Memories
20 Jan 2012 1 Comment
in breathing, change, family, mother Tags: child, family, mother, spiritual
Today, I sit at my laptop, logged into by remote to my office computer, my i-phone and kindle charging on my desk.
Life was so different while we were growing up.
We had a party line for our phone, when we had a phone; party lines are a great way to keep up on the neighborhood doings. I remember many lovely conversations, overheard as a child. My hand covered the mouthpiece, muting my giggles. Children, (and nosy neighbors) learned how to quietly pick up the phone, and quietly replace the receiver in its cradle. If I did not know what time it was, I would simply pick up the phone, dial O and ask the nice operator.
I remember a old gray washtub, that Mom would bring into the kitchen and fill with hot water for our baths. a privacy blanket over the door, (as the youngest, I was able to bathe first) and going out to the milk house in the cold of a winter night to stand under the cold hose there for a shower, with a little blue kerosene heater to keep us warm, or in the summer, a hose thrown over the clothesline, and showering with our swim suits on.
Mom worked hard to keep our home comfortable. Aluminum foil placed over the windows on sunny summer days to reflect the hot sun away, and the bowls of ice placed in front of the fans for our air conditioning. In the winter Mom would fill mason jars with hot water, wrap them in towels, then we would place them at our feet in bed at night to warm us into sleep.
Flashing back to a time I can only imagine, Mom, 16. just a child herself, newly married, and spending her first wedded year living with a mother in law who scared the beejeez out of her, and then, when dad came home from the service, moving out to a lonely farm in the back 40 acres of Iowa. No running water, no indoor utilities, only a wood stove for heat, pregnant, and working the farm. Mom persevered, as she always did.
She spent her years out there, working hard, bearing children, bringing more children home to us, and raising us all in a tumble up fashion.
In the summers she raised a garden, canned, worked the fields, put up hay, picked corn, had babies (well she had us in the summer, fall winter, and spring really)
Remember, she was still a child herself through much of this; she raised herself while raising us, and she lived, she persevered…
Flashing to another memories, this one I own. Sitting outside of a church under a shady tree, our bible school teacher is telling us about Jesus, showing us a picture of him, tiny, standing atop a green leaf, explaining that he is everywhere, even in a blade of grass.
I have had this view of God and Heaven since that time, everywhere all at once, in us, outside of us.
And that is the vision I have of our Mother, everywhere, inside of us, our hearts, and outside of us as well, a bigger view: Mother as part of Heaven, as part of the universe, on a greater adventure than even her life here, Mother now with Linda, her sisters and brother, her Mother, her soul spirit, all together,
Mom is planning her garden now, carnations, lilies, gladioli, and tomatoes. I am pretty sure a fluffy white kitten has found her way to that garden spot, and sits on Mom’s lap, while she herself sits under a tree, in a comfortable wooden rocker, at her ease, in her glory. Still living, still persevering.
Celebration of Life
23 Dec 2011 2 Comments
in breathing, change, family, freedom, little girl, mother, passing, words Tags: family, freedom, mother, passing, people, sisters, spiritual, women
Our Mother has passed, we will mourn her absence, but mostly, we will celebrate her life. Our Mother lived strong, wild, ferocious, bodacious. She lived with faith, and joy, and strength.
She left us much, her joy of flowers, her affinity for sunshine, fresh air, natural living. We will, all of her eight children, numerous grand children and even more countless great grandchildren remember her daily.
Countless gestures; we find our hand placed over our forehead, shading our eyes with exasperation. hear ourselves with small phrases, “For goodness sakes.” “Good Grief”. sound like her, we hear her with our own words.
We enjoy chickens, well, some of us. Fresh eggs, apples, bananas. I never could get the hang of Rocky Mountain Oysters and frog legs but I think some of us have.
We have countless house plants, knick knacks, and candles scattered about our homes. Just like our mother.
We have a a stubborn determination to live and survive, our Mother taught that to us as well. She lived greatly.
We will miss her, and we will celebrate her always.
Memories of our Mother
13 Dec 2011 1 Comment
in breathing, daydreams, family, mother, passing Tags: breathing, dreaming, mother, spiritual, women
Mom lay quietly in her bed these days, her last stroke destroyed half of her brain, her ability to move on her own, and her ability to communicate with more than a few one syllable words. She is waiting.
When I visit her I sorrow. Her tiny body is weak, her face still beautiful. Half of her body does not move. But her eyes…her eyes sometimes still burn with that flame of life that has carried her through so much. At those times I feel a surge of hope, unwarranted hope, that perhaps she will pull back from this determination of death.
Each time I visit, she looks at me, and her eyes are tender, telling me so much with a look or a small smile. As I sit and talk, she watches, nods, responds for a bit.
Sunday we talked of the past, growing up on her farm.
