Generations

April 8, 2016March 20, 2017 Sally8 Comments

G is for generations.

I wanted so badly to have Philip meet my grandfather, my father’s father. He was a great guy.

Bud and I had made a trip home that fall when I was pregnant, but that was the last time I would see my grandfather. On the next trip, when Philip was 6 weeks old, we attended my grandfather’s memorial service.

Nana, my father’s mother, was still alive, but she was quite ensnared in the web of Alzheimer’s. Still, there’s something about holding a baby that reaches beyond those cobwebs, and touches something deep inside.

Babies are magical beings with superpowers. A sleeping baby brings calm to a turmoiled spirit. A smile from a baby can soften the hardest heart, and a giggle can melt a glacier.

I’ll never forget when Philip brought his little boy, Henry, to meet my mother. My mother rarely smiled toward the end. Not real smiles that reached her eyes, anyway. She still occasionally laughed, but that usually bled into tears, and it was for strange things, like a recitation of Paul Revere’s Ride.

But Henry — Philip gently placed Henry in my mother’s arms and still held his hands there to support Henry lest she forget. He was so tiny at the time.

My mother gazed down at this tiny creature who snuggled against her bosom. Instinctively she patted his back, and then looked up at us with one of the best smiles in a long, long time.

My father has that picture out. He looks at it periodically.

“Look how happy Mom is there,” he’ll say.

Yes, she is.

Henry will never remember that day anymore than Philip would have remembered meeting my grandfather if things had worked out.

But I’ll remember my mother’s smile that day.

A smile is a good thing to remember.

Father

April 7, 2016March 20, 2017 Sally10 Comments

My father drove twice a day every day to visit my mother in the nursing home.

Noon meal.

Evening meal.

He patiently encouraged her to eat. When she wouldn’t feed herself, he fed her. Through them, I watched that final scene of Driving Miss Daisy over and over and over.

Hoke: Looka here. You ain’ eat yo’ Thanksgiving pie. Lemme hep you wid this.

My father gently fed my mother.

He slowly pushed her wheelchair through the halls and for walks in the courtyard, sitting to rest himself as needed.

He held her hand when they sat together.

They were still two-become-one but in smaller ways that were really bigger than the ocean.

When she passed away, even though she had been disappearing in dribs and drabs over so many years, he was lost.

F is for my father, for whom I ache, who is benevolence, who does and does and does, and did and did and did.

His love and devotion for my mother sets the bar high for the rest of us,

A to Z Blogging Challenge · family

Do

April 5, 2016April 21, 2017 Sally14 Comments

The very best advice ever given to me was given by my mother-in-law.

When I had just one little boy, life was fun. Oh, I thought it was hard because he didn’t sleep very well, but, all in all, it was fun. I had plenty of hands and plenty of help.

When I went from one to two, life just got funner.

Going from two to three, though, meant that I ran out of hands, but that was okay. Backpacks and front carriers worked well.

From three to four presented a problem. I had no where else to put a child.

Myrtle Beach - 1993 — Myrtle Beach – 1993

Somewhere in that two-three-four child range, I realized I was really struggling to do this job. My mother-in-law raised thirteen children. Well, actually, fourteen, because a cousin came to live with them when her mother died. I asked my mother-in-law one day how she did it.

“You just do,” she said. That’s all there is to it.

D is for Do.

“Fred” asked me a riddle the other day, “How do you eat an elephant?”

I think he was hoping I would say, “With an elephant fork,” but I knew the answer — one bite at a time.

You just do.

You take one step forward. Then another. Then another.

That advice helped me through child-rearing, and later, in the midst of adult caregiving. Caring for someone with dementia is not unlike caring for small children.

When life is overwhelming, look around for something you can do — some small thing, a baby step you can take forward or even sideways, a tiny bite you can take of the elephant.

Do.

