Cheri is cherishable
30 Jun 2011 Leave a Comment
in family, little girl Tags: child, family, sisters, women
I cherish you my sister Cheri, although I never let you know.
You are the woman who helped to raise me, you moved through life, guiding me, tending to my needs, loving me, with little or no feedback or appreciation given.
When I was a little girl, I believed you the most beautiful and elegant and successful woman in creation. I still do, although, I think, being you that you would scoff at such an assessment.
You left home when I was still so young, 17 years to my seven, married to Clyde, and bore him two sons, who in turn presented you with grandchildren of your own. Clyde was, in my small opinion, a piece of work. He treated you poorly, not at all up to the standards you deserved. And I consider you successful, simply because you persevered, and Cheri, you never say a bad word about him. Myself, I have not that type of forbearance. 
And you married John, who helped you raise you boys, who again, you say nothing but good about…when did you learn to be so very forgiving and kind?
You lived through poverty, money, moving, break ups, happiness, sadness, and always…even when you were pretty much all alone out in Colorado, you survived. Quietly, struggling, living on your own, taking care of you own wonderful self.
You gave up your life there to return home to help our sister Linda while she was passing from cancer. You work hard, without stop at jobs that would give a weaker woman pause. And you did those jobs well and faithfully.
You are funny, kind, and have many strong opinions. I admire that about you. You cut through nonsense, and get right to the point of the conversation.
You love animals, and care for your dog with joy, he in turn is devoted to you. You have our mother’s love of plants, and I remember gladioli you would buy from the farmers market to place in your home.
Your boys, raised by you, are amazing. They are both successful and determined men. They have themselves created loving families that they care for. They were raised patriotic, intense and talented. Congratulations.
As with all of my siblings, I see you seldom, not as much as I could. But know this, I love you.
To my Mother
08 May 2011 Leave a Comment
in family, little girl Tags: child, mother, people, women
I love you my Mother, the woman who bore me, the woman who endured so very much to raise me and all of your children. You have never been a victim of your life, you are a survivor. You are the greatest freedom fighter, a woman who raised yourself high, amidst a rather chaotic background, who made mistakes, and prospered, who did right things, and lived. I salute you.
You are the woman, who, I realize are the core of me, the backbone that has moved me through my chaos, although until today I have never voiced this knowledge to you. Our own relationship was somehow diminished early in my life, through no fault of yours, but rather through the sadness and anger of external life. Our distance became an unhappy habit.
I love your spirit Mom, your strength, your toughness, and your truth of life. This is something you need to know this day. You are a landmark in my life; the woman with the fierce history, the woman who walked through fire to protect her own, lived through pain, loved her babies with an intense heart. You are the woman who touched a growing plant and made it blossom with beauty. 
You made it through not only one, but four husbands, now that is enough to make any woman give up. Good grief! Four men to raise! And still you moved forward. You raised eight babies into I think pretty amazing people. You had to, sadly, see one go, our Linda. You lived through war, poverty, the harsh environment of that little farm in Iowa, cold winters, broken bones, back-breaking work, the strong rarity of a difficult every day existence. Yet, you created beauty for us all and your self in the best way you could. We always had flowers growing, and remember that wonderful peach tree you sheltered so faithfully out by the milk house door, the one that you nursed through many winters? Mom, you are tenacious, stubborn and determined. You are a scraper, a fighter, an artist, and a love; all rolled into one.
I inherited my love of the sunshine from you, my love of the earth, my love of a good time, and perhaps my obstinate personality. I inherited my red hair, my blue eyes, my nose, my hands, my sometimes faithful adherence to putting my foot forward every day… all from you.
I see large beauty in small items; this I learned from you, the woman who could take cockle burrs to turn into works of art, the woman who taught me how to iron leaves between sheets of waxed paper to frame on the wall, to bake a roast beef, fry a chicken, tried to teach me how to sew, but rightfully gave up on that one.
You taught me how to bowl, to tie my shoes, clean a house, read a book. I inherited a quest for knowledge from you, the want to understand what is happening around me.
