today. She would have some time to herself after she took her kids to their soccer practices. She had already talked to one of the other mothers. Barb would look out for her kids while she talked with her own mother. Too much going on in her head to know how to manage this situation before it got out of hand. At seven years of age, Abby and her mother still had a good relationship. Joanie wanted to keep it that way for as long as she could.

It had been at work earlier in the week when she overheard a conversation between two other teachers. “One of my girls, best student in the class, has been coming in without her homework done, one test the week before, her grade was really down.” Taking her sandwich out of her bag she continued “I want to talk to her mother about it, but it may just be a one off. I just don’t know.” Joanie’s ears had tuned in when she heard ‘best student’ knowing that the teacher speaking was Abby’s teacher. “Ever since we had that biologist in to speak, that girl’s head has been in the clouds.” She took a bite of her sandwich. “Did you ask her if everything’s all right?” Swallowing, she said “Yes, and all she said was ‘Yes, Miss Carter’ and continued with the work I’d given them.”

“Come on, kids, you need to get down here. Breakfast is on the table and we have to leave in 30 minutes. Ben stomped into the kitchen, Abby was taking her time coming down the stairs. “Ben, are you having a bad morning? You’ll feel better after you eat and then get to your practice with your friends. Barb is bringing you both back home after. I think she said she’s taking you for ice cream after practice.” Ben brightened a little bit. Abby strolled into the kitchen. “I don’t need breakfast mom, I’m ready to go.” Joanie frowned at her daughter. “Yes you do need breakfast. You know your body needs to be fed if you’re going to play soccer well.” 

Her children sat at their places, Ben scraping his food into his mouth, Abby eating her food carefully. Having already eaten, Joanie finished her coffee, washed out her cup and gathered her coat and purse, making sure her keys were where they were supposed to be. “Finish up, put your dishes in the sink and let’s go. I’ve got you gym bags in the car already.” Abby sat up straight. “Mom, did you make sure my bee book is in there. I need to read it between practices.” Joanie sighed. “No, I didn’t and on purpose. Today is not for bees. You’ve already read that book at least three times, so I think today, you can take a break. It will still be here when you’re home. Besides you always have fun with the other girls. Having your nose in a book you’ll miss out!” She knew she had to stop before she got angry. Now Abby was frowning. She abruptly got up from the table, put her dishes in the sink and grabbed her coat. Marching out to the car, she threw words at her mother. “I won’t have fun.”

~~~~~

“Mom, I just don’t know what to do! This is the first real argument that Abby and I have had. She was so mad at me for not letting her take that bee book with her. Her grades are dropping, she’s lying to me about finishing her homework, her teacher was talking about her in the lunch room……..” She stopped to take a breath. “Joanie, slow down.” Martha hadn’t seen her daughter like this before about Abby. She and Ben had had their spats but boy troubles were certainly different. “Here’s your tea. Now tell me all about it. Slowly.” Joanie wiped at her eyes and laughed. “ I feel like a little girl, mom.” Laughing again she renewed the story of her troubles “It all started with a biologist.” Martha sat back in her chair “What?! How can that affect Abby’s grades?”

The back door opened and Dez called out “Hello. Anybody home?” She strode into the kitchen. “Oh, good, you’re here Joanie. I was just going to pick up Abby to go to the bee hives.” She stopped when she saw a cloud pass over Joanie’s face. “But I don’t have to, if it’s …..if she’s busy.”

The kitchen was filling with tension. Martha put her hand up. “I’m glad you’re here, Miss Dez. Joanie is worried about Abby. Did you know Abby’s having trouble at school? We were just about to find you how she can do both. Dez immediately felt guilty about how she had been encouraging Abby to get involved, and assumed there were no problems. “I’m so sorry. I really didn’t know that I was taking up so much of her time. She always said it was ok with you. I’m glad you and I are here.” Joanie relaxed. “None of this is your fault, Dez. Now that you’re here, can you stay and we can sort this mess out.

~~~~~

The three women spent the rest of the afternoon looking for solutions to Joanie’s problem. They would research the biologist, Joanie and see if he could come out to the estate, Joanie would talk to Abby’s teacher, Dez and Abby would set a little schedule for Abby to come out to the bee hives and Martha, as Abby’s grandma, would be a referee, making sure everyone was doing their parts. 

Meanwhile, Abby and Ben had had a fun day with their friends, each of them getting over their sour morning moods. A stop for ice cream, before Barb brought them home, was the icing on the cake, or should I say the sprinkles on the ice cream!

“Sometimes even grown women need their mother’s comfort

 so we can just take a break from having to be strong all the time.”

