As we drive to work every day, daughter Johanna and I entertain ourselves by reading the messages on church signs.  Being in the midst of the Bible Belt, we see quite a few.  We have some pretty lively discussions about what they mean, their tone (is this condescending, epecially to the non-churched folks?) and their sometimes hint of humor.  Last week, we saw something that made us both hoot with laughter.

The church sign proclaimed: HELL DOESN’T HAVE A THERMOSTAT.  In the very next parking lot, positioned so that it was visible along with the church sign was this admonition from the local volunteer fire department: CAUTION WHEN BURNING.

Do you think they were working together?

Mother’s Day is always a time of reflection for me.  In the past, the memories were sometimes unpleasant or at the very least, sad.  My mother and I didn’t ever sync — I couldn’t be what she wanted — because of who she was, she couldn’t tell me what she wanted.  Age has mellowed most of that, and now when I think of her, I feel only sadness.  I’ve grieved for all that she missed in life and for the fact that I don’t believe she knew she was missing anything.  Life is so rich when we open our hearts to it, but hers, for reasons unknown, was forever locked away.

Since becoming a mother myself, the memories are sweet, sometimes humorous and always filled with love. 

When Becca and Jo were young, Harold always helped them orchestrate the day.  Breakfast in bed and maybe a new book for Mom to read, some new music, or a piece of jewelry.  No matter that one time breakfast was a cheeseburger and chocolate doughnuts — they were both favorite foods of mine.  What made it special was that the girls noticed what I liked and insisted that their dad help them accomplish the unusual menu.

Now that I’m older and they are grown women, they continue to make this one day — and all the other days of my life — special.  They are both thoughtful and generous.  They are also best friends, which in itself is a gift to me, and they share their friendship with me.

This year, their thoughtfulness exceeded anything I could have imagined.  The two of them, along with my wonderful son-in-law Nathan, are flying me to Albuquerque to visit with my dearest friend Donna who was suddenly widowed in February.  To realize that we need to see each other and connect beyond the phone and Internet…well, my kids are just super!

Because there always has to be “a gift to open”, they also gave me a lovely necklace & earrings from their favorite shop in Albuquerque — in garnet, my birthstone.  And taking care of life’s basics, a box of Starbuck’s Tasting Chocolates.

And speaking of son-in-laws, mine has got to be the best.  He cooked an excellent meal yesterday — Becca helped too — with grilled steaks, a most wonderful risotto and steamed broccoli.  My grown-up favorites!!  That he would take the time and make the effort to do this has so touched my heart.

Harold fixed home-made waffles for breakfast and presented me with a gorgeous bouquet of roses.  My hubby is such a sweet guy.  Someday I may deserve him…

I am a blessed woman, and a thankful one.

Live simply. 
Love generously.
Care deeply.
Speak kindly.
Leave the rest to God.

This quote (author unknown) came to me as part of an email.  Why do I find it significant?

I’ve been expressing discontent about the way I’m living of late.  I expressed to a friend that I felt like I was becoming petty and mean-spirited in response to being around those attributes so much of the time.  On reflection, that seemed to me to be a cop-out — no, not seemed to be — it absolutely is.  I am not required to respond in kind and I, and only I, am responsible for my attitude. 

“Live simply” — I need to work on this.  Not that my life is that complicated.  I don’t travel for work anymore.  Basically, we have an empty-nest household (not rushing you out, Jo!).  I feel the lack of simplicity in all of the “stuff” we’ve accumulated and in the management of what time I do have to use. 

The stuff problem is ongoing.  Last weekend, I began clearing out clothes from my closet.  Pulled down a lot and donated them but still have too many.  My needs are simpler than they used to be.  It occurred to me that I was hanging on to them with a pessimist mentality — I might need them…what if I wasn’t able to replace them.  Get a grip, Susan!  And, the other stuff?  Well, I missed Becca’s yard sale but once Jo moves out and I get things out of storage, there will be some major sorting and unloading.  That’s it — unloading as in not being weighed down.

The time issue is harder.  We drive too far to work but we don’t want to live in the city.  I’m tired when I get home.  I think I just need to find a way to push past that.  Don’t “they” say one needs less sleep with age.  Pretty soon, I can stay up all night.  LOL

“Love generously” — oh, I do hope I do this.  I know I do on my better days, but there are the selfish days too.  This is a matter of intent too.  If I want to, I will.  I always feel better when my attention, and my love, is directed outward.

