Happy Birthday, Mom!

Today is my mom's birthday.  A year ago we were just glad to have her still with us after a horrendous fall.  A year later mom has become a vital member of a senior community and has grown to love a life at a different kind of pace with many supports to make her safe and happy.

I have been thinking about mom and how my perspective has changed as I have been a mom, first of young children and now of young adults.  Walking through my own motherhood journey, my view of my mom's own struggles and joys has broadened and a deeper understanding of who she is as I have recognized layers of the wonderful woman I have grown to love has emerged.

Below is a poem about my first memory.  I was three and my mom was teaching me to pray.  This sweet scenario is interspersed with the closing in of her life as mirrored by my own wish to be just like her.

Blessed is the Fruit of Your Womb

                                                                   by Deborah Bussewitz

Wooden floor meets bent knees

as they offer up ritual night prayers,

traces of White Shoulders linger on her neck

delicately defying the staleness of the small space.

Repeat after me she whispers, “Hail Mary, full of grace…”

The small girl of three mimics the sing-song prayer,

a nursery rhyme tracked in memory one line at a time as

two brothers breathe slowly in sleeping cribs that crowd the room.

With the song, comes a glance between lashes--a familiar silhouette--

long fingers laced in prayer, delicate lips,  newly expanding middle.

“I want to be just like you,” the young girl muses,

and the room contracts a little tighter.

Thank you to the Two Writing Teachers community for your promotion of this March Writers' Challenge.  Thank you for giving writers and education a forum for writing and responding to other writers.

A Flood of Gratitude

Sometimes when it rains it pours.  And sometimes that pouring causes floods.  (Along with the melting snow.) That has been the reality of my life this past week.

Saturday morning I was greeted by several inches of water in my home.  A finished basement, and two apartments worth of stuff waiting for my adult children to claim were ruined.  Countless pieces of children's art and school memorabilia ruined.  Christmas ornaments and seasonal decorations ruined.

My first reaction was one of sadness, horror and overwhelm.  The loss of things I held dear brought me to tears.  The thought of all that needed to be done in a very short time caused anxiety.  Yet, only three days later, that sadness has been replaced by gratitude.  The overwhelm replaced by a newfound power to "get it done".  The stuff of my basement is either drying out or being discarded.  This event is putting into motion a necessary purge of the stuff waiting to be claimed or there and not used for many years.  And water removal and restoration so quickly fell into place.  Friends and family pitched in and offered support.  Plumbers and restoration crews went beyond the call of duty to make the space water and mold free.   Movers moved the stuff to higher and dryer ground.

The water is gone.  The fans are still on.  A pile in the basement has become a huge pile in the garage.  And the sorting will begin.  I am not happy about the flood.  But in the midst of this inconvenience choices were made to look for good.  Choices were made to support.  Choices were made to respond with positivity.

I am grateful for a soon to be dry basement.  I am grateful for the support given in the past three days.  I am grateful for the pile in my garage that will become smaller with a "stuff" purge.  I am grateful that the movers made that pile from floor to ceiling so that I could still park in my garage.  Maybe tonight, even if it is only momentary, as I get ready to go to work in the morning, knowing tomorrow will bring snow and cold, and knowing that my parking space is still there--that is something for which I am most grateful.

Thank you to the Two Writing Teachers Community, for your promotion of the March Writers' Challenge.  Thank you for giving us a forum for writing and responding to other writers.

A Small Moment Sonnet

I have been taking a poetry class this summer and have been experimenting with different kinds of forms.  Last week I posted a small moment written in couplets.  This week is a sonnet small moment nestled into a fairy tale.  This has been hard work and a work in progress.  It has been fun and is still a work in progress.

                                                        Bewitched                                                                                                               

The five of us kids looked forward to treat night when on
Thursday evening we watched Bewitched.   Samantha twitched her nose, 
changing the real into magic, like a fairy godmother, whose waving wand
allowed Cinderella to go to a ball to meet the prince of her dreams.

