As winter lifts her white robes and moves around the
stage prior to her big exit, the audience here in the Midwest is waving the
back of its hand at her to shoo her behind the curtain and out the stage door
before they give way to applause.
Nevertheless, we cannot deny her beauty at times. She does put on some stunning performances to help us tolerate the bleak tragedies that seem to play out day after frozen, cold day.
When a heavy snow falls, creating an etching from the usual blur of the woods behind our house, we do have to stop and view it as a winter paradise.
Branches laden with heavy snow droop down to display their beauty right at eye level, begging us to take a few moments to notice that they’ve turned to lace.
I hate winter. My preference would be to have beautiful fall colors and jacket weather right up until dusk on Christmas Eve, at which time around two inches of snowfall would blanket the earth, bringing a respectful hush over all creation. Then, just to be fair, I’d allow it to do it’s thing right up until January 2nd and then we’d all go back to sunshine and jackets again.
Though we long for outdoor activities and that roasty-toasty feeling of the sun warming our backs as we bend over new growth in flower beds, our last round of snow reminded us that we will be waiting a little while for those joys.
It’s difficult for me to feel like I’m thriving in
winter. At times, it takes its
toll. There are only so many gray days I
can take in a row before a gloomy mood sets in.
Phoebe June’s antics keep me cheery, along with outings for lunch with
friends or Smuffy on decent days and a stack of giggle-inducing P. G. Wodehouse
books.
There have been winters that left me feeling like I’ve taken a hit – a bit like our big pine tree is feeling right now.
Like the tree, I suppose it might do me good to have some weak areas fall away to allow light and air enter and new growth to fill in the empty places when spring arrives.
Even now, as I conclude these observations, I realize what a terrific writer I must be, because if I can romanticize this awful stuff, I can romanticize anything! I’ve spent this afternoon writing, ignoring the fact that there is an ice storm warning going on out there!
Upon hearing Smuffy’s truck in the driveway just now, I left my lair to greet him. He entered the back door, telling me he’d just had a bit of excitement. He’d parked the truck at the top of our driveway’s hill in hopes of being able to leave for work in the morning and while moving the car out of range of an ice-laden tree limb that made him a little nervous, he heard a scrunching sound.
We’re blessed that he’d parked the truck with the wheels turned, because it missed the car, three trees and Smuffy as it slid all the way down the driveway and into the neighbors’ yard. If a fallen limb left over from the last round of nasty weather hadn’t stopped it, who knows where it might have ended up! I could use another chapter of Wodehouse after that.
My little afternoon romantic fling with winter’s beauty
is over now. It’s lost its appeal again
and it’s time for a break-up! It’s time
for SPRING!
To all my readers who live in winter’s grip – hang in
there! Try to think of March as only
days away.
To all my hyacinths – you should have listened last week when I told you to pull your heads back below ground because those two sixty degree days were just a cruel joke!
Need a spring preview to chase away the gray? Take a tour through my garden in full bloomhere!
If the gloom requires a good laugh, make a cup of tea and settle down with the stories on my “Life With Smuffy” page. You’ll feel better in no time. He isn’t the only one who’s here to entertain – the “Laugh” page has more!
Questions? Comments? Click on “Leave a comment”. I’d love to hear your thoughts on winter, wherever you live!
I’m thinking of moving the first of the year to a whole new date. Winter never makes me feel like starting over fresh and new. Perhaps we can take a poll here at Midwest Storyteller and decide when we all would prefer to have the calendar flip over. In the meantime…
To all my readers, I want to bless you with one of my favorite promises. It’s one of those promises that can’t be broken – because of the One who made it!
“‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.'” Jeremiah 29:11 (The Holy Scriptures, NIV)
This is my blessing and my hope for you and your family for 2019!
Feel free to leave a comment and let me know when we can re-schedule this holiday! Brrrr….. Zzzzz....
Praying that each of you have many opportunities to enjoy the glories of the season! The trees will soon be singing!
“…let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them. Then all the trees of the forest will sing for joy;” -Psalm 96:12
I took this photo in my yard last fall. A free printable of the word art above is available upon request to subscribers. Click here to subscribe and send me an email or leave a comment with your request.
Last time, we discussed how much our lives have changed over the centuries and took a fun, but realistic, look at a day in the life of pioneer women in the 1800’s. If you missed it, you may want to check it out here. We’ve acquired many modern conveniences and long with them a sense of guilt that haunts us if we aren’t constantly on the job or flitting to or from one.
While we long for the simplicity that comes with our ancestors’ uncomplicated lifestyle, few of us would return to it once we considered the hardships that went hand-in-hand with that simplicity.
We came home the other day from a writers’ conference to discover that our central air conditioning had gone out. It’s August. Though we did receive a refreshing rain and the weather cooled down, fixing the A/C moved to the top of our priority list. Another modern convenience, the weather app, tells us it will be 97 degrees this weekend. No pioneering spirit here, folks!
My faith governs my life and my world-view. I know that as a human being, I am designed for Garden of Eden living. That means that I am not wired for stress. Yet, due to the gift of free will, “stuff” happens. Just living on this earth means we need a break. We need restoration! People are imperfect – doggonit – and they’re everywhere! Situations, as science confirms, go from order to chaos – not the other way around. I’m not going to notice, for instance, that although I haven’t mopped the floor in weeks, my floors just keep getting cleaner and shinier. A farmer isn’t going to drive by his long-neglected field and discover that time has turned the tangled mass of weeds into neat rows of corn. Again – doggonit!