“Care deeply” — see above paragraph.  Seriously, I need to renew some passions in my life.  I find it easy to care about people.  Causes I sometimes find easier to leave for others.  Living green, the upcoming elections, the economy, health issues, retirement issues — it’s time to be more active.  Admittedly, the election thing is getting discouraging, but that was another whole post.  There’s a whole world out there that needs attention.  There are things I can do right here, right now.

“Speak kindly” — ouch, who’s been riding in my car during rush hour or listening to the gossip at work???  Here’s this matter of intent again.  I am not a puppet or a ventriloquist’s dummy.  I control what words come out.  Again, I don’t have to respond in kind.  I was taught in Sunday School many years ago that the words we speak reflect what is in our heart.  Some self searching may be in order here.

“Leave the rest to God” — to a hopefully recovering control freak, this is tough.  From the time I can remember, my prayers were a lot about me giving suggestions to God as to how things should turn out.  No matter that I was speaking to GOD.  He gave me my intelligence, after all, so why should I not share my wisdom with Him?  It’s good that God has a great sense of humor or He/She might have written me off long ago.  Learning to let go is a work in progress for me…

My daughter Becca tells me that sometimes I’m too hard on myself, too quick to be critical of me.  In certain instances, she may be right.  But, here I’m talking about making choices.  Because when it comes right down to it, happiness is a choice.  I really believe this!  Call it attitude adjustment if you want, but it’s all the same.  We cannot always change our circumstances or the people we are forced to deal with — but we can certainly change how we respond.

Today I cooked.  I don’t mean just lunch or dinner — this was a marathon.  Yesterday, I cooked two chickens.  Today, those became Green Chile Chicken Enchilada casserole and Chicken Tetrazzini.  I made a huge batch of red beans and sausage for beans & rice.  All of these will be wonderful to re-heat through the week.  For breakfasts, I made two kinds of muffins — Harvest Muffins with carrot, zucchini, apple — very healthy & very delicious – and Mocha Banana Chocolate Chip, not so healthy but oh so yummy…  Plus two dozen sausage kolaches and a dozen cream cheese kolaches.  Whew!!

I’m tired but in a good way.  I accomplished something!  I know that Harold is tired of fast food and I’m tired of being too beat to fix dinner when we get home.  Then there is paying for breakfasts and lunches every day for work.  It’s killing my budget.  Mainly, though, I just wanted to do something nice for my family.  Maybe it’s partly the idea of getting to a man’s heart through his stomach.  I think Harold’s heart (spirit) needs some extra love right now. Work is not going well these days.

Of course, this all makes me feel even more deeply that I belong at home.  This is what I do well.  This is who I am.  Caring for my family and caring for myself by expressing myself in creative ways — writing and cooking and writing…

It was a very good day!

I recently reviewed a book about a woman who said she had worked in a field all her adult life and said she was there “accidentally”.  It was a difficult review to write since I truly disliked almost everything about it — the style, the grammatical errors, etc.  I found myself wondering, as I read about one disastrous job situation after another, why in the world this woman didn’t find something else to do.  She explained her actions as being necessary to making a living.

It suddenly hit me tonight that one of the reasons this book grated on my psyche so much was that it reminded me of me…

Like the author, I worked most of my adult life in a field not related to my college degree (Psychology) or to my dreams (being a counselor and a writer).  My first retail job was an after-school money maker while I was in high school.  I continued working at the same place through college as I could work around my class schedule.  When I finished my bachelor’s degree, I kept right on working there, my excuse being I might as well not look for anything else or go to graduate school since I knew we’d be moving when my husband came home from Vietnam.

And we kept moving.  So I worked in retail because we needed the money, the jobs were easy to get with my experience, and it was a field where much of the workforce was transitory.  I made a few attempts to go back to school for a Master’s degree but with a family and the constant moving, it seemed like one step forward and two back.  The dreams seemed further away and I guess I settled for expedient.

To be fair to myself, I should mention that I was very good at retail, moving up through the ranks to buyer and manager.  I managed to make a fair living.

There it is again — making a living…what does that mean?  For me, it brought in needed income and kept me from the hassle of serious job-hunting.  Maybe I wasn’t hungry enough.  Maybe I wasn’t confident enough.  Maybe I wasn’t in tune with myself deeply enough.  I know I wasn’t brave enough to give up all that another path through life would have demanded.

For years, a friend and I have traded comments about what we want to be “when we grow up”.  You know, I think I passed that threshold a long time ago. And, it’s the looking back and the realization that I’m near the end of my working life that has caused this angst.  That and the fact that I have once again “settled for” an expedient job which is totally unfulfilling.

Life is lived through a series of choices.  I made choices.  Here I am.  Would I have changed anything?  Looking back, maybe, but at the time, they all seemed to be the right choices for that point in time.  I even read somewhere that all the choices we make are the ones we need to make — to learn from them, to complete the process of becoming the unique being that each of us is.  If that’s true, maybe I haven’t learned what I needed to.  I just know I feel quite unsatisfied, unfinished, unfulfilled.  That sounds, even to me, somewhat harsh in light of the wonderful blessings I have in family and friends — they are truly my treasures.  Yet, when I look back at the hours I spent working, I wonder if I accomplished anything but earning money for that family.  I didn’t make an impact on lives, on my community, on my environment.  I feel that I should have. 

I always wanted to follow the precept of this passge from Colossians: “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men…” (Col 3:23 NIV)  I think I gave my best effort to all my jobs.  I believe that’s not just important but required of me as a professing Christian.  But I do wonder if I honored God’s creation, me, by being less than I could be?  (Bothers me a lot on my current job, as I don’t always give 100%.  No motivation and bad attitude — not good.)

Self-awareness has come late to me, maybe too late.  I have no answers for me.  But, I want to find a way to tell my daughters that they need to live and work their dreams, and not just make a living.  What kind of an example did I set for them all those years, working way too many hours at jobs I didn’t like? I wasn’t that good a mom to them, spending all my time and energy on those jobs.  I don’t want them to settle for that.

Making a living is just not enough.

Today was the funeral of my husband’s Aunt Lucille — a very traditional Lutheran service for a very traditional Lutheran lady.  I am not a fan of open caskets, but I actually smiled today.  One of her granddaughters thought her grandma wouldn’t look like herself unless she had a skein of yarn and a crochet hook in her hands, so that’s what they did.  It was such a sweet touch and absolutely appropriate for Lucille.

At the luncheon afterwards in the church hall, all of the cousins visited and several of us expressed concern that we might not be seeing much of one another with all of the parent generation gone.  After all, we’re scattered all over south and central Texas and we all lead busy lives, so… 

But, wait!  We were all there today, taking time off from work, travelling to this tiny country church, supporting our grieving family members.  It mattered so we came.  So…doesn’t it matter for those of us left to stay in touch, to visit, to talk, to celebrate life??  We’re still here and we matter to one another, don’t we?  We certainly should.  We are family!

We exchanged e-mail addresses and told one another we would figure this out.  I hope we do.  Life is precious, every day of it.  Family is precious, every member of it.  Memories are precious — we have many to share with one another — and many yet to make.

Too busy?  I pray not.

One of those days…stubbed toes, spilled cups, dropped papers, forgot to hit <save> on my computer. 

Then there’s my blasted back.  I can do very little in a physical way.  It’s Saturday and time to grocery shop.  Well, I’m limited to lifting 5 pounds — let’s see, I could put things in the cart.  Pushing the cart itself might be pushing my limit.  No cases of water or soda.  So, I could sort of shop, but I couldn’t get the groceries into the house.  Sounds futile to me. 

I can’t vacuum, can’t move around the SpotBot, which definitely needs doing.  No lifting a big batch of wet laundry.  Move it one piece at a time.  AAARRRGGGGHHH!! 

I know this will pass.  The disks can’t be repaired, but my back will get stronger.  The pain will go away, or at least lessen.  Still, the therapist told me yesterday it will be 3 to 5 weeks.  Have I ever mentioned my little problems with patience?

What’s really bothered me most is that this is turning me into a whiner.  I’m grumpy, I don’t want to be around people.  The nonsense that goes on at work gets on my last nerve.  And then there’s the fact that I’ve missed work and me with no sick leave.  Half the time I can’t concentrate if the pain level is high, but I can’t function (or safely drive) if I take full doses of the pain medication and muscle relaxant.  If I fight the pain all day, I’m more exhausted than ever when I get home — and poor Harold gets the resulting misery of putting up with me.  He’s a saint, really!!

I am finding my way, though, into biofeedback & relaxation techniques, thanks to tips from my friend Helen.  It works better for me than most anyting else.  Now if I just had a couch and a door that shuts at work….

Just keep repeating — this will pass, this will pass…

I don’t remember much about Mothers’ Day when I was growing up.  Daddy usually took us out to dinner or we’d go on a picnic.  I do recall that once on May 9th, we went to the mountains near Albuquerque for one of those picnic outings and got caught in a snow storm.  Such is weather in New Mexico!

As I got a bit older, and relations with Mom were strained to say the least, I grew to dread the day.  Her children were expected to make command appearances…  And, of course, the day never lived up to her expectations.  Of course, Mom never bothered to communicate what those expectations were, so we were in a no-win situation.  Sigh…

When I despaired of ever getting pregnant, the day was a bitter reminder.

When I finally became a mother, we had our own precious traditions.  I always got breakfast in bed before church.  As the girls got older and they wanted to “cook”, things were often creative.  One year, I had chocolate donuts and a cheeseburger, an interesting combo  of my favorite foods.  The girls loved doing it and I love being their mom! In the beginning, Harold was the driving force behind the celebration — and he still lets me know that he appreciates me as the mother of his children.

These days, we’re not always together for the day.  This year, for instance, both Becca & Johanna are out of town, so we’ll celebrate together another day.  I’ve talked to them both on the phone, they both sent cards, Jo sent a bucketful of daisies, our son-in-law came for lunch, amd in a fine show of keeping to tradition, Harold brought me chocolate iced, chocolate-filled donuts this morning. Intense flavor!  All in all, a very fine day!

Now that it’s quiet in the house, with Nathan gone and Harold taking his afternoon nap, I’ve had some time to ponder this motherhood thing. My mom didn’t like it much.  I never found out why, so I’m left to wonder.  I’ve read several books of late that concerned mothers.  In The Glass Castle by Jeannete Wells, her mother was to put it mildly, a free spirit.  She valued her art and her free time to create more highly than childcare.  In Saving Graces, Elizabeth Edwards showed us a fairly traditonal model of motherhood.  In Strange Son, a mother spends all her time and resources to the end of finding a cure for autism for one of her sons, often to the exclusion of her other children.  Three very different women with very different mothering styles.  One thing in common — they all loved their children and showed them that they did.

I have come to believe that my mother did love me even if she didn’t show it.  I think she did the best she could.  And, isn’t that, after all, the most we can ask?  I love my girls dearly, and I think they know it. (Son-in-law Nathan too!) I’ve always loved being a mom, even though I didn’t always do the best thing, didn’t always make the best choice, but at the end of the day, there was always love. They always know that no matter what, they have my unconditional love.  I consider my daughters to be my friends now that they’re grown and independent, and I think they consider me their friend as well.  We talk often, read some of the same books, have wonderful discussions, go places together…I am so very blessed! 

My daughter regularly has a “Monday Madness” entry on her blog, looking at something strange, quirky, funny or downright ridiculous. Today, I’m doing a Monday MAD entry…

Let me begin by saying that I’m a baseball fan — and an ardent Houston Astros fan. Like many others, I admit to my chagrin that I was caught up in the hype of signing “The Rocket” Roger Clemens a few years ago to be an Astro — it was great PR and let’s face it, the guy can pitch (most of the time anyway). But then his demands grew as his prowess lessened. Last year, it was like he held the team hostage until he decided whether or not he would play again. I said enough with the drama, pitch or be quiet. Wow, he’s “giving” us another year. But, I didn’t particularly want him back this year because I felt the rest of the team, especially the pitching staff, was slighted and overlooked due to his glitz and fame, despite his rather mediocre stats. Still, he said he might… I know there were ongoing negotiations, but it was really no big surprise that he went back to the Yankees, following another Houston hometowner Andy Pettite. Money talks and the Yankees have plenty of that, and Clemens feels “privileged” to be a part of their organization again and will do all in his power to help the team. Hey, I guess he should feel privileged — at a cool $4.5 mil a month or whatever he signed for…. That buys a lot of privilege. Now not being a Yankees fan ever, I had a few choice (private) comments about his “tough” decision… (I don’t think wishing for a 19.5 ERA is too harsh…)