Family Reunion — My mother-in-law (center) surrounded by the fruits of her “do”-ing — 2011

A to Z Blogging Challenge · Faith · family

Community

April 4, 2016March 20, 2017 Sally5 Comments

John 5 begins with the story of Jesus at the Bethesda pool where lay “a multitude of invalids.” The belief was that after an angel troubled the waters, the first one in was healed. Jesus spoke with a man who had been there for thirty-eight years.

“Do you want to be healed?” Jesus asked him.

“Sir, I have no one,” the man replied. No one to put him into the pool when the water is stirred. A multitude of invalids, but each concerned for himself.

To have no one.

In contrast —

C is for Community.

My father and mother enjoyed traveling after my father retired, but as my mother’s dementia grew worse, traveling became more difficult. One night in New York City, my father awoke to hear the heavy hotel door click shut and realized that my mother was no longer in the room. He found her in the hallway. Another time she got away from him at the airport, and still another time she wandered off in Greece.

On that trip to Greece, their last big trip, the other ladies in the tour group saw the need and began watching out for my mother. What began as a group of strangers ended as a caring group.

My mother and father on their trip to Greece

Strangers at the start, friends by the end

“Without a sense of caring, there can be no sense of community.” Anthony J. D’Angelo

Community doesn’t have to be intimate to be functional. Even a small thing, like holding the door open for someone struggling with mobility, can be an act of community. It says, “I am willing to help you, even if it inconveniences me a little.”

Sometimes community is very intimate. I was horrified to see that my mother had had an incidence with incontinence while visiting an old friend of my father. “Oh! I’m so sorry!” I had said when my mother stood to go. “Let me get something to clean that!”

“No, no,” the woman had said. “Your job is to take care of your parents. I can clean this up.”

Community.

Looking out for one another.

Circling the wagons in Greece, in Florida, in Cooperstown.

We can be community to those we encounter. We just need to be willing.

A to Z Blogging Challenge · family

Benevolence

April 2, 2016March 20, 2017 Sally12 Comments

My father and I went to dinner at the Council Rock Brewery last night for their Friday night fish fry. If you should ever be so fortunate as to spend a Friday night in Cooperstown, by all means, go to Council Rock for dinner and a beer.

Chardonnay and beer — Chardonnay (for me) and beer (for my dad)

The what’s-on-tap list was long and my father hadn’t looked at it before the waiter came to take our order.

“I’d like a beer,” my father said.

“Would you like a dark ale or something lighter?” the waiter asked, his pen poised over his pad.

“Yes, that sounds great,” said my dad.

One of my father’s hearing aids isn’t working right now.

The waiter looked at me, unsure what to do next so I pushed the list over to my father and repeated the question.

“He wants to know which of these beers you want,” I shouted so he could hear me above the pub hubbub.

The waiter bent over the table and put his finger at the bottom of the beer list. “These ones are dark,” he said, “and they get lighter as you go up.”

My father furrowed his brow as he studied the list. He finally pointed to the second beer from the top. “I’ll try this one,” he said.

When it was served, my father said, “That’s the right color.” He took a sip and pronounced it good.

I was glad he was happy with what he had ordered.

When my mother was early in her Alzheimer’s, I remember going to restaurants with her. She wasn’t hard of hearing, but she did struggle to order. She studied the menu, chose something, announced her choice to us, but then would have forgotten it by the time the server was taking her order.

Sometimes she ordered what the person before her had ordered.

Sometimes my father or I ordered for her or prompted her with what she had intended to order.

Drinks were a different story. When ordering drinks, she usually declined — which was fine. But when the server brought out drinks for people and brought nothing to her, she grew indignant.

“Where’s mine?” she would demand.

The flustered server would apologize and ask again what she would like.

We would offer our drinks to her.

Anything to make her happy.

Because the maxim, “If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy” is still true when Mama has dementia and is at a restaurant.

At the neurologist’s office one day, after a failed clock assessment, a sign of dementia, I asked the doctor, “What can I do? How can I help?”

He said, “Be patient. Be understanding. Be kind.”

