Thanks, Dad!

Today was one of those days when I missed my Dad, but was so glad I can still hear his voice whenever I get in trouble.  I was driving home from a relaxing visit to the Knitting Shop when I heard very LOUD bells going off.  I looked down and saw a red light flashing, which said "Engine Overheating".  NOT good.

Instantly, I heard my dad in my head.  Pull over and turn it off!  Ok, that would have been fine except I had chosen to take the "shortcut" home, which included about a 2 mile trip through a bit of Lansing's ghetto.  I always joke about the fact that I don't take that shortcut at night and wouldn't want to break down in that neighborhood.  Today I did.

I don't scare easily, but I admit today I was afraid.  I locked my doors, as a large group of not so friendly looking teen boys approached.  Large groups were clustering in the empty parking lot where I sat.  I just kept hoping that this was not going to end badly.  I called Joe and knew it would take him about 30 minutes to get to me.  It was going to be a long, hot wait as the temperature was about 80 and I had the car sealed up.  Of course, my cell phone had very little remaining battery and I began thinking about what I was going to do if things didn't go well.

We added coolant and started the car.  The temperature gauge began to rise again.  Darn it!  As Joe and I began trying to figure out what the problem was I remembered my dad's advice again.  "If the thermostat has gone bad, turn on the heat".  I flipped the switch and within a few moments the gauge began to drop and quickly returned to normal!  THANKS, DAD!

I drove home, with Joe following, praying but knowing it would be ok.  I called my brother Dave and we chatted for a few minutes about how grateful we were that Dad was so wise.  He always insisted that we take part in every project or repair, always teaching.  I like to think he is smiling tonight, knowing he left a daughter who is very grateful for a Dad who believed girls should learn to take care of themselves.  He taught me well.

I loved listening to my grandmother tell stories more than anything I can remember as a child.    She was so animated and absolutely hilarious when she told them.  She also had a way of making a point that would leave you laughing and I always remember her talking about a radio show where someone had a closet that every time they opened  the door, everything fell out.  So, if she opened a messy closet or drawer, she would always ask, "What is this?  Fibber McGee's closet?"

Well, I have my own Fibber McGee's cupboard.  Actually, I should admit to quite a few of them.  Catie's job is to empty the dishwasher and she insists on cramming everything in and slamming the door.  Now, she knows that SOMEONE (usually me) will open that door and often get hit with a flying dish, pot or pan.  This was what happened this afternoon when I opened the cupboard to cook dinner.

When I ran for the camera, she yelled "Grandma!  If you take a picture I SWEAR I will post a million nasty things on Facebook about you!"

I really wish I could have had a great come-back, because I know Nana would have had a good one!

Cleaning the Pond....YECH!

After a long Michigan winter, my little pond was in sad shape.  Since Joe remarked that his favorite Mexican yard boy was still sleeping at noon, he was heading to the yard to begin the weekend work.  Feeling guilty, I thought maybe I could find something I could do to help without causing too much arm pain.  I really like working a bit around the flowers, but heavy duty yard work in NOT my thing.

Last summer my boys installed a small pond that I love in the corner of the yard.  I sat down and began arranging the little stones and rocks that Joey's black Lab had used to stay amused this winter.  Then I remarked that we really needed to drain and clean the pond.  Joe grabbed the pump and then the stench came!  OH, it was BAD!  Since this was the first year we had done this, we didn't realize how many nasty leaves would be in the bottom or just how bad they would smell!

That little project took a pump, the shop vac, lots of rock removal and we won't mention all the other things in that nasty water.  Let's just say next year we will cover the pond.  By the time we finished we had all sprayed each other with the hose a couple times, had some fun in the sun and the smell was gone.

As Joe weed whipped around the yard, pulled weeds and did the rest of the hard work, I brought out cold drinks and a plate of cheese, nuts and fruit to keep his energy going.  I found a nice chair under a tree.

There Is No Roadmap

As children, there are so may rules.  We are told to drink our milk, go to school and get good grades ("That's your job" my dad used to say.)  There are rules all day about everything and most of us try hard to follow them.   We know that we have to "grow up" and be responsible adults.  That is when it gets confusing.  Suddenly we are thrust into a world of choices.  Apart from the law, we have to start making our own rules.

I have watched my children struggle with the choices, probably far more than I did. I didn't really have many choices or I didn't know about them.  So,  I was quite content to settle into married life and become a mother.  It was a primary calling for me.  Yes, I had dreams of doing other things, but being a mother was my main occupation.  I still think it is a noble calling. 

