On Being Half of a Person

To come from a different perspective: I was a step-mother and then a step-grandmother. I divorced my husband because - well, lots of reasons. I lost two little girls with the divorce who had always known me as the "cool" grandmother that was until that point the only stability they knew - because my stepson and their mother divorced then she dropped them off at his house one weekend and never came back. A mother and not a mother, a grandmother and not a grandmother. a hard thing for a heart to bear.

The above is a comment I made regarding a blog post I read about how difficult it is to be a stepmother when the children live on an opposite coast and the mother is not cooperative in accepting the remarriage of her former husband.

It made me think, and not a few old feelings came back I had thought were done and over. 

I loved those little girls, who are little no longer. One was born in 1984, the other in 1989. So they are 29 and 24 now. Grown women. I have no idea where they live, what they grew up to be. I do not know if their father's second marriage survived or how they processed and reconciled the loss of their grandfather. 

I tried as hard as I knew how when I was a part of their lives to be a stable influence, and offer a safe haven to process the confusion and rejection they felt when their parents divorced. I talked about the good things I knew about their mother with them because they would hear so much bad from others. 

We made pancakes and cookies together and I was with them when they experienced the miracle of watching a goat give birth. I laughed hysterically when the younger one wanted to put the afterbirth in a paper bag and take it to kindergarten for show and tell. I laughed even harder when her father and grandfather lost their breakfasts when she tried to pick the afterbirth up with a stick. 

But in the end I was only half of a person in their lives.

I hope it was a good half.

Happy Birthday to my daughter

I love you.

When I realized I was pregnant, I felt a weight of immense responsibility.

I was not nearly as mature as prepared for motherhood as I should have been.

I was wise enough to know I could not give you the life you deserved, so I made the decision to entrust you to a loving, caring family.

They did not disappoint.

I never, ever stopped thinking about you. The day my telephone rang and I heard your adult voice the first time was a day I rank second only to the day I met you in person. All else fades to insignificance.

I gave birth to you but you have given me so much more these past years.

My darkest days have a hope now, because I know you are there. Thank you.

Life With The Air Leaking Out

This is my second attempt to write this post on my blog. Blogger, the platform I use, totally crapped out on me earlier. At the moment I am extremely frustrated, because all of the words are gone, out in the ether somewhere. Perhaps the gods will take pity and let someone else grasp them in the ethereal mists of the universe and make of them more truth, more beauty than I could imbue. In the meantime, the cats have awakened and Roger is back in from his outdoor labors and my moment of reflection and solitude has been ripped away like a partially formed scab that got caught on the adhesive of a bandage.

I shall attempt to recreate, if not the words the emotion of what I was trying to share earlier.

February has always been a difficult month for me, for as long as I can remember. I know there are good things about February this also ran of days on the Julian calendar. There are holidays, commemorations, celebrations, birthdays (I love you Johnna!), and anniversaries (how many years now, Steve and Kathy?)

The big final push into a new year is over, we have once again survived the darkest of days and daylight hours are now reaching to six in the evening and beyond. Life seems to be expelling a long drawn out breath, and February is the final wisps of air escaping. At the same time, nature is gathering her forces and preparing a new explosion of life.

Perhaps I suffer from SAD. Perhaps I have cabin fever. Perhaps the healing of my spirit and soul that has been such a long process over the past years has reached a point that requires a more real interaction with life. I find myself wanting to be out in life, not watching it through my window on the world. I yearn for warm breezes, dirt from planting herbs, flowers and vegetables on my hands, the smell of rich loamy soil, and the sheen of sweat on my face.

The inside cats are spending more time at the living room window these days, keeping their vigil as the birds are more frequently visiting the grape arbor and the porch eaves. Every once in a while I hear a “meep” and a paw swipes in a high pitched squeak at the window pane.

We had rain, lots of rain, and wind over the past days and Roger has been outside surveying damage and picking up twigs and branches.  He saw a salamander down by the creek and has already been seeing mosquitoes.

So much about life seems to be uncertain in 2013. Socially, ecologically, politically, financially. I know each era feels these pangs. One need only read history to see the same concerns in decades and centuries gone by. Each generation faces their own crucible. The current ones have not been and shall not be spared. For us the concerns feel more imperative because we are the ones riding the turmoil. There is a vast difference in watching someone make bread or reading how to make bread and getting your own hands into that gooey sticky mess.

I am ready to get my hands into the gooey sticky uncertainty of life again.

I leave you with a picture of a cat sitting at the window, looking out.

A Personal Encounter With Violence

I have seen things in life, up close and personal, that left me with memories I can call up with just the wisp of a thought. I have heard and smelled and tasted and felt (in my abnormally large for a woman hands) life at its best and humanity at its worst. I suppose many of us can say the same thing. So here I am going to share a story with you, a true story. The event occurred in the mid 1980's.

I was working as a cashier in a convenience store in Fort Pierce, Florida, a busy little store. We were across the road from the local community college (IRCC - Indian River Community College) and there were quite a few homes in a small community to the west and north of our location. I was working a morning shift and my relief was due to arrive at about 2 PM. A young lady, perhaps 21. I was not yet 30. 

We were at a quiet time of the day - between class times at the college, local secondary schools had not dismissed for the day, the deliveries of beer, soda, chips and bread had all been made for the store. I was just biding my time, waiting to clock out and head to the house to relax for an hour or two then cook the evening meal. 

I saw the maroon car belonging to my co-worker turn into the parking lot. There was another car right behind her, a black Toyota. Both vehicles came to an abrupt halt and the driver of the second car and my co-worker both jumped out of their cars and ran into the store. They left doors ajar and engines idling. 

They were no sooner in the store than they were engaged in a no holds barred cat-fight. A hair pulling, nail scratching, groin kicking fight. There were not many words, just grunts and squeals. I was behind the counter, backing slowly towards the telephone.

Suddenly there was a glimmer of silver as the girl I had worked with for several weeks suddenly held a switchblade in her hand and thrust it in a quick upward motion into the rib cage of the other girl. The second girl turned and ran out the door, jumped into the black car and sped out of the parking lot.

As she was leaving, my co-worker looked at the blade of the knife, wiped the blood on the leg of her jeans, and smiled in the oddest way. Turning to me, she said, "Call the cops, bitch, and you are next." With that she ran out the door, got in her car, and left.

I called the cops. They were there fairly quick, two cars. One took off in pursuit of the two girls as the officers in the second car took a statement from me after I provided the address of the girl who worked with me. When that was all over and done, I called my supervisor and arranged for another person to relieve me after explaining what had just happened. 

I worked over about 90 minutes that day. I left work with two bottles of wine, went home and drank all of one bottle and most of the other before my not yet husband came home. I may have been pregnant then with my daughter, I am not really sure. My timeline memory of 1984-1986 is not real reliable. I worked at that particular location both before and after she was born. 

I do recall how scared I was that I would be the target of violence because I called the police after witnessing the fight. The young woman did lose her job, but I do not believe either was formally charged following the altercation because I never had to go to court in relation to the incident.

I did acquire a small handgun afterwards, one that would fit in my purse. I was taught to use it properly. I never had to fire that handgun, but felt safer for having the option. 

I no longer have that handgun, I lost it in the divorce you could say - I did not bring it with me when my first husband and I separated. My current husband was in the military, and he owns legally purchased firearms. I have no problem with people owning guns. Violence will occur with or without guns. People are prone to anger. I know that is a simplistic statement, but I know no other way to put it. I will close by sharing a status I posted on Facebook earlier today.

Gun Control? Too late for that. If someone really wants to do harm, they will find a way. Taking away the right to own firearms for defense of life, family or property or for sport/food will not remove the impetus some feel to do harm to others. The issues lie beyond guns. Mental health issues, medications that affect judgement and personality, bullying, the desensitization of the populace through video and audio ... very complex issues need to be addressed. My take on gun control. Everyone else is voicing their opinion, this is mine.

Blessings and a Rant

There is so much on my mind these past days. I suppose I really need in some ways to curtail my activities online, much as I have curtailed watching the "news" on television. Going back to July, take a retrospective with me. We saw a big gay rights / same-sex marriage brouhaha. That took us through to August, then it was time for the presidential election. Oh the debates, the controversies, the vile vicious hatred that flowed like water from all ideologies and directions for week after week after week. During the Election Season we saw a terrorist attack in Libya and a truly horrendous hurricane that decimated the northeast, especially New York and New Jersey. 

One would think the atmosphere would ease, clear once the election was over ... nope. We just carried on as usual. The big news/controversy going into December was the looming "Fiscal Cliff", which to be honest I would be more concerned over if it were not the same song just a new verse that we hear year after year after year. Lots of recriminations and no solutions. Then the unimaginable happened. 

December 14, 2012. Tragedy and loss almost beyond comprehension. Twenty children dead. Six school personnel as well. A mother murdered in her bed by her youngest son. And the perpetrator taking his own life, along with the answers to the wailing sobs of "Why?!?!?!" heard throughout the nation. 

The dead were barely identified before the new uproar began. Gun Control. Second Amendment rights. Identification and treatment of the potential nutjobs walking among us. Conspiracy theories. 

Then we have the "Mayan Apocalypse" "Great Shift" for December 21, 2012. I am so tired of it all. Really really tired. 

People are not going to change. People are greedy, selfish, power hungry, money grubbing, self justifying animals. I feel so over it all.

 

I tend to be unconventional in many ways, and do not *do* Christmas per se, except to the extent that is needed for family gatherings. I do not send cards any more, and gifts are not part of my MO either. I just wanted you to know that for me the spirit of love, community and fellowship that most people try to drag out of the mothballs for six weeks out of 52 each year should be more than that. For if we cannot embody a love and appreciation for our lives, families, friends and fellow creatures every day we show disrespect by doing so on demand.  

There is a greeting I routinely send to people on my Facebook friends and family list. I tweak it from time to time to suit specific personalities and/or relationships. Here is my greeting for all year, not just for the current season:

Brightest Blessings to you on this day. May you have more happy than sad, more laughter than tears, more love than hate, more friends than enemies, more sunshine than rain, more light than dark this day and all days to come.

Love, Light and Blessings Always. Ellen

A December to Remember - and Mourn

This has been a difficult month thus far.

I believe most people identify with that statement on an individual level most months. Things happen, life happens. Much of what sticks for us is the difficult, the painful. The good, the easy, the happy - these melt into the background. We expect as our due the good in life. 

But life is not always good, or easy or happy. There is chaos and pain and turmoil at every turn. We are constantly challenged by life. Challenged to rise to the occasion, to overcome the obstacle, to accept the unacceptable. It is those times that we remember, that we memorialize. The Pearl Harbor Memorial has been a common December remembrance for decades.

We also remember John Lennon 

at this time of the year.

Sadly, we now have another image that will permeate our collective memory for December, that of Newtown, CT.

There are no words, no wisdom or musings I can add that will change or ease what has happened. As a nation we are reeling once again at the actions of one person that have altered our lives in inexplicable ways. Hundreds of friends and relatives have had their understanding and appreciation of "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" altered forever.

Once more we are forced to ask some difficult questions of ourselves and those we look to as leaders. Many questions with no clear answers, much pain and anguish that has no ease. 

There are countless families that will savor their times with friends and family at a more intense level this year. Children will continue to add to their memory bank another holiday season. The adults and older children will have perhaps a sharper appreciation of the intangibles that we strive for in life. 

My birthday has always waged a battle with the holidays, as it is a mere 9 days before Christmas, 7 days before Yule. This year a pall I am not sure will ever lift was added, because in my mind December 14 will loom larger that December 16, 25 or 21. 

We need something to change. Columbine, Virginia Tech, Aurora, Newtown ... How many places will be added to the list?  I do not think there are any easy answers. There are most definitely a great many difficult questions. 

Blessings to all who read these words.

What do you remember about your mother?

I am not sure how you go about crediting photos, but the above image is from Rides.com.

I posted this to my Facebook wall, and the following conversation developed. My Facebook name is Ellen WhiteOwl Smith-Apple. Rhiