Mother's Dreams

When this photo was taken my mother was young and single.   She had no way to predict that she would be granted ninety-three years of life on this planet or be partner in a marriage that lasted over fifty years, ending only with the death of my father.  She could have had no idea she would carry ten babies under her heart, but see only eight of them survive her.

She is so young in this photograph.  The slight smile on her face and the gleam in her eyes hint at a heart filled with dreams.  I will never know what those dreams were.  Never know how many of them came true.  I can guess that having grown up an orphan she was anxious to get out into the world to make a life of her own, but she never told me that.  She offered very few glimpses into the life she had led before this photo was taken.

On summer nights we used to sit on the front stoop and look at the stars.  She often talked about the dreams she had for my future.  The world was moving fast then, and she saw fantastic changes in technology coloring the world I would know.  She would make outrageous predictions, and we would laugh.  As the laughter faded and she grew quiet, her gaze would return to the stars.  We would sit quietly each lost in our thoughts.  How many of her thoughts were of the young girl in this photograph and the dreams in her heart?  She would not say, and I would never know.

Flights of Fancy: Ten Things of Thankful

I was working in the garden today when a fluttering nearby caught my eye.  A beautiful moth the size of my palm flapped and stumbled across the blades of grass. Curious, I moved closer.  The moth moved more frantically, but didn't fly away.  After watching for a bit I was convinced it was injured and unable to fly.  Worried for its safety, I moved it to the patio placing it in a potted plant.  I finished the task I had been working on and hurried back to the patio to see what could be done for the moth only to discover it was gone, apparently of its own free will. 

I thought about that moth long after it was gone.  It's been a while since something so simple has made me stop and take stock this way.  I let my imagination take flight with that moth, wondering, daydreaming, and remembering what it is like to be curious.

That lovely winged creature left me feeling gratitude to a degree I haven't experienced in a while.  Gratitude for the most simple of things.  In the end they are the things that matter the most.

Curiousity

Color

Nature

Surprise

Quiet

Gentleness

Creatures who ask nothing of me

Air

Relaxation

Beauty

Ten Things of Thankful

Summer's End

Only one more day.  I am due back on duty at school on August 1st.  I am not ready.  I have not stopped moving all summer long, working my way through my to-do list.  I ended the school year really wiped out.  I was certain I was more drained than I normally feel in May and I looked forward to the respite the summer would provide.  Now that my summer break has dwindled down to a matter of hours, I am not sure how well I refilled my reservoir.  Ready or not, I am heading back.  

In reality I know it is true that as each summer draws to a close I feel the same sense of disbelief.  The break always goes too quickly having been filled with far too many commitments to be truly refreshing.  This time of year always brings with it a degree of letting go--a skill I am not particularly good at.  

Below is a wistful look at summer's end a few years back...

The calendar may not reflect it, but summer is nearly gone. I consciously will the pace to slow, wanting to hang on to each passing day.

When summer ends my girls will go.  One to Tennessee; one to Texas. Both too far.

I love when we are all home.  We work all day and play in the night.  We are up too late and the morning arrives too early.  And so it goes.  But summer will end and my girls must go.  Their life awaits.

My tempo will be disrupted. I'll be off balance.  I will wander through their rooms, summer's sudden end making my footing uncertain. My world will move in slow motion.

I wouldn't have it any other way. The girls will be discovering their worlds and discovering who they are within those worlds.  They'll have much to tell. Messages will fly in two different directions and back again from each. Rapid-fire reports of challenges faced and victories won.

In time my footing will become more certain.  My days will fill again.  A busy patter of activity will make the days fly by.

I'll wake one day to wonder where the school year has gone.  Summer will be coming and my girls will be on their way home once more.

July 29, 2011

Currently

Discouraged by the events of the past couple weeks, I looked over some pieces I have written over time hoping to discover hope.  This piece written at this time of year five years ago reminds me that we have been through hard times before. The issues remain frighteningly constant.  We have known discouragement, and we have prevailed.  

Currently, the world is just a little mixed up.

Currently…

…I am saddened by the loss of civility in our culture.  The crass and vulgar language that is considered appropriate in public spaces makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.  The aggressive and disrespectful way people treat each other wears on me.

…I am furious that the interest rates on student loans are doubling, and that those we elected to represent us are doing nothing to stop it.

