Easter Sunday - the Lesson of the Birds

My neighbor introduced me to the writing of scientist and native Nebraskan, Loren Eiseley. He didn't write or think like any scientist I'd ever encountered. He was an archaeologist, anthropologist and naturalist who spent much of his time in reflection upon his scientific observations and was able to maintain a high sense of wonder about the universe.

Shortly after reading Willa Cather's, O Pioneers, I launched into one of Eiseley's book of essays. It was the dead of winter and I was battling brochitis, clutching my newfound friend the heating pad. This passage called "The Immense Journey" stunned me with it's eloquence.

In three paragraphs I was transported to a springtime meadow, the warmth of the heating pad translated in my mind to that of the afternoon sun. In my mind he has captured the essence of the story of Easter. I was so moved by the story that when spring finally arrrived, I drove around the countryside looking for an open glade that mirrored the image he'd created in my mind's eye.


The Leafy Glade

THE IMMENSE JOURNEY

“I leaned against a stump at the edge of a small glade and fell asleep. When I awoke, dimly aware of some commotion and outcry in the clearing, the light was slanting down through the pines in such a way that the glade was lit like some vast cathedral. I could see the dust motes of wood pollen in the long shaft of light, and there on the extended branch sat an enormous raven with a red and squirming nestling in his beak. The sound that awoke me was the outraged cries of the nestling’s parents, who flew helplessly in circles about the clearing.

“The sleek black monster was indifferent to them. He gulped, whetted his beak on the dead branch a moment and sat still. Up to that point the little tragedy had followed the usual pattern. But suddenly, out of all that area of woodland, a soft sound of complaint began to rise. Into the glade fluttered small birds of half a dozen varieties drawn by the anguished outcries of the tiny parents. No one dared to attack the raven. But they cried there in some instinctive common misery. The bereaved and the unbereaved. The glade filled with their soft rustling and their cries. They fluttered as though to point their wings at the murderer. There was a dim intangible ethic he had violated, that they knew. He was a bird of death. And he, the murderer, the black bird at the heart of life, sat on there, glistening in the common light, formidable, unmoving, unperturbed, untouchable.”

“There the black bird sat, formidable, unmoving, unperturbed. The sighing of the little birds died. It was then I saw the judgment. It was the judgment of life against death. I will never see it again so forcefully presented. I will never hear it again in notes so poignantly prolonged. For in the midst of protest, they forgot the violence. There, in that clearing, the crystal note of a song sparrow lifted hesitantly in the hush. And finally, after painful fluttering, another took the song, and then another, the song passing from one bird to another, doubtfully at first, as though some evil things were being slowly forgotten. Till suddenly they took heart and sang from many throats, joyously together as birds are known to sing. They sang because life is sweet and sunlight beautiful. They sang under the brooding shadow of the raven. In simple truth they had forgotten the raven for they were the singers of life, and not of death.”

- Loren Eiseley (New York Vintage Book: 1957) 174-175

Have a blessed Easter!

The Safe Route

Recently I read something about taking risks. I've never been much of a risk taker and looking back on my life it's apparent that I always took the safe route or at least the way of least resistance.

You reach an age when you realize you're on the downside and age and infirmity exclude ever making some of your dreams happen. It would be easy to become sad and depressed that you're squandered precious time. I try very hard not to go to the Land of Regrets.

Is there space in our lives for little dreams, little adventures, little joys? I think so. When I was a stay-at-home mom with young children, my life seemed so confined and unexciting. I was happy to be a mother and glad that I was able to be with them but it seemed to me that everyone else was living exciting and challenging lives. I lived on a steady diet of adventures with Jacques Cousteau. I marveled at Jane Goodall who took Leakey's challenge to move to the African bush and set up camp to study chimpanzees. Did she ever long to trade places with me in my suburban home? Probably not.



Fast forward to the time when children are grown and launching themselves into adulthood. The Farmer and I dream quietly and sometimes aloud about finally divesting ourselves of things and dwellings and hitting the open road in search of small adventures. We've had a few inlcuding time on an island in Belize (with no roads). We've visited and climbed most of the major Mayan temples in North America including the spectacular temples at Tikal in Guatemala. We have so much fun on these adventures, they recharge and nourish the part of our souls that crave adventure.

The Farmer works incredibly hard having inherited some crazy work ethic. But now we're dreaming of more adventures, of hitting the road and seeing the back roads and small towns from one end of this country to the other. We'd probably tire of the journey but just the dreaming has power. The plan is that he'd golf in every little podunk course along the route and I would write about the locals and my search for the perfect piece of pie.

My friend Jesse White Crow left all his worldly goods in storage and walked across America. In the December 22nd entry on his blog he says, "It is time to be where I am for this moment, and I am thankful for all that I have to be here, for in a unique way I am rich. I walk to visit friends that tell me their stories both lived and those kept as pet dreams." Yes, I have my pet dreams and they are important to me.



