love

Time and Again

As I hold my tiny granddaughter, I remember melting into my grandma’s pillowy softness and smelling her Cashmere Bouquet Talcum Powder unaware she’d ever played any role but “Grandma.”  Though I’d always heard Mother address her as “Mama”  I stung with jealousy when I found out Grandma actually was her mother.  I felt as though they’d somehow cheated me by knowing each other first.  My first conscious memory was of toddling barefoot behind Grandma as we headed out to see her chickens.  I spotted a road-grader and strayed off the path to investigate, stepping into a nest of sand-burrs, those mean little stickers that hide in short grass.  I howling as Grandma hurried over with her flat-edged shovel and seated me on it as she pulled the stickers out of my tender feet.

We went on to check on the chickens where Grandma praised Della, her Dominecker Hen for laying a double-yoked egg yesterday, remarking to the others they might consider doing the same.  She told Sally not to start acting “Broody.”  She didn’t have enough eggs to “set” her yet.  She counted her chickens and found Susie missing.  Grandma got a long stick and poked under bushes till she flushed Susie out from her “stolen” nest.   I felt so important crawling way under the bush bringing baimageck two warm eggs. Chiding Juanita, a ornerny red hen, she threatened to invite her to Sunday Dinner, saying “You’ll make some mighty fine dumplings if you don’t lay a couple of eggs this week!”  I wasn’t that invested in Juanita and don’t recall whether we had dumplings or not.

The barn fascinated me most of all as I peeked through the crack between its chained doors  at the child’s table and chairs stored in its mysterious shadowy interior.  My grandparents and uncle had only rented the furnished house.  The barn and its contents were off limits to me.  Nothing could have made it more desirable as I imagined  the treasures it held.  Surely, there was a tricycle, a wagon, and since it was a barn, of course, a pony!  The longer I was denied, the more the list grew.  Never was a child so deprived or tormented by desire.

I do hope my little one recalls sweet stories of our our times together one day.

True Love

imageJerry and JoEllen had been childhood sweethearts.  He had Cystic Fibrosis but did really well. He and JoEllen drifted apart while he was in college. JoElllen had left an abusive husband and was struggling to raise two toddlers on her own by the time they reconnected.   He was well-established at his engineering firm and anxious to offer JoEllen and her boys a solid life.

Things were going well for them.  They were buying a house and planning a wedding when Jerry became jaundiced.  He was found to be in acute liver failure as a result of his long and complicated medical history.   I met them when it was my privilege to be  his nurse.  JoEllen never left his side if she didn’t have to. They were such a loving couple.  It was heartbreaking to know their future together couldn’t be too long.

When it was obvious Jerry was becoming rapidly worse, they made arrangements to get a marriage license so they could marry before his death.  They were married just a day or so before Jerry died, but not before he was able to make sure JoEllen and “his” boys would be well taken care of.

Old Love

old people

Young Love is sweet, but far more precious is Old Love. Nothing warms the heart like an old couple who have weathered life’s assaults and not become embittered.  An Old couple laughing as they amble along holding hands warms my heart, knowing that they are probably enjoying the moment. I love seeing old lovers seated at a restaurant, or a park Continue reading →

Little Lost Indian Girl!

 
 It is such an honor to have Ritu from But I Smile Anyway do a guest post for me.  I love this delightful story and pictures from her childhood.  Thanks Ritu.
Ritu's PicIRitu in Carndian weddings are big affairs, and in a Sikh temple the men sit on one side, and women on the other.  It was, and still is, the norm for young children to spend most of the 3 hours that the ceremony lasts, running from mummy to daddy, them back again. And then to do it all over again!
I was no different.  A child with far too much energy, and also far too much to say!
My mum told me a story of one wedding we had attended, where I was doing exactly this.  Sitting with Mummy, then getting bored and running over to Papa, then after exhausting his entertainment, running back to Mummy again.  They were used to this, and would glance over at each other periodically to make sure I was with the other.
At one such glance, they realised that Ritu was not with either of them!
A quick scan of the large prayer hall confirmed their fears; that I was not there…. They dashed downstairs to the main Langar (Food) hall and I was nowhere to be seen, not even in the kitchen.
Now this temple was on a busy main road, but I wouldn’t have gone out, would I?
They quickly rushed out and checked the car park, and surrounding area, but nope, I was well and truly gone.  Where would this little curly mop head of a girl have gone? I was possibly 2-3 years old at this time.
 
