Category Archives: neighbors

100th Post on “Things I Want To Tell My Mother”

1978 ~ Mary reading to two of her grandchildren

1978 ~ Mary reading to two of her grandchildren

2007 ~ Mary reading to her great-grandchildren

2007 ~ Mary reading to her great-grandchildren

Dear Mom,

Wow, May 4th is ONE HUNDRED posts on our blog!  Amazing.

Our first post was on September 1st of  2011. Since then we’ve shared stories about your life growing up on the farm in Missouri, raising your own family in Kansas, helping children through teaching, volunteering with CASA, and stepping in to help anyone who needed help.  We’ve held writing contests with cash prizes in your name—Mother’s Day Greeting Card Writing, Christmas Memories, and Poetry Writing—and we’ve shared some of your poems, essays and illustrated stories.  We’ve reminded readers of many unusual days on the calendar and posted inspiring quotes, favorite recipes and titles of books we’ve enjoyed.  We’ve featured friends and your great-grandchildren as guest bloggers, and we’ve shared information about Alzheimer’s and dementia.

We never missed a week, and some weeks we posted twice!

In the process, we greeted visitors and made new friends from all over the United States, from the UK, Canada, Australia, India, Israel and sixty-four other countries. These are readers who’ve laughed with us, cried at some of our stories, and cheered us on by sharing their stories. We are very grateful for all of them.

Today, for our 100th post we’re going to share some interesting details about May, the month of our celebration.

The Roman poet Ovid wrote that the month of May is named for the maiores, Latin for “elders.”  In 1963, President John F. Kennedy established May as Older Americans Month. This is a month to respect seniors and celebrate longevity, which includes you, Mom, at the respectful age of almost 95!

When I was in elementary school, on the last day of April you and I made little holders of rolled construction paper and braided yarn for the handles. On May 1st we picked crocus, daffodils and tulips, or if spring didn’t cooperate we filled the holders with small cookies and candy. I’d hang the little May Day baskets from the front door knobs of older neighbors’ houses, ring the bell, call out “Happy May Day!” and hurry away.

Next week, May 8th is No Socks Day for all ages.  The idea is to set your toes free and give your feet a breath of fresh air. Go barefoot and smile at the comfort of cool grass, warm sand or swishing water.

The next day, May 9th, follow up with Lost Sock Memorial Day. Search through drawers or behind the dryer, but if you can’t find the missing sock, take its lonely mate and give it a solitary use: as a dust cloth, a holder for buttons or coins, or make a hand puppet for a child or a chew toy for a pet. Or just dispose of it (gently, of course).

Next Sunday is the well known and widely celebrated Mothers Day, May 12.

A lesser known day is Saturday, May 11—Birth Mothers Day—which is more private. This day was originally set up for mothers to spend quiet moments thinking about or praying for the children they gave up for adoption…or for adopted children to do the same for their birth mothers.  It is intended as an anonymous tribute, and some houses of worship have special candles or flower vases set up for Birth Mothers to give prayers and thanks for the love and care given by Adoptive Mothers.

And finally, the last week of May is National Simultaneous Storytime, which we wish American parents, grandparents, teachers and librarians would vote to implement for our nation’s children.  In Australia, children’s libraries hold a special event where all public and school librarians read aloud the same book on the agreed upon day, at 11AM EST, to the children everywhere in Australia!

Well, Mom, this has been our 100th post. Let’s thank our reading friends and give them cyber hugs for sharing in our adventure…and then it’s nap time.  Next week is post #101, and we’ll need our rest.

2010 ~ Mary's great-grandchildren on farmer-type playground toys in Kansas (all photos by Marylin Warner)

2010 ~ Mary’s great-grandchildren on farmer-type playground toys in Kansas (all photos by Marylin Warner)

1983 ~ Alien children on Mary's front porch

1983 ~ Alien grandchildren on Mary’s front porch

62 Comments

Filed under celebrations, Dementia/Alzheimer's, lessons about life, making a difference, memories for grandchildren, memories for great-grandchildren, neighbors, spending time with kids, Things to be thankful for, writing

A CLEAN SWEEP

Mothers with brooms are a powerful force.  (All pictures by Marylin Warner)

Mothers with brooms are a powerful force. (All pictures by Marylin Warner)

"I was not the lion, but it fell to me to give the lion's roar."~ Winston Churchill

“I was not the lion, but it fell to me to give the lion’s roar.”
~ Winston Churchill

Dear Mom,

During the past months, many blogger friends have commented and emailed about the gentle, thoughtful and considerate things you’ve done in my life and the lives of others. They’re absolutely right about you.