~ Colleen Hoover, It Ends with Us

 

Book Review: I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

Writing this review is rather like trying to put together a puzzle. But I can’t find the corner pieces, or the nice neat pieces that go around the edge of the picture. To envision the eight year old child, Marguerite, speechless after her rape and the Maya Angelou, 86 years old at her death in 2014 an articulate, wise and honoured woman there seems to be no one ‘picture’. In graphic detail, her experiences, both emotionally and physically are displayed in a voice that really seems very kind. As a young child, and then as an adolescent that kindness still had to develop. With each of her experiences, from the abuse at eight, to the brutal travel to Mexico with her father, the overt or hidden racism that every black person of any age has to deal with, Maya Angelou has not only stepped out of the cage that society had forced her into, but developed a strong and wise voice in story and poetry. Each time she survived an attack on her being, whether physically or emotionally, she learned the lessons of resilience. She had the benefit of having strong, loving female relationships ~ her grandmother (Momma) in Stamps, Arkansas ~ staunchly religious and owner of the local general store, her mother, Vivian Baxter (Mother Dearest), independent and fun loving, in San Francisco as well as Mrs. Bertha Flowers, a local teacher in Stamps who helped little Maya regain her voice after several years of silence. Her other stalwart was her brother Bailey, who was her confidant, until he was at the grand old age of sixteen.

At fifteen, Maya went against rigid societal norms in San Francisco and became the first black female street car conductor. She questioned her sexuality after reading The Well of Loneliness, a lesbian novel (1928) and realizing that she was tall, deep voiced and not as developed as her friends. Another societal norm to puzzle about until learning she was pregnant. All in all, Maya Angelou, climbed through, over or around what life had to throw at her. Fear, anger, wonder, curiosity, and determination bolstered her all along the way.

“She comprehended the perversity of life, that in the struggle lies the joy.”

~ Maya Angelou,  I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Title: I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Author: Maya Angelou

Copyright: 1969
Copyright renewed: 1997 by Maya Angelou

Forward Copyright: 2015 by Oprah Winfrey

Publisher: Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House company of New York

Type: Autobiography

Format: Paperback

ISBN: 978-0-345-51440-0

ebook ISBN: 978-1-5883-6925-3

On an Afternoon Walk - Remnants

Remnants of an old tragedy 

singed the edges of my soul  ~

a phantom threat to joys 

of the season until I saw 

this overgrown boulder and,

along side it, a tender tree 

dormant in the cold 

silent life resting in

strengthening roots and slender form.

Then I knew ~ 

I had wrapped grief 

around me and when its warmth stifled

let honour take its place ~ honour

for my mother and the life

she may have wanted.

“If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, 

keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”

~ Winnie the Pooh

Who is Harvey? - At the Museum

Who is Harvey? - At the Museum

“Harvey always believed in himself.” His mother had known that he would stand tall in the world one day. Even so, she would have been surprised to see where his great feet had landed. Shiny tiles and vaulted ceilings for her offspring, so different from the grasses and trees they had roamed. Young children and their mothers, fathers, or grandparents surrounded him each morning. Some children were frightened by his great size ~ big sharp teeth and long, long tail. That is until one youngster showed another youngster how to push buttons to hear him roar; use the colour table to colour in a little picture of him; put the wooden puzzle together making his many different sizes. Harvey was content when his home grew quiet at the end of the day, and all the big and small humans went away. But his favourite time was in the morning when the young children came to play around him, be excited and curious about how things worked. Their laughter echoed in Harvey’s grand space, like night birds in the trees. 

“It’s the things we play with and the people who help us 

play that make a great difference in our lives.”  

~ Fred Rogers

A Child's History of Fairness

A Child's History of Fairness

“It’s just not fair!!” Pouting and angry, the little girl sat on a child’s chair in front of her mother.

Her mother took a slow deep breath. In a quiet, soft voice, she said “I know honey, but the Public Health Nurse said you need to stay inside.”