You are a human goddess, full of the vagaries of both divine and human spirit.
You, our Mother, have made a full and intense life, you have sung beautiful songs, raised recalcitrant children, birthed cows, planted fields, created beauty. You are the woman of the moment, woman of the world
Bless you Mother with love.
Delightful Diva Daughters
28 Mar 2011 5 Comments
in family Tags: spiritual, women
It has always been my belief, that, our children should, by rights, be much more enlightened than we. That they, in faith, will surpass everything the generation before them has done.
My daughters have done that.
My daughters are delightful grown women both. They are strong, intelligent, wise, kind, hilarious, happy, witty and beautiful. They grew, despite my sometimes lacking motherhood skills, into amazing Goddesses.
I watch them when I am with them. Their heads bend toward one another, engaged in easy conversations. They are best friends, and that is what I hoped for them. They are true sisters
Both have found soul mates for their lives. Equally strong and kind men who I love, not only for their own goodness, but for the love they give my daughters. I am not sure where Maggie and Sarah found the ability to have a strong and lasting relationship, certainly not from me, not from the example I set while they were children.
They survive, both living in a rough and tumble youth, the wild chase our life led us while they grew. They both have endured pain, and yet, in the sometimes grief of their childhood, they found brilliant success.
Both are much smarter than me, rather intimidating at times. I wonder how that happened. They plan, prosper, set goals, achieve goals, and then set more.
Both are joyous in life, triumphant. Yet both know sorrow and do wrestle with the demons daily life brings. They are victorious wrestlers.
I love my daughters with a tremendous heart. I admire the resourceful independence they both carry. Do not misunderstand me when I state they make me proud. The pride comes not from any achievement of mine own, rather from respect and honor.
They are women who fully live life, with bodacious ferocity.
Ahh Spring
19 Mar 2011 Leave a Comment
in daydreams, family, melting snow Tags: dreaming, special events, spiritual, spring
Today I woke to frosty trees, crisp, chilly air, wanted to stay under every quilt I have. this afternoon, the sun will be shining, and I will be on a walkabout with my daughter, Sarah. Ahh Spring! A writing instructor once told me that only lazy people use quotes, I say why fix what is not broken…so I offer you this by Lilja Rogers.
First a howling blizzard woke us,
Then the rain came down to soak us,
And now before the eye can focus -
Crocus.
My Mother’s Hands
18 Mar 2011 4 Comments
in family Tags: family, mother, spiritual, women
My mother has hard-working hands, fingers bent, somewhat gnarled from arthritis, knuckles turned large from worry, life. Blue tinted veins prominently run under her skin; skin that has turned translucent, fine, almost parchment through her years. Her nails, at this time, are manicured, acrylic, colored. And she is quite proud of them. That was not always so. Her nails were tough, I remember, worn, sometimes brittle from the harsh environment of her daily life. It used to be, she would take gelatin capsules to keep them strong. In my childhood, I thought it oddly circular that she would take extract of cow hoofs to make her own nails grow.
Her hands have touched children in love and yet in anger, the men she has loved, with tenderness and delight. They have held babies close to comfort tears, and gently to give them grace. They have touched the cheeks of her men, after they passed, with sorrow. And those cheeks of her daughter, our sister, with greater sorrow after she also passed. No mother should have the need to hold the hand of a departed child.
They have gardened, farmed, milked cows, swung hammers, sewed clothing, washed clothes, washed backs, changed diapers, mopped floors, butchered chickens, paid bills, fixed hair, slapped faces, made bread; her hands have lived, and still live.
They are a picture in my mind, my mother’s hands, of strength, sorrow, and life.
Des is desirable
22 Feb 2011 2 Comments
in family, People I Know, random thoughts, travel Tags: cowgirl, family, friends, old west, people, pirates, spiritual, travel, women
We have a marvelous friend, Des. (Some of you call her Peachy) Des is a dastardly pirate, Des is a rooten-tooten cowgirl, Des is a gentle spirit, and Des is a strong, strong woman.