…I am worried that the wealthiest and most powerful are using their influence in a way that will insure there won’t be a middle class in America for my grandchildren.

…I am heartened by the young people I know personally who have strength, character and  humor despite the culture we have handed them.

…I am awed by every day heroes who reflect the very best in us as they selflessly rush in to eradicate danger.

…I am surrounded by miracles- Grown children who grasp the importance of family; plants that doggedly grow and bloom , sharing beauty regardless of the care I offer; babies on the way, new lives filled with potential.

…I am trying to leave the world a little better than I found it through love and compassion.

…I am comforted by the knowledge that I am not alone.

The world is a mess, that is true.  Still, it has been a mess before.  Time and time again we have seen that human beings hold within us the power to improve the world.  It will take effort and require a tireless insistence on our best.  We must not pander to our most base instincts.  We were not intended to be just another beast in the animal kingdom.  We are intended to rise above.

Currently, I believe in the promise we hold within us to heal.

Road Trips

1990- 2010 was the Era of Epic Road Trips for our family. We made multiple runs to the East coast from our Kansas home.  We thought nothing of buzzing up to Door County, Wisconsin with semi-frequency.  We loaded up our own wagon and traveled to every location where Pa Ingalls had settled the Little House gang.  From the Grand Canyon to the Statue of Liberty we saw the USA, and we did it while preserving quite a bit of the domestic tranquility.

We were blessed with three easy going kids which made the traveling feasible, but we also had a secret weapon…the little girl in this photo, Daughter #2 age five.  By this point she could out-pack me for the journey.  Those indoor/outdoor sunglasses are a tip-off that this young lady was ready for anything.  Wherever we traveled, she brought along a backpack filled with the most obscure items which we inevitably found ourselves needing.  Tape, chigger bite cream, a flashlight, a permanent marker, a bungee cord, all manner of safety items could be found in that red calico bag.  But she wasn’t merely practical, she also packed creature comforts.  Snacks, drinks, lotion, chap stick, stuffed animals, fuzzy socks, and most likely that set of Uno cards amusing her in the photo, all were things she could be counted on toting along as well.

The mere mention of an item one of us might find handy sent her riffling through her back pack.  Nine times out of ten she could lay her hands on the very item we were wishing for.  She wouldn’t say a word, but simply grin and hand it over.

She and I  make fewer epic road trips now that shuttling her back and forth between home and college not to mention our summer vacations have ended.  The last road trip we made was Kansas to North Carolina where she settled into her adult life.  Even on that trip she still thought of things we needed that I had forgotten, and still pulled them out of her bag with that same sly grin.  She is still a world class traveling companion.  In fact, the only that has really changed is her taste in sunglasses.

Mama Kat:Road Trip

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Sweet Corn

The father-in-law of one of the secretaries at my school has farmed his whole life.  Though he reached the age when many people retire years ago, there are parts of farming that he can’t let go.  Every year he grows sweet corn on a scale that must be considered more crop than garden.  Everyone at our school benefits from his efforts.

I decided to preserve the corn I received after finding food.com’s instructions for freezing fresh corn.  Step 1:Shucking the Corn is the kind of chore that can be done while your mind is  a million miles away.  My mind was on the back porch on a hot summer day in the early 1970s.  Sitting on the concrete stoop I happily worked through a stack of corn that someone had given to our family helping to stretch the food budget required to fill the bottomless bellies of so many growing children.

Corn on the cob was one of the best things about summer in my mind.  I could make a meal of buttery, sweet corn.  I loved pretending with my brothers that our corn eating was like fingers flying across the keys of a typewriter reaching the end of the page with a ding and returning to the other side for yet another line.

I took pride in my ability to remove more of the corn silks than my older brothers could.  No one would get a silk caught like floss in their teeth as long as I was performing quality control.  I often reworked ears of corn my brothers had deemed ready for the pot of boiling water shaking my head at their feeble attempts.

