Birthday thoughts

            Siting on our dock at the lake one evening, I watched the reflection of lights from nearby cabins stretching out like long fingers casting a warm yellow glow on the glassy water.  It was a dark, quiet night.  The moon had not yet crept over the trees behind me.  The Milky Way shimmered overhead, and the Big Dipper sat in its familiar position just beyond the hill to the north.  In the silence I could hear echoes of my life and realized that here, at my lake, I am more truly myself than anywhere else.  

            I am the little girl with a frog in her hand, running up the hill shouting “Daddy, Daddy, do frogs bite?”   I am the tomboy, wanting to do everything my brother does, upset because I’m not allowed in his tree house, and convincing the boy next door to help me nail a platform between two branches so I can have a tree house of my own.

I am the awkward teenager with a crush on the "boy du jour" …  worried that I’m not filling out my bathing suit as much as some of the other girls.  I am the romantic dreamer, imagining a “forever” kind of love.

I am the thinker and the seeker … sitting on this dock long after others have gone to bed, watching the constellations move across the night sky – in awe of the brilliance of those distant stars, in awe of the beauty of creation, in awe of the creator – searching for answers and the purpose of my life.

            And after many summers, and many sunsets and moon rises, I am the young wife discovering the joyous expressions of love for the first time.  I am wife / partner / mother of six – sharing our work, sharing our goals, charting a course for our family, watching our children grow and play and learn to swim on their own.  

            Then I was the widow, coming here where I could scream without being heard.  I sat on that dock at night praying, questioning, seeking answers – and finding consolation in the darkness and the stars overhead.  And I refused to drown in the muddy waters of grief.

            And now I am a woman standing straight, knowing a second “forever” love, and welcoming the world for all that it is – the hardships and the struggles, but also the joys and the laughter.

            So today, as I celebrate another birthday, I give thanks for all that I have experienced.  For all the people who have helped me.  For the many friends I have.  And especially for my family – my husband, my 7 children and their spouses, and my 13 grandchildren!   

            And I give thanks that I can still sit on that dock – or by the ocean, or at my desk overlooking the golf course – and I can look at my where I am and who I am today.  I can accept the still unanswered questions knowing that I will continue to seek and to learn. And I thank God for the gift of this day and for every day of my life! 

 

 

 

 

The Significance of the 2-Egg Cake

My parents were never millionaires but growing up during the 1920’s they had a more-than-comfortable lifestyle.  My maternal grandfather was a successful architect and builder.  My father’s father designed unique luxury automobiles for some of the wealthiest financiers in New York.  Upon graduation from business school, my father had been promised a job with a prestigious firm on Wall Street.  His first day on the job was October 23^rd, 1929, the day before “Black Tuesday”.  Two days later the job did not exist. 

 

Like so many other families, the depression destroyed both of my grandparents’ businesses.  

We had trunks in our attic filled with fancy gowns, gold-banded slippers and velvet “opera” capes that told of an earlier season in my mother’s life, but by the time my parents married, in 1937, the fancy reception she might have had was reduced to a small wedding breakfast with immediate family.  

 

My father eventually became an automobile salesman – a good job and well suited for him because of his experience, his natural “gift of gab” and his sincere interest in people.  However his income depended not just on selling the cars, but on getting them delivered.  During the 1950’s union strikes plagued the steel and automobile industries and new cars were hard to come by. So it was not a steady income.

 

The life I experienced growing up was a simple one.  We never had much money, but I never felt “poor”!  

 

We lived in a modest, small but comfortable house in a modest, middle-class neighborhood.  We had the clothes we needed for school – mostly uniforms – and play clothes – though mine were frequently my brother’s hand-me-downs.  We each had 3 pairs of socks and 3 sets of underwear because, as my mother explained,  “You need one to be wearing, one to be washing and one extra just in case …”.  

 

My father believed in quality rather than quantity, so I always had one good dress for church or special occasions – and it seemed to last forever.  When I grew an inch or two, my mother would simply let down the hem.  But when it finally came time for a new dress, we went to the best department store in town. 

 

Looking back, I believe the reason I did not “feel poor” was mainly a result of my mother’s attitude.  She had a quiet strength and the ability to roll with the ebb and flow of our financial situation. She was proud to say she was a “housewife” and she learned to shop wisely and plan meals and treats within the changing weekly budget.  

 

We always had desert and her yellow cake, which she made from scratch, was my favorite.  One morning I remember walking into the kitchen when she was mixing the batter in that old, brown pottery bowl.  She went to the refrigerator and pulled out an egg, then hesitated and pulled out another egg.  She turned to me with a smile and said, “Your dad had a good week – delivered several cars – so today we’ll have a 2-egg cake!”

 

How could you feel poor when you were having a 2-egg cake for desert!