Des lives in Oklahoma, in a comfortable home filled with old west memorabilia, piratey plunder, pictures of her many friends, mementos of her incredible adventures and a lot of pink stuff. She cracks me up with her multitude of personalities and interests. The thing is, she does all of her interests fully, nothing partial for her.
Last year Des acquired a small pull behind camper, that she has named her pink armadillo. At this writing she has spent the winter rebuilding the inside, complete with pink walls, a hand pump for water, screen doors, pretty curtains, and in general a lot of froo fra. It fits her, and it is magnificent. In the summer she will begin the outside, and personally I think we her friends must start a pink armadillo fund, so that she has all of the where with all to complete this amazing monstrosity! Every highway needs a giant pink armadillo roaming its lines!
Des loves with all of her heart, and she is so easy to love in return. She shines love from her eyes. Des walks into a room of strangers, and leaves that room with life long friends! My admiration for this talent of hers is unceasing.
We here in the snow packed plains of Minnesota miss her, and have not nearly the amount of time spent with her that we need for our own spirits growth. Des brightens our lives and is an important person to have here on earth. Her desire to live life fully inspires us to fully live.
Zau has Zest!
21 Feb 2011 Leave a Comment
in family, People I Know, random thoughts Tags: child, family, friends, minneapolis, people, spiritual, travel, women
My friend Zau is from Angola, born there during a war-torn period. My understanding is that he grew up in a pretty normal environment, had a loving father and mother, siblings, cousins; a complete life. His normalcy changed at the age of 12. At that age he was removed from his home and impressed into the Angolan Army.
His normal existence was still that, normal I mean, a new normal. Brutal relationships replaced loving ones, his companions were still similar in some ways, and childhood friends grew with him into strong soldiers. Normal became a tough, unyielding, day by day process of staying alive, staying healthy, living under a shadow of fear.
Zau’s spirit stayed strong through this all, continued to grow, perhaps overwhelmed by the meagreness of his existence over the years, but his spirit prospered. He continued to love and honor relationships…
When Zau turned 18 his closest companion was killed during combat. Now understand that the normal procedure for fallen comrades was to bury them at the site. Zau did not want that for his friend, and did not want the family of his friend to always wonder what had happened to their cherished son.
So, picking up his friend, he left the battle field, making an irrevocable choice to truly believe in compassion and freedom. He carried his friend home, and left him in the village of his heart and life.
With that choice he also made the choice to leave the war, and the control and sadness that he had lived under, unwillingly for his past years. He left the county of Angola, and traveled, eventually ending in Rio de Janeiro, where he earned a living creating wonderful jewelry and leather work, and fathering the child of his heart, Zinga.
It came to pass that while he was selling his art in a city bazaar in Rio, he met the woman of his heart, my friend Karen Sorbo. They recognized the correctness of their love and he eventually left Rio to come to live in Minnesota with Karen. I had the honor of performing their wedding ceremony a few years ago, and it was right.
Every departure has some grief, and Zau was not able to bring his daughter home to Minnesota, she to this day remains in Rio with her mother. They live in a destitute area of the city, filled with gang fighting and drugs. He is unable to convince her mother to move.
At this time Zau visits her as often as he can, supports her and her mother. He wants to bring her home with him, but is not allowed by our governments to do so; he has no real rights as her father.
If any story I write has a goal, the goal of this story is to send out waves of love to Zau and Zinga, to send out waves of hope, and compassion and awareness. It is my goal to help Zau bring his daughter home with my words, and hopefully with the spirit and heart of you who are reading this.
My Mother Manages Life
14 Feb 2011 4 Comments
in family, random thoughts Tags: family, mother
My Mother’s life was tough, and hard, and has been very long. As a young child she was raised in a fair to middling economic status, and had aspirations to be a singing star. Her life spiraled away from that dream pretty quickly. At about the age of 14 she moved in with her oldest sister, and there she learned the hard way about what a relationship with a man was all about. I do not know details of that learning experience; I have just pieced together that knowledge for stories from my aunts, which I heard over the years. Later, at the age of 16 she married my father, a man 10 years her senior. He went away in the service during World War II and left her young, alone, and pretty lost in a town she did not know, with a mother in law that just did not show her much love. Her dreams of being a singing star still existed, but they were tempered by the reality of her life…imagine; being 16 and alone and lost…My father returned from his service and took her and her then unborn daughter to a farm in the backwoods of Iowa, no electricity, no running water, and she coped, she managed. Her first child was followed by 4 others, and she managed, she coped, and she loved her children in her best way.