Step 2:  Cook the ears in boiling, salted water for four minutes.  The steam rising above my huge soup pot as I drop in each ear causes my glasses to fog over.  I think of my mother in her hot kitchen.  Our house was cooled–on those summers that it was cooled at all–by a single window air unit positioned in the living room at the farthest point from the kitchen possible.  Standing near the steaming pot in my own comfortable kitchen I suddenly remember that there was at some point during my childhood a unit in the window by the kitchen pantry.  I don’t recall it ever being there, but a memory of my dad removing it floats through my brain.  I am peeking at him from inside as he works outside the window.  Normally, he would grin at me but in this memory he is discouraged.  Why had I never made the connection between this memory and the many memories of my mother’s flushed face as she stood working at the hot stove?

Step 3:  Lay the ears on a clean dishtowel to drain and cool.
Step 4: Once cooled to the touch, stick the end of an ear into the opening of the center tube of an angel food or bundt cake pan.  Using a paring knife cut the kernels from the cob letting them fall into the cake pan.  Going through the motions I can’t help but notice how much my hands have come to resemble my mother’s. Her hands are the things I remember most vividly about her perhaps because they were always moving, always delving into some project that would directly benefit me.

Step 5: Melt butter (1/3 cup was perfect for a dozen ears) , drizzle over the corn and toss.  Place corn in an airtight container and freeze.

I tasted the corn before slipping it into my freezer and smiled at the same buttery goodness I remember from my childhood.  I started this project with the idea I was preserving corn, but came to understand I was really preserving memories.  Memories of childhood summers with simple pleasures in a family who surrounded me in love.

TToT: Throwback to Summers Past

…back in Kansas,  there is much to be thankful for.

Little kids and their great sense of style.  How can you go wrong with a red glitter visor and patriotic tutu skirt?  Not to mention the confidence to wear it in public!

Rain that brings the temperature out of the “hazardous” range and offers a life saving drink to the outdoor plants.

Watermelon.  Cold, juicy watermelon.

Summer binge reading.  

An example of graciousness: Sunday at church an elderly gentleman mistook a decorative gem stone for a mint, placing it in his mouth and causing concern among the crowd.  I attempted to get him to spit it out for fear he would choke, but only succeeded in confusing and embarrassing him.  Soon after, a lady sitting near us reached for her purse.   Pulling out a tissue she lightly folded it into a square, leaned over to him and said, “When you are finished with what you have in your mouth go ahead and slip it into the tissue.”  Genius, unadulterated genius.  He swished the hard stone around his mouth a couple more times before discretely depositing it into the tissue.  Not only did she stave off a choking disaster, she allowed him to retain his dignity.  Her gracious act was a thing of beauty.

Sun tea by the gallon.  Cold and crisp.

Mammographic proof of healthy breasts.  And 364 days of smoosh-free existence.  I am never quite ready for my close-up.

