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!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Eagle and the Snowflake

 (random thoughts to share on a cold February morning)

 

We live about a half mile from the Chesapeake, so this morning I decided to go for a walk down to the bay.  Temps were below freezing but it was a calm and pleasant morning – at first.  Before I reached the water, a northwest wind started howling, building white caps on the water. Wrapping my scarf warmly around my head, I continued to walk along the shore.

 

When I looked up, I noticed an eagle gliding gracefully overhead.  I stopped to watch this majestic bird as it soared back and forth, riding the wind, the white feathers on its head and tail glistening.  It would catch an updraft and rise high into the western sky, then glide back down toward the rising sun. Its huge wings were spread wide, moving ever so slightly – just enough to control the direction of its flight.  

 

 When I started walking home, snow began to fall, even as the sun was breaking through the clouds.  Once again I had to stop, mesmerized by the beauty of nature.  Large white flakes were floating all about me – icy crystals glistening in the sun. Then a gust of wind sent them swirling, twisting and turning, spiraling without direction through the air until, ultimately, they would melt or fall to the ground.

 

And I had to stop and think – are we like snowflakes, moving with the wind, maybe glistening in the sun for a brief time, but allowing the wind to push us and twist us and turn us?  I hope we are more like the eagle, soaring – sometimes with the joy of abandonment – but always controlling our direction. 

 

 

 

A VALENTINE MESSAGE

                  The secret to living well and longer: 

              

    Eat half,   Walk double,  Laugh triple, 

 

                                and 

 

     LOVE WITHOUT MEASURE!

Practical Guide for a Productive Life

                       ARE YOU A “ROUND TO-IT” Person?

 

A “round-to-it” person has great ideas, often creative ideas, but doesn’t get around to expressing them or acting on them.  

 

A “round-to-it” person may live a comfortable life, though not necessarily a satisfying life – and certainly not a productive life.  

A “round-to-it” person is usually surrounded by clutter – things they are going to fix or make, books they are going to read, papers they are going to organize, albums they are going to fill, pictures they are going to hang, notes for stories that they are going to write – when they get around to it.

 

But if you are truly a “round-to-it” person, you don’t let that bother you.  Occasionally you break through and actually do something, but sadly, not often enough.  You sit, more or less comfortably, in the middle of all the clutter and all the things you are going to do --   when you get around to it.

 

Realizing how often I fit that description, I made a New Year’s Resolution to live a more productive life.  If you too are a “round-to-it person” and want to break out of that circle, I offer this guide which has worked for me.  

Practical Guide for a Productive Life!”

(Do at least one thing, from each category, every day and you will soon discover a sense of purpose and satisfaction – and you will become a “Get It Done” person.)

 

1.    Reach out to someone 

It could be something as simple as calling an old friend you haven’t talked to in a while, or making a point of saying hello to a neighbor who you usually just wave to.  Or it could be lending a hand to someone in need of help, or joining an organization and working to help others.   

 

2.    Clean something

Pick out one thing to clean or organize each day.  It could be thoroughly cleaning one room or just cleaning out the junk drawer.  Or you could clean out a closet and donate those old clothes that don’t fit – and then you’ve accomplished 2 goals in one!

            

3.    Work on one fault

Even if you are a PPP (practically perfect person) like me, you usually have to admit to at least one fault – tending to be critical, tending to be lazy, spending too much time playing solitaire, or not enough time listening that other person in your house. Or maybe you are eating just a little too much or not exercising quite enough.  Identify, admit to and work on just one fault each day.  

 

Alcoholism - the Disease

We went to a funeral today.  My cousin’s daughter.  She was only 50 years old.  The specific, immediate cause of death not yet known, but the basic cause was alcoholism.  

 

I talked to her parents, to her sisters, to her husband and her children, to her friends and other family members.  So many of us who loved her – all grieving for a life cut short.  

 

And the saddest part is that she was such a good person!  Even as she struggled with the disease, she found ways to show her love and goodness.  But the disease of alcoholism took her life – just as the disease of cancer took her cousin Amy’s life.  

 

When someone dies of cancer, as Amy did, we talk about their “heroic battle against the disease”.   But what about the victims of alcoholism?  Do we recognize that people like Tracy, might have spent her whole life fighting the disease of alcoholism?  Do we recognize their struggle and their pain?

 

Those of us who knew Tracy recognized that it was the disease that had overcome her, and as we gathered for the wake and funeral, we praised her for the times when her goodness and love were so evident.  