William Least Heat-Moon lost his postiion at a college and jumped in his van and drove across the country and wrote about his journey in Blue Highways.


Custom built bike with a V-12 engine. Yes, a V-12.

How about you? Have you ever dreamed of hitting the road and having an adventure? What would it look like? Where would you go?

Found Money

Today I would like to introduce you to the concept of found money. What is that, you ask? Found money is money that you were never counting, that appears mysteriously from the universe.



About ten years ag0 the Farmer and I were helping out a young man who we'd informally adopted into our family. He was 18 years old at the time and struggling to cross over into adulthood. His childhoood left him with few skills to accomplish that and we did the best we could to provide him with some stability. He was incredibly smart and I nagged him for two years and finally got him to enroll in college. We did what we could including helping out occasionally with money for books or food.

He'd enrolled in a math class that required a scientific calculator that was over $100. It was far beyond his tight budget and I was not in a position that month to help him financially. My friends on a gardening forum had been following his story as I shared the general details of his struggle and his progress. Unbeknownst to him there were lots of gardeners cheering him on and wishing him well.

One day I wrote about how sad I felt that he'd be walking into the classroom without the calculator that was required. I simply didn't want him to feel embarassed. A short time later I received a private e-mail from one of the forum participants. She told me that she wanted to introduce me to the concept of found money.

At least a year previous she'd purchased some mail order flower bulbs that never took root. She'd written the company and requested a refund. Communications back and forth didn't seem to produce any results and she'd simply given up. Fast forward a year. She sat at her computer and read the story of the sincere young man who faced the first day of class without the materials he needed to succeed. She had a cup of tea and walked to the mailbox. Inside was a check for $120, the refund from the plant supplier.

"Found money!!!" she said. "Money I was never expecting to ever see and therefore not mine to keep."

She paused for a moment and e-mailed me to say that she had the $117 for the calculator plus $3 for coffee and a donut.

She dropped a check in the mail and it arrived just before his first class.

Her donation came with stipulations though. I could never reveal her identity, either to him or anyone else and he was not allowed to pay it back. Someday when he graduated from college and found himself a good job he should pay it forward. As for me, I was hooked on the concept.

Yesterday you came forth in great numbers to help give a woman a chance at success and for that I'm ever grateful. I'm thankful for my regular readers and the lurkers who uncloaked themselves for this effort.

The donation, energized by your participation will be made possible by the magic of found money. About a month ago I was contacted by a magazine seeking to use some of my barn photos in one of their stories. I have a policy concerning my photos, if someone asks and I approve of the project they are free to use the images without charge. Why? Because photography is my hobby and my great love and if I were to be stuck in negotiating prices and charging it would be work!! Believe me, the photographers at the newspaper never once picked up a camera for the fun of it and I never, ever wanted that to happen to me.

I agreed to let the magazine use my photos and we had some nice e-mail conversations back and forth. A short time later the woman contacted me and said the they were so pleased with the quality of the pictures and the experience working with me that they were going to write me a check.

Found money.

It wasn't mine. Never was. And so yesterday's experiment in giving will be funded with my found money.

Remember this story. Some time in the future money will appear, a large amount or small. You will recognize it for what it is. Pay it forward.

Wooden Ships and Heartbreaks

"Wooden ships on the water
very free and easy,
easy, you know the way it's supposed to be...."

When I was 19 years old my goal was to travel through life with no bumps or bruises. I truly believed that a successful life was one without pain or disappointment. Smooth sailing....that was my big plan. I soon learned that smooth sailing was virtually impossible and in my stupidity I pushed the pain away, stuffed it and denied it. Eventually the stuff bucket was filled to overflowing and it took five years of therapy to muck out the stall.


Emotional choas with wheelchair

Some people have more trials and pain than one person could possibly bear. I often wonder how the find the energy to push forward. My own heartbreaks are insignificant in comparison. My therapist did warn me against comparing pain. Our pain should neither be trivialized or held in comparison to that of others.

Recently I found the need to lean on my dear friend for support and reassurance. In hindsight I wonder what possessed me to do such a thing. Di was dealt the ultimate blow two years ago - the loss of her daughter. As always she managed to find the words that would be meaningful and supportive to me. I wanted to share them with you to see if they resonate with you also.

"The effort you have made to heal those scars is now very much a part of your beauty. We all are walking maps of our pain. Some are maps of beauty and depth and some are a mess. It's not just that out of our control, not of our choosing, tornadoes or asteroids hit our maps, it's whether we accept the damage, clean up as best we can and beautify these damaged areas as best we can. This, to me, is what separates the men from the boys, if you will allow the cliché."

Is she right? Is there beauty in our healing scars?

I hold onto her words like a cherished book, reading and rereading, taking the message to heart anew each time.