Our Mom had chickens, many chickens that lived in a good-sized chicken house, surrounded by a tall dog – proof fence that was partly roofed by the large branches of overgrown apple trees. Watching them was a wonder, they scratched about the dirt, heads bobbing, sometimes pecking at each other, other times mindlessly flapping their wings, chasing one another about the yard. Autumn days, the apples hanging above their yard dropped down, some would ferment before the chickens devoured them, and then, I swear, the little creatures would eat the fermented apples, and chatter drunkenly about.
In the spring time Mom bought baby chicks, and nestled them in our basement, in a wire enclosure, with straw spread over the concrete floor. Above she hung a warm light to keep them warm. We could hear soft chirps and scratching coming up the stairs. I was forbidden to touch them, but of course I did, cuddling their tiny bodies close to my face, smelling the freshness of their new beginning
At times it was my job to gather the eggs. The chicken house was magical to me. I entered it and the warm earthy smells of life rushed to greet me. Hens laying in their boxes would let out soft, sleepy sounds. Reaching under them, my hands enjoyed the cozy feathers of the creatures, and quietly as I could I pulled out warm eggs for the basket.
Always since, when I have been able, I have had chickens, and enjoyed again the beauty of new eggs, and mother hens. One more of many parts of me left to me by our Mother,
Leaving home was the only thought in my mind when I turned 17, but now, nearing 60, I have learned that home has never left me.
The magnificant Ya Ya’s
26 Aug 2011 Leave a Comment
in daydreams, family, freedom, gypsies, palm reading, People I Know, random thoughts, witness Tags: family, freedom, friends, gardens, palm reading, people, sisters, women
Last night presented me with the marvelous chance to read palms for a beautiful, dynamic group of five women, They call themselves the Ya Ya’s, in honor of the intense friendship they have shared for years!
The setting for this small gathering was in the home and garden of one of these fabulous friends. Her home was simple grace, replete with warmth, peace, fulfillment and lovely heart. Her home presented a sense of cherished space
Doing a night of reading for a particular group is an interesting experience, always a theme. These women share not only their love for one another but also the traits of humour, strength, and determination that have allowed them each to travel through independent lives with amazing spirit.
If all my evenings were so blessed!
Magnificant Mary
24 Aug 2011 Leave a Comment
in breathing, family, palm reading, People I Know, planning Tags: MDK hair, palm reading, spiritual, women
A few years ago I had the amazing privilege of meeting a woman named Mary, owner of MDK for hair in Hastings, MN. I have had the pleasure of attending her business on many occasions to read palms, and get to know her wonderful circle of employees, friends and customers.
The atmosphere at her place is amazing, love, compassion, friendship, sisterhood. I feel it all when I visit Mary’s shop. MDK has gathered together an amazing collection of women, women who have healing in their hands, hearts and souls.
Love being there, love reading there.
And happily, I will be there again! Hope to see you there!
Wednesday, August 31 from 2-8! Call the salon to schedule your appointment! 651.437.8704
Memories
24 Aug 2011 1 Comment
in breathing, change, daydreams, family, freedom, little girl, People I Know, random thoughts, travel, witness Tags: change, childhood, family, freedom, friends, memories, mother, people, sisters, women
My friend from high school, Irene is a major proponent of memories, Irene was the most awesome girl I knew back then, she introduced me to LIFE. She did things, knew people, and although she had her own problems, she continued to grow and live. I missed Irene, and am so happy to have her back in my life through the medium of social networking. Reading her posts, looking at her pictures, I understand the full, active , and most important honored life she has lived.
I am part of a facebook page, postings of memories from people from my home town. Reading them, I have an opportunity to remember my own past and in that way, reconnect with the little girl that left home in a head long rush towards freedom. I love having the memories. Mine have not been so complete. Memories can heal. After over four decades of forgetting, it is wonderful to begin to regain them.
Here are a few of my own;
The town square and stuffing myself on watermelon during watermelon days. and the best carnival a child ever did attend.
An easter egg hunt downtown, I won a silver dollar in a pink plastic box from Doctor Byram’s office.
My more than pitiable attempt at archery down by the old elementary, ( also remember a bad experiment with copper tone that day)
Comic books bought at the 5 and dime.
An equally pitiable attempt at golf in high school, I have never understood while we hit the balls toward the windows, did Ms Ahrens just know we would all miss?
Stumbling going up the steps during graduation and Bruce Robinson telling me I would be fine, (forever grateful for that Bruce)
Walking miles on country roads
Canoeing at Hanon Lake.
Eating at the maid rite, french fries, cherry coke, and ketchup
My first pack of cigs at Old Style Tavern I was 12, they cost 20cents 
Riding the square and honking horns
Just some memories….Love memories!
A tribute to Sweet Annie
09 Aug 2011 1 Comment
in breathing, family, freedom, gypsies, little girl, old west, words Tags: breathing, cowgirl, dreaming, freedom, friends, mother, sisters, spiritual, women
Sweet sweet Annie
of many faces.
hippie,cowgirl
earth-mother, gypsy.
Gardener, provider.
Sweet sweet Annie
Kind of heart,
fair of face.
She does not see
What I see.