Now I want to share a flip-side-of-the coin and tell another story about a wonderful but very different thing you did one day during the summer before I started third grade.

In our neighborhood, there were 38 children of all ages, and except for kid-type squabbles we got along fine.  We skated on sidewalks, rode bikes with playing cards clipped to the spokes, played tag and basketball, jumped rope, caught lightning bugs, and drank out of everyone’s garden hoses when we were thirsty.  Some of the kids were the much older brothers and sisters of younger kids, and they were friendly and waved back at us as they drove by.  Only one of the neighborhood kids was kind of weird, or at least several of us thought he was scary and weird. We’ll call him Gordo (not his real name, in case he’s still mean) and he had a big boxer dog he liked to sic on smaller kids.

On this day, you were in the fenced-in back yard, pulling weeds in the garden and sweeping off the porch.  I was in the front yard with roller skates fastened to my shoes, learning to skate. I had skated to the drive way, turned around, and was wobbling down the long sidewalk that led to our front door, when I heard a voice behind me say, “Sic’er, Butch! Get’er.”

A dog growled and ran up behind me, lunged and knocked me down. “Get’er, Butch!” Gordo yelled, and I screamed.  I kicked with the awkward skates on my feet and flailed my arms. The dog barked and jumped on me.

I was on my second blood-curdling scream when the front door flew open. Out you ran, Mom, armed with a broom. You yelled, “No! Stop that!” and Gordo laughed.  But Butch stopped barking, looked up at you and tilted his head. You yelled, “No!” again and swatted him away. Then you turned on Gordo and whacked him with the broom.

He cried out, “You can’t hit me. It’s my dog’s fault!”  And you swatted him again, harder, and said, “We both know whose fault it is.”  You leaned closer. “You go home and tell your mother what you did. Tell her the truth, too, because I’ll be coming up to talk to her, and nobody likes a liar.”  You patted Butch’s head and sent Gordo and his dog home.

I was more scared than hurt. You washed off the scratches and scrapes, and for a treat we split a bottle of Coca-cola. I asked why Gordo was so mean. You said you thought he was maybe lonely, and you hoped he’d learn to be a better boy. Then you laughed.

“Know what your grandmother would say about Gordo?” I had no idea what your sweet and gentle mother–my grandmother–would say about Gordo. As far as I knew, Grandma didn’t even know Gordo.

“Your grandmother would say she wished she had another nine boys just like him…so she could start a reform school and help them all at once.” I laughed, even though it didn’t make much sense to me. I couldn’t imagine ten Gordos in one place anywhere.

You and Gordo’s mother had a nice visit, and Gordo never sic’ed his dog on any of us kids again. Eventually things calmed down in the neighborhood. And, strangely, Gordo grew up and turned out okay.

Thanks, Mom, for being calm and kind and gentle and thoughtful…and also a raging mother lioness when necessary.    I love you.  Marylin

__________________________________________________________

Pat Summitt

In honor of our parents who have suffered or continue to suffer with Alzheimer’s disease and dementia, I suggest a wonderful book by Pat Summitt: SUM IT UP.  Pat Summitt was only 21 when she became the head coach of the Tennessee Vols women’s basketball team. For 38 years she broke records, winning more games than any NCAA coach in basketball history. In 2011 her life took a shocking turn when she was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s disease.  SUM IT UP is about a coach who has had 74 of her players go on to be coaches, and now she coaches readers with her continuing fighting spirit, inspiring us with her perseverance and humor.