We all need to live by those B’s, even without the presence of aging or hearing loss or fogged thinking.

So B is for beer.

And benevolence.

And the above-listed B’s.

Not just in restaurants, but everywhere — at home, in the store, at church, on the road, in political discourse.

Be patient.

Be understanding.

Be kind.

Be benevolent.

family

Lovable

February 3, 2016February 25, 2022 Sally3 Comments

Several years ago I was walking Maggie in our little town and ran into a woman who was walking Maggie’s twin, a mostly black dog with some white markings.

“What kind of dog is yours?” the lady asked.

“They told us that she was a shepherd-boxer-akita mix at the shelter where we got her. Basically, she’s a mutt,” I said.

The woman smiled and said, “Mine, too!”

We stood and talked for a few minutes about how similar our unrelated dogs were. Unrelated, yet entirely related.

“Don’t you think,” she said, “that if we took all the dog genes in the world, put them in a big bag, shook them up and then pulled out a dog, it would look like this?”

I laughed and agreed.

Since that conversation I have noticed so many dogs that look like Maggie.

I suppose that would say that she’s a common dog.

But she isn’t.

Our neighbor who walks Maggie for us while we’re away — and sometimes, even when we’re aren’t — often comments on what a smart dog Maggie is. “I usually only have to tell her once and she minds right away,” she tells us.

Maggie is smart. And fun. And energetic.

She can sit, stay, shake, lie down, die, and come. She carries a fish on her walks, chases snowballs and squirrels, and howls at the noon whistle. When we come back from being away, she races around the house in a doggy-happy dance. What more does a dog need to do?

This past summer we got a kitten. She’s supposed to be a working cat, taking care of the mouse problem at my father’s house, but she’s still in training, slaying ladybugs and cluster flies in abundance.

She’s all black with a few white hairs like a little bow-tie.

Once we went on a field trip to a cat rescue organization and their shelter was full, mostly with black cats.

“They’re the hardest to adopt out,” the lady told us, “and seem to be the most common color.”

Our Piper was a freebie from a farm. When I took her to the vet, they asked for her breed.

“She’s just a cat,” I said.

I’m guessing that if you took all the cat genes in the world, put them in a bag, shook them up and pulled out a cat, it would be black.

But Piper likes to sit on my shoulder and lick my ears. She pounces on my feet from under the bed while I’m getting ready for bed. She snuggles on my lap in the morning, and rolls onto her back when my brother stops by so he can rub her belly. She is a special cat.

All this is to say that I think the least aspect of any creature is pedigree. Or color. Or any other externals.

What’s inside is unique and wonderful, waiting to be discovered and nurtured into maturity.

Lovable.

family

Presence

January 11, 2016September 4, 2017 Sally1 Comment

I did it again, grasped hand after hand, received hug after hug in a receiving line.

Few things are more draining for the introvert than the receiving line. We do it — I do it — for people I love.

Like my brother, Stewart.

Like my mother.

The receiving line for my mother’s memorial service stretched out and curved into another section of the building so I could never see how long it was or if the end was near. I stood near my father who insisted on standing even though a chair was placed right behind him.

The neurons in my brain don’t fire well in the facial recognition area. I struggle to remember people. Thankfully, many people began with their name — “I’m so-and-so. I knew your mother from such-and-such.”

Even people I knew fairly well helped me out by saying their name — and it was such a help. My mind was overbooked and understaffed; everything was hard.

How long had I been there? An hour? More? Over and over I repeated, “Thank you so much for coming.” “Thank you.” “Thank you.”

A woman took my hand in that two-handed clasp of sincerity.

“Jane Forbes Clark,” she said, and I looked up, immediately recognizing her.

One cannot grow up in Cooperstown without knowing the name and face of the woman who is now at the helm of so many organizations in our area. She sits on the stage at the Baseball Hall of Fame induction ceremony with the Hall-of-Famers and welcomes everyone to our town. Her picture is often in the newspaper, accompanying stories about grants given by the Clark Foundation or expansion happening at Bassett Hospital or the Clark Sports Center or the Baseball Hall of Fame. And that is just a tiny, tiny tip of a very huge iceberg.