 

But all too often, as a society, we see alcoholism as a human weakness instead of the dreadful disease that it really is.  Too often an alcoholic’s death is seen as a personal failure and we try to cover up the details.  Too often we ignore the reality – the awful reality – that their death was a casualty of a disease that is all too prevalent in our society.

 

For Amy’s funeral we wore pink, publicly acknowledging her personal battle against cancer and recognizing the foundations working to find cures for the disease.  But today we simply wore black.  

 

Where was the outward symbol of praise for Tracy’s struggle?  Where was the banner, the outward expression of rage and frustration that such a horrible disease overcame yet another young person?  Where is the symbol calling for public recognition of the disease of alcoholism and the tragic reality of it’s devastating effects?   

 

I don’t know the answers.  I don’t know how we can find a cure.  I don’t know how to help those affected.  All I can suggest is that when someone we know is suffering, we can offer these 4 things:   Non-Judgmental Love!  Patience!  Forgiveness!  And above all, Prayers!

 

May you rest in Peace, Tracy – and enjoy the reward for all of your goodness.  

Remembering My Mom

While the world remembered the heros of 9/11 last week, my brother and sister and I also remembered our mom who died in a car crash on 9/11/1969. I guess you could say she was our personal hero!

I am thinking about her even more this year, as we are staying at our lake, which was her favorite place in the whole world.

We have a little one-room cabin – and I do mean little 6’x9’ – on the side of a hill overlooking a beautiful spring-fed lake.  The bunk beds and pull-out sofa we had growing up have now been replaced by one adult bed and a small dresser, but the rest of the cabin is the same – suitcases on the floor and open shelves stacked with coffee cans, soup cans, cereal boxes, dishes, pots and pans and of course sun screen and bandaids.

 

Our "kitchen" is outside on the patio where there is a picnic table and cooking area with a Coleman stove and the stone fireplace that my dad built many years ago.  We have no electricity and no running water – though my dad used to joke that we had “walking water” as he carried a pail up from the lake.

 

It was here that my mom thrived, and we were always so proud of her!  She would get up early in the morning and make breakfast before my dad went to work.  Then while we were playing with friends – or later, off to our summer jobs – she would fold up the couch, make up the beds, sweep out the cabin, boil water and wash the dishes (using 2 rubber maid basins) and by 10:30 she would be ready to swim or take a canoe ride.   

My mom always seemed young to me – and I always admired how nice she looked – whether it was up here or at home.  No dowdy house dresses or baggy bathing suits for her.  She wore neat shorts or slacks and a nice blouse, and always had a fashionable well-fitting bathing suit that flattered her slim figure.  And while other mothers would just float on tubes in the water on those hot summer days, Mom would dive in and actually swim.  One of her favorite things to do was to paddle the canoe around the lake just as the sun was going down.

In the evening, Mom always had a nice dinner ready when my dad came home from work – no matter what the weather.  When it rained, we had a tarp that attached to the cabin and extended out to the edge of the picnic table -- but not as far as the fireplace. I will always remember watching her one evening when my dad had to work late.  We had already eaten dinner and some of the neighbor kids had gathered around our cabin.  It started to rain just as my dad arrived, and as he was washing up, Mom stood, holding an umbrella over the fireplace, cooking his hamburger, while we sat in the cabin singing "Sound-off" to the beat of the rain on the tin roof.  

Because of the limitations here, (and because, as my mom later told me, she and my dad wanted some “private time”) we would only stay at the lake for 5 or 6 days.  The pattern I remember was being here for the weekend and going home on Tuesday.  Mom would immediately send the sheets, my baby sister’s cloth diapers and our dirty clothes out to the laundry for a “wet wash”, then go to the grocery store.  On Wednesday the wet wash would come back and she’d hang them out on the line to dry, meanwhile making a pot roast or meat loaf, and maybe a ham or small turkey – enough meals for 5 or 6 days.  Then on Thursday she would pack up everything – including my sister’s playpen, and we would head back up to the lake.  

 

As Mom got older, she had various health problems, including what we now know as "afib".  But she always said that when she was up here at the lake she felt 10 years younger!  So it wasn't surprising that on a beautiful, sunny day, the eleventh of September 1976, she decided she would drive up to the lake for a day.  On the way home her heart gave out and her car crashed into a tree.

 

We will always be sad when we think about losing her so early.  But we will always be grateful for the time we had with her, for wonderful woman that she was, and grateful to know that her last day on earth was spent in her favorite place on earth -- here at our lake!

Ethel Mae McMahon - with Harold and Lucy, at the lake in 1946