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Every Day is Saturday
Yesterday did not go as planned.
On Tuesday I casually asked Gary, “Do you think we ought to go to Tish before it gets really hot?” He was agreeable and it looked like the day would be “warm and windy”, but certainly not the “hot and humid” that will be our daily reality far too soon. So we planned to walk the trail, drive out to the observation platform, visit the little pond, perhaps have a snack at the picnic area.
On Wednesday a friend who frequents the Tishomingo refuge reminded me that the recent heavy rains would no doubt have impacted the refuge as previous flooding had. Gary and I discussed that and decided to go anyway.
Well, of course most of the refuge was closed due to flooding. That little orange disc you see in my photo is normally at the edge of the parking area where we get out of our truck and walk out to a little bridge. Instead we chose to walk around the abandoned garden area that surrounds the visitor’s center that was damaged and abandoned after the previous “big flood”. That proved to be a blessing because two of the other buildings are now the home of dozens and dozens of swallows.
After photographing the birds and a few flowers, we had a little discussion and decided to drive down to Hagerman to see how the higher lake levels had affected it.
We stopped in Denison for lunch. Also not planned, but delicious.
Thankfully we were smart enough to drive in on Refuge road since our normal route was flooded and closed. The water was much higher than usual, which discourages shore and wading birds. It was also choppy and ugly brown in many areas. There were lots and lots of Canada geese lounging around, but very few other feathered friends. The wind was strong and challenged our photographic skills in the butterfly garden. But we did get to see a deer and her young fawn. We marveled at the acres and acres of wildflowers. And of course the butterfly garden continues to host a variety of critters.
As we headed home late in the afternoon I remarked to Gary that the day had certainly been different for us. And he reminded me that when you’re retired every day is Saturday. You can just do whatever you need to do!
The Blessings of Each Day
It isn’t a coincidence that daylilies are one of my favorite flowers. To me they are the perfect metaphor for our lives…hardy, tolerant, beautiful, and long lasting…but their glory, the gaudy blooms, last only 24 hours. I am reminded each day that I have the same amount of time to enjoy the blessings God bestows on me, to use the health and strength I’ve been given, and to accomplish the “to do” list that is always on my mind and usually on a piece of paper as well.
One would think that as a retiree I would be content to sit on my patio and watch the birds or spend my days on Facebook or curl up with a good book. All of those are indeed part of my daily life, but only a small part. It is my nature to need more and my goal as woman with a good mind to continue to live a “useful life”. So I write about history. I do genealogy research for myself and others. I take photos and use them to cheer and entertain. I do some volunteer work when I can. I work this little piece of ground and hope it serves to feed the local critters and beautify the neighborhood.
God knows that I need a connection to the outdoors. I grew up outside- in the fields, in the yard, in the woods. I can’t be content to look at four walls. So He has always accommodated my needs with a space for a garden, even if it was the size of a postage stamp. My garden here is just big enough for enjoyment, but not big enough for exhaustion. And when we moved from the country to here I bemoaned the fact that I would no longer have the privilege of viewing the animals that visited us each day. God blessed our lives with this transitional neighborhood that includes cows, horses, dogs, cats, squirrels, chickens, tortoises, frogs, and probably a few other nocturnal ones that I don’t see. The squirrel that visits our yard is no longer terrified, only cautious, and sits about three feet away from me to eat.
Today my list is dominated by errands and writing projects. I thank God for each day that I can “walk and talk”, and I’m blessed to be relatively healthy. I have an occasional “pity party” about the decrease in my physical condition and this past week has certainly been difficult, but I am fully aware that dozens of people that I know personally are facing far greater challenges. I’ll accept mine with grace and faith. God has a plan for me and it is perfect.
Isaiah 58:11New King James Version (NKJV)
11 The Lord will guide you continually,
And satisfy your soul in drought,
And strengthen your bones;
You shall be like a watered garden,
And like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail.
Remembering...
The best way to remember my father today: looked at old photos, worked on a jigsaw puzzle (we often worked them together), walked in the garden, and watched “Magnificent Seven” (1960 version). I remember sitting in the car with Dad and listening to Gunsmoke on the radio!
