Greetings to my followers:
Poet Kellie Elmore posts a weekly Free Write Friday and this weeks challenge is “M is For Mom” (see link here if you want to check it out or participate: ( http://kellieelmore.com/2013/05/10/fwf-free-write-friday-m-is-for-mom/). Here you can read entries from other bloggers about their moms.
This week I entered an older posting from October (with some edits ) entitled : Remembering My Mother.
I hope that you will read it here with this link:
HAPPY MOTHERS DAY!
The young woman with big brown eyes
Born with a glint in her eyes
Always looking
Always questioning
Always laughing
The sun seemed never ending
She was full of romantic notions
and innocence about love
Presented with a trinket
betrothed and full of hope
The older woman with big brown eyes
Always scared
Always questioned
Always somber
She was full of anxiety
and suspicion about love
The rain seemed never-ending
Days, weeks and months
filled with the static of lies and abuse
The free woman
living with a new perspective in her eyes
Always smiling
Always present
Always embracing
Life to its fullest
Many thanks to Kellie Elmore for the Free Write Friday inspiration!
http://kellieelmore.com/2013/05/03/fwf-free-write-friday-word-bank-6/
(Photo courtesy of changingwomen.org)
I go to bed with words
Swimming, dancing and floating in my head
They permeate my dreams
Flowing in and out of my consciousness
And sparking my imagination as I sleep
They hold me in a tight embrace
Like a red-hot lover
I give in to the feelings
Opening up, yielding and surrendering
Discovering and Uncovering
Parts of me that were unknown
Hidden deep inside my soul
Each turn of phrase is like a soft kiss on my lips
Words whispering in my ear
An audible sigh
A loud cry
Replete, Present, Fully-formed
When you were last here a snowstorm stranded us
We were hot with cabin fever
This morning I rise alone
Chilled by the longing for you
I know that I need to wait
Spring is beginning its slow unfolding
The grass is getting greener by the day
The bare trees are just beginning to bud
The forsythias are in full bloom
I watch the sun rise from my bedroom window
I know that I need to wait
I go out to greet the day
Morning is stirring here, just a bit
The air has a hint of warmth
I listen for the early sounds of the day
I know that I need to wait
I hear the tearful coos of the mourning dove
The rat-ta–tat- tat of the woodpecker
The singsong serenade of the cardinal
Work keeps an ocean between us
I know that I need to wait
I hear the low hum of the traffic
and the long low whistle of the train
Runners emerge for their daily exertion
I return home to face another day
And know that I need to wait
Eyes once full of innocence and mischief
Smiles that lit up like the noon day sun:
Momma’s boys
Kicking and screaming their way through
the rocky years of teenage sullenness and rebellion:
Nobody’s boys
Growing, changing, emerging and becoming
solid, well-grounded, caring, respectful and focused:
Momma’s men
Oh, the comfort – the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person – having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.Dinah Craik, A Life for a Life, 1859
I am glad that Valentine’s Day is over! Don’t get me wrong, I am by nature a hopeless romantic. But I find that our culture celebrates a false notion of love on this particular day. Is love really about jewelry, fancy restaurants, flowers, or the most expensive Hallmark card? Like I said to my fiance’, ” I don’t need this one day for you to show your love for me.” Moreover, it can make those individuals who are not part of a couple feel left out and even unworthy of love.
I do not believe that love can actually be defined; it is too big of an idea and feeling to be boxed in by a metaphorical dictionary. But I would like to get down to the nitty-gritty of what love really is and its importance in our routine, sometimes mundane lives. During the blizzard last week, I came across the well-known I Corinthians passage: Love is patient, love is kind, etc. This is recited ad nauseum at weddings and as a result (at least for me) it has lost its sincerity. Perhaps if more of us were actually paying attention and practicing its message, we would have more long-lasting and healthy relationships with our partners, friends and family.
I first learned the power and fierceness of love when I became a mother. Children have a way of forcing you to get outside of yourself. My sons taught me the beauty of ordinary moments-holding hands, hugs, smiles and laughter. Reading books, playing games and just being together were enough for both them and me. They taught me patience (although it took a long time!). Each of my sons was born a unique individual-not a reflection of me or their father. They helped me to understand and accept them for who they are and not what our culture expects them to be as males. Through them, I learned that love is transcendental; I will never forget the look of love that my parents had the moment they first met my sons. Love abides deep within all of us, no doubt.
I learned what love was not through their father. I Corinthians states: “Love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way.” In healthy partnerships, there is always room for support, rejoicing in one another’s accomplishments, listening to each other’s concerns and always, always kindness. I heard one too many times: “If you don’t like it, there’s the door.” I thought that by loving him and providing him with two beautiful sons, it would be enough to ease his restless heart. But for him it was better to be irritable, resentful and to rejoice in wrongdoing.