78 Comments

Filed under Dementia/Alzheimer's, lessons about life, memories for great-grandchildren, neighbors

QUE SERA SERA

fallout shelter:LIFe

birdhouse on pole

Dear Mom,

Yesterday was December 21, 2012. The Mayan calendar ended, but the world did not.

You probably don’t remember other “doomsday warnings,” but I do. Especially my first one in 1957.

That year one of our neighbors built a fallout shelter. He also called it a bomb shelter; either way, it was his survival guarantee. In school, we practiced hiding under our desks or crouching in the hall away from windows. That was our guarantee.

Our neighbor was a successful but harsh and stingy old man (I won’t say his name because I don’t want to hurt the feelings of his children and grandchildren, in case they didn’t know this about him.)  We’ll call him “Bob,” with apologies to the kind and generous Bobs in the world.  Anyway, Bob made it clear that he had a shotgun, and when the worst happened and everyone panicked and wanted to hide in his bomb shelter, the rumor was that Bob would shoot them.

I asked you if we should dig our own shelter and stock it with food and water and everything on the list. You said no. “If there is a massive bomb, Marylin,” you said, “and you and David are at school and Daddy is at work, we won’t be together. So if I hid in our shelter, then when it was all over and I came out, you all wouldn’t be with me.”

I remember you laughed and winked at me.  “And if I came out of my shelter and Bob came out of his, and we were the only two who survived, well, I’d have to borrow his gun and shoot myself.”  This made me laugh, too, and the spell of doom was broken.

In 1956, Jay Livingston and Ray Evans wrote the lyrics and music for a song called “Que Sera Sera” (Whatever will be, will be.) Doris Day sang it in Alfred Hitchcock’s THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH, and whenever it came on the radio I danced around to it, singing with Doris. Later I learned “Que Sera Sera” is something to say when you’re stuck in a hopelessly unchangeable situation, but you’ve come to accept it. It’s similar to today’s “It is what it is.”

We live in a troubled world, you used to say, but it’s always been troubled and dangerous, and we live by prayer, faith, and gratitude. Your final message after our bomb shelter conversation was this: “When things get bad, you hold tight to the hands of those you love, and you get through it.”  I asked, “But what if we can’t find each other to hold hands?” and you said, “We’re always in each other’s hearts, honey. Always.”

“Que Sera Sera” is more than a song. It’s also your philosophy about life; you always did the best you could in every situation, but beyond that you waited: What will be, will be. Thank you, Mom, for teaching me that the best we can do in tough times–and always–is to pray, hold the hands and cherish the hearts of those we love, and be grateful.

Snow globe of "It's A Wonderful Life" (all pictures by Marylin Warner)

Snow globe of “It’s A Wonderful Life” (all photos by Marylin Warner)

76 Comments

Filed under Dementia/Alzheimer's, lessons about life, making a difference, memories for great-grandchildren, neighbors

THANKS, HERBERT!

Dear Mom,

What is it about autumn? During my last visit with you, by mid-afternoon I was turning on all the lights in your apartment. Overhead lights, table lamps, the kitchen and hall lights, anything to make the day seem brighter, longer.

 

October is a month that seems to tell us to slow down, to rest and brace for the winter days ahead. October means shorter days with less light, but also mood swings that match color swings. Leaves change from green to gold, red, orange and yellow, brilliant at first, but then they turn brown and fall from the trees, leaving spindly bare branches.

October is one of the SADD months, when less light causes Seasonal Affective Depression Disorder in many people, which causes problems including making them feel less energetic, creative and hopeful. (I learned that SADD is also actually an acronym for numerous situations and organizations, including Students Against Drunk Driving, Students Against Destructive Decisions, Senior Attention Deficit Disorder, and my favorite now that our daughter Molly found this and pointed it out–Same Accident Different Day–which is a real acronym, too.)

Some adults, and many children, might think that Halloween is the only bright spot in October. But there’s another day coming soon that should make us all smile: Sweetest Day. In 1922 Herbert Birch Kingston declared the third Saturday of October as Sweetest Day. Herbert Kingston was a Cleveland, Ohio philanthropist and candy company employee. To show orphans, shut-ins and the under-priveleged that they were not forgotten, on Sweetest Day he gave them candy and small gifts, and he often recruited movie stars to distribute the gifts. For instance, on the first Sweetest Day in 1922, movie star Ann Pennington presented 2,200 Cleveland newspaper boys with boxes of candy in appreciation for their service to the public.