It seems that Di and I are like old battleships, cobbled together with a crazy patchwork of mismatched plating and crazy rivets, a Mad Max ship chugging along through life. When I am down she is up to the task and when she is down I give her a tow to a safe harbor.

How about you? Are you a sleek sloop, sliding easily over the waves.......



or a crazy contraption, hitting the waves head on, spewing smoke and losing a piece here and there?



All photos are from my archives.

The Maybe Someday Place

I'd like to invite you to join me on a journey to a someday place. What's that? It's a place we all long to escape to and that's different for each of us. Some of us dream about being in the mountains and some of us dream about listening to the sound of the surf as we drift off to sleep.

We all work hard and handle the difficulties that life throws at us. I found it easier to cope because I always had the dream that someday I would live in a place of great natural beauty. These things just don't happen magically. If the dream is ever to become a reality we must work towards it, making a plan and taking each small step towards the reality.

Truthfully, sometimes our dreams are simply will never come true because of things that are out of our control but we must dream and work towards making those dreams reality.

For many years I worked very hard at a job that was difficult. My health was not good and I struggled. I was the one that was providing health insurance for my family and it was an important responsibility. What kept me going was a photo and a chunk of rock on my desk. The photograph was the view from the mountain top lot that we'd purchased in the Ouachita Mountain range in Arkansas and the chunk of rock was a piece of pink granite from that lot.

The Farmer and I had visited the area and fell in love with the great natural beauty of Arkansas. We dreamed the dream first and then we took the next step when we bought the land. There's nothing on it at this point in time, not even a lean-to, but maybe someday.

That's my definition of a "maybe someday place". We should all have one. Whether we dream of a cottage in Yorkshire or a small house in Tuscany or a thatched roof casita on a beach. We all need that maybe someday place.

Daniel Boone once said, "When you can see the smoke from your neighbor's chimney, it's time to move on." From this vantage point from our land we cannot see a single rooftop or any sign that humans live below. At night there's one farm light visible and we can see the lights from the marina on the lake to the left, but that's it.

The most spectacular thing about this place is the quiet. It is quiet enough to hear the sounds of nature. Birds soar soundlessly overhead and only in the evening do the sounds ramp up. Tree frogs raise their voices in a deafening chorus.

Please join me for a few minutes on the mountain.



Where's your someday place? Where do you dream about escaping to someday?

William Wren - In Remembrance

Several years ago I became a part of something called Project 2996. Each person who agreed to participate was given the name of someone who perished on September 11. Since that time I remember William Wren and his family on this day.



In remembrance -

William Wren - age 61
Resident Manger - OCS Security
Confirmed Dead - World Trade Center

William Wren, a retired New York City firefighter, worked for OCS Securiy as fire security officers in the World Trade Centers.

Raised in Gerritsen Beach in Brooklyn, Wren graduated from James Madison High School, served three years in the U.S. Army and joined the New York City Fire Department. People remember him as a quiet, reserved man who never spoke of his firefighting adventures.

The New York Port Authority contracted with OCS as part of the additional safety precautions that were put into place after the 1993 World Trade Center bombing. Five employees of OCS died on September 11, including Wren's neighbor of over thirty years, Richard Fitzsimons.

Both men were at work on that morning and Wren called his wife Pat shortly after 9 a.m. to say he was OK. But sirens were wailing in the background. Ten minutes later he called back to say that Richard was also OK and that Pat should call his wife and let her know.

That was a last time either family heard from the men. It is known that they continued to perform their duties, along with the other OTC employees who were lost - Philip Hayes, Larry Boisseau and Robert Mayo. They evacuated the day care center first, and with their intimate knowledge of the building continued to evacuate and bring others to safety.

These are just the barest facts of his life and his actions on that day. To tell his whole story, the story of his life and his death, would take an entire book. There are those who can remember him as the man who saved their lives. How would you ever repay a debt of that magnitude? You could remember.... and vow to live your life with the caliber of character exhibited by this man.

This post is part of Project 2996 and I encourage you to take some time out of your day and read about some of the others who were lost that day.

Just people..... just doing their jobs....thrust into extreme circumstances. Everyday heroes.

I want William Wren's wife Pat and their children to know that they are in my thoughts and prayers and that we will never forget their loved one or their loss.

A story published September 15, 2001 - The families waited.

Spread Your Wings

Since I'm experience difficulties with the computer that I use to scan, upload and edit my photos, there will be no Way Back Machine today. No photos either.

I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to encourage you to step outside your comfort zone of blog reading. We seem to get caught up in a similar stream of subject matter, whether it be style blogs, or family blogs or craft blogs. I love to take that web surfboard and jump the waves to the left or right of where I usually run. In the course of those little surfing trips I've found some fascinating reads.