So, with everything cascading into a mess all around us and folks misbehaving left and right, it’s no wonder we need restorative rest.
In my last post, I suggested that each time you feel guilty for being “so far behind”, that you grab the timer and see just how long your tasks really take to complete. Did you discover that they all take longer than the few minutes you’ve allotted them in your mind?
I feel it’s necessary to mention the fellas as we look at how life has changed. Along with awareness that domestic chores have become much easier over the centuries, we must also acknowledge that men do help out more than ever before. The first time I saw a daddy wearing a cuddle sack with his tiny infant snuggled against his chest, going about his business like it was an easy-breezy part of life, my heart melted. I remember the day when such a thing would have been unheard of.
More and more men are involved with household chores and caring for their children’s basic needs without falling apart at the seams with a bad case of martyr syndrome because someone asked them for a little help. It’s a change that’s been a long time coming and, I believe, has not come about by any natural evolutionary processes, guilty consciences or increased introspection and self-awareness on their part. It took push and I’m proud of every woman who pushed.
My advice to all of you who are frustrated, stressed out and guilt-ridden was to fire yourself, re-hire yourself and give yourself a break! Emily Post gave me some perspective on this and I hope it helps you as much as it did me.
I know what you’re thinking. You’ve immediately lumped Emily into the same domestic category as Martha Stewart, Mary Poppins and June Cleaver. Believe it or not, I’ve had friends good-naturedly call me all those names over the years. I’m one of those people who likes to make everything “special”. Surprisingly, Emily helped to ease the strain because “special” takes time, effort and lots of clean-up.
I stumbled across an old volume of Emily Post’s “Etiquette” (1942, to be exact) at a yard sale, took it home and dove in. After all, inquiring minds want to know if they’re doing everything wrong. Right? Smuffy looked over at me one evening as we both reclined in bed with our books and said, “I’d be willing to bet money that right now, in this entire town, there is not one other person curled up in bed reading a two-inch thick 1942 Emily Post book of etiquette.” It probably would have been a safe bet.
What can I say?
I found it fascinating. Emily will teach you how to do everything. You’ll learn how to meet government officials (foreign and domestic), how to deal with your child’s clothing choices, how to set a perfect table, and write the proper invitations and other correspondence. Though you may not need the section on “Do’s and Don’ts for Debutantes”, you will learn how to teach your children not to be…well…mannerless, awkward clods.
The wonderful thing about it? It all made sense. She designs a world in which you make other people feel comfortable in any situation.
Hoity-toity, you say? Only in spots. Emily understands. She had a name for those of us who don’t have minions at our beck and call or a stack of engraved invitations waiting for our RSVP. She refers us as “Mrs. Three-in-One”. She acknowledges that this means most of us. Like it or not, most of us are cook, maid and hostess.
I fantasized my way through her chapter on “The Well-Appointed House”, giving myself a tongue-in-cheek reminder that I mustn’t forget “What the Butler Wears”. When I came to the section on the “House Run by One Maid”, I gave it a little more attention due to the fact that my house has one maid and I am she. That’s when I fired myself. Or did I quit? Anyhow, I knew it was time to start over with a new set of expectations.
I decided that, as Mrs. Three-in-One, I needed to re-hire the maid (me) using Emily’s job description. I surrendered all guilt, knowing that it would be unreasonable to expect more of myself than I would of the hired help.
This maid’s work “must be adjusted not only to the needs of the particular family by whom she is employed, but also to her own capability”. Understanding and flexibility are built into that statement. I realized that when I can’t – I can’t.
Emily states that, allowing for sleeping and eating, the maid has a remaining fourteen hours left in her day, “out of which she must find the time for recreation as well as for work”. Don’t be a tyrant, Mrs. Three-in-One! Do a little recreating.
The maid’s hours for housework should run from ten to twelve hours a day, perhaps more on special occasions. “From these hours there must, however be taken certain regular hours of time out.” Regular hours of time out during her ten to twelve hour day! Are you starting to think you’ve been a little hard on yourself? Career women, you can’t do it all. Stay-at-home moms, you might do it all, but you still need a cup of tea and time to put your feet up!
Then, Emily really starts speaking my language. “Normally every maid has her specified afternoons and evenings out.” Let me get my hat and coat! She goes on to say that if household requirements are unusually hard or confining, compensate for this as best you can. Women have used their creativity in dealing with this for centuries. I imagine this is how quilting bees came about.
The next section in the book provided a “Working Schedule for a One-Maid House”. I studied it, asking myself if I should expect any more of myself than I would of this woman I’d hired. Hypothetically, she is in charge of a seven-room house which includes a living room, dining room, porch, kitchen, maid’s room and bath, three bedrooms and two baths.
I balked at the first item, which suggested that I wash and dress at 6:45 a.m. OK, I’m open to it.
The second item felt more like my usual routine, which is to be downstairs by 7:00 a.m. to put the kettle on, start cereal and set the breakfast table. I’ve seen my mother “start cereal”. It involved the stove, a pan and such. For me, starting cereal consists of putting the box on the counter and parking a gallon of milk next to it. The “breakfast table”? My family has never known the table to be in any way connected with breakfast and I’m not letting the cat out of the bag at this stage of the game.
At 7:30 a.m., the maid is to cook breakfast, then eat her own breakfast. I’m just fine with the second half of that. Cooking breakfast is a term reserved for Saturdays only when, and if, all parties and circumstances are aligned and in agreement.