At our weekly gala, fairy dust sprinkled and we were bequeathed chips of choice 
with one can of store brand soda--root beer, cola, orange or lemon-lime.
We children ate our Cheetos and drank our nectar gazing at the black and white screen
as we nestled into an evening of enchanted abundance--all we had ever known.

Then the clock struck midnight and our nine o’clock bedtime,
and as carriage and footmen were but mice and a pumpkin, 
as a young woman bolted, leaving behind a slipper--a wisp of hope,
we children fled in tattered bedclothes, a trail of chip crumbs marking our trail.

With chips and pop devoured, tummies full and rings of orange soda lining lips,
we slid between covers and night dreams that hoped our prince would someday come.

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for dedicating space and time for teachers and teachers of literacy to come together to share ideas, practice and life experience.

    

Connecting with Rae

My daughter and I keep missing each other.  Sometimes we meet, though, but not exactly as it was planned.  What to do with the unplanned makes all of the difference.  Last week I was returning from a beach vacation and we had a window of a day to meet before the beach vacation she was taking with her husband.  We both wanted time, yet time was short.   We decided to meet for dinner.  She finished work at five o’clock and I needed to touch base with a colleague at either five o’clock or eight o’clock.  She decided to meet me at 5:15.  And I made my appointment for eight. 

She worked till five that night and told me that she would text me as she left so that we could meet for dinner.  At five I began to wait for her text.  At 5:30 I was still waiting for her text.  5:45--still waiting.  6:00--still waiting.  And a bit irritated that she was not responding to my text.  6:15 rolls around.  And I get a call, “Mom, I am so sorry.  I just am finishing up with work.  Two people walked in and I couldn’t leave.  I can meet you in thirty minutes.  Let’s meet at Aladdin’s.”

Aladdin’s is a lovely restaurant on the canal near our home.  The problem with that restaurant is that it is busy and there always is a wait.  “Rae, I don’t think that will work.  I have to leave by 7:30 to get to the 8:00 appointment.” (To myself I added, “that I could have gone to at 5.)  Yes, irritation was there.

“Ok, mom.  Let’s go to Chipotles then.  So that we have as much time as we can have.”  I have to admit, I was fighting the irritation.  Yet I missed her and was looking forward to the visit, albeit a shorter one than planned.

She arrived at the restaurant when I was in line and came to me giving me a tight hug.  “I am SO glad to see you, mom.  And I am sorry I am late.”

“That’s ok.  But I do only have a half-hour because of my appointment.  It is good to see you.”  My response was genuine and rose above the irritation.

The woman in front of us in line overheard our conversation.  “Would you like to go in front of me in line since you only have a half hour?”  We thanked her and budged ahead when she added, “It is so nice to see you both not arguing about something that so easily could have gone in that direction.”

We ate.  We visited.  We connected.   I made a decision to pay attention to the connection rather than the irritation.  It made all of the difference.

*                                                          *                                                          *

This morning I got a text from Rachel during her vacation in Jamaica.  “Mom, we are having a wonderful time.  And I miss you so much!  I can’t wait to see you.  Let’s meet for dinner this weekend.”

“Ok,” I replied, “I can’t wait to lay my eyeballs on you!  Oh, and have you burned?”

“Not at all.  Perfect vacation!”

I had a choice, when confronted with her lateness.  I knew that it was lateness that was unavoidable.  I knew that she typically doesn’t keep people waiting.  And I knew that I needed to be somewhere at 8:00.  I knew that it could have gone differently if she told me to make my appointment earlier.  But she didn’t and I didn’t.  I could have made a choice to show my irritation.  I could have made a choice to not keep my eight o’clock commitment.  There were lots of ways to respond to the circumstances of that evening.  I chose to keep a commitment and to connect.  

I am so glad I did.  Connection brings joy.   Connection makes a difference. 

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for dedicating space and time for teachers and teachers of literacy to come together to share ideas, practice and life experience.