I'd like to suggest reading White Crow Walking. I've been reading Jesse White Crow's adventures for three years. He has walked across America alone. The blurb at the top of his blog states:

"My solo walk across America began in Maine. I walked for nearly 3 years carrying a backpack and facing countless dangers, as well as met wonderful people I could have never made it without. From bullets to bears I moved through mountains of snow and across burning desert country. The end result will be a book, and the fruition of a childhood dream. This is a blog from the field with rough stories about my steps along the way."

...rough stories about his steps along the way. Rough stories??? I swear if these are just rough ramblings then the book is destined to be a best seller. Many times when reading his entries I would be stopped in my tracks by a sentence. How can someone craft a sentence so perfect and lean, without a wasted syllable or thought? And he wasn't sitting in a nice comfy office. He was jotting entries along the road, using the computers at public libraries. His thought process is deeply influenced by American Indian themes of nature and man.

One day I read one of his sentences and felt compelled to write it down and tuck it into my bedside table. I often read it at night before I go to bed and dream about crafting words such as this.

"In a minute the coyote is over by the dry creek bed singing it's painful woes to a night that makes all of creation wish they'd mastered fire."

- Jesse White Crow

NOTE: For further reading in this genre try -

William Least Heat-Moon - "River Horse" or "Blue Highways". Blue highway refers to the color with which the mapmakers denote secondary highways on a map. It's those highways the Heat-Moon traveled in preparation for writing the book. "River Horse" is a horse of a different color. It's a riveting story of his journey from coast-to-coast over America's streams and rivers.

Bill Bryson - "The Lost Continent" is a irreverent look at the author's travels across America after being overseas for twenty years. Written in 1994, much of it would be considered politically incorrect in this day. No matter, it's sharp and funny.

What's your favorite off-the-beaten path blog?

Life and Death in a Corn Field

What if I told you that watching a field of corn grow could save your life? It sounds far-fetched but I witnessed it myself over the course of one hot summer.

My stepfather was one of those unlucky people who is born into a life of pain. At the age of 10 he slipped into a thresher on the family farm during the fall harvest. He lost his leg in the accident and spent a lifetime dealing with the phantom pains and difficulties with an artificial limb.

Years later he was severely burned in an industrial accident at the plant where he worked as a chemical engineer. The recovery was painful beyond belief and he endured the difficult process of skin grafting. His forearms were covered with skin that was as translucent and delicate as rice paper. Grafted skin does not breathe or perspire and it's damaged by the sun so even in the hottest weather his arms were always covered.

He bore all these challenges with grace and was living proof of the old adage, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. He'd need that strength when, early in retirement, he was diagnosed with colon cancer. It was a hard blow and we all felt like screaming, "Enough!! This man has suffered enough."

He was determined to fight the disease and was accepted into a study that offered experimental treatment. Only 52 patients were admitted into the program. The protocol was very, very difficult and in the end only 5 finished the entire course of treatment. Yes, my stepfather was one of those patients. We celebrated when the doctor determined the cancer had remitted. And so life continued for the next 10 years.

And then the hammer fell. The cancer had returned. This was the literal straw that broke the camel's back. But in this case it's wasn't a camel's back, it was my stepfather's mind that broke. I've been in that terrible place myself and I know it well. Your mind simply says, "That's it, I'm done. I'm powering down." He powered down to the deepest level of depression. It was a black time. We were living an hour away from their place and my mother was starting to break under the strain of caring for someone so terribly ill, physically and mentally.

He refused to leave the darkened bedroom. It matched his mind and his mood. He barely spoke and his face was a blank. This is known in psychological jargon as lack of affect, a condition where the emotions are so dead that they cannot even gather enough power to move a facial muscle. He was frightened, not allowing my mom to leave the house for the simplest of errands. He barely let her leave the room, preferring that she join him in the black place where he was hiding.

My sister and I would drive out to visit, allowing my mom some time to breathe and shop. Remembering some of the things in a psychologists bag of tricks I suggested to my mother that she insist he get outside at least once a day. We made a plan that he should sit in a chair on the deck for one hour. The chair faced the large cornfield next to their home.



What happened next was a miracle. No, it was a thousand little miracles all building upon themselves.

At first he protested, as strongly as a person in such a state can muster. Finally he obeyed and sat the in chair for an hour, quickly retreating to the bedroom after each session. It's hard to tell when the first spark was ignited, when the first awakening triggered a message and made a small connection to a cell in his brain.



The first thing that made him aware of something outside of his dark island was the warmth of the sun. One day he said to himself, "The sun is so warm on my face. That's a nice feeling."

He built upon that warmth. Next he heard a bee buzzing around the pot of flowers at his feet. Progress! Not only was he aware of the sun, a chink in the armor had allowed sound into his world.

I'm not quite sure when he became aware of the cornfield, but I do know that it was a big moment. His mind, trained as an engineer, kicked into gear and he said to himself, "I can't do much, but I can sit in this chair each day and follow the progress of this newly planted cornfield."