The family is to be served breakfast at 8:00 a.m. I can’t remember the last time this happened, but there may have been a high chair involved. Everyone around here is capable. That gives this maid a little more time to linger over her own breakfast and cup of tea.
At 8:30 a.m., the job description calls for the maid to clear the table, wash the dishes, pick up the living room, sweep the dining room, kitchen and halls. The mistress (also me) is to plan meals for the day and “order marketing”. There is an hour and a half allotted for this. I’d have no problem with this if I had gotten washed and dressed at 6:45 as directed, but…
Heading upstairs at 10:00, the maid makes beds, cleans bathrooms, sweeps, dusts and empties wastebaskets. Apparently this does not include the bedrooms. (See daily schedule below.)
Special work for the day is done at 11:00 and takes and hour and a half. One room from the list below is cleaned thoroughly. If it doesn’t take that long, the maid is to do whatever else needs to be done such as polish silver, make a cake or dessert or dinner or prepare vegetables. I can see a lot of us dispensing with that first item., though I do pull out all the stops when I’m feeling “fancy”.
At 12:30, Luncheon is prepared and the table is set so that lunch can be served at 1:00. This sounds like a real time crunch for someone as slow as my maid, if you get my drift.
I’m sure Emily is counting on luncheon being a very simple meal and these people saving their appetites for a more elaborate evening meal, for she suggests clearing the table at 1:30 and washing the dishes, I suppose whether they have finished eating or not.
After this, the maid has free time until 3:00 p.m. Yes, indeed, plum spang in the middle of the day, there she is, doing nothing. Well, it does suggest that she rest, bathe and change her dress.
Back on duty at 3:00, apparently all she does is hang around the kitchen as she is “on duty” there and be ready to answer the door. I don’t know who answered up until now. Perhaps there is a section on how it is rude to go visiting before 3:00 p.m.?
At 5:00 p.m., she rolls up her sleeves and prepares meat, vegetables, etc., for dinner. Of course, she sets a nice table.
Now, with the prep work done, the maid is ready to cook, which she does at 5:30.
At 6:30 p.m., dinner is served.
Apparently, this family doesn’t linger long, for at 7:00, she is washing dishes, putting the dining room and kitchen in order for the night.
By 8:00, this maid is finished. Nothing more to be done. Her plans for the evening “will be adapted to the household needs.” This is where it gets scary, don’t you think?
I’m sure you’re still wondering about that “Special Work for the Day” that occurs at 11:00 a.m. Here it is:
Monday – Clean the three bedrooms.
Tuesday – Clean dining room and polish silver.
Wednesday – Clean sun porch and do extra baking.
Thursday – Clean kitchen and maid’s room.
Friday – Clean living room.
Saturday – Polish brass, silver, furniture, etc. Bake cake for Sunday.
I don’t know about you, but this cleaning schedule doesn’t sound half bad. Clean the bedrooms – no problem. Not many of us are polishing silver anymore, so cleaning the dining room or area shouldn’t be overwhelming. Having a sun porch to clean is on my bucket list! With clean eating going on, the only extra baking involves some sourdough bread or maybe a lasagna to freeze. There is no maid’s room to clean, so I’m off the hook there. The living room always needs a going over. That leaves Saturdays to do something more interesting (unless I do decide to clean the furniture) because I rarely polish brash and I don’t bake cakes for Sunday.
Now let’s all pause and breathe! Are you like me? When I studied this job description, all I could think was, “I’m not sure I could do all this even if I got paid for it!” Yet, I saw that this maid got time off in the middle of the day, plus specified afternoons and evenings out. I’d been expecting myself to get all these things done and more.
I needed to be at Smuffy’s beck and call because his constant immersion in some project (or body of water). I needed to be sure my mom got to the store and to her appointments and got out and had a little fun. Nowhere on the list of maid’s duties did I find any mention of children and their schoolwork, scraped knees or need to play. Laundry didn’t seem to enter into this maid’s duties at all! I didn’t see any time allotted for being a good neighbor, volunteering at church, helping with community projects or taking the cat to the vet. I love making handmade gifts. Where’s the time for that? I’ve written three novels and have a blog to keep up with! All this and we, as women, are supposed make time to exercise and keep fit as well?
If I added all these things to the paid maid’s schedule, I wouldn’t even get to sleep! It’s tempting to give up.
Emily Post has set me free! I now know that I can’t do it all. I have to pick from the list and put things off until I can get around to them. You’ll have to do that, too, if you don’t want to lose your marbles, drain your body of cortisol and put your family through the ordeal of living with someone who is on stress overload. It’s true what they say, “If mama ain’t happy…”
We thrive when we live a balanced life. Honey, fire yourself! Re-hire yourself and give yourself a break! Let’s all make peace with the fact that we are Mrs. Three-in-One. That lady needs love, understanding and a nap!
Emily Post is not a thing of the past. She’s still got us covered. She answers all your questions about navigating life in today’s world with the lost arts – consideration, respect, honesty and etiquette atemilypost.com
If you’d like an “oldie” like mine and don’t want to cruise yard sales waiting for one, you might try Amazon here.
Need a gratitude adjustment, click here. Find 50 ways to make next year a better one here.