Sweet sweet Annie
Sexy,Vibrant.
Savior to critters.
She does not see
what we see.
Sweet sweet Annie
Beauty. Lover.
Mother,Sister
Lover,Wife.
You should see from these eyes.
Judy is Joyful
05 Aug 2011 Leave a Comment
in breathing, daydreams, family, freedom, People I Know, witness Tags: breathing, freedom, friends, poet, sisters, spiritual
I have known Judy for oh about 100 years, she is my heart sister, a woman who I can be separate from for a long, long time, and we are together again, it is as though only 5 minutes have passed.
Judy lives in nature along the Mississippi River, Judy lives for nature, her soul saddens when she is too long in the city, too long from the woods and plains of her beloved countryside. She is funny, cracks me up with just a gesture, and although so very different from me, is nearly the same as me. We are like bookends on different shelves. She gets me, and I get her. It is good.
Judy is strong, independent, feisty, faithful, irreverent, gentle, peaceful, and sometimes a glorious crank. She is a role model to me.
And Judy is a poet, a wonderful crafter of words. She has an amazing ability to evoke images with her poems.
Here is one she just sent to me.
When Biking 
lose yourself
in the breeze
in the sky
in the green
name the wildflowers
along the trail…
marsh marigold
butterfly weed
Indian paintbrush
wild blue phlox
see the turtle cross
the Paul Bunyan trail,
see the spotted fawn
walk thru the sun-dappled woods
be startled by the screech
of the red-tailed hawk,
watch the young eagle
take flight
ride along with the dragonflies,
take in the vast open field,
the sea of wavering grasses,
the song of the red-winged blackbird
break at the edge
of Molly Lake,
stand cattail-still,
hear the loon call
immerse all of you
in the surrounding calm
J
My Grandma Schumacher
19 Jul 2011 2 Comments
in daydreams, family, history, little girl, random thoughts, words Tags: child, family, grandparents, women
In the summers I stayed at my Grandma’s and Grampa’s home (my father’s parents) for a week with my female cousins. Honestly, for the most part I hated it, except for a few things. I was homesick, and more than likely a little snot, and Grandma responded in kind with impatience. My hair snarled and she cranked at my tears when she combed it. Did not know my cousins well, never did get to know them.
Here is what I did like…
She had a wonderful wrap around screened in porch on her house and a spiked wrought iron fence around her yard.
My grandpa’s lap
the lonely yet exotic sound of the trains going past at night, while I sat by the window.
My dreams of flying high in the air, and looking at the world below.
And one time, one time only, Grandma unbending, sitting in her rocker, singing.
My best memories are the ones I keep.
The Bones of Me
17 Jul 2011 5 Comments
in breathing, daydreams, family, freedom, gypsies, history, words, world Tags: breathing, dreaming, freedom, inspiration, special events, spiritual, world
We have history, us humans. We have our own personal story and the heritage of the people before us. We have the bones of the past that we can spend moments honoring and clothing in our own skin. We have the bones of ourselves to cover, protect, and move into life.
There is an old story from many cultures about The Bone Woman. This woman lives in the forlorn places of our world, deserts, ocean islands, mountains, and inner city ruins. She collects bones. Look closely and you can see her. Perhaps shuffling down a cracked city sidewalk, carrying a bag or pushing a shopping cart. Watch her and you notice her every now and again bend over, and pick up an object, maybe something shiny, or even cracked. She carefully wipes it clean on her shirt, or coat, or skirt, and places it gently in her bag or cart. You may be a little afraid of this woman, she seems like someone you should not know, someone who does not live the way you are comfortable with. Perhaps she mutters to herself, or smiles at you with no teeth, or smells not the way you would want someone to smell. She does not care that you disdain her. Her thoughts and plans are on the one job she has, collecting the bones of the world.
At the end of the day she goes to her home, maybe a desert cave, or a tree house. And in her home she takes those items she has spent the day collecting, and places them with reverence on the shelves that line her home. Sometimes, when she has enough of the right kind of items, the right amount of items, she sits on her floor, and gathering these correct pieces around her, she arranges them, fastening them together, a colorful stone here, where a heart would be, a bird’s nest fit right where it should go, bones fit together to form a marvelous skeleton of a living creature. Humming softly and quietly a tuneless yet melodious tune she watches this creation stand, usually on four paws, but at times on two feet. She watches and hums as a soft energy forms over this skeleton, and it begins to move, muscles and ligaments begin to grow, holding it strong, and skin or fur shimmer over it all, and eyes blink, and ears twitch, until finally the creature is living and ready to have a life of its own.
Opening her door, or the thin rags covering the entrance to her cave, the Bone Woman beckons to her newly born child, and watches as it bounds outside running free and alive. Running over rooftops, through desert brush, rocky outcrops, wet ocean floors. A story reborn.
We are like that. We rebuild our lives, regain our own stories, hopefully daily. Our lives are a process of fulfillment and growth.
Blessings on your stories my friends!