My eyes met hers, and I felt tears stinging mine. “I know who you are,” I said. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I wouldn’t have missed this,” she said, and she moved on to speak with my father.

She had met my mother, I think, through my father’s work on the Board of Trustees for Bassett.

But she came to my mother’s memorial service.

It’s kind of crazy how much that meant to me.

My mother was a nurse who gave up her career to raise a family. She volunteered in many community organizations, and when my youngest brother was independent enough, she worked a few days a week for the Red Cross.

At the end of the day, though, my mom was a mom.

Like me.

It’s not a glorious job.

People don’t ooh and aah over your accomplishments. It certainly doesn’t pay well — in money, that is.

(Side note: When we were in North Carolina, mining for gems at Doc’s Rocks Gem Mine — my husband, all eight of my children, three spouses, and one grandchild — a woman who worked there told my father that I was rich. When he told me that, I laughed, and said, “Yeah, and maybe some day I’ll have money, too.” I am very wealthy, though.)

But Jane Clark saw fit to honor my mother by coming to her memorial service and waiting forever in line to offer condolences to my father. She was warm and gracious.

Last night, Jane Clark spoke at the Baseball Hall of Fame’s Grandstand Theater about her family’s legacy in Cooperstown.

I was part of the crowd that got in to hear her. My husband and I volunteered to sit on the floor so that others could have seats as they tried to squeeze as many people in as they could. Still, over 100 people were turned away.

She spoke for about 20 minutes, methodically explaining the history of the three main Clark organizations involved in Cooperstown: the Clark Foundation, the Scriven Foundation, and Leatherstocking Corporation. She rattled off some astounding facts and figures, most of which I don’t remember because once someone is talking about millions or billions my brain shuts off — that kind of money is incomprehensible to me.

Over 11,000 students, though. I remember that number because that’s how many students have been given college scholarships (totaling millions) by the Clark Foundation — and I was one of them.

In the Q & A that followed, a less-analytical, less-statistical Jane Clark emerged. She laughed and told stories. Here was the woman I had seen at my mother’s memorial service – warm and friendly.

Many people didn’t ask questions; they simply said thank you.

“Thank you for the scholarship. My family was poor. Without it I could not have gone to college.”

“Thank you for the emerald necklace of open space around Cooperstown.” ’tis true — we have the Clark family to thank for the adjectives of bucolic and pastoral used to describe Cooperstown.

“Thank you for the Clark Sports Center.” This woman went on to tell of how her son (or was it grandson?) wondered what children in other towns did without a Clark Sports Center.

She told stories of how the Baseball Hall of Fame came to be in Cooperstown and why Kingfisher Tower was built. Fascinating lore — even better hearing it from her lips.

When it was over, I approached her to give her my own thanks. Not for the scholarship, not for the green belt which borders my father’s land, not even for the Clark Sports Center where I work — I thanked her for coming to my mother’s memorial service.

“You’re very welcome,” she said. “Please give my best to your father.”

Some things are worth so much more than money.

Faith · family

Isaiah 56: 3-8

September 1, 2015June 17, 2022 Sally3 Comments

“Here’s the thing,” says God.
“Don’t you go saying that you don’t belong to My family,
And don’t you go thinking that because you don’t ‘produce’ I’m going to throw you out.
I don’t work like that.
At all.
If you love Me
If you embrace activities and ideas that please Me
If you hold fast to the promises I have made to you
Then I will give to you something better than any fame, fortune, or power you might receive from the world for something you did
What I have to give you is better than a large family or even one successful child
What I have to give you is a name —
A name that will forever tie you to Me.”