I dedicate this to all the women out there – wives, moms, grandmas, the ones taking care of aging parents and the ones who will be, the young women who are working away at jobs or studying day and night. I dedicate it to those who barely have enough domestic skills to make their own beds – those who’d stare at a steam iron or a potato peeler with their heads at a tilt before texting out photos to multiple people asking for help with identification. I can see their internet search box now – “antique hand-held sharp spinning thing” or “not quite triangular metal plate attached to handle with electrical cord”.
Let’s talk about guilt. I hate the stuff. I refuse to believe that I’m created to wallow in such muck. No one can thrive while in that pit. Guilt messes with my mind, making it more of an obstacle course than it already is.
The fact is, ladies – we’ve got it pretty cushy and we still need a break! And we feel guilty for it. I can’t tell you how that simple truth makes my head spin. I fight guilt when I take a break. I’m getting better, though. Several years back, I began asking myself, “If I were my own employee, what kind of breaks would I think I deserved?” Also, “If I were hiring someone to do what I do, what kind of schedule would I consider reasonable for her?”
I thought it would do me good to pretend I’d hired me, then fire myself for not taking the allotted time off, nodding off while on duty and rarely getting things done on time. Then, since no one else would likely apply for the job, I could re-hire myself, issue myself a new list of reasonable expectations and treat myself as I would any other woman I truly respected.
Hearken back to Mother’s Day. If you’re a mom, did you get a break? If you have a mom, did you give her a break? My daughter did. We were long overdue for a trip to the city to eat, shop and piddle. It was great. I was pooped! (I can’t say enough good things about the brunch at Lidia’s! Let’s just say that I skipped in and waddled out. Delightful!)
Then, things returned to “normal”. But, normal makes me tired. I get so behind at normal.
Someone once said, “Nobody fills out your calendar but you,” in an attempt to drive home the point that we all need to say “no” to some things and plan some margins into our lives.
I don’t know about you, but other people seem to be shoving the pen into my hand and making me write stuff all over my calendar pages.
Still, the modern woman, if she’s honest, must admit she has it pretty cushy. It helps to look at things from a different perspective. Over the course of human history, we have less work to do and a more comfortable environment in which to accomplish it than ever before.
Almost all of us now have a dishwasher. Even though we may opt to do the dishes by hand and say we don’t mind it a bit, most of us have lost contact with the idea of cooking three meals a day from scratch for a house full of people and then doing all those dishes by hand after each and every meal. I can still see Smuffy’s mom standing where she spent most of her time after feeding the husband and five growing boys.
I’ve had a copy of an old newspaper clipping for years and years. A Kansas pioneer mother had given written instructions to her daughter when she began running her own household. The family hung on to it. The El Dorado Times printed it in 1968 during their centennial to remind folks what life had been like one hundred years before. (Notes in parentheses are mine.)
How to Wash Clothes
Build a fire in the back yard to set kettle of rain water. (So, did you have to wait for a good rain before you could have laundry day? ‘Cause, I don’t think she means kettle – I think she means cauldron.)
Set tubs so smoke won’t blow in eyes if wind is pert. (Gee, thanks, Ma! You could have told me that before I filled them full of water! And…if the wind changes? How many of us have even considered smoke being a problem in getting the laundry done?)
Shave 1 hole cake lie sope in biling water. (So, I take a knife, stand over a giant “biling” cauldron and try not to cut my hand off as the cake of “sope” gets smaller and smaller and slicker and slicker? Sounds like a job for Smuffy. Oh, wait! He’s probably out somewhere behind the plow.)
Sort things. Make 3 piles. 1 pile white, 1 pile cullord, 1 pile britches and rags. (Britches=diapers? Guess so. What else would go in with the rags? Which reminds me – we’re doing up a whole batch of bad cloth diapers and other disgusting stuff here. I can smell this biling pot already. There are bound to be lots of rags while I’m waiting for paper towels and tissues to be invented.)
Stir flour in cold water to smooth, then thin down with biling water. (Flour? Huh? Oh, right! Almost forgot – if we don’t starch ourselves stiff, our Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes will be all limp and we’ll look bedraggled on the one day this week we get to see another living soul. Um…how much flour…water?)
Rub dirty spots on bord, then bile. Rub cullord, but don’t bile, Just rench and starch. (So much to remember? I guess this requires another, smaller tub, another cake of soap and the wash bord so I can sit down on a stump and pre-treat. I have a feeling that the ‘dirty spots” acquired out here on the prairie are more than just a few. My poor knuckles! Hope the fire doesn’t go out before I get all this done. Come to think of it, I don’t even know how to build a fire! Should have had Smuffy do that before he hitched Old Ruth to the plow and headed for the south forty.)
Take white things out with broom handle, then rench, blew and starch. (Now I’m losing track of the quantity of tubs. I hope we had a dandy rain! One for biling that I can allow to cool down before I drop in the cullords, one for rinse water, one with bluing added and one with starch added? There’s got to be a system for this to keep me from starching Smuffy’s union suit! Ma!”)
Spread tee towels on grass. (Now I’ve got to catch the cow and tie her up.)
Hang old rags on fense. (Easiest part of the whole day so far. Wait! Is there a clothesline in this picture at all?)
Pour rench water in flower bed. (When did I have time to plant all these flowers?)
Scrub porch with soapy water. (I knew I should have put those tubs closer to the house. I’m not saying the porch doesn’t need it, but is there any way this could wait till tomorrow?)
