mom's diary ... and things forever in our heart

Among my mom's things I found a little diary. It was called "Peter Rabbit's Diary". She liked it enough to actually write in it a few times... back in 1995. Over 20 years ago. 

She loved Beatrix Potter. Her first entry was on her birthday. January 13. She said Mary Jane had a small dinner party for her and they had a wonderful time and they gave her very nice presents. Then she wrote about helping with the Little Whale Cove publication and that all the comments regarding the newsletter were positive... then her San Francisco trip in February..... No details.. just that it was "great fun". She said they received three inches of snow on February 13 and it looked so beautiful and white and clean. All was snow covered when they got up that morning.

And that was all.

She didn't write in it much but I bet she wanted to and then life got busy... or she left her little diary out of site and "out of site, out of mind" took over ... or she just started it all on a whim and never really intended to be a serious writer. But I look at it now and see her handwriting and I smile and feel close to her. She didn't write anything profound or poignant or deeply moving. She was just herself ... sharing what was happening in her life on a few select days. 

And that's what I'd like to do. 

Sometimes I write to get out my feelings and emotions and thoughts. I write in order to process my little place in the world and what is going on in my life. Sort things out. But I can write small snippets of my day too. I don't have to always have something profound to say. None of us do all the time. We just live life.

I also have a little diary I began last year... one year ago. I wrote one short entry. I think I'll pick it up again and ... in memory of mom... write a bit each day. I'll try anyway.

I miss you mom. So very much. I'm so glad you are forever in my heart and a part of me....

you'll be okay

I'm a bit of a worrier. Maybe not more than most people but I admit it goes way back.

I think I wrote about this before but I remember being in kindergarten and not wanting to go to school and be away from my mother. I was afraid I'd get sick and she wouldn't be there. Every day before I left the house and walked down our long driveway to the bus stop I would ask her a question. 

"Am I going to be okay today?" I'd say.

"Yes, you are going to be okay" she'd reply.

That's all I needed to hear and I knew I'd be alright. My mom's words proclaimed it. God forbid I forgot to ask her. I did forget once and had a fretful day thinking the worst would happen! I told her I never wanted to forget to ask her again and she replied, "Well this is for all the times you forget to ask me. You will be okay on those days too. This will cover all those times in the future. Just in case. Remember. You will be okay."

I had a good mom. A wise mom. A mom who wanted me to feel safe

 and loved... and okay. More than okay. 

This week as I inwardly fretted about this or that I had a revelation and began to laugh out loud. I even spoke out loud to no one in particular although Norman seemed to be amused.

"Mom, that is why I am worried all the time! You are not here to tell me 

everything will be okay! It's your fault I'm such a worrier!" 

But no, she told me her blessing spread into the future. It gave me joy to think of this and to remember the little five-year-old girl who needed her mother's reassurance.

Memories. Aren't they great? Good ones anyway.

I wish for others a stable place. A place of peace. A place to feel safe. Even during some of 

my darkest days I have been able to find that safe place.

She said I will be okay... and she is right.

In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety. ~Psalm 4:8

the treasures we carry with us

Someone who knew my mom well and worked with her for many years saw my picture recently on a social media site.  She reached out to me …. and said I had my "mother's eyes and sweet smile".

Things like that can just make my day.

It's nice to know I still carry so much of her with me.

I feel it sometimes.  Often really.  The expressions on my face.  The intensity in my eyes.  Little mannerisms.  Reactions.  Responses.  My voice.  How I say things.  Even some strengths and weaknesses.

But she had blue eyes.  I have brown.  She tended to be the eternal optimist.  I can be such the worry wort.  She was artistic and creative most of the time.  I only have spurts!  

And yet I feel her.  I feel she is a part of me.  

I'm thankful for people who remind us of such simple, yet such enormous, truth.  

We are all a part of something so much bigger than just ourselves.   And what once WAS still IS in many ways.  Maybe not the exact way we'd like, but love and life goes on….

Mom

Me

this week, this day

It was a lovely day.  It's been a lovely week.

How can that be?  The last two years have only brought heartache and pain to this final week in March.

How could I lose the best person I've ever known and loved to cancer one year and then my beloved mother the next year?

It seemed too much to bear… and horrible timing.

My gratitude is what drives me on and sustains me… gives me strength and courage to move forward…

I grin at the thought of "getting over it"…. Ahhh…. that just doesn't happen. 

But back to gratitude.  When you have lost a lot you realize some never have that much to lose.  I have been so blessed.  And I am still… so blessed.

I'm still a seeker, still one who is looking for the wisdom that the universe contains.  Still trusting in what I cannot see.

Oh, there is so much that we cannot see….

So I want my life to be used still… to be a fragrant offering somehow…

I've been given examples of strength and love and courage... loyalty and belonging.   Those gifts remain.

learning

Life is interesting… and much is unexpected.  In spite of every sad thing I could think about this time of the year I have joy.

Maybe I'm getting somewhere.

Just maybe I'm learning to savor the times when peace reigns in my life and giving myself permission to let go of things beyond my control and…. exhale… enjoy.

Some things haven't changed any.  Missing loved ones not around to hug is a constant.  The missing part is always there and will never go away…But I'm learning to accept.  It makes me human... and fully authentically me.

Also this is the first Christmas in my entire life that I won't get a stocking filled with thoughtful lovely things from my mom, but I'll survive that too and I'll savor and cherish all the love and memories that are still very much ALIVE!  The love is almost tangible and as real as anything could possibly be…. It fills me up.

So I'm learning.  I'm learning to accept myself right where I am…not comparing myself to anyone else.  Why do we do that?  Experiences and people are so different…..

Learning to embrace who I am with my own strengths and insights that have been hard earned and picked up along the journey that is uniquely my own.