And that's what he did.

Each day brought new awakenings and each day he spent a little more time out of his dark room. Once he went out in the early morning and saw deer feeding on the few kernels which were remnants of the previous harvest. In midafternoon he noted that children played at the edges of the field and later in the season they crawled inside the cool shade of the corn tunnels.



He noted the leaps of growth. Sometimes it seemed like he was watching one of those high speed films. He started talking, sharing the events of the day in the cornfield. A sudden thunderstorm had threatened to hail on the crop and this was of much concern to him. A tornado ripped nearby but spared his field.

And then the moment came when he made a giant leap. It was the moment when an event in the cornfield triggered a feeling of joy, and the spark traveled from soul to brain and for the first time in what seemed like forever he felt joy. It was something that no amount of drugs or therapy could give.

What happened? He was sitting at dusk, watching the sun setting through the clouds. The cornfield was getting dark, entering it's mysterious hour. Suddenly there was a tiny light. And then two, and then thousands! Fireflies covered the field in a lacy veil of pale yellow light. He knew at that moment that he wanted to live.

This story has an odd twist. His made the decision to live, but on his terms. He'd refused aggressive cancer treatments, only allowing the least painful and non-invasive measures. He decided to find joy in whatever time he had left on earth and by making that decision he was asking us to help him on his next journey. And so we joined him on his journey.

The cancer went into remission and he lived a full and happy life for the next 4 years. When the cancer returned and it was clear that he was near the end his children traveled from Australia to say their goodbyes. I was with him the day before he died. Leaves were rustling outside his bedroom window.

"Can you hear that?" he asked. "Can't you hear the corn rustling in the field?"

"Yes, I can hear it."

The Miracle of Modern Medicine

You need only claim the events of your life to make yourself yours. When you truly possess all you have been and done, which may take some time, you are fierce with reality.

Florida Scott-Maxwell

I hope you haven't come here this morning to have your spirits lifted because unfortunately this is Serious Thursday, or alternately Soap Box Thursday.

We often talk about the miracle of modern medicine, and it's true, it is a miracle. If it wasn't for the advances in medicine some of us would be not be alive today.

But there's good news and bad news concerning modern medicine. The good news is we're living longer. The bad news is we're living longer.

My freshman science teacher used a phrase that I've never forgotten. It applies to many things in life beyond science. That phrase was, "To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction."

Yes, we're living longer, but that in itself replaces one set of problems with another. The reality is, if you live a very long time there's a price to pay. And that price is that you will lose some or all of your independence.

I'm determined to age responsibly.

What does that mean? Our uncle died recently, at 96 years of age. He was still climbing on his roof to do repairs. And for anyone who is tempted to say, "Oh, that's so cool....96 years old and still repairing his roof..." I will say it is not cool. His son is 74 and believe me at that age he should be able to relax and enjoy his retirement and not worry about his 96 yr. old dad climbing all over a roof. Aging responsibly means I do not want to create any unnecessary difficulties for my children.

It also means that we must be fierce with reality. This is a little easier for me because when I was diagnosed with Lupus over 10 years ago I was forced to deal with the limitations placed on me by the disease. Denial would only make things worse for everyone. I mourned the loss of good health quickly so that I could move on to my new normal. I knew that there would be days when I would not be able to function or fulfill my responsibilities. I needed to be OK with that and accept my limitations and make changes to my life to accommodate those changes.

Unfortunately we are in a situation that could prove to be very traumatic for a family member due to the fact that they are in denial about their situation and the DMV is most likely bringing the hammer down.

Illinois is one of the few states that stringently tests senior citizen's driving skills. Seniors are tested quite frequently until the age of 87 and at that point they are tested yearly. Family members also have the option to contact the Secretary of State's Office confidentially if they believe their family member is impaired. The senior would be contacted and tested without revealing the family's involvement.

- Do you have these discussions in your family?
- Have you ever faced the difficult task of asking for their keys?
- Have you ever been in fear that your inaction or denial of your family member's diminishing driving skills could lead to someone's injury or death?
- How can we determine when it's time to intervene?
- Would you be willing to be someone's transportation partner, or put together a support network?

We need to have these conversations.

I've discussed this issue with a lot of people and they all say, "Well, it's hard, because they'll lose their independence."

YES they will. That's the reality, so we should be addressing it before the 11th hour.

My own mom has made some major changes in her life that are leading up to the day when she no longer drives. She moved from a senior apartment in a very small town to a place in a nearby city. The new building has plenty of activities and transportation options.