Turn tubs upside down. (If I must, I must. I’m tempted to take a refreshing dip in that rench water first. What time is it anyway? There seem to have been endless delays – milking the cow, stopping to catch lunch, cook lunch, nurse the baby and so on…)
Go put on a clean dress. Smooth hair with side combs. Brew cup of tea, set and rest and count your blessins. (That is, if those little blessins behave themselves.)
I read this and my heart goes out to all the women in history who had to do this (and so much more) the hard way. Even my own mom and Smuffy’s spent years doing their laundry with a wringer washing machine and large tubs. All the wringer machines really did was eliminate the washboard and some of the cramps in your arms.
That’s my Grandpa Albert helping my dad fix the washer. I wonder what Mom’s laundry pile looked like by the time they got it running again. If it broke down somewhere between the biling and the renching…Oh, dear! We really can count our blessings each time we walk up to that washer or dryer, plop the clothes in, push a few buttons and walk away.
Yet, the stress in our lives continues to grow. We get anxious and frustrated after we’ve driven to three or four stores that are miles apart, trying to find the bulb that fits in the refrigerator. We have this anxiety only because we’re blessed with a refrigerator and a car!
I will never cease to wonder how my mom did it! Yet, she did it – the house, the meals, the garden and all the canning that went with it, the chickens, the cows to milk and, oh, yes – the blessins! Take a look at her first three little helpers. With these underfoot, not to mention the other four that followed, you might think she couldn’t have done it with a sweet nature and a sense of humor, but she did – while making all their clothes and those cute little bonnets from scratch!
I suppose she lined them (and the puppies) up under a shade tree and hoped for the best while she turned her back on them long enough to hang the wash on the line.
So, how do we step back from our modern-day stress and at the same time ease the guilt?
I suggest you consider all your failures and fire yourself. Then, since the applicant pool is likely nil, re-hire yourself. Call yourself into your office and give yourself a realistic job description because, yes, ladies, our lives are cushy-er than ever but we still need realistic expectations of ourselves. It’s the first step in a guilt-free life!
I’m issuing a challenge. This week, each time you feel frustrated because you are “so far behind”, grab the timer. Actually time yourself completing a task from start to finish. Begin a realistic list of how long it really takes to clean the kitchen, prepare a meal, fold the laundry and put it away or make a “quick trip” to the store. If you feel the same level of stress at work, you can try this there also, but generally, I feel that though we may feel pressure at work, we feel less guilt when we are on someone else’s clock. Once you’ve accumulated a list of timed tasks, you may be able to lower your expectations of getting them all finished in half the time it really takes! There are, after all, only so many hours in a day and days in the 1800’s had the same number of hours as they do today, although sometimes I find myself questioning whether that can possible be true.
Here’s Smuffy’s great-grandma Margaret, after she’d put on a clean dress and smoothed her hair with side combs. She probably sat down in that chair and counted her blessins because at least she had the well and could draw her wash water up out of it in buckets instead of lugging it from the creek or waiting for it to rain. If she took a little rest, I doubt she felt an ounce of guilt.
Next up? A job description you can live with! Don’t forget to “like”, pin and “share” with all the women in your life who need a new perspective so they can join me here for Part 2 of “I Surrender All – Guilt”!
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And, if you’ve never attempted to “blew” your whites and wouldn’t know quite where to start, you might want to click here. My aunt Gladys Pearl will show you the ropes and put a smile on your face.
I am thankful for each one of you! I took this photo recently and just had to share.
I thought it frame-worthy. If you think so, too, you can request the FREE printable! Read on to find out how.
The plague of moles in past years has ended, allowing my tulips to multiply and the results make me smile every time I pull in my driveway or look out my front door. My favorite season has arrived at last and tulips always brighten my world. For that, I am thankful.
Spring weather affects us in more ways than one. Fresh air invigorates us. Sunshine gives us extra doses of Vitamin D which eases those aches and pains we seem to notice more during the colder months. My mom referred to it as being “stove up from winter”. She may not have known a lot about vitamin deficiencies, but she knew how she felt.
Walking, hiking, puttering and downright vigorous yard work make us stronger and give us that “good tired” feeling – unless we over-do it. When that happens, I find there’s nothing more therapeutic than a good, brisk sit. Phoebe June agrees. After chattering at birds, studying squirrels with a wary eye, chasing bugs and swatting at passing bees, there’s nothing like retreating inside the peony bush.
You might need to keep Phoebe’s philosophy in mind this month! While you’re snatching a bit of repose in your hideaway, remember that rest is a gift from God. Close your eyes and give thanks that you’ve been able to engage in any of the activities that have made you so tired! It truly is a blessing to be able to do something as simple as take a walk or plant a few flowers.
Another blessing in disguise is the flurry of activity that May brings. I suppose it’s been going on this way for centuries, but it seems the whole world schedules its activities in May. After all, is there any better time for a picnic? Mother’s Day, graduations, Memorial Day get-togethers, showers, babies, weddings – they all demand that we prepare and partake. While you’re doing so, give thanks that you are not alone. Family and friends are asking you to carve out a little time for them and that’s a good thing.
So, here you are reading this blog when you should be out getting things done! Right? Right!
Get going! But first, “like”, “pin” and “SHARE” the this post with your friends. A few tulips and a gentle reminder may be just what someone needs today.
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I couldn’t let April 10th pass by without giving a shout-up to my mom. You see, she’s having her 100th birthday party today in Heaven!
The great example she set for me and all my precious memories of her help me thrive!
She spent her nearly 95 years on this earth living within a rather small geographical radius. Here she is in front of the house where she was born back in 1918.