The antithesis of abuse is love. It is through my beloved that I rejoice in truth and true love. When we first started dating, my fiance’ said: “We can make this a vacation relationship or a normal relationship. I want to go to church with you, spend time with the boys and help you with things around the house. I want to meet your friends.” In essence, he wanted to be with me.
Everyday Love is what brings us peace. I am at once astounded and amazed by the positive energy that is brought through the simplest of acts of love. Just yesterday, as I was coming home from the movies, I noticed that two lights were left on for my arrival. My oldest left them on for me as he knew that I would be coming back in the dark. Today, his girlfriend shoveled in front of the garage so I could get things done in the house (writing this piece and baking brownies!). Everyday Love is what keeps us safe and secure. My youngest doesn’t need me to be Superwoman or to provide him with material things; he wants what was partly missing for him in the past four years. A present parent-one who listens, supports his endeavors and provides a soft place to land. As for me, I wanted a level of intimacy with a man that rose above the physical relationship ( not that I any qualms with that!). My fiance’ loves me unconditionally. He believes in me. He is humble in his generosity towards me and my sons. His Everyday Love is at once a nirvana, an oasis and one that never ends.
photo credit: www.wellhappypeaceful.com
* This post is being republished in honor of Mother’s Day and as part of poet Kellie Elmore’s Free Write Friday challenge: http://kellieelmore.com/2013/05/10/fwf-free-write-friday-m-is-for-mom/. Enjoy and Happy Mother’s Day!
A mother’s love is instinctual, unconditional, and forever.
– unknown
I do not recall a time when I did not feel lucky to have my mother. Oddly enough, when my brother and I were growing up, she was known as the meanest mom in the neighborhood because she was so strict. Rules were simple: make your bed every day (with hospital corners), clean up after yourself, do the dishes, and come when she called you in for dinner. In fact, we had to say that we were coming or she would keep calling our names so that the entire neighborhood could hear her! Bedtime was the same time every night, even during summer vacation. It seemed quite unfair to be lying in bed while the rest of our friends were still outside playing at dusk!
But while my mother was strict, she never withheld her love and affection for us. She always paid attention. She was involved on various levels in our activities, whether it was being the church choir mother or a fervent supporter of our running. She included us in her dessert making forays. I loved her homemade frosting; most especially when she let my brother and I eat the frosting off the mixer blade. My mother made the best macaroni and cheese; although as a little girl I did turn my nose up at it. I cannot remember why, to tell you the truth! Perhaps it was because when I did, she always put aside a bowl of elbows with butter just for me. It was a smooth and creamy mixture made with processed American cheese, butter, elbow macaroni and milk. She would line a baking bowl with butter, place squares of cheese on the sides and then add layers of pasta, cheese and top it off with just the right amount of milk. Many of my childhood memories are steeped with the tastes and smells of my mother’s cooking. I believe it was one of the best ways to show us that she loved us. It was also a way that she could show off her creative side. As the years rolled by, my mother’s cooking evolved to fit the latest healthy cooking trends of the time (good-bye canned vegetables and red meat!). She also had an extensive cookbook collection from which she would talk about (in great detail) and experiment with her newest recipe. I am sure that my mother’s love for cooking and passion for food are the reasons that I enjoy them both. To this day, I still want to call her up and ask her for cooking advice. For me, this is one of the hardest parts of losing her; she was always on the other end of the line to give me tips -which started off as cooking and quickly segued to the real reason that I was calling her.
My mother’s other passion was her unending love for my father. This was consistently evident when we were growing up. She used to bring him his juice in bed in the morning and his beer at night! When he would be relaxing on the couch, she would often appear out of nowhere and jump on top of him and smother him with kisses. My brother and I would groan with the predictable response of “EEW!” of course. To the outsider, it would appear that she always catered to him. But my mother always said, “People may see what I do for daddy but they never see what he does for me.” I know now that they always put their love for one another and their marriage first and foremost. I am certain that this is why my brother and I love like we do and believe in commitment (despite my own circumstances).
My mother came from the generation where women were expected to marry young and have children. Higher education was not a priority. But during my elementary school years, my mother was bored at home with my brother and me gone most of the day. So, she took a “mother’s hours” job as a cafeteria worker in the local schools. It was a great way for her to use her skills and love for cooking and still be there for my brother and me. This was during the early 1970’s and many women were affected by the cultural shifts of the women’s movement. Some were returning to school, others divorcing or at least beginning to make small shifts in their marital roles. Years later, when I was a grown woman, she and I were talking about relationships. She said to me, “It took me 15 years to realize that I had an opinion in my marriage.” This was about 1974, just as the women’s movement was taking hold. Let me be clear, I am in no way claiming that my mother was oppressed- she was not. I believe that she, like other women (and men for that matter) was beginning to understand themselves outside roles as wives and mothers.