Mom, you were only four years old when Herbert Birch Kingston initiated the first Sweetest Day, and I don’t know if you ever realized that each year the third Saturday in October was the day of this celebration. But I’ll tell you what I do remember you saying about “blue” days, cloudy or feeling-down days that people complained about.  You said that the best way to cheer yourself up was to help someone else. To make your own day brighter and happier, the best thing to do was brighten another’s day.

I remember gray rainy days, not just in October but also in other months, when I’d come into the kitchen and you’d be kneading bread dough or baking cookies or making jam to pour in pretty little jars. It wasn’t just your regular baking. When the project was done, you’d take a jar or a wrapped loaf or plate of cookies and go to visit someone who was ill or was alone or troubled. And you’d send me out, too, with another treat to deliver to someone. As I got older, I could choose the neighbor or friend on my own, because I’d picked up from you the message of cheer or friendship that would be delivered along with the goodies.

Were you doing it for them, Mom, or sometimes were you also doing it for yourself? Is this why I don’t remember you being discouraged or lethargic or sad…because you encouraged yourself at the same time you encouraged others?

Thank you, Herbert Birch Kingston, for your generosity and concern on Sweetest Day.  Thank you, Mary Elizabeth Hoover Shepherd, for your generosity and concern for others during any other days that needed a little sweetness.

This year, Sweetest Day is next Saturday, October 20th.  Friday, October 19th, is “Evaluate Your Life” Day.  Hmm. Not a bad combination. October is looking better and brighter already.

Smiling llama, North Pole (Colorado) all photographs by Marylin Warner

The Yarn Tree: group project at Old Colorado City Library, Colo. Springs west side

39 Comments

Filed under art, art projects, Dementia/Alzheimer's, lessons about life, making a difference, memories for great-grandchildren, neighbors, October glory

HEARTBEATS AT OUR FEET

 

Hi, Mom,

While I stayed with you recently, a frequent visitor to Presbyterian Village dropped by with his little Dachshund. Peaches moved slowly and had a graying muzzle, and you patted her like you two were old friends. After they left, we talked about dogs, and I reminded you about how you always fixed extra oatmeal on cold mornings because dogs needed warm tummies, too.

I told you about a man in Colorado Springs who walks his two huge rescue dogs in our neighborhood each day, and the greyhound that we took your great-grandchildren to visit at the Greyhound Hall of Fame in Abilene. When I reminded you of our dog, Maggie, who cheered up Dad when he was alive, I was careful to describe her recent surgery that left a line of stitches on both sides of her body where benign fatty tumors had been removed. I didn’t tell you that one tumor was so large that for a week after the surgery she had a shunt in her side for draining the fluids. Instead, I showed you only the cute picture of her clad in Jim’s old tee-shirt with her Thunder Shirt over that to keep her from scratching at the sutures. I said Maggie looked like a parochial third grader in her school uniform, and you laughed.

On your shelves you had a book of quotations, and I looked up dog quotes.  Gene Hill wrote: “Whoever said you can’t buy Happiness forgot little puppies,” and you said you grew up with cute puppies. I read more quotes, and the one you nodded and smiled at was by author Edith Wharton, who was also one of the first founders of the ASPCA. Wharton said, “My little dogs…heartbeats at my feet.”  Will Rogers wrote, “If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.” I said Dad was probably enjoying all our family’s dogs and cats and pets in Heaven, and you agreed.

Because of all the expenses with Maggie’s surgery, I laughed at a quote by author Jen Lancaster: “Owning a dog is slightly less expensive than being addicted to crack.” But I didn’t confuse you with that quote, nor the one by Nora Roberts from her novel The Search: “Everything I know, I learned from dogs.”

I also didn’t read aloud this one by Gordon Korman: “The dog always dies. Go to the library and pick out a book with an award sticker and a dog on the cover. Trust me, that dog is going down.” But Gordon Korman is also the author of No More Dead Dogs. Hmmm. I’ll check it out. It might be a good book for me to bring and read to you.