Little Emmabelle arrived in the midst of the great flu pandemic which was the first time H1N1 attempted to wipe out the human race. It infected 500 million people and killed somewhere between 50 million and 100 million, or 5-10% of the world’s population. It didn’t, however, get Emmabelle.
In the heart of the Mid-west, her parents made a living as best they could in a tiny town along the railroad tracks where her daddy, Judge (and we have already established that he wasn’t one), operated a business that served as general store, barbershop and post office. I would imagine that no one in the town held any secrets he didn’t hear about! Her mother, Nettie, stepped into the role of post-mistress in later years. Judge and Nettie raised their brood of six in a tiny house so close to the railroad tracks that I’m sure its timbers rattled with each passing train.
The third-born in her family, Mom had an older brother, Gerald. They called him Spiege – for a reason. You can get acquainted with Spiege here. Her older sister, Martha, became a great playmate when Emmabelle was home. While Martha could be termed a “ball ‘o fire”, Emmabelle was shy and reserved. Here they are on an outing together, having a little fun and sporting their 1920’s bobbed haircuts. Emmabelle is the blonde on the right.
Mom was often not at home, for her grandma Martha and step-grandpa “Uncle John”, who lived about ten miles away, had rheumatism. Even as a preschooler, little Emmabelle rode the train alone to stay with them for extended periods of time and help out. She loved them very much and though she missed being with her siblings, she enjoyed her time with them and had a real bond with her grandparents. I’m told that she did, however, pretend to have the measles once in order to go home.
Once in a while, one of the younger siblings got to take a turn helping out Grandma and Uncle John and you might want to read about a particular one of those visits here if you’re in need of a good old-fashioned giggle today.
Emmabelle’s younger siblings included another brother, Tim (whose name was neither Tim nor Timothy) and two baby sisters, Gladys Pearl (of the above-mentioned story) and Jean. They aren’t without their own stories and those are yet to come.
Mom walked to school every day, along with the rest of her siblings, to attend the little schoolhouse that had been expanded from one room to two. She graduated from 8th Grade there. Here’s her graduating class. Emmabelle is the blonde on the back row.
I remember growing up thinking that my mom must not have gotten much of an education. Take a look at this 8th Grade Final Exam from 1931. If Mom’s test was anything like this one, I tend to think I was selling her short. Think of all the fourteen-year-olds you know. I’d hate to have to take it myself, but I’d love to see the results if this test were given to high school seniors (or, come to think of it – college seniors) today. I’d also like to be in the room to observe their faces and hear their groans about three minutes after they’d been handed this test.
Mom – you were one smart cookie!
After graduating, Mom helped out at home, did some babysitting and sometimes stayed with her newly-married sister, Martha.
In September of 1940, my parents met at a meeting amongst area churches. They married that December and moved into a log cabin near his parents with no water or electricity. They started out by having a couple of girls and making a move, then settled down on a farm and had a boy and three more girls. Then, after nearly a decade, Mom received what must have been quite a surprise – me!
All I have room to say here is that life for Mom was difficult in more ways than one. Though she never denied her troubles, she did not complain. She worked harder than anybody ever ought to have to work. She made every effort to spread sunshine in order to dispel the gloom around her. She loved her children and did her best to bless them in small ways that she hoped would make up for the negativity in their lives.
Mom could make something out of absolutely nothing. In fact, she was forced to do just that. I never knew when I came home from school what she might have whipped up during the day. It might be curtains. It might be some creative storage concept. It might be something like this.
Well, you can figure out what that is by clicking here.
One year, Mom fell in love with making Christmas ornaments out of felt. This turned out not to be a passing fancy. Felt became her medium and she created felt masterpieces, large and small, for the rest of her life, including nativity scenes and wedding banners. If she got bored, she’d copy patterns off whatever she could find around the house, turning them into refrigerator magnets or anything else she could think of. Her urge to put a smile on your face led her to create things that were outside the norm. I’ll never forget coming home from school one afternoon to find the exact likeness of Orville Redenbacher pinned to the kitchen door curtain! He hung there, in good company, along with the Jolly Green Giant and the Pillsbury Doughboy.
I’m pretty much convinced that Mom is in charge of all the Heavenly Christmas decorations now and that every room in her mansion is lavender.
Emmabelle had a quiet wit. Her sense of humor never ceased to get me tickled. Though she would never put herself forward to tell a story, she would, if you asked, share the treasure she held within. Nothing made me happier than to watch and listen as she and her sisters, during their rare visits, shared their memories and giggled themselves silly. Here they are again, Emmabelle and Martha, the last two surviving siblings, reuniting in 2007 after having not seen each other in years.
In 1969, Mom decided to return to keeping a diary and I am so glad she did. It’s a family history treasure and at times, it’s simply just a hoot!
Mom never liked having her picture taken, but I just love this one from the last birthday party we had for her. Here she is, worn out from partying, with Smuffy. It was a great day.
All mom’s siblings, with the exception of Martha, passed on years before she did. When in her 90’s, Mom and Martha often talked, pondering why they were still around. They came to a mutual agreement that if the Good Lord was taking that much time to build their mansions in Heaven, they must be in for something pretty palatial.
My mom made her last trip to the hospital in December of 2012. After her heart-to-heart talks with her beloved doctor and Jesus, we both knew she was ready to go Home. As we sat dangling our legs over the side of her hospital bed, she spoke of many things she’d never told me before. I knew Mom was ready to go.