I will never forget the day when my mother received the news that she had been accepted as the payroll master in the Treasurer’s Department of our local state hospital. It was my birthday and I had just gotten a phone call saying that I was accepted at my #1 college choice. For some reason, neither my father nor brother was home that night so she and I went out for Chinese food to celebrate. We never had Chinese food before and I remember it as an especially good meal. To this day, I can even picture where we were sitting in the restaurant! My mother worked in that position for 19 years until she retired. She was beloved by the patients and was known for her compassion, attention and humor. Often, she was the only outside contact for these people and she made each one of them feel special.
My mother loved her grandsons and they were equally crazy about her. We were so blessed that my parents lived close by. My sons always knew that both my parents loved them and would be there for them. I remember being in awe at the immediate love that my mother had for her first grandson (my oldest). I learned that love has the power to span generations when my mother became a grandmother. And when I became a mother, I also learned the fierceness of a mother’s love. My mother helped me to become a good and then a better mother as the boys were growing up. She would also remind them of how much I loved them. During his teen years, my youngest son was rebelling and giving me a hard time (this was also when the divorce had taken place). After she was diagnosed with terminal cancer, he and I took a trip to see her. She and my son had a chance to spend some one on one time together. They talked of many things, not the least of which was how much I loved him. She also reminded him that he only had one mother. It was to be the last conversation that they would have and it proved to be powerful. Because of it, my son began to make his journey back to me.
My mother kept me strong. During my divorce process, she was consistently available to offer sound advice and words of encouragement. She never allowed me to give up or give in. Better still, she was absolutely thrilled when I began dating the man that was a member of their local running club. She had subtly played matchmaker some five months before we took the plunge and was ecstatic when we made it “official”. Some three weeks before she died, she told a friend that he was her “parting gift to my daughter.”
As I sit here today, I know my mother would be proud of me. My sons are on solid ground and well on their way to becoming well rounded men. I have landed on my feet and have developed the confidence to make my own decisions that will allow me to have a solid future both financially and emotionally. She would be equally proud that I am finally a budget conscious fashion diva! My mother had a wonderful sense of style and for years I didn’t catch on- I was a blue jeans and sneakers (or boots) type of gal who wore no make-up. I can see her saying “I always told you that you were beautiful.”
On Saturday , November 3rd, I headed down to Tampa Bay to help with the fourth annual Purple Stride race that helps raise funds for pancreatic cancer research. Pancreatic cancer is the fourth leading cancer killer and the least funded (2%) of all cancers. The race in the Bay area was the brain child of my mother whose hope was to participate in it before she died. Unfortunately, she did not make it. I know that she would be happy, however, to see how much the event has grown over the years. Through the leadership of my father (who serves as race director) and the dedication of others, fundraising has grown from $45,000 the first year to a goal of $140,000 this year. Friends and family ran and walked for team Patty-Me-Girl.
Though my mother is gone from this earth, I feel her presence within and around me every day. Sometimes I find myself saying the things that she would say or even acting like she would in certain situations. I definitely see myself in her. And that is a very good thing!
Where there is great love there are always miracles –
Willa Cather
The LOVE JAR. Well, that’s what we call it, anyway. The blue and gray pottery jar with the cork lid sits on the counter near the dishwasher. “Unconditional Love” is engraved across the front. We’ve had that jar for seven years now and it has been incorporated into our family’s language. It was given to us when life as we knew it blew up. Julia’s gift brought me immediate inspiration and became a vehicle for the three of us to experience joy and laughter. When I brought it home to the boys, I told them that the jar would be a means for us to make good memories. Then we came up with an astounding idea: “Let’s go to New York City!” So, we devised a plan to put away as much money as possible into our “LOVE JAR”. Both boys immediately broke open their over-sized piggy banks and poured their change into the jar. I emptied my wallet of loose coins and spare one dollar bills. My oldest son, (who worked at an after school job at the local grocery store) volunteered to contribute a portion of his paycheck to it. My youngest son agreed that anytime he received money as a gift, he would put it in the jar. Spare change from each grocery store excursion was added. We even began to find money on the ground-some in major denominations! When we told friends about our trip to the Big Apple, they would drop money in the jar whenever they visited.
