The View from Here

Almost a doctor...

The alarming report of a measles outbreak in Ohio brought back more memories of my mother and reminded me of the major role that disease played in our lives. Because we were poor and my father was stubborn we rarely went to the doctor when I was a child. Mom’s nursing and home remedies were the norm for most things that ailed us, and dentistry was my father’s specialty, at least if you only needed a tooth yanked out with the pliers.

My brothers and I routinely got colds and stomach aches, but we also suffered through more serious ailments and diseases such as ear infections, croup, strep, pneumonia, measles, mumps, and chicken pox. I remember sitting for an eternity under a sheet, hovered over a pot of steaming water mixed with Vicks VapoRub. It’s a wonder I’m not blind! We also relied heavily on aspirin and cough syrup, a combo not approved of today.

Our bout with measles must have been severe, because I do vaguely remember a trip to the doctor. I don’t remember which of my brothers was sick at the same time, but I know that my grandmother became involved in our care.

My mother and I had mumps at the same time and my father was forced to care for us. (I don’t recall where Gran was.) I remember a lot of chicken broth and being in bed with Mom, but little else except pain. I don’t know if we went to the doctor or not.

We all had chicken pox during a seemingly endless winter. The boys came down with it first and quickly bounced back. I was sick for weeks and missed quite a bit of school. I also ended up with numerous scars. It was one of the most miserable experiences of my childhood.

I think back on those times now and wonder how my poor mother coped with the responsibility of doctoring us. The task must have been almost overwhelming. She couldn’t just pick up the phone and call a doctor. For much of our childhood we didn’t even have a phone! Antibiotics were not routinely used as they are today. She couldn’t Google symptoms and treatments. And lingering in her thoughts was the memory of her brother (photo)- who died of an ear infection when he was not quite ten. 

It’s a whole new world now, but mothers still bear the burden of health care. They are the ones who most often stay home with children, take them to the doctor, and administer medications. We may all have more options, but Mom still has to be “almost a doctor”. 

Counting down...

This is a bittersweet week for me.

Last week of school…

I’m excited for my students. Most are ready, willing, and able to go on to first grade. Some are a little anxious, but summer play will distract them until August.

I’m happy for my parents. They are so proud of their little ones! Some are going through this for the first time, others for the last time. Most realize this is only the first mile of their education marathon.

I’m sad to be letting go of this group because I will miss them. They are smart and funny and kind. They have given me something to smile about almost every day. But I know from past experience that I will see most of them periodically for years to come.

I’m happy to be letting go of this group because doing so means that we have accomplished our goals for this year. This group has worked very hard and includes some of the best students I’ve ever had the privilege of teaching.

I’m happy/sad on a personal level to have completed another year of teaching, especially since I didn’t begin until I was 49. However, each year puts me closer and closer to retirement and I don’t feel ready yet. I’d like to teach for at least two more years. One of those things I must leave to God.

I’m happy to have some “me” time! I plan to spend the summer reading, writing, gardening, and of course…taking pictures. I do all of those during the school year, but only in small bits and pieces of leftover time. It will be nice to be able to plan a photo trip or spend all day working on my book.

Five days…

Passing the torch...

from one generation to the next. 

My great-grandmothers. 

Mary Lettie Coker Banta

 

Caroline Isabell Robison Springer

 

Edna Chapman Carlton Alexander

Clara Agnes Anderson Simmons

My grandmothers.

Della Mae Banta Springer

Beatrice Alexander Simmons

Me with my parents.

Things my mother would not understand...

There are times when I’m thankful, for her sake, that my mother is no longer alive. Yesterday was one of those days. My mother would not understand or appreciate or even tolerate some of the changes that have taken place in our world. I fear that her empathy for others, especially children, would result in even more anxiety and bouts of depression if she were alive today. I know for a fact she would not understand our current education system at all!

I remember my great aunt saying that she arrived in Oklahoma in a covered wagon and lived to see a man walk on the moon. She was amazed by the progress of mankind and thrilled by many of the inventions and medical breakthroughs of her time. However, even she was an advocate of individuality and creativity and personal responsibility. I doubt she would be happy to see that the “system” is now more important than the individual.

I suppose it’s because of my genetic connection to those two women, and to my amazing grandmothers, that I often observe a trend or action that shouts “danger” to me, even though it seems innocent or even well-intentioned to others. I sensed that alarm yesterday and the feeling is even stronger this morning.

I am only one person. I am only one small voice. But I give you fair warning…we have reached the “tipping point” in education and may one day regret what we have done. 