Watching my friend at her father’s funeral this week, I was reminded of my mom’s funeral a few years ago.  My kids surrounded me with both physical and emotional support.  It is one of my earliest memories of them all three as adults, roles reversed with them caring for me.  The pride and affection of the memory is still as strong as it was in the moment; I am tremendously grateful for these three people who make life pretty much as good as it gets.

~~~~~~~~

The entry above was written several summers ago.  I happened across it today as I was deleting some old files from my computer, and it was a timely reminder of how much of what is really good in life remains the same from year to year.  As another week comes to an end I remain thankful for all that gives refreshment, for the love of family, the company of friends,  the innocence of childhood, the written word, and fathers.  This week I am especially thankful that I never had to face the possibility of someone beyond my control separating me from my children; and though it has been far too long in coming I am grateful that faith leaders are raising their voices to say that our government doing this to families is morally and spiritually wrong.

Ten Things of Thankful

My Child Bride

Mama Kat

Arguably my child's favorite moments of summer.

Le Professeur was home from North Carolina this week sporting an engagement ring, and traveling in tandem with a young man.  We had a wedding to-do list a mile long to work our way through before they left.  The task that was most memorable was choosing a wedding dress.  

This is the child who has long been notorious for her inability to make choices while shopping.  So, we headed out to what we were certain was only the first of about one thousand trips to dozens of bridal stores.  Her sister and I settled into cushioned chairs for what promised to be a long night and let the magical parade begin.

We made notes in a binder about what we liked and disliked about each dress thinking we would narrow down which styles to try on at each successive visit. 

Because every single dress looked fabulous on her, we soon found eliminating them to be a challenge.  We switched our strategy to identifying the crème de la crème.

Some took me back to her ballerina days requiring a brief intermission so that I could regain my composure (and find something more appropriate than my sleeve to wipe away spontaneous tears).

In an unexpected twist, we found "the" dress in under two hours.  It is beautiful, and she is stunning in it.  These things are top secret, of course, and there is the matter of the groom not seeing her wearing it before the wedding.  So, for now I leave you with the above photo---just a hint of more to come.

To you, mon petit chou, you will make  the most lovely of brides, but always know that you don't need lace or jewels to be beautiful in my eyes.  I love you.  

All American Thanks

July 4th is always bittersweet to me.  It marks the half-way point of summer.  Sure enough my notification of the first day back to school popped up on my phone that very day leaving me feeling a bit melancholy.  

The glass-half-full side of this equation is that half of summer remains...long days of rest and restoration, days set aside to tick a number of items off my ongoing to-do list, days to spend along side family and friends.

Those remaining days of summer will be packed with some of my favorite things: vine-ripened tomatoes, juicy peaches, a family reunion, natural wonders in the sky, books, laughter, my own backyard, and no matter how messy things get summer brings me a joy in witnessing another year of democracy in the land that I love.

TToT

A Look Back at a Pretty Great June

June brought me some of the best that summer has to offer:

A road trip across America that took me to Missouri,

North Carolina,

Kentucky (and Tennessee too),

and Illinois.

After a week of home projects with my daughter in North Carolina, I returned to Kansas where along with my other daughter and my sister I helped tackle major wall paper removal.

As the home improvements slowed down, I visited the garden and noticed signs that the first round of potatoes were ready to be dug.  They are delicious! 

Oh, June, if only I could figure out a way for you to come more than once a year!

http://www.mamakatslosinit.com

Sharing photos that best represent my June.

I Love June

I love June!  School is done for the year, and I feel a sense of accomplishment as I wrap up a few final details on my To-Do List at work. I renew my mental and physical energy with rest, reading, and puttering around the house. The days are warm and bright without being oppressively hot.  Next month you will find me hiding indoors from heat and humidity, but now I stroll through the yard and neighborhood daily.  The lawn is green and the flowers bright.  My spirits are lifted.  Best of all June brings the gift of time.  Time to tackle projects that have weighed heavily on my mind.  Time to hang out with people I love.  Ah, June, I am glad you are here.

TToT

Main Street Paducah and Grab Bags

A few more scenes from main street Paducah.

Walking through downtown on a summer Sunday in Paducah, Kentucky my mind drifted to the downtown of my childhood hometown.

I recalled the end-of-summer sales at all the stores along the street.  Sidewalk sales and Moonlight Madness.  Merchants would dress in colorful pajamas and stay open late. A long table of sale items sat outside every storefront on Pomeroy Avenue.

A perennial sales ploy was the grab bag.  Store owners would take odds and ends, items which hadn't sold through the year, and stick them in sealed brown paper lunch bags.  Shoppers could choose any of the bags for a set price.

My mom was a moth to the flame with these grab bags.  It didn't matter that they were filled with merchandise that the store-owner was betting she would not buy if she could see what it was.  There was something about concealing it from view that presented it in a way that suggested that she would get more than her fifty cents worth. It hooked her every year.

I suppose we all want to get something for nothing.  And there is something truly exciting about the potential that lies just out of view.  Whatever the reason, grab bags were my mother's Vegas.  She would take the bet every time.

But just like Vegas, the house always wins.  Stores unloaded their unwanted merchandise and pocketed a bit of change.  Mom tore into her paper bag with anticipation.  Always within minutes the items were tossed aside adding to the clutter of an already overpacked home.

It seemed like such a waste to me.  Mom, save your money, I would think.  It is not like you have lots to spare, and heaven knows we don't need any more junk.

 It has taken me a long time to figure out that it wasn't the grab bag she was purchasing.  It was the promise of what might be.  The slight possibility that the oyster might just one time contain a pearl.

              

Every once in a while I still see a grab-bag table at a store or charity event.  I stop for just a minute to watch, but never buy.  Over time my view of grab-bags has mellowed to a pleasant realization that they don't merely represent an attempt to unload leftovers.  They also represent the  unquenchable optimism of a lady in Kansas with a boatload of kids and barely enough money to make ends meet.  A lady who never gave up hope.

Inspired by Change: My Attitude