Straight from Mother's Mouth
I’m sure people often think that I exaggerate my mother’s wisdom, or that my memory of her ideas is unduly influenced by my own thoughts and feelings. Both might be somewhat true, but I have been blessed by something that few people possess- a record of mother’s own words. I can’t begin to express how grateful I am that my mother was a writer and that I have a huge stash of her manuscripts, articles, and stories. Today I’m privileged to share some of her thoughts about mothers:
July 1983
The Gentle Touch, by Colleen Simmons
Red was Mother’s favorite color. And I suspect she was partial to those beautiful variations of scarlet because when she was a girl this type of visual sensation was considered gaudy and even a sign of scandalous behavior. Red shoes were absolutely forbidden.
But Mama was stubborn in her refusal to accept these ever-changing, hypocritical rules-of-dress devised by man.
Last Sunday morning as I was setting my grandchildren’s table with bright red plastic plates and with mother’s last birthday gift of drinking glasses embossed with red roses, I thought again of her.
Life is as brief as the twinkling of a tiny star and yesterday I was her first baby girl…after the arrival of three healthy Springer boys. Although she loved all her children equally, Mother frequently reminded me of the special glow surrounding her first-born daughter.
Now for almost 40 years I too have felt the sorrow and the joy of being a mother. And even after all these years it never ceases to amaze me when I hear and read some of the many and varied opinions we have of what a “good” mother should and should not be.
Some suppose that becoming a parent suddenly removes a woman from the reality of being an ordinary, everyday person, into a realm of virtuous glory where mothers recline on snow-white clouds of wonderfulness and understanding. Where halos are shining in the lovely morning mist and garments are eternally without spot or stain.
Would you describe your mother in these glowing terms? Mama would have laughed at the very idea. As a shy teenager I was often embarrassed by her audacity. She was never hesitant in voicing her mind to pushy traveling salesmen, preachers of false doctrines, and smooth politicians. They soon learned that Mama was a force to be reckoned with. (When Mother did her many crossword puzzles I’m sure she skipped the blanks for DIPLOMATIC.)
Recently a magazine article heading caught my eye: “How do Your Children Reflect on You as a Mother?” The message that followed present this mental picture: “The mother stands immobile. Her children busily engage in life. When her child is naughty, a shabby, unbecoming light is cast on poor Mom and she writhes in shame. On the other hand, if Sissy or Junior win a “Good Behavior” medal, then a bright, shining light is cast on Mom and she beams with maternal pride.
Of course, after reading this, I began to ask myself, “How do I reflect on my mother?” That’s really when the total absurdity and unfairness of that question hit me.
Did Mama change and become better or worse because of the times during my life when I chose to: be unfair to a friend, win a writing award, make a hateful remark, teach a Bible class, gossip, or say a comforting word?
I’ll be eternally grateful for having a mother who probably never wasted her time in asking herself, “How do my children reflect on me as a mother?” Instead, she spent her time on earth stubbornly maintaining her right to be an individual and to love the color scarlet.
Three Lessons Learned
We all get sentimental as important holidays approach, and I suppose for many of us Mother’s Day probably evokes the most nostalgia of all. We tend to either put our mom on a pedestal and remember only the best times or hide her memory in the darkest closet of our heart and try to forget her cruelty. It seems that few people had a mom whose parenting skills fell somewhere in between. However, my mom would be the first to tell you that although she was generally a good mom, she was never a “perfect pedestal” one. And despite the fact that she made mistakes and sometimes made me extremely angry, confused, or upset, she never intentionally hurt anyone. She was motivated always by three things: Christian obedience, love for her children, and the limitations of her disability. Mother wrote often about her bouts with depression and the frustrations she experienced because of the emotional roller coaster she often rode, but she didn’t share her challenges in order to garner pity. No. She loved life and enjoyed other people. She was intelligent, honest, and genuine. She was active and motivated to improve her life. She shared her thoughts and her feelings in order to help others and to offer hope to those who suffered more than she did. And that was one of the most important lessons I learned from her: no matter how difficult you think your life is…there is always someone else who is suffering just as much or more. Two other lessons: keep on doing the best you can…you never know what tomorrow will bring. And finally, never doubt your ability to make the world a better, prettier, happier place.