I hope I'm never in the position of the elderly gentleman that my son and I encountered at the DMV last year. He arrived for the test in his pajamas and slippers! Everyone in the facility was looking at each other, thinking the same thing....this person actually drove here? He failed the driving test and seemed totally blindsided, having not given one moment of thought to the possibility of failure. His equally frail and confused wife kept asking, "But what does that mean? You failed? What does that mean?" Everyone in the DMV office knew what it meant. My mind was on fire. Where was their family? It was a scene that was sad beyond belief and totally unnecessary.

I hope I'm fierce enough with the truth to lay the keys down when the time comes, actually before the time comes.

NOTE: Please join me in my kitchen first thing tomorrow morning. I've got a fun day planned and there's going to be a contest! We need to be on our best behavior because I've got lots of new guests coming!

Moving Mountains

"A woman knows life takes shape in big and small spaces and the movement in between. When we're simply ourselves, in the everyday act of being, we don't have to move mountains or make miracles, but sometimes we do anyway."

- Eileen Fisher

Think about it. In our day-to-day lives as wives and mothers, it's not always apparent that we're making difference. We move mountains all right, mountains of laundry, mountains of dishes and meals enough to feed armies. A thankless job is our specialty and we do it because, like the mountain climbers say, "It's there." Does anyone care that we've taken our commitment and our jobs seriously?

The Farmer and I consciously raised our children in an environment that I'll term an "entitlement free zone." They always say thank you for even the smallest favors and they're sincere. We've tried to show them through example that you only get from point A to point G by working through every step in between. And we never gave up. Ever. Believe me there were some tough times that made us both want to throw our hands in the air and say, "Enough!" But commitment doesn't mean just sticking around for the shining moments but for slogging through the most difficult times. Children learn commitment by watching it up close and personal.

I'm saying these things to point out the importance of making conscious decisions about our values and our ethics. Those decisions become a family operating manual or a mission statement.

Our lives and our work as parents can be incredibly ordinary and unappreciated. But there are those moments when we can stand back and take stock of what we've accomplished. And that's when we discover that indeed, in those everyday acts of being, we have moved mountains and made miracles happen.

In Service to God and Country

Families were uprooted and expelled from Scotland by the English king. My great-great-great grandfather, Robert Nesbitt and his family arrived by ship into Charleston harbor, somewhere around 1767. They lived in South Carolina until Robert and his brother John were conscripted to serve in the Revolutionary War. They served to ensure the birth of a new nation, where they could live and worship freely.

After the war, the brothers were given military land grants in what is now Dickson County, Tennessee. They traveled there to claim their land, along with two younger brothers. The four brothers, Robert, John, Jeremiah and Nathan, settled the land, and family members still live within a 5 mile radius of the original homesteads location.

There are no photos from this period, but great grandfather James Lewis Nesbitt served in the Confederate Army, Company B, 14th Tennessee Regiment of the General Archie Brigade. Rural life at this time was tenuous at best, and the women and children left behind had to keep the farm going. This was subsistance farming and if they were not successful they would not survive. Letters home reflected the men's concerns about the childrens health, and whether or not the wife had been able to obtain salt. Salt was vital to preserved the meat when a hog was butchered in the fall. This meat was essential for the family to exist through the winter.

George Washington Newton, my paternal grandfather, served in World War I. It was quite an adventure for a simple country farmer to travel to Vancouver, Washington for training. The photos from this period in time were actually postcards, as soldiers would not have access to a camera. The back of this postcard, which shows the soldiers setting up camp, reads, "This is a beautiful place. Say, I suppose you are almost ready to plow corn. So long, George."



George's brother, Tinnoman Newton, also served in World War I. He trained at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, which is still one of the largest training facilities. He also sent a postcard.



My father, Franklin Ray Newton, enlisted in the U.S. Navy 6 months after the attack at Pearl Harbor. He had just graduated from high school. His service included tours on destroyers and the U.S.S. Midway. He was aboard his ship in the Sea of Japan the day the treaty was signed with the Japanese government, ending the war. This photograph hung in his bedroom as long as I can remember, up until his death 20 years ago. The U.S.S. Midway is now a floating museum, docked in San Diego.



After discharge my father married my mother and started a family. He was working and they were saving money to buy their first home when he was called back into the Navy to serve in the Korean war. One thing I will say about his generation is that they were not whiners. Not a word was every said about having their plans disrupted to serve his country again. He served, was discharged a second time and they got on with their lives.

His brother, Jackie Newton enlisted in the U.S. Army after Pearl Harbor and served in the European theater. He was a German prisoner of war for over two years, returning to his beloved Florida panhandle where he farmed peanuts, cotton and sugar cane. He still lives within 3 miles of the family homestead.

Cousin Charles Sheldon served two tours in Vietnam. He was a career man, older than the troops he commanded. He died of a heart attack while serving in Vietnam. His half brother Mack Nolen was an enlisted man in the U.S. Navy for 25 years, serving also in Vietnam. My husband Paul (the Farmer) was drafted into the U.S. Army in 1966, serving at Fort Knox, Kentucky during the Vietnam war.