Or maybe we’ll just take a walk or wait for Peaches. We’ll do something special–we always think of something.   Love, Marylin

Maggie with shunt in side after surgery. Probably not good for showing to young children or old great-grandmothers.

33 Comments

Filed under Dementia/Alzheimer's, memories for great-grandchildren, neighbors

DO YOU KNOW WHAT TODAY IS?

Dear Mom,

In 1978, President Jimmy Carter signed a proclamation declaring the 1st Sunday after Labor Day as National Grandparents’ Day. My daughter Molly was born in 1978, so I made a card and used a crayon to scribble a message to you and Dad from your granddaughter. You and Dad laughed at that, saying Molly was very bright, being just a baby but already writing with crayons.

Did you know that almost every day, week and month of the calendar has been designated as some kind of holiday? For instance, July 27 is supposedly “Take Your Pants For a Walk Day.” I have no idea who actually declared this, but we can pretend the “Tree Man” is responsible (see picture above). I like this whimsical guy, so we’ll give him the credit, and anyway, we’ve already missed the day to take our pants for a walk, though I assume we would have been wearing them.

The good news is, today, July 29,  is National Lasagna Day! Mmm. Remember how our neighbor Joanie Vignatelli cooked great Italian food?  And Monday, July 30, is Cheesecake Day. You and I aren’t big cheesecake eaters, but I don’t think the Tree Man will mind if we substitute cupcakes instead. The point is to enjoy something sweet, right?

The last day of July is Mutt Day. I hope whoever declared this day meant it affectionately, with appreciation, because mixed-breed dogs have always held a soft place in our hearts, haven’t they? The last dog you and Dad had was Fritz, a huge shaggy bear with oversized paws and a heart to match. And when Dad was bedridden in the last months with Alzheimer’s, we brought along our dog Maggie (see below) for a visit. She went right to Dad’s bed, jumped up, and snuggled against him. At first Dad was startled and confused, but the moment he touched her fur he smiled and relaxed. Yes, surely whoever declared July 31 as Mutt Day, declared it with affection.

While Dad was alive, he often said that every day is a gift, or he’d smile and say, “Every day is a good day, some are just ‘gooder’ than others.” We don’t need national declarations to appreciate the importance of days, but they’re fun to talk about, to make guesses about who designated them and why, and sometimes to just laugh and scratch our heads.

Just so you’ll know, Mom, the first week of August is supposedly “National Simplify Your Life Week.”  We won’t ask the Tree Man how we should celebrate it.  We’ll simply make the most of it, like we try to do with all the other weeks of the year.

I love you, Mom, every day.   Marylin

 

18 Comments

Filed under Dementia/Alzheimer's, lessons about life, memories for great-grandchildren, neighbors

THE HAIRCUT ~ guest blogger, Jan Cooper Magee

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hi Mary,

Do you remember me,  Jan Cooper, (you always called me Julianne). As I look back on my childhood, I realize that growing up on Marblecrest Terrace in Fort Scott was a great place to be a child. Many memories come flooding back as I write this note to you.

I remember my childhood days when Marylin and I were together every minute.  Going “up town” was an event that was at the top our list for fun things to do.  I recall one afternoon with much clarity!  I was at your house playing and you announced that you’d be going to town soon.  Of course, Marylin and I wanted to go.  I was a little puzzled when you looked at me and said that you didn’t think you could take ME with you.  I’m sure I asked: “Why not?”  To my disappointment you told me that you just couldn’t’ take me with you because my hair just didn’t look very nice.  But, thank goodness, you had a solution to that problem.  You would simply give me a haircut before we left and then I would look just fine for our afternoon adventure to town.