“And if you think you don’t belong in My family,
let Me ask you this —
Do you love Me?
Do you serve Me?
Do you help others because you know Me?
Do you set aside time
when you aren’t working
and just think about Me?
Do you lay in a grassy field on a Sunday afternoon,
look up at my blue sky, and utter a simple thank-you?”

“My door is always open to you
because you are family.
Mi casa es su casa.”

“You are family.
You are welcomed with great joy
and big bear hugs
(even though you say you don’t like hugs).”

“Come.
Sit with Me in the quiet.
Whisper to Me.
I am always listening.”

“You may think that you’re an outcast,
but I am gathering you in My arms
and holding you close.”

family

Best Numbers and Peas

August 29, 2015May 5, 2017 Sally3 Comments

“Hey, Mom, do you know what the best number is?”

Karl asked this at dinner because we were discussing numbers.

For the record, I did not know what the best number was, nor did I even know there was a best number.

I mean, I do have a soft spot for primes and squares. Doesn’t everybody?

But I don’t have a favorite number.

And I didn’t know there was a best number.

The discussion had started with the number four. I don’t remember who said it, but someone brought up the fact that four is considered unlucky in certain countries like Korea or China.

“It’s like thirteen in this country,” I said, “but I don’t think thirteen is that bad. It is, after all, prime.”

That’s when Karl asked the best number question.

“Seven?” Bud guessed.

A lot of people really like seven. It’s a prime. And considered lucky.

“Nope,” Karl answered. “But it has a seven in it.”

I started mentally running through the numbers ending with seven. “Seventeen?” I guessed.

“Nope.”

I knew it couldn’t be twenty-seven. It is a cube number which makes it interesting, but not the best.

“Thirty-seven?” I guessed.

“It’s seventy-three,” Karl said. “It’s the twenty-first prime and the mirror of thirty-seven which is the twelfth prime. Twelve and twenty-one are mirrors.”

Kind of cool. For someone who likes prime numbers. And symmetry.

How we got from there to spitting peas I don’t know.

Really. The next thing I knew Karl was challenging Laurel to a pea-spitting contest.

They each took a few peas from their dinner plate and headed to the back deck to see who could spit them farther.

“Mom,” Mary pleaded, “they’re spitting peas.”

“I know,” I said, “but Karl leaves for college soon.”

Would I have allowed this years ago when Philip was heading off to college? Probably not.

But I’ve learned.

At the end of the day, the things we remember aren’t the quirky discussions of numbers but the spitting of peas and the accompanying laughter.

I so want my children to look back at their growing up years and be able to laugh.

Faith · family

The Milk House Window

August 15, 2015January 26, 2025 Sally3 Comments

Across from my parents’ house a little building we called the milk house used to stand. I don’t know that it was ever used for milking animals. We incorporated it into the pig pen at one point and later, when we had no pigs, used it for storage. The milk house was filled with shutters and windows and bee hives and rusty things and broken things and stuff.

And then the roof caved in.

My brother-in-law and my sister drove up from Florida with two carpet cleaners. After cleaning some of the carpets in my parents’ house, Gil went to work on the old milk house. When they drove back to Florida, they left behind the carpet cleaners and had in their car a cast iron pig trough and an old gate. It was the family version of the trading-up game.

Three walls of the milk house are still standing, one with a window facing the road.

A lonely pane of glass remains in an upper corner, dirty and dusty, care-worn. It’s my new favorite place to view the world.

My window in the world — My window to the world

If it weren’t so close to the road, and if trucks didn’t drive past not following the speed limit, roaring like monsters and shaking the earth, I might sit on the bank for hours and watch the spider weave its web and the leaves change color through that window.

I’m quite sure that somewhere in that window is at least one deep spiritual truth.

The Trinity framed out.

The light pouring through.

Now I see through a glass darkly, but with a slight shift of my eyes I see face to face.

The undeniable brokenness, no matter how neatly it is stacked.

What treasures lie in broken things!

My sister and her husband got a rusty pig trough which I have to admit was pretty cool, but I think I got the better treasure — a window to the world.