To all these men I say, "I remember".

Beyond the Hallmark Moment

"Did you know I was born because I wanted to be near my mommy?" - Claudia Martinez, age 8.

I found this quote in an old book and the concept this 8-year expresses is something the occurred to me a number of years ago. Do babies and souls choose who will be their mothers? It's an interesting thought to say the least.

Here is my own mother holding me.



I am stunned by how young she looks. She was 19 when this picture was taken. She will tell you herself that she was clueless about being a mom. I don't think my grandmother gave much advice and my mom didn't have a network of other young moms to rely on. She certainly learned on the job and she did a good job raising us kids. She was fun and creative and our house was always full, noisy, sometimes messy. But we were not perfect in anyway.

The young man I mentored for years once commented about my own family.

"I wish I had a normal family like yours," he said.

"If you see a family that looks normal to you, it means you're not looking close enough," I answered.

Here's a photo of my children. I'm posting this for a reason. Do you see mom? No. I'm rarely in any of the thousands of family photographs. I'm always the one behind the camera! And, as you can see, my children are very thrilled to be having their picture taken.



The body language tells it all.

"Mom's got that stupid vintage camera out again and she's trying to be all artsy-fartsy. Let's just stand still for one second and get it ove with."

There's another mom I'd like to talk about and she is my best friend. I've struggled for over a week for the right words. I know there are no right words to say and it's unacceptable to wait for the right words.

On this Mother's Day I'd like to express my deepest admiration and respect this mother who lost her only daughter 19 months ago. There were circumstances that required my friend to transform herself into a champion, an advocate and a defender for her child and she spent most of her adult life in this role.

It's important for us to talk about these losses, to remember and to honor these daughters and mothers. Everyone is there at the beginning, offering sympathy and help. But very soon after people begin to fall away.

The thought of someone losing a child is so terrifying and so close that soon we turn our eyes away and go on with our lives. My friend and I both understand the dynamics but it doesn't lessen the pain that it causes.

In the 19 months since Linz's death the kindest gesture was from a stranger. A clerk in the grocery store knowing nodded and simply through her eyes and her body language said, "I know, I see your pain. I care."

We can't be so frightened by the thought of these losses that we distance ourselves from these grieving mothers. And so today I honor my friend Diane. She's the most amazing person I've ever met. In her life she has exhibited a strength and commitment I never knew existed. I write regularly of my struggles with letting go but I'm always aware that she is struggling with the ultimate letting go.

Here's Linz - an amazing young woman. She's gone and we miss her terribly.



And again, mom is never in the picture. She's always the one in the background, capturing those moments.

Train Ride from Hell

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I made a promise to myself when I started blogging that I wouldn't swear. I criticize other people for doing it and it's my firm belief that we can say whatever needs to be said without profanity. However, I need to ask the question, is the word hell considered a swear word? If it is I'm going to ask for special dispensation for that word.

A week ago the farmer asked me to go downtown to Chicago to take care of some business at one of the banks. I was more than happy to do that for him but it was April 28th and it was snowing. What the hell?

And I'm going to have to use the word again and say, that was a train ride from hell.

It's probably not what you think. The train was very modern and comfortable and the ride into the city was just a little over an hour. What could go wrong? Here's what went wrong. I boarded the train and took a seat and just behind me was a young man in his mid-20's, about my son's age. He sat down facing me about three rows away. He had multiple piercings and those large ear plugs in his lobes and he probably had tattoos. That's not a problem, I don't judge people by that and anyway my own kids have tattoos and piercings. The only reason I mention it is because he was in a dress shirt with a tie draped around his neck and that seemed odd and out of place with all the piercings.

He told the conductor that he was on his way into the city to make a presentation and my guess is that he was going for a job interview or to pitch for some freelance work. It was apparent that he was nervous, very nervous. It took him at least five attempts to get the tie tied correctly. His artist's portfolio was propped up on the seat in front of him and he opened it and reviewed the material, closed it, opened it again. He repeated this several times. It was obvious he was practicing in his mind.

Here's where the hell comes in.

All of a sudden I felt all those years of mommy/nurturing messages welling up inside of me. I looked at the young man and silently repeated, "It's fine. You're prepared. You're gonna be great!"

What the hell? I thought all that stuff got flushed away in menopause. I guess not.

It was all I could do to keep myself planted in my seat. I felt really bad for this kid and I wanted to reassure him that everything would be OK.

Somehow I managed to stay seated, effectively avoiding humiliating myself in front of this young stranger. He was making his best effort to be an adult and I was about to call attention to the fact that he was struggling with a case of nerves. I leaned back, closed my eyes and let the moment pass. I've finished my job and so has his mother.