Consequences
Friday I made a decision that resulted in some physical discomfort and a sleepless night, but I would gladly repeat the whole experience. I’ve been struggling a bit lately with my physical limitations, so Friday when Gary asked me if I wanted to climb the trail to Tucker Tower I hesitated for a moment. Then I had the thought that I might not get another opportunity to consider it, so I said, “I’ll try.” Yes, it took me a long time to trek up to the top. Yes, it took me even longer to make my way down. But I enjoyed the experience of seeing the tower. I enjoyed the view. I got to see several damselflies- one of my favorite insects. And I felt a modest sense of accomplishment at completing the journey without mishap.
We don’t often foresee the consequences of our actions, but sometimes we have an inkling of what they might be. I understood that my trail walk might result in a brief protest from my body. I did experience some soreness and enough pain to disturb my sleep throughout most of the night. However, a nap and another twenty-four hours of normal activity resulted in a complete recovery. As long as I can still do things safely and recover… albeit slowly…I plan to do what I can for as long as I can. The thought of consequences should help us make wise decisions, but not prevent us from enjoying life!
Dust
My house is dusty and the kitchen floor needs to be mopped. The office ceiling fan blades are outlined in gray grime. My view through the kitchen window is somewhat obscured by water spots from the recent rains. There is a cobweb in one corner of the spare bedroom. The living room has waited patiently all week for a good vacuuming. So…I’m going to the lake to have a picnic and take some photographs.
The general condition of my house definitely says a lot about the condition of my life. When I’m happy and busy and engaged in a variety of activities I tend to be less concerned about a little dust and disarray. The reason for the current state of my home is the recent completion of my book about education. I’ve spent many, many hours this past week editing, correcting, checking, and re-checking to make sure it’s ready for indexing and printing. No time for housework.
Of course sometimes my house also gets neglected because my body just isn’t capable of tackling the physical requirements of keeping it in “Good Housekeeping” shape. My mom often referred to the magazine as the last word of approval for anything domestic. Their “seal of approval” on cooking, cleaning, or general management was a worthy goal for any housewife of her generation. As a housewife with some disabilities my expectations have to be a bit lower, and I’m okay with that. I’ve also learned a few tricks and purchased a few special tools to make the chores that matter to me a little easier to manage.
That previous phrase is very important. What “matters to me” is not what matters to other women, and vice-versa. Shiny floors have never interested me and mopping is always the last thing on my “to do” list. If you want to eat off the floor you’ll have to visit someone else. Clean windows aren’t a major priority either- with two exceptions. My kitchen window and my patio door need to be super clean so I can see the birds and photograph them. I can certainly tolerate a little dust since I know it just resettles the moment my back is turned.
What I can’t tolerate is clutter. I’m a “place for everything, and everything in its place” person simply because I hate to waste time and energy looking for anything. I’m also afraid of falling…again…so I like to have clear paths through the house. I’m also a bit germ-phobic so I clean my kitchen after each meal, sanitize the garbage can, wipe the refrigerator shelves, wash the inside of the microwave, etc. I might also clean my bathrooms a bit too often, but that can’t be a bad thing. Lysol wipes are my best defense against disease!
My house also has to compete with the garden. I know that tomorrow afternoon I’m much more likely to be out pulling weeds than mopping that kitchen floor. “Outside” is always my favorite place to be and pretty flowers will always be more rewarding than pretty tables and shiny tile.
Outside is where I’ll be today. The birds and the trees and the water are calling my name and I can clean next week…unless I find something better to do.
Words of Wisdom
I know that Mother’s Day is still over a week away, but I stumbled on this old note from school and just had to share it.
"Mrs. Maurer, what's mother's day?"
"It's Sunday."
'No, no. WHAT is it?"
"Oh, it's just a special day to tell your mom you love her and appreciate her."
"I tell my mom every day that she's gr-r-r-eat!"
'Well, Sunday is just a day to make sure she knows you love her."
"Okay...Then I will tell her two times on Sunday."