As she talked, it became evident that one thing in particular gave her satisfaction when she thought about all the years she’d lived. “I’ve got seven good kids,” she said. I reassured her that she could count on every one of us to join her someday.
Mom left us on January 10, 2013, in her own quiet way, under her own terms and in her own home, just the way she wanted it.
So, Happy 100th, Mom! You said you never understood why we all claimed to have the best mother in the world. We, your seven kids – we understand!
I’d love to hear your comments. On your desktop computer, you’ll need to scroll back up to the top of this post. On various devices, you need to scroll to the bottom of the post.
If you still have your mom, love on her today. Pry some stories out of her. Ask the questions you know you’ll be sorry if you never asked. She’ll be gone before you’re ready for her leave you.
Mother’s Day will be here before you know it, and if my mom’s story will touch someone in your life, please share!
January is rolling to a close. I took a vow years ago to let January be January. In this climate, if there be any hope of killing the bugs (and I have no mercy on mosquitoes for they have no mercy on me), we need at least three weeks of good, hard freeze. I think we may have done it.
February looms, promising more of the same. I don’t like it, but I try to be nice. I look at the calendar upon which I have written my “hopefuls”. This month, I was to have organized my upstairs after I’d put away Christmas stuff, sort through and re-organize my kitchen cabinets, update my addresses and contact info, sort and dispose of excess magazines and reward myself by getting some scrapbooking done.
Aside from the scrapbooking, I’ve made headway in all the other areas. Still, I’d like to feel as though I’ve finished at least some of these categories so that I can stand back, rest my hands on my hips, heave a satisfactory sigh and say, “There now!”
(I just sighed, but it was the wrong kind.)
In March, unless spring-like weather makes an early debut and performs an intervention, I tend to get just plain ticked off about winter and start muttering a lot.
Now, I have to remind myself that I’ve recently shared with you “50 Ways to Make 2018 a Better Year”. The key word here is “better” – not “perfect”. If I’d promised in that post that the list would give you a perfect year, you likely would have found something else to waste your time reading.
I’m asking myself today, “Are things better?” I hear myself reply, “Oh, yeah! I look around the house and see that much has been done and much is left to do, but it’s better!
Golly, how I wish I had a higher gear! Alas, I have only one gear and I’m already running in it.
There are times when I look around and ask myself if any of it matters and for a fleeting moment I hanker for a dumpster.
Paper is my nemesis. But…I am a writer. Ummm…
Then, I remember this. There are two dates on every gravestone and though they may be forgotten, the dash between them is what counts. People will remember you for your dash!
We do leave a legacy in many ways – in the hearts and minds of our children, in what we build in our communities and in the lives of others, and in the stories that connect us to our heritage.
This house holds a lot of heritage.
One of the things I found as I sorted my office was a slip of paper upon which I’d written a quote attributed to Joseph Garlington. I thought I’d share it today in hopes that it puts your year and your life into perspective as it does mine.
I took this photo in December as I drove through the countryside on my way to meet Phoebe June. I pulled over to take photos of a sky such as I’d never seen before.
Under a wide-open Heaven, life is given to me to live each day in this strange place called Earth and I’m determined to thrive down here. I may not be able to make it perfect, but bit by bit, I can make it better, even if it’s something as simple as encouraging a friend or cleaning out files.
The year ahead holds days and days full of surprises and mundane things. I hope the mundane things bring you stability and peace and that all your surprises are good ones. If last year was a “dud” – and sometimes they are – don’t lose heart. Move forward into new territory and happier days.
You may be starting out the new year grieving the events of the last one. Take your time and heal. You may spend a part or all of the year in a waiting mode. (I hear ‘ya as I wait for responses from literary agents.) You may go on happily as you have been or you may step into a new adventure like a dear friend of mine who, in a couple of weeks, will leave behind the job she’s had for years and focus on her art!
Leave a comment! Scroll back up. It’s just under the title of this post. Are things better – even just a little bit – in your earthly experience? I’d love to hear what you’ve done in January (I’ll even listen to your fails) and what you plan for February!
After Christmas, what I’d really like is a long winter’s nap. The rest of the world, however, keeps trying to tell me year after year after ever-lovin’ year that now is the time to lose weight, organize myself and all my surroundings as though I have Martha Stewart’s minions at my beck and call and (using colorful flow charts, of course) reassess where I’m going in life. By the way, love that Martha. She knows her stuff!
I know where I’m going. I’m going to the kitchen to make some Pomegranate Raspberry Green Tea so that I can scoop up Phoebe June if she’s in the mood and settle onto the sofa under the furry throw and let it be -8 degrees outside if it feels like it.
I shared with my family as we gathered for Christmas that I believe we’re doing this all wrong! With the current system, we merely set ourselves up for frustration and failure – at least in the climate of the Midwest.
Why not, I asked, celebrate the new year in spring? The third week in March, when the equinox turns us all toward sunnier days, we’ll all be full of fizz and ready to get out and walk off the pounds, eat foods that aren’t piping hot and covered with melted cheese, move out the junk and organize what’s left in hopes of creating a nice spot for a vase of fresh hyacinths and maybe – just maybe – give a hoot once again about heading somewhere in life other than closer to the fire.