I can never know what happened next, but I'm sure this young man walked into the conference room, opened his portfolio, took a deep breath and heard a small voice in the back of his mind saying, "It's fine, you're going to be great!"

Swimming in the Transformation Soup

For the past year or so something has been amiss in my life. I haven't been able to put my finger on it but I've felt like I'm swimming upstream in what Sark calls Transformation Soup.

Last week's visit with The Mother and The Sister allowed me to finally see that my relationships have been put in a blender and turned on frappe', taking the past dynamics and chopping them into bits. The daughters are now the mother, and that's a terrible shift for someone who's aging and dealing with those issues. My own children seem to be equally unsettled under my continued nurturing attempts.

My sister and I find ourselves with adult children, and we're adrift on a sea of "not much to do" in the nurturing department. Years of worrying, wiping, organizing, cooking, dressing, pushing, teaching and all-around mothering are behind us. Well, all but the worrying part. Suddenly, after what seems like a lifetime of motherhood on-the-job training, just as we've worked out all the kinks - we're handed a pink slip! We find ourselves obsolete, experts without students. It's like losing your job but still having to go into the office everyday to sit in a chair and just observe. Our opinions are not needed (or wanted) as our children attempt to make a life by themselves, for themselves. And that's not a bad thing, they're using the lessons we've taught. The problem is that sometimes we're still trying to teach, long after the lessons have ended. It's exasperating for all parties involved.

My sister and I talked about this at length. I don't blame the kids for being annoyed at attempts at mothering at this point in time. Sensing the coming changes a couple of years ago I "adopted" a kid from a terribly dysfunctional family, fed him a steady diet of advice and chocolate brownies and got him into college and on his way. I certainly can't keep repeating that from now till the grave. Can you just see me out trolling for a kid who needs nurturing?

So, what's a mother to do? I'm sitting in a puddle of skills here.

My sister and I came up with the solution, almost at the same moment. We decided that the answer was to turn the nurturing around and to nurture ourselves. Now THAT'S certainly easier said than done.

As a young mother I never would have believed in my heart that I would find purpose in cleaning up after a sick child and driving a million miles to soccer games. I did. Now I just need to figure out how to do it for myself.

If you haven't read Sark before, give her books a look see They're colorful and get you to think about your life in a different way.

I seriously considered including a warning for young moms.....READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. Would you want to know what's coming down the road? Probably not.

Planet of Women

There it was in my inbox this morning - an e-mail from my best friend. We haven't talked in about a week because she's been hard at work again. I was missing her and thinking about how lucky I am to have found such a terrific friend. I'm thankful every moment for the technology of the internet which has allowed me to make friends with women I never would have met in "real life".

We can feel safe enough in our friendships to share our doubts and get advice from others who have been down the same road. I know for a fact that my friend and I have talked ourselves off ledges and at one point walked through the valley of the shadow of death together. How could you ever do that alone?

There's a wonderful photographer named Raul Guitierrez, who travels the world and shares his images and viewpoint via a photoblog called MEXICAN PICTURES (he's the Mexican, not the photos!). Prepare to be amazed if you have some time to look through his vast body of work. What does this all have to do with the women sharing ice cream cake roll in the photo above? It has to do with our shared experiences whether we're in Yushu, Vietnam or Cuernavaca.

As women I believe we have responsibilities that extend beyond our families. This was a concept that was emphasized in my upbringing. Our lives are busy but I think it's important to take a moment to extend our hands to others. Here are a couple ways we can help other women.

Remember your prom? The dress.....the dress is very important and there are some young women whose family budgets just don't include a prom dress. A movement was formed to help provide a place to "shop" for gently used dresses. There are opportunities across the country and they are looking for that special occasion frock that's hiding in the back of your closet. Check it out at Donate My Dress. Be sure to look at the photo album and read the letters from young women who have benefitted from this effort.

You can also help Trish Ward in Honduras. Her and her family work in the poorest area in Honduras and she and other women are doing their best to help out in an orphanage which is terribly understaffed. As moms we all know the importance of holding our babies and stimulating their senses. Unfortunately babies outnumber caregivers and Trish is looking for funds to purchase mobiles for the babies cribs. $20 will purchase one mobile. Read about Trish's project.

If you have a moment also read her husband Brad's description of the people of Rio Negro. I'm telling you, I'm a pretty good judge of writing abilities and Brad is an excellent wordsmith. The description of the effects of malnutrition in this post cuts to my heart because I've seen this for myself.

This is just one of those posts where I invite you to think outside of your happy home, into the world at large...because we are all sisters at heart and I think we have a responsibility to support and love each other. It's God's message put to action.

QUOTE OF THE DAY: When searching through my book of quotes under "friendship" in the table of contents I found this:
FRIENDSHIP/FRIENDS (See also Love)
'Nuff said.

BLOG OF THE DAY: Whatever the Day May Bring
She'll make you think and there's beautiful music.