Time flies...

Our sweet girls have grown into beautiful young women. Taylor is 16 today and Hope is 22. Where did the years go??? Happy Birthday!! 

Train up a child...

My mother had a limited understanding of the Bible. It was limited by her own reading and study, because she didn’t put much stock in the interpretation of others, especially some of the “peace, love, and understanding” preachers we encountered in CA in the sixties. Ironic since Mom was such a peaceful, loving, understanding person, but she grew up with the “fire and brimstone” preaching of the past and believed that most of life’s choices were good or bad, yes or no, not “maybe”. She often spent time confirming what was said in church by reading it for herself in her own Bible- a habit I’ve tried to emulate. She also felt that it was her duty as a parent to make sure that her children were trained in Biblical principles.

Some of my earliest memories are of long boring sermons and hard wooden pews. I don’t remember Sunday school classes or children’s church. Perhaps they didn’t exist. Perhaps Mom and Gran (my father’s mother) felt that my place was by their side. I don’t know. I only know that while they differed profoundlyin their religious convictions, they were strongly united in their belief that children must have spiritual training. As a result, I grew up in the Church of Christ, but also frequently attended the Baptist Church…while attending school in a predominantly Catholic community. Of course I was often confused and bewildered when my friends and I compared rules and expectations, but we all got the basic message, “Behave or else!”

Don’t laugh, but the strongest memory I have of my early church experience is a feeling of fear and guilt because I preferred to sing in my grandmother’s church, where they were allowed to play instruments. My grandmother didn’t even sing! She always said she couldn’t “carry a tune in a bucket” and didn’t want to embarrass anyone. I made up for her silence by singing loud enough for both of us!

I also remember carrying my weekly offering tied inside a handkerchief. I remember wearing shoes that hurt my feet and that stayed in my closet until the next Sunday so they would be pretty and shiny. I remember sleeping on Mom’s lap when the preacher spent too much time in the Old Testament. I remember not being able to see over the big hats worn by some of the women. And I remember that my mother was usually alone. My father seldom attended church with us. I don’t think they ever reconciled their religious differences, so he deferred to Mom’s choice for our basic training.

I have to admit that even though I didn’t always agree with her and in later life chose to attend a different denomination that hers, my early training has always benefited every aspect of my life. I have never said or thought for a moment “I wish we hadn’t gone to church so much”. Instead, I find that Bible verses or hymns often pop into my thoughts like old friends. Memories of good times help me through bad times. I know that many people fall back on “What would Jesus do?” in times of crisis and decision making. My tendency is to ponder, “What would Mom do?”

 

Woman's Work

My mother was no stranger to hard work and she made sure that I was also well acquainted with its benefits. “Idle hands are the devil’s tools” was certainly the mantra of our household.  She also grew up in the generation that had some definite ideas about the division of labor between men and women, and she had mixed feelings about women with careers. While she admired and encouraged the ones she knew, she made it clear, at least to me, that they must never neglect their husbands, homes, or children in exchange for a salary. If the family needed the money a woman earned then she was obligated to provide it, but she had to also have a clean home, happy husband, and well-behaved children. I blame her generation for the “superwoman” myth that still haunts us.

It’s no wonder that my mother seldom worked at a paying job until after we were nearly all grown. The work of maintaining a home was so different then that there was little time or energy for much else! My mother washed clothes with a wringer washer and hung them on the line. She kept chickens and collected the eggs for breakfast. She tended the garden and spent hours harvesting and processing the vegetables it produced; we usually had rows of canned goods and a packed freezer. She cooked nearly everything from scratch. She was a “move the furniture once a week” kind of housekeeper. She made our clothes and her own. And when we lived in CA she usually worked beside us in the vineyards or cotton fields! I get tired just thinking about how much she did.

My mother was also very keen on the notion that children were a part of the household and must help take care of it. I learned to wash dishes when I was still young enough to stand on a chair to do so. I folded clothes and swept the floors and snapped beans. I learned to iron when I was about nine. My brothers picked up their toys and made their beds (most of the time) and set the table. If we ever complained about being “bored” Mom quickly found a remedy for our condition!

Although my father will tell you that he taught my mother to cook and that he was and still is a better cook, I don’t remember him “helping around the house” very often. He worked at his job or in the fields, or both. He maintained our frequently ailing cars. He took care of the larger animals. He mowed the yard. He took care of home repairs. He did all the “guy stuff” that fathers of his generation were supposed to do.