I'm learning not to edit myself for anyone …

So remember… Remember when you think you aren't making progress in your life that some things just take time… more time than you think you should have to go through … but if you're willing to stay open and teachable the end result will be worth it.

this picture

circa 1975  New Jersey

This picture might just look like a house on a hill to some, but to me it is a lot more than that.  It speaks volumes.  It kind of haunts me, but in the best of ways.  Each window conjures up a memory of life under its roof and within its safe walls.

I see a kitchen window and my mom inside making this house a home.  This time of the year I'd look for the spritz cookie recipe that we'd use with Christmas cookie cutters.  There would be sprinkles and flour everywhere… and warmth.

I see the living room window panes where mom would tape her homemade snowflakes each year made with white tissue paper… the Christmas tree would be near by.  It wouldn't have the cool small twinkly lights on it that we have today.  The bulbs would be colorful, larger and hot … and I'd occasionally put tinsel on one of them to watch it melt.  The mantle would be decorated and a crackling fire would be lit underneath. 

I can still see every square foot of our property in my mind.  I walked it.  I explored it.  I climbed it.  I cartwheeled and sleigh rode across it.  I grew up in it.

I see my brother's bedroom window and remember the view looking out of it into the woods.  Though I can't see mine I know it's on the other side of the house where the driveway wound down to the dirt road below.

I'm reminded of a back door that for a time wasn't used because there was nothing to go out to.  The rock stairs had crumbled over the years and were replaced later by a nice deck.  But the in-between time  resulted in a door that stayed locked.  This speaks to me about my parents inability to get everything exactly when they wanted it.  They had to save for things.  They had to wait and didn't get into debt just to have stuff right away like too many do today.  They worked hard.  It didn't effect or hurt us one single bit to have to wait to have any material possession.   Even a back door.

I'm hoping future generations see that clearly.  In our pursuit of stuff I hope it doesn't get lost.  The news is full this time of the year of people shopping for the best deals and fighting over them.   Consumerism is running rampant.  I see many houses so full of stuff that they can't even park their car in the garage.  It's so full of stuff.  

New so quickly becomes old… and pushed aside.

My mom and dad made the wise decision before I was born to raise their family here.  Where there was space and fresh air… and a special freedom.  They really did live the American dream.

I don't know.  I like things same as the next person, but real life doesn't consist of more and more stuff.   The best things in life aren't things at all. 

I heard this quote today by Sandra Bullock… She said, 

"When people are like, 'Life is good,' I go, 'No, life is a series of disastrous moments, painful moments, unexpected moments, and things that will break your heart. And in between those moments, that's when you savor, savor, savor.'"

I kind of liked that.  At least the words struck a chord in me.  I try not to focus on the disastrous moments though, but on the savor, savor, savor…...

Richness consists in being able to look back and say how good all the memories were that were made… and all the lessons that were learned and lived…. Richness comes when we love one another through the tough times…. 

knowing that is where a lot of the "good stuff" comes from….

ever changing

Just got back from another trip to the Oregon Coast.  It hasn't changed too dramatically since the first time I went out there.  The Pacific ocean is just as beautiful and majestic as the waves hit the shore... and they hit ferociously too since it was stormy.  Though I got one good walk in along the rocky paths it mostly rained.  One day the weather was sunny, then rained, then sunny, then hailed, then sunny, then rain.... and so on.  Ever changing.

Like life.

The biggest change out there is that mom is missing.  Her smile, warmth and open arms.  Her presence seems to be everywhere though.   It's nice, but painful.  Bittersweet in the extreme.  Memories come one after another like the ocean waves.  Love seems to fill all the nooks and crannies of a home that was filled with her influence and beauty.  

I want so much to embrace and then share all the good that has been mine... so many blessings.... comfort and warmth.  Love and acceptance.... I'm still finding my way in all of this.  Some people seem to go on and embrace life to the fullest again... but I'm still a bit stunned.   Sometimes I curse the deep thinker and overly sensitive me.... but it's who I am and that's okay ... and there must be a purpose in it all....

So I wait, and I move forward, and I do what I can each day.... carrying all the good stuff I've been given close to me ... deep in my heart.

where I’m from

  

I am from rich black soil, homemade raspberry jam, baseball after school, apple fritters, spaghetti o’s and Beagles.

I am from the warmth of wood burning fireplaces, smoky, crisp air in the fall, dirt roads and a house on a hill. I am from walks in the woods along well worn paths.

I am from Grandma’s lilies of the valley and screened-in porch, Easter hyacinths and Mayflowers for mommy in the springtime. From bacon and egg sandwiches on Sunday, crumb buns and poppy seed cake.

I am from fragrant cedars and piles of presents in December and sleepovers on floor mats after pumpkin pie in November. I am from hardworking and strong. From loud laughers who all talk at once, generous and devout. From the Wittmans and Okkers, McCormicks and Kerteszes.

I am from the lovers of home, clotheslines and fresh ironed sheets. I am from strong women. Margarets and Martha. Good men. Richard, George and Cornelius.

From “you can be anything you want to be” and learning times tables at the kitchen table. I am from summers knowing I belong with hot tea and bologna sandwiches on Garret Drive.

I am from church on Sunday mornings and reading the funnies. From looking at pictures in the big Bible on Dad’s bedside table. I am from finally seeking and finding.

I'm a country girl from Jersey, Hungary, Scotland and Holland.

From the starry-eyed and committed high school sweethearts who went to a dance and raised a family faithfully with wild and pleasant sandy beach vacations without a dime left over.

I am from pictures and albums in the attic at the top of the stairs, diaries and journals. Treasures of enormous worth.

Write your own story using the Where I'm From concepts.