Getting my hair cut was not one of my favorite things to do and I’m sure I’d been fussing about it for some time.  I didn’t (and still don’t) have a headful of beautiful, thick hair and I never really knew how my haircut would turn out.   I agreed, reluctantly, I’m sure, and said you could cut my hair.   Mary, you were very talented at many things, but as I remember cutting hair was not one of your more accomplished talents.  After a snip here and a snip there you made a little girl happy and I had a new summer hairdo.  You know, I don’t even remember if we ever got to town!  Sometime later as I was reminiscing about that afternoon I found out that you and my mother (Julia Cooper) had planned that haircut! I’m sure it wasn’t the worst haircut I ever received but I’m also quite sure it was much better that going to the local barber, Johnny Dobbins, who usually gave me my “beginning of the summer trim”.

I wish I could give you a big hug right now but I now live in Arkansas.  I have two children and six grandchildren. Thanks for being a part of my childhood.    Love you, “Julianne”

_________________________________________________________________

As a reminder, Mom, Jan’s dad was Dr.C. M. Cooper, our family dentist.  He also pierced my ears–with your permission–when I just “had” to have pierced ears and you didn’t want me using a needle and a potato. And just for the record: I thought you gave Jan a really good…well, it was an okay haircut. Better than my haircut at the time, which kind of looked like you put a bowl on my head and trimmed around it.

7 Comments

Filed under Dementia/Alzheimer's, experiments, friends, memories for grandchildren, memories for great-grandchildren, neighbors

BEFORE THERE WERE SEAT BELTS

(sign on a side road 9 miles north of Fort Scott, KS)

Hi, Mom,

Here’s some driving trivia for you. Kansas adopted specific seatbelt laws in 1986, and Colorado followed in 1987. The ages for having to wear seatbelts vary slightly, but both states fine drivers when they–and their riders, especially under-age riders–do not wear seatbelts.

You used to drive anywhere and everywhere, Mom. You transported your children and grandchildren and anyone who needed a ride, and this was before seatbelt laws. When our dog Stardust scratched open her abdomen stitches after surgery, you wrapped her in an old quilt and drove her to the vet’s. I know because I helped hold Stardust in the front seat. She was miserable and her blood was seeping through the quilt, but you stayed calm, kept driving, and talked softly to Stardust as you patted her head.

That was the only time I remember us making a mess in any of the cars. We always drove D-license plates, meaning the cars were for sale at the dealership. So when you drove us and our friends to the swimming pool or youth group or any activities, if we stopped for treats or ice cream cones, we got out of the car to eat them. No messes in the car. That was the rule.

Stardust left a bloody mess in the front seat that day, and the vet couldn’t save her. Dad never said a word. We’d just lost our dog, and the rules changed when we lost a beloved pet.

Sometimes while giving our friends rides, you’d also give rides to their little brothers and sisters. I remember when you once took our young neighbors along on an errand for their mom. Brad was maybe two, and little Pammie was just a baby. Brad stood between us, kind of tucked behind your right shoulder as you drove. I held the baby, and none of us had on seat belts because I think it was only 1962. The older siblings were in the back seat, and I’m sure we all arrived safely.

Now, even though everyone wears seat belts–including children in heavy-duty safety seats (in the back seat, of course), I still resort to a safety technique I learned from you. If I have to stop or slow down quickly when I’m driving, my right arm automatically flies out to protect my passenger, even if it’s my husband, Jim. He just smiles, but our policeman son-in-law probably thinks it’s nuts. Old safety driving habits die hard, even when we’re using seatbelts.

I think you’d probably be glad you’re not driving any more, Mom.  In addition to seat belt laws, there are now laws against using cell phones or texting while driving, and some states are starting to fine drivers who engage in any activity that might distract them. (Which, in your case, Mom, would mean no putting on lipstick while you’re behind the wheel.)

Still, I smile and feel perfectly safe remembering your right arm flying out to protect your passengers, and the gentle, comforting way you patted Stardust’s head as you drove her to the vet’s.

You were a good driver, and you were–and still are–a good mom. But just between us, when you and I are out together on a ride, I get a kick out of buying us ice cream cones and eating them IN the car.

Love, Marylin

~   ~   ~

THE JUDGES ARE BUSY READING, ENJOYING, AND CHOOSING THEIR FAVORITE ENTRIES FROM THE MOTHER’S DAY CARD WRITING CONTEST. WINNERS WILL BE POSTED ON THE BLOG SUNDAY, MAY 20TH.