My own working life was somewhat erratic, but although I spent a few years as a stay-at-home mom, I certainly didn’t have to devote as much time or effort to my household tasks as my mother did. Modern appliances and packaged foods and store-bought clothing made a tremendous difference for my generation. If my mother had any criticism of my less-than-super cleaning or cooking skills she kept them to herself. She was much more likely to give advice about caring for my children and she didn’t do that very often. I suppose the only thing that hasn’t changed much for any woman is the time, effort, energy, and attention required by our children. Child-rearing is still the 24/7 job that it has always been, so she usually had a sympathetic ear if needed.

My mother eventually got a job outside her home and made the necessary adjustments in her expectations about housework and cooking and laundry. We’ve all had to change our priorities in those areas as we’ve joined the workforce, but I still feel lazy compared to her. I can tell you that if she was still alive I’d probably dust more often! I might even cook. 

Most people are good...teens not so much

My mother believed that people were good until they proved otherwise. She tried to understand them. She gave them second and often third chances. She imagined “walking a mile” in their shoes before criticizing them. She made excuses for them when they didn’t have any of their own. But if they proved unworthy she was not one to withhold disapproval or punishment. I was often on the receiving end of both…especially during my teen years.

I decided long ago that God created the whole pregnancy-baby-child process of development so we’d be firmly attached to our children before they become those horrible alien creatures known as teenagers. And while I didn’t rebel on any grand scale, I did routinely declare my independence by dating boys mother disapproved of, wearing clothes she found distasteful (too short), saying things she thought were disrespectful, and doing things she feared were risky. I know she must have lost a lot of sleep over my actions, but at the time I wasn’t often sorry.

I was also the oldest child and only girl, so I was sort of the “test run” for my parents’ ideas about teens and behavior. In fact, because of our age difference, one of my teen chores was helping to raise my youngest brother. It wasn’t much of a chore…he was sorta cute! But I still think my brothers should thank me for paving the way because by the time they reached their teen years Mom had radically changed some of her expectations. She told me it was because they were “boys”. No fair! It was years before I realized that many of her hopes and dreams and fears for me were based on her own teenage experience. I guess I wasn’t that intuitive in my younger years!

I cut my teen years short by marrying young. My mother was understanding, but not pleased. My father was totally against it. I think they both knew I wasn’t ready to make that decision and they were proven right a couple of years later when the marriage ended tragically. However, once I made my plans they were supportive and encouraging in every way possible. The rode the roller coaster with me until it was clear that the ride was over.

I wish my mother was still here to give advice to our family members who are now raising teens. I think she would have lots of wisdom to impart. I do my best, but I’m not sure I’m always that helpful. I’m rather fond of quoting my paternal grandmother, who often told me “You’ll pay for your raising girl!” or Mom’s mom, who said, “This too shall pass.” Because I’m a “long distance” grandparent I’m not that knowledgeable about some situations and my influence isn’t that significant. Many times I’m not even consulted. I’ve come to terms with the disadvantages of being a separated family. But I still care and I still spend some sleepless nights wondering and worrying. Prayer is my first line of defense.

I think Mom would be very upset by the actions of some of the teens who have been in the news lately. But I also think she would be more understanding than most. Because of her own bouts of depression and anxiety she would be the first to say that many of the troubled youth of our country are suffering from illnesses that need treatment, not punishment. She would want to find the good in them before the bad took control. 

Mother's Day

I’m well aware that today was not Mother’s Day, just as I was aware that Friday was not Cinco de Mayo. I’ve found it best to express myself when and where the spirit leads. I never know who might be waiting for a message that’s given to me or a memory that I feel led to share. Our lives are short and we can’t always wait for the politically correct days to do what we need to do.

I woke up this morning feeling grateful for the lessons taught to me by my mother. I didn’t always follow her rules or live up to her expectations, but she was always there to give me advice for the next mile of my journey.  I found myself thinking this morning that we don’t always raise the “child of our dreams”; we raise the child God chooses for us. I’m not sure I was exactly the girl that Mom thought I would be or the one that she was prepared to support and encourage. But she did the best she could, even when I was temperamental and rebellious and stupid.   I am reminded of my students who repeat that old adage “take what you get and don’t throw a fit”. To her credit, she never gave up on me.

It hardly seems fair to set aside just one day a year to honor our mothers, so I might just write about mine every day this week. I’ll still not have enough time to sing her praises. 

Busy Day!

Where does the time go? A little gardening and visiting + the usual shopping, laundry, and cleaning...poof! Day over. Dinner time. At least I managed a walk through the garden.