When I was 7, her life was starting an upturn, her house had electricity, running water, and her husband had become economically stable. And then, in a strange accident, he fell from a light pole, hit his head on a concrete slab and died.
So again, Mother’s life took a sad turn. She floundered for a bit, dated a few guys, and then married Ed, when I was 12. Ed was steady and around, and industrious. He did love Mother. With Ed, my Mother adopted the first two of my youngest brother and sisters. She loved them.
Ed died of a brain aneurysm, by then I had left home and started my own somewhat dubious life of the time. Mom was alone with 2 kids, and she raised them in her best way.
And then she met Chuck, (I am pretty sure we all share the same opinion of Chuck), but in the midst of all of his con artist ways, he did assist Mother in adopting our youngest sister. So every thing has a blessing. Chuck she divorced after a number of years, after finally believing that he was not an honest man. He left her poor, farm sold, money gone.
And she raised her youngest daughter in her best way.
Finally came Bernie, and he was sweet. And he loved her, but shortly after the marriage, he became ill with emphysema and after some years of living with an oxygen tank, he passed away as well.
Mom is now 86, and has survived many very critical strokes; she lives with my oldest brother and his wife. They take marvelous care of her, and I think that although she may be fairly bored these days, (she is frustrated because her thoughts do not translate into clear words) She is content, and living a peaceful life.
My relationship with my Mom is unclear. I left home at 17, full of angst, and got into the habit of never communicating. But she is a good woman, with a history that spans nearly a century, and more living in her than can be known, and I love her in my way, and hopefully I can someday call it my best way.
A small family of three
02 Feb 2011 Leave a Comment
in family, People I Know, random thoughts, travel Tags: cowgirl, family, friends, people, spiritual, travel, women
When I was quite young, back in the very early 70′s, I hitchhiked with a friend; Diana (a self proclaimed native princess from New Jersey) all about the western states. One chilly afternoon found us on a deserted highway somewhere near Santa Fe. Walking for hours, we waved our thumb towards the occasional traffic. The sky was getting darker, rain clouds building up. Figuring that we were going to have to find someway to keep ourselves warm and dry, we settled into the top of a roadside ditch, pulling out our plastic parkas, putting on our warmest clothes. “Maybe”, we said, ” if we just sleep through the night we will be okay by morning.” As we were sitting, a pickup drove past, then, stopped and backed up to us. Jumping up, we ran to the side of the truck and tugged open the passenger door. A really big guy was in there; really big, with a smile that was even bigger. “Jump on up in” he hollered to us. We looked at each other, eyebrows raised, then, with a mutual shrug, jumped on up in.
And headed down the road. His music blared, and he sang along happily. I noticed that his truck was equipped with a hand brake, and a few other gadgets I did not understand. Seeing me looking, he turned down the music, and explained that he had lost the use of his legs in an accident years back. Life would never stop this man, he was destined to move forward every day! We eagerly conversed, riding through the storm, he with a great deal of interest, us with a sense of freeing relief, snuggled warm and safe in this giants cab.
This man, this stranger, took us to his home that night, fed us fried potatoes, coffee, and gave us a place to sleep, for no other reason, than friendship and the joy of giving.
Early in the morning he woke us up, apologizing for the early hours, and said he needed to show us something before dropping us at our next exit. Piling back into the truck, we drove into the morning, stopping on a bluff, overlooking the city, and there watched, while sipping from his thermos of coffee, enthralled, the sun rising with a glorious light, growing brighter with color and degree, until day had officially broken.
We were quiet, the three of us for the rest of the trip out to the main highway, us two women, continuing our journey, he, our new never seen again brother, content. We three had created a small family of the moment. And all was complete.