I fall in line with the Phoebe June Philosophy –
I try, though. Really, I try. Smuffy might dispute that. He’s one of those people who asks who’s been at his desk if he finds the tape and stapler lined up in reverse order. I’m one of those people who digs for the stapler, knowing that it’s under there somewhere. It makes me cry sometimes, and sometimes I get really organized, but it never seems to last for long.
Sometimes, it helps me to experiment with a “design re-mix”. I love jewelry and I always seemed to be leaving little stashes of it on the nightstand, even though I had a roomy jewelry armoire on the other side of the room I could have easily put it in. One day, when rearranging furniture, the armoire ended up much closer to the door. Suddenly, after years and years, I found myself taking off my jewelry and putting it away as soon as I entered the room. The new arrangement just seemed to function with how I think.
I’m always finding “helpful” ideas to spur me toward getting my act together in a Smuffy sort of way, but (hear me sigh) I tend to reject them or, to be honest – lose them. If I had a dollar for everything I lost between December 1st and the 25th, I could go out and buy Christmas all over again!
I do like using a planner, but mine is homemade. I can’t seem to think like the pre-fab ones want me to. It works better for me to use a small binder that holds 8 ½ X 5 ½” ruled sheets and create my own.
In the front, I insert monthly calendar pages that I print out myself. Behind those, I use tab dividers where I create sections pertaining to my life such as Blog, Novel, Around the House, Health, Shopping, DIY, Gifts, Scrapbooking, Ancestry and Dates to Remember. I like to include an inspirational section where I can jot down quotes or Scriptures that encourage me or that I can share with someone else.
I take my planner along on appointments and shopping trips. That way, I can ask all the questions that have been popping into my mind since the last appointment (and find the answers when I get home) and I can look for elusive items and have measurements on hand when I find them.
Now, let me be clear about something. My creative space, though it may look better than it did a week ago, remains a place I’d still find myself apologizing for if you walked into it right now. Not a chance of seeing a photo of this post-finishing three novels/holiday preparation/getting a new kitten disaster! I do however, want to share something that I try to work with every year.
I’m often seeing lists that offer to help me “eat my elephant one bite at a time”. Most of the time, they just don’t fit with my life in one way or another. Others must have been written by someone living in a totally different climate. (Who wants to clean closets in April? It’s plantin’ time!) We all have to face the truth, even if we’re self-professed “messies” – we don’t thrive in chaos. A reasonable amount of order calms us, eases our frustrations and – DANG IT! – helps us find the stapler! As much as I love wasting time, there’s only so much of it and the more unorganized we are, the easier it seems to slip away.
Here’s the list I’ve adapted for my lifestyle and the climate we live in. The best thing I’ve found about this list? None of it matters! I have given myself the gift of releasing each and every item to the winds of time and tides of happenstance. There will be, sadly, deaths in the family. There will be, joyfully, vacations and surprises! This last year, with the frantic push to complete the novel series, none of it got done except in little half-hour snatches of time and I’ve told myself that it’s OK! After all, I was busy doing something great, right?
I hope this list helps you make one of your own and I hope you don’t get bogged down by it! Adapt the items to your lifestyle and write one across each week of your 2018 calendar.
Remember to read all the way to the end of the post because the First Friday Freebie is upon us!
I’d love your comments! These aren’t the huge jobs you may tackle during the year such as cleaning out the whole garage or putting new siding on the house or installing a fish pond. These are the smaller, often ignored things that really frustrate us when they’re all piled up and the stapler becomes a minor player amongst the things that have gone missing. I’d love to hear your ideas on things we could add to the list.
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There! Now that you’ve subscribed, you can hurry on to organize your creative space and put away all the Christmas decorations. If you need help, just consult Martha – she’s much better at it than I am and hers always turns out “perfect”!
Oh, my goodness! That reminds me – Martha’s calendar always schedules a specific date for her to trim her donkeys’ hooves! Now, how in the world did I manage to leave that off my list?
Want more encouragement so you can thrive in 2018? Check out “Life, Laughter and Lemons” here!
Hustle and Bustle is right – and we don’t even have small children in the house! I LOVE Christmas, so I suppose I create my own hustle and bustle as I think of one more special thing I can wrap up or make special. This year, though my oven went out the week before Christmas, I take heart that I do not face these challenges alone. Nope – not me! I’ve got a new “helper”! There’s nothing like bringing an eight-week-old kitten into a house full of Christmas trees, paper, ribbons and freshly baked goodies.
Meet Phoebe June – we adopted her on December 7th.
This face explains why the blog has been silent since the First Friday Freebie! Things are busy here – really busy! Phoebe is clingy, and vocal, and so overly attached to me that it’s pitiful. And, I’m having a ball! I have to admit that I couldn’t be more tickled to have her if I were four years old! There’s something about having a cat that gives me joy and helps me thrive. Smuffy scored BIG points by getting me a kitty for our anniversary. He is, however, getting a little tired of hearing all the baby-talk as I coo over my precious little ball of fur.
It’s been about a decade since we’ve had a kitty and the house has gradually become less and less kitty-proof. So…Christmas + Phoebe = Not-Accomplishing-Much-Except-for-Wildcat-Patrol.
I wanted to wish you all a very Merry Christmas and I thought I would do so by sharing something that I wrote a few years ago when, as I prepared for Christmas, I was exhausted to the brink of collapse. It might make you smile and you may be able to pass it on to someone else who is feeling the stress of life – be it good stress or bad.
Enjoy your family, friends, (and of course, the furry family members) and take time to remember why we celebrate Christmas! God Bless You!
I