Little me!
Pops walked out of the gate to the main road, and they were scared by now. And lo and behold, there I was, coming back up the road, holding an English Man’s hand, happily chatting away!
The man saw my parent’s panic stricken faces and walked straight up to them.  He said “I assume this little one is yours. I saw her wondering down the road, all alone, and I had a feeling that as she was alone, she may have ventured from this her temple, so I was just bringing her back.” 
Obviously, my mum was almost delirious at this stage and grabbed me as my Pops profusely thanked the man.  I was still smiling, and chatting away to the man, to all intents and purposes.  I had found someone new to listen to my whittering on!
Had this been in the present day, what would have been the first thought?  Kidnap, child abduction, the poor man who returned me to my parents would have been called all manner of things like a pervert or a paedophile.
But he wasn’t.
He was just a genuinely good citizen, who, in all honesty, if he had wanted to take me, he could have…( but it was probably my chatting away that made him bring me back. I’d give anyone a headache!)
 
I’m still chatting away!
Hope you enjoyed my little story!

Fathers and Time

good pic of DadI hadn’t seen this picture of my father until recently.  He died in 1981.  This is so typical of how happy and loving he looked the last few years of his life, once his children were grown and he retired.  He was a loving grandfather, endlessly patient and loving.  He never tired of his grandchildren.   At this point in his life, he couldn’t get enough of his family.  I am glad to have this memory.

Mother’s Day 2015

1st row Kathleen Holdaway, Ellie Blizzard,Johnny Bell2nd John a0002        Kathleen Holdaway in flowered dress0002 parents wedding pic

mother  Mother in her yard

 

surprise

As a Mother’s Day tribute, I am printing pictures made over the course of Mother’s life.  She is the tiny blonde child in the oldest picture and the lovely woman easily identifiable in the rest.  I can only say she is the finest woman and the best mother I have ever known.  I love you Mother.

 

 

The Things We Do For Our Kids! Guest Post By Cordelia’s Mom

Cordelia CardI am so proud to that Cordelia’s Mom did this Guest Post for Mother’s Day.  Please check out her lovely blog.  You will love it as well.

It was the mid-1950’s.  I was in first grade.

Mother’s Day was approaching, and my teacher decided to have us all make noodle necklaces for our moms.  She brought in a variety of dry noodles, along with string and water paints – and wrapping paper.  I was so proud of my creation!  Mom was going to love  it!

On Mother’s Day, I watched my mother open her precious gift. She oohed and aahed, and put the necklace around her neck.  I was so happy to see her wear it that day – I thought it was the most beautiful jewelry she ever had.

My mother didn’t work (back then, few did). Her only recreation was going bowling once a week in a league with other mothers.

Her annual bowling banquet was the week after Mother’s Day.  I watched my mother dress in her most beautiful (to me) outfit, high heels and all.  As she started to reach toward her jewelry chest, I told her she should wear the necklace I made because it was better than anything she had in that jewelry chest.  And she put that necklace on and left the house for her banquet.  I was so proud!

Fast forward approximately 25 years.  I was now a young mother whose girls often brought me hand made gifts.  One Sunday, I was visiting Mom, and we got to discussing little girls and how to raise them.  The subject of the noodle necklace came up.  I chuckled and told Mom that I was sorry I made her wear that necklace to her banquet, and that I now understood that she probably took it off as soon as she was out of eyesight.

There was a silence as my mother thought fondly back to that day.  Then, she told me:

“No, I didn’t.  I wore it all evening and told all the other mothers that my little girl made it for me.”

And that’s how I learned to be a mother. Mom was tough when it was called for, but she loved her kids and made sure that we all knew that.

Mom once read about a father who told his child, “You are my favorite, but don’t tell your brothers and sisters because it would hurt their feelings.”  After the old man died, the kids were comparing notes and discovered that he had made that statement to each and every one of them.  Mom thought that was a wonderful way to make a child feel special – and while neither she nor I ever tried it with our own kids, we both understood the philosophy behind it, and tried to love each child in the way that child needed to be loved.  I know she succeeded; I hope I did, too.