The jar was magical! When I called my aunt to ask if we could stay with her for four days (she lives in the vicinity), she said that she would be thrilled to have us. We were relieved to know that we would be staying in a safe place with someone who knew and loved us. The trip was to take place right after Christmas- just in time for the school winter break. And we were ready! We met our savings goal and off we went.
It is difficult to put into words how it felt to be in the warm embrace of my aunt’s hospitality and generosity. Not only were we fed and sleeping in warm beds, but my aunt drove us each day to the train station and presented the three of us with rail passes for the duration. When we went into the city one last time, she handed me cash and told me that I’d better not come home with any change! The trip was the first of our many happy new memories that we were making during that time. And it would not have been possible if not for Julia’s thoughtfulness.
Needless to say, we came home from the trip with money to spare. It resided in the LOVE JAR where it continued to be depleted and replenished over time. The jar has become a reliable resource for us. We took a second trip to the city six months later, seeing new sights and enjoying warmer weather. It helped us enjoy our “Celebration of Three” party that spring. Part of our recent weekend trip to the mountains was funded by the jar. Sometimes we use it to buy something as simple as a stamp, a gallon of milk, or a loaf of bread. To this day, friends still put money in whenever they visit.
The LOVE JAR is my family’s miracle. It was a way for the three of us to begin to heal from one of life’s worst heartaches and become a whole family in a different way. We take care of each other. We rely on each other. We hold one another up. We love one another unconditionally. The LOVE JAR has restored our faith in the meaning of and power in family. THANK YOU JULIA!
I always loved running…
it was something you could do by yourself,
and under your own power.
You could go in any direction,
fast or slow as you wanted,
fighting the wind if you felt like it,
seeking out new sights
just on the strength of your feet
and the courage of your lungs.
-Jesse Owens
Well, I cannot say that I have always loved running. After all, I have been involved with the sport on various levels for forty years. And like all committed relationships, we have had our ups and downs. Because I started running when I was just eleven years old, I really didn’t know what I was getting into-much like a very young bride! My father was a very enthusiastic runner of five years when he encouraged my brother and I to enter the sport. I think that he saw the positive opportunities that running had offered him and wanted the same for us. Also, the early seventies was an especially heady time for young girls and women to participate in races. The support for us was very strong despite the infamous photograph of Jock Semple’s attempt to pull Kathryn Switzer from the Boston Marathon!
I suppose you could call the beginning phase of my running marriage the “honeymoon period.” At the time, I ran with lots of boys as there were no girl teams during my preteen years. The playing field was equal because many of us were first time runners. There was only one other girl (that I recall) who joined the group and we became fast friends. We ran together every day and the two of us would go on to join future teams as we approached our high school years. In fact, the very first running club that we joined had its own women’s team. I remember being amazed at the ages of some of the women on the team- could women over 30 or even 40 really run? Weren’t they too old? I believe that these women were the true pioneers of the sport, having entered it later in life as wives and mothers. Women whose own generation had little or no access to organized sports as young girls.
My teenage years were by far the most intense running period, no doubt. This is just like the first few years of a marriage, really. The honeymoon is over and it becomes time to settle in and get serious. So, I ran every day, logging in 50-70 miles per week and participating on two teams-one at my high school and one AAU women’s team. (By then,My friend and I had gone on to join a nationally ranked women’s cross country and track and field team.) Also, about half way through high school, our town had finally allowed a separate girls team to participate in league meets. Running on both teams was exceptional-each had a unique running culture. By the time the high school team was formed, I had already gained a reputation as a serious runner, both for running with the boys and also for the fact that I completed a marathon at 14 years old! Much was expected of me in terms of performance and leadership skills. Also, I had to get used to a different coach as my dad was (and always will be) my first and best coach.
The AAU team was a different entity altogether. There was a core group of girls who were the elite runners. They were highly talented and able to compete and consistently win on the regional and national level. (Eventually the international level as well- one of them won the first women’s Olympic Marathon). It was a privilege to be a part of the team as it allowed for opportunities to travel all over the Northeast region with a van full of like-minded girls and their very dedicated coach. These were the days before walkmans and ipods so we would often blast music on the van’s radio; we listened to Bruce Springsteen (Born to Run), Queen and other big rock groups from that era. It was a thrill to travel to New York City and compete in the country’s first Bonne Bell 10k in Central Park. Women and girls were IT- Helen Reddy’s “I Am Woman” was playing loud and proud before the gun went off. As a result of running with the team, I became a better runner because I was running with faster women. My hard work paid off and, at 16, I was able to go with the team to the nationals in California. Eventually, my efforts caught the eye of a college coach as well. Because I was a scholarly student as well as a devoted runner, I was given the chance to apply and subsequently be accepted to an excellent university.