Fathers today are expected to be much more involved than they were just a generation ago.  I chuckle to myself as I hear mothers complaining about their lack of involvement today.   I remember a blur of being grateful for the moments when my husband would stop to cuddle the infants and play with them.  That was my time to escape for a much needed shower.  I also remember begging for a night off to go ANYWHERE.  Far from lazy, he was often working 2 jobs or working and going to college at night.  He just didn't have the time to commit to diapers or daily care.  

So I just kept moving.  With 3 children in 6 years, I was very, very busy.  I don't remember it any other way.  I loved chaos that was mine.  The only schedules were naptime and bedtime!  Those were the moments of quiet, when I could rest from all the activity those little ones could produce.  Every day at noon, they ate their lunch and if they were not in school yet, they went off to nap.  Aaaaaaaah!  I could have 2 hours of uninterrupted peace!

Years passed and with 2 in high school and 1 in Jr High, life was changing to a new rhythm.  I was working full time, not at a career that fullfilled me, but at a job that helped to pay for music lessons and teenager's car insurance premiums.  Then God decided to surprise us all with a new bundle of joy.  The older kids referred to him as "Ooops!"  I call him Mikey, a child of my heart.  

As I listen to people today who are so very serious about their child planning, I think of how I might have missed out on one of the most wonderful boys ever born, if I had planned.  This delightful baby made everyone smile from the moment he arrived.  It has never stopped.  I used to sit in wonder as he would play for hours on end building make-believe words with his Legos, narrating the stories he was imagining.  Today, I sit in awe as I listen to him play his guitar and fill my soul with his beauty.  

The following year when the kids were talking about "Ooops" having a new brother that they were calling "Oh, Oh!"  I knew they just didn't understand yet that life with a roadmap would be awful for me.  I would have missed out on so much if I followed a roadmap.  That quiet little baby loved to cuddle and he just sat for hours and watched the world go by in all his cuteness.  Who was he?  

Instead of teddy bears, he often preferred to sleep with his baseball mitt.  He would chase any ball and seemed to be filled with joy at the sight of anything that  moved, especially if he could chase it.  How different they are from the moment of birth.  As I watched him grow into a boy who loved to play baseball, wrestled his heart out, recovering from injuries and surgeries, yet returning to the mat, I knew who he was now.  He was a young man born to move, to go places, do things and experience life at it's fullest. 

I am so glad I didn't have a roadmap.  I would have missed all the sideroads that took me to the most beautiful places.

One of my favorite old photos of my guys!

Did Progress Bring Too Many Choices?

I was thinking about my grandmothers' lives yesterday.  While talking with a friend about the beautiful needlework that both of them did and how I value owning those things today, I realized that their lives were far more simple than mine.  Yes, they had to use a wringer washing machine, made their own laundry soap and didn't have microwaves or computers, but they knew exactly what their lives were destined to be.

Here is grandmother Louise Albert teaching my little ones how to bake Christmas cookies.

I spent more time with my paternal grandmother Louise, who was famous for her many skills.  She was a wonderful cook, knit and crocheted beautiful things that were given with love and received with joy.  She took classes and learned to decorate wedding cakes, upholster furniture and was truly in charge of her home, which was always spotless.  She did all that while raising 5 children.  I really think she was happy and content with her life.

She loved to tell the story of the time she got a job to earn Christmas money, packing candy in a factory.  I can't help but think of the I Love Lucy episode, with Lucy and Ethel in the candy factory.  She claimed that my grandfather actually paid the kids NOT to do their chores in an effort to convince her to come back home full time.  He loved having his life with his wife at the helm.  He really appreciated what she did.

Here is great grandmother Anna Snell Knox, grandmother Marie Louise (Weeda), my mom Shirley and brother Ed in about 1949

My maternal grandmother, also enjoyed needlework (crochet, tatting and embroidery) and spent a lot of her time creating beautiful items that still grace my home.  Her life was orderly, with each day planned, including her shopping day when she took the City bus downtown to comb department stores.

They both spent their summers at their cottages, enjoying smaller spaces to keep neat, watching the lake as they knit away and listened to grandchildren play.  I don't think either one of them felt pressure to "be" any more than they were.  They enjoyed their lives.

Today, as I question my value constantly, I wonder why.  I cook and clean, knit and sew, create scrapbooks to document our lives,  have raised more than 5 children and yet I still think I have something else I must do, haven't done enough (or well enough).  I think of all that I "could" have done and haven't.

I think of the dreams I once had to teach and to write.  I think of the goals I probably won't attain.  I am going to work on remembering all the ones I have reached.  They are probably the most important.