Happy Mother’s Day!  If you have children, give them hugs from me.  If your mother is still alive, give her a kiss on her aging cheek.  And if you are a mother, may you be showered hugs, kisses and homemade gifts from your own children.

Thanks, Linda, for allowing me to guest post for you today.  I will hold you to your promise to reciprocate on my blog!

I love to hear from my readers.  You may comment on this post, comment on my Facebook or Twitter pages, or email me at cordeliasmom2012@yahoo.com.

Image by Cordelia’s Mom

Things Mothers Do

imageI miss all the things my mother used to do for me. Even though she had to get up to a freezing house at five-thirty in winter to do it, she always had a hot breakfast on the table when we got up, usually hot biscuits, eggs, fresh milk, homemade jam or preserves, and either grits or oatmeal.  Like most kids, I didn’t want it, but she insisted. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!”  After the whirlwind of getting the older  Continue reading →

Grandpa and I /Guest Post from Erika Kind

I am so delighted that my friend Erika Kind agreed to do a guest post for me.  I have read and enjoyed hearing of the wonderful, warm relationship she had with her grandfather.  Wouldn’t it be a wonderful world if we all had a person with whom we share unconditional love and the bond that is never broken?

Grandpa and I

My grandfather was born 1927 as the only child of his parents. As far as I know he had a happy childhood. But his good times ended before he was even 20 years old when he was conscripted for WW II. He often told us about the war, his struggles in captivity and starving till he was just skin and bones. My grandfather was Austrian.   After Hitler invaded Austria they had to fight for Germany.  At the end of the war when all the horrible facts were revealed to the general public, he was shocked to no end to learn what he had been forced to fight for. Due to infections and lack of food, he developed cirrhosis of the liver which eventually killed him. My grandfather was a policeman all his life,. He was living and working in Vienna. Here is a photo of him with his father. Grandpa and Father

My “Opapa”, as we called him, was a tall, handsome man. He was married twice. His first wife was my mom’s mother. They got divorced when my mother (also an only child) was 11. When I was born, I was his pride and joy. I am sure that we are true soul mates. We had this certain connection. He was a young grandpa at the age of 43. When I was about 5 months old my parents moved with me to another part of the country about 600 km away from Vienna. Afterwards, I only saw my grandfather when he came for vacation for two weeks a year or when we went to Vienna for 3 weeks during the summer break. Grandfather Handsome That’s me and grandpa. Grandpa and Baby Erika My grandfather did everything for me. He always knew how to cheer me up when I was mad or sad. I loved the way of making me laugh, imitating voices and roles of popular comedians. He loved music. We always sang as we walked through the woods. He also kept me entertained imitating instruments like drums and trumpets. He built a huge model railroad layout for me, though it took him years since he could only work on it during his two week vacation with us. Grandpa knew everything about the Austrian history, really EVERYTHING! Whenever we walked around Vienna, went to a museum, or visited a castle or burg, he was like a historic almanac. Of course he not only knew about the historic persons and how everybody was related, but all the data of all happenings. Naturally, I did not appreciate it a bit. As a child or teenager, I did not listen, finding it boring.  Only days after he had died, a question about history came up. I reflexively thought I could ask Opapa… and started crying the next moment. During my teenage times I pulled back and didn’t talk a lot. I was in a lot of pain and didn’t let anybody in, not even my grandfather. I know that I was not nice at times and even mean. Grandfather never ever said one single word. He never acted hurt or annoyed. Never! I guess he was the only person in my whole life who never made me feel guilty. He just let me be. Five days before he died he called my mother. I was planning a visit a week later and he wanted to catch up with data. He wasn’t well at that moment and I am pretty sure he knew what was coming. When he called I was waiting for my sister to get ready for our Volleyball practice. We were already late. I did not take the call and just told my mom what to tell him. In the end I could have taken the call because they ended it before I left.  I missed my last opportunity to hear his voice. It took me many years to forgive myself for missing this chance. My grandfather died in 1990 at the age of 62.  In my mind, I still see his smiling face and  his curly grey hair going weird in the wind.  I still see the way he was dressed, the way he walked and moved and hear his special laughter.   Most of all I still feel his loving spirit!Grandpa         Erika for post