And that’s when things began to shift for me. Sure, I went off to college and joined the requisite team, going to practices, running in races, eating and socializing only with runners. But it started to feel old and stale and repetitive. I was hopelessly distracted by a boy ( a runner like me, but a senior with a reputation as a bad boy) and frankly, I wanted to party on a Friday night and not get up early for practice or a race! By the time I was a sophomore, I was done competing- burned out and physically a mess. All the mileage I had put in as developing teenager had resulted in a painful, degenerative disk in my back. Looking back, as much as it spiritually pained me to leave the sport, I knew that I needed a break.
I suppose you can liken this period to a major transformation in a marriage (illness or the addition of children, for example). How do relate to one another as a result of this major alteration? At first, it was simple: very little exercise as I explored other avenues of interests and friends. Then upon graduation, I cycled a bit and walked everywhere. Still, the nagging back issue persisted to the point where I literally could not move. I have a vivid memory of trying to board a bus so I could go vote and being unable to step up. I was just 23 years old and felt 90! Luckily, a chiropractor lived in my neighborhood and with his help, I began a very long journey to healing.
Essentially, my twenties came and went without any attention to running at all. I kept in shape by walking, riding a stationary bike and doing occasional weight lifting. I got married and by the time I was 32, I had given birth to two babies. My back held up during the two pregnancies and subsequent births of two very big boys ( especially #2!!) Plus, I was doing aerobics regularly and pushing a carriage everywhere I went. It was at this point that my then husband encouraged me to start running again. Coincidentally, this was the same age that my father began his running career! So, I gave it a shot- at first doing the walk/run thing and then eventually working up to Saturday morning runs with other busy moms.
My thirties were certainly the “comeback” period of running for me. I felt a renewed sense of commitment but on different terms than before. I was a grown woman who was able to make her own decisions about where, when and how far she wanted to run. Running was a choice and not the chore that it had become nearly a decade earlier. Eventually, at 38, I competed in a half-marathon. During the training, I never felt lonely and, in truth, felt a great sense of freedom and renewal during those times. I also spent time running with my father again. It was a terrific- we were both adults and our runs were filled with long conversations. I fell in love with running again!
By the time I reached 40, I was learning to balance running with the other parts of my life. When I had the opportunity to return to work full time, carving out a running schedule was a priority. My dedication to the sport was unyielding. I arose before dawn and would run despite the cold and darkness. I learned to be alert for wildlife and was awed each morning watching the sun rise as I finished the last mile. I was not the competitor that I was once was-only entering races sporadically throughout the year. Instead, running took on a different face-becoming my solace, stress reliever and saving grace.
Running in many ways was like taking medication. When my husband wanted a divorce when I was 46, running kept me steady and sane (or as sane as one could be during that upheaval!). I was also in graduate school, working and raising teenage boys at the time. Running cleared my head, organized my thoughts and made me more productive. By the time my forties ended, I had successfully completed graduate school (4.0!), gone through the divorce process, fell in love again and trained for and competed in a half-marathon!
So here I am, happily in my early fifties having caught the half-marathon bug. The training schedule is not grueling and the race distance is just right for me. I try to enter two races per year if I can. One of the best parts of the preparation is knowing that I will be running with the man I love. Our connection with one another has helped me to continuously strengthen my commitment to the sport. It is a heart warming feeling knowing that another person is there to support and guide you through the good days and bad days. He helps me keep it real-pushing me when I need it and helping me back off -especially when I am injured.
One thing that I have learned in this long term marriage is the value of patience. Too many times when I was young, I didn’t allow myself to think about what I was doing during races or practices. My body was in the game but not my head.
I didn’t think about how I was feeling and then when I did, I wanted to run from it. I was tired of the effort. How many of you go through similar feelings in relationships? It is easy to throw in the towel and go on to something else. I think what I was experiencing during that time was a need for a separation. As I said earlier, it hurt me emotionally to leave. But the break was necessary in order for me to begin my journey back. It was the first step in learning to be patient with myself and with the sport. I needed to come back on my own terms in order to create a deeper and lasting relationship. Also, it is a relationship that allows for balance. Now I supplement running with hot yoga and three days of strength training. They enhance my practice and at times substitute for it.
Any healthy relationship is one in which you use your heart and your head. Runners do not always use the latter (or else they let it get in the way but it is the same idea). We suffer from a burning desire to move; we want to see how far our legs and feet will take us. As long as we are not running from something it’s okay. Run to please yourself. Run because you find joy in the going. Run with others. Then you’ll know that your heart is in the right place!
Building A Life Of Hope 