18 Comments

Filed under driving laws, friends, lessons about life, making a difference, memories for grandchildren, neighbors

WASHING AWAY THE DUST OF EVERYDAY LIFE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Mom,

Pablo Picasso said, “Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.” When Molly visited you and Dad the summer she was six, the art project you set up that week required washing away the dust of the garage. For “the marble village” your grandchildren created, marbles became the people who lived in the papier mâché town built and painted on a big piece of plywood on the garage floor. (The French term made the result even grander.)

You were also the grandmother who discovered a safe-to-eat recipe for play dough. You wrapped the colorful wads in plastic, tied them with ribbon and shared them with children in the neighborhood and at Sunday school. For a long time, play-dough rings, bracelets and necklaces were local gifts-of-choice, with painted snakes and rolled paper-clip holders a close second.

Encouraging art projects was always your trademark with me, Mom. I added to the projects and passed them on to Molly, and now your great-grandchildren have joined the adventures. Recently, Grace and Gannon both made portraits of me–in the style of Picasso–and proudly presented them for framing and hanging. In our family, creativity is the result of both nature and nurture. We’ve created with sidewalk chalk, puff paints, clay, old socks and T-shirts, watercolors, sand and glass, pen and paper, and computers. It’s all good. Sometimes surprising and open to interpretation, but still good.

George Bernard Shaw said, “Life isn’t about finding yourself. It’s about creating yourself.” (Or, in my case, figuring out how I inspired two Picasso-style portraits.)

Thanks, Mom, for encouraging our creativity.

With love from your children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren

(Above: Gannon’s and Grace’s Picasso pictures of Mor Mor)

(Below: Molly’s 3rd grade Indian Art sculpture with yarn)

24 Comments

Filed under art projects, lessons about life, memories for grandchildren, neighbors, teaching

MAKING CHRISTMAS

Dear Mom,

Growing up, one of my favorite things to do at Christmas was make something special.  One year I folded white paper and carefully cut shapes that were then taped to the windows to look like lacy, happy, irregular snowflakes.  Another year I made “bird seed balls” and hung them with red ribbons from the trees; and a favorite year with teachers and neighbors (or so I thought) was when I washed out jelly jars and filled them with my own concoction of powered milk, cocoa, sugar and marshmallows, and tied the jar lids with gold rickrack.

The year that really taught me about “making things” at Christmas, though, was the year a neighbor tried to break a difficult habit by staying very, very busy.  She spent hours and hours and hours making a sequin/ribbon/mock-pearl and lace Christmas tree skirt.  Every stitch was by hand, painstakingly perfect.  A few days before Christmas, she was down to the finishing touches on the gold satin star–attached with lots of glittery beads–in the center of the the green felt.  She worked on it late into the night, then fell asleep on the floor next to the tree.  She awoke the next morning, shocked to realize she’d attached the star to the green felt with hundreds of beads and sequins, but without realizing it she’d also sewn the  star’s stitches all the way through to the skirt of her nightgown.

She called for help, and you responded.  Very creatively, I realize now:  you helped her cut a star-shape out of the hem of her long nightgown.  Then while she dressed in the bathroom and cried, you carefully trimmed away all the excess nightgown fabric from the underside, smoothed the ornate skirt around the base of the Christmas tree, and arranged the wrapped presents to cover the bumpy places. When you told me in confidence what had happened, I don’t remember you being critical.  The neighbor was doing the best she could to get through a hard time, you said, and she just needed a little help.

Through the years, Mom, you made place mats, table cloths, “O, Come Let Us Adore Him” wall hangings (one is pictured above, with every letter, bead and ribbon sewn by hand), and, later, you made Nativity scenes (a full set for each grandchild).  These things you created with love, in the spirit of Christmas.  But the real message you conveyed during the holidays–and every day–came from the way you always willingly helped others…and believed the best about their efforts.

Thank you for that message, Mom.

Love, Marylin

8 Comments

Filed under "Christmas Memories With Mom", Dementia/Alzheimer's, memories for grandchildren, neighbors