Now, I’ve long been a critic of athletic salaries — those for professional athletes and my pet peeve, college coaches who can rake in more than the school president, not to mention much more than a tenured professor. It’s not that I think a person should not be compensated for doing good work.  Indeed, I have long fought that battle for those who worked for me through the years.  Somehow, though, priorities have gotten mixed up here. Athletics should never be played at the expense of education, and no one (no, not even the Rocket) is worth that much money. I know, before someone tells me, that Clemens is generous to charities and his foundations. Many high-salaried athletes are. As well they should be. I believe with privilege comes responsibility. But, almost $20 mil to pitch part of a season??? Good grief! What is wrong with this picture??? I heard a sports report today on NPR. Someone sat down and figured that given roughly the average number of pitches Clemens usually throws in an outing, EACH pitch would be worth upwards of $7500.00 — I’m sorry, but that is simply obscene. In less than an inning, he can surpass my yearly income… Now, I’m not a ball player and I don’t entertain millions and I’m not good PR for any cause and I can’t give what he does for charities, but please… Where is the sense of scale and purpose here? He’s not a Nobel scholar or a researcher out to cure a dreaded disease. He throws baseballs!!!

Of course I know that so long as there are fans willing to pay the price to see their teams play (OK, so maybe I should think about boycotting baseball if I’m serious here…) and as long as those college teams win, this picture is not likely to change. So I’ll just keep on ranting when something this ridiculous occurs. And I’m privileged to do so!

I am in the midst of celebrating my 59th birthday. The actual date of that event is January 25, but I continue to celebrate with a family dinner out tonight, since our youngest daughter Johanna was able to come for the weekend. What better way to celebrate than in the midst of cherished family?!!

On Thursday, my “real” birthday, I opened an email being circulated at work titled “Value”, expounding on the value of both large and small increments of time. I thought I might enjoy reading it. I’ve always liked Psalms 90:12 “So teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” So much to be thankful for in all the days of our lives.

Halfway down the page came the example that brought me up short: “To realize the value of nine months, ask a mother who gave birth to a stillborn.”

It has been almost 40 years since that day, my birthday, when I went into labor with our much-loved and much anticipated first child. No ultrasounds in those days that informed of the baby’s sex, or more soberly, of anomalies in a baby’s development. We just knew we wanted a healthy baby — and what a way to celebrate my birthday! By early evening, the doctor told us it was time to get to the hospital, and we were so excited.

All checked in, we went to the labor room assigned to us and a friendly nurse came in to check on baby and me. Chatting happily with her, I rested between contractions for her to listen to baby’s heartbeat. IT WASN’T THERE! How could that be? The baby had spent the day kicking and telling me it was time to get out of there. The nurse’s demeanor changed and she called immediately for back-up. By the time our OB-GYN arrived, mere minutes later, having been informed of what was going on, I was whisked away for an emergency C-section, leaving a white-faced Harold behind. Our most important moment and we were separated.

When I woke up, I didn’t even need to ask. Harold sat there, had been there through the night, as had our dear doctor, who waited with him. I knew from the tears running down Harold’s face–”Susie, they tried but they couldn’t save our little girl”. The doctor briefly told us that her condition had been so weakened by a dying placenta giving her virtually no nourishment, that the stress of labor had been too much for her little heart. Other questions would wait and he left us alone to grieve together.

Nearly 40 years and I sit here with tears coursing down my cheeks, the unimaginable pain and loss recalled. It doesn’t happen as often as it once did, but that loss will always be a part of me, of us. Something will happen and it will be there again…as if it happened yesterday…

Nine months, 3/4 of a year — maybe not much time when seen against the background of an entire lifetime — but in that nine months, baby Amy became a part of me, of us. We liked nothing better than sitting on the couch, feeling her kick, and envisioning the day we’d hold this active child on our laps. Nine months was her whole lifetime, and those nine months forever changed ours.

Thursday I read an email, and it was as if it happened yesterday…

Tonight, at OUR birthday dinner, Amy will be with her family, just as she has always been and always will be.