“It’s still not fair.”

~~~~~

I don’t know if that’s the conversation that I had with my mother when I had measles as a child of about five years old. How does any parent explain to their child that little red, itchy spots could make them go blind? And that staying in the dark when all the other kids are playing outside would stop the other kids from getting sick? How does a parent explain that the liquid in a little syringe with a needle will help her to play outside again?

Hearing kids laughing, running and playing outside my window today returning home from school was the trigger for this memory. Almost seventy years later, this long standing memory could be faulty about the actual words. But not just the drapes dark, with lime green designs. There were no other kids around. Not even brothers or sisters. I don’t remember feeling sick, but vaguely remember the spots and definitely the dark drapes.

It just wasn’t fair then and I’m certain that for every kid surviving this Covid pandemic, it doesn’t feel fair now.

“We’re all five-year-olds. We don’t know how to do 

this thing called life. Are you faking it?”

~ Byron Katie

A Mother’s Day Muse - A Worthy Goal

Mother’s Day. There are many ideas about the origins of this special day, as far back as Greek mythology. However, each year the moms celebrated are all around us; many only one or maybe two generations past. And yes, we do honour and celebrate each of the aunts, uncles, neighbours, and friends that have mothered us. 

It can be a frustrating struggle to honour a mom who, because of thorny life experiences unknown to us, has not fit into the ‘good mom’ picture. Maybe that is where we need to go. Into the unknowing, the compassion for the young child, young girl, young adult that tripped into and over life. Am I sounding too sunshine-y? I hope it is not seen that way. 

I am well into my seventh decade. When I review all the mistakes and missteps I have made as a mom, I have gained some of that compassion for those youngsters that became moms too soon, or too late, or who were not mothered themselves. Choosing to live a different, and possibly healthier, path to honour those moms seems a very worthy goal.

“Compassion is not a virtue - - it is a commitment. 

It’s not something we have or don’t have - - 

it’s something we choose to practice.”

~ Brené Brown

Toddler Troubles

Toddler Troubles

Never, never, never, never!!!!!!!  She stamped her little feet and then plopped down on the cold wet tiles of the patio. Her mother had called her to come in to put away toys she left strewn all over the living room. Stella did not want to come in the house. It was summer! She had her brand new bathing suit on. It was her favourite colour. Turquoise with a beautiful white unicorn rearing up to the sky. If she went in, her mother would make her take it off! She’d been playing, happy as the little birds on the fence, in the squishy pink and purple wading pool in their postage stamp back yard. 

If she could have formed a coherent thought at the time, she would have said quite calmly that she was not done playing outside yet. She would be in shortly. Her toys were very patient, unlike her mothers quite irrational demands. They did not want to be shut up in the toy box.

But Stella was only four and only had the insight of a four year old. And a very limited vocabulary.

“You can learn many things from children. How much 

patience you have, 

for instance.

~ Franklin P. Adams

Distraction

Distraction

“Open air, whether in deep forest, widening prairies, or bottomless ocean….. - Mom!” Clayton's orange hair was a mess. In frustration, he finger-combed his hair, pulled on his ears and crumpled page after page. “Mom! I just can’t get this right. Can I read it to you and you tell me what you think?” Yelling from his room down the hall from the kitchen, he hoped his mother would help him out. Actually he hoped she would call him to bring his work into the kitchen. He was about to call her again when his wishes were granted. Rubbing his hands, he leapt from his chair. Grabbing up his notebook, he stepped over his gym bag, kicked a few crumpled pages aside, he called out “Coming!”

His mother finished the last of the dozens of cookies she had been making. She shook her head and smiled. Pushing a few stray brown curls back from her forehead, she surveyed her work - and the work ahead of her. “Clayton, Clayton, Clayton….here. Let me read that - Open air, whether in deep forest, widening prairies, or bottomless ocean…It looks all right to me….Clayton, stop eating my work!” She caught him just as another sugar cookie disappeared into his mouth. “But mom, they’re my favourites. I love sugar cookies. Are you going to decorate these?” His mother smiled behind her eyes. “Sugar cookies your favourite? I thought your favourite were the Ginger Chews? Or was it those oatmeal/raison cookies?” She whisked a tray of cookies out from under his grasping fingers. “Now, I’m not the one you should be talking to. Talk to your father. He’s the English Major, and never lets either one of us forget it. But he does know more than I do.”

“But I don’t like talking to dad about my work. He gets all into his teacher mode and asks me what I think is wrong, then tells me I’m wrong about what I think and besides that…….” His mother interrupted. “It’s Saturday, he’s in the garage working on his 1960 Mustang. He wants it ready for the Christmas parade next week.” While she talked, she prepared a small plate of cookies. Picking up a thermos from the cupboard, she handed both to her son. He quickly stuffed his notebook under his arm and took cookies and thermos from his mom. “What’s in here? Coffee for dad?” 

“Yes and he’s got sodas in his little fridge out there. Go. Go. I’ve got to get the frosting on all these cookies now, get them packaged for the bake sale and get them over to the church…Go!”

“All right, all right! But if dad gives me a hard time…….” Clayton disappeared out the back door still complaining, but glad he had the cookies.

~~~~~

“Open air, whether in deep forest, widening prairies, or bottomless ocean…” His father was no help at all. But they did have a good discussion about horse power. There were no cookies left. Wiping his hands of cookie crumbs, his dad said. “I’m not being a teacher today, son. You’ll have to figure it out for yourself.”

“Distraction from distraction by distraction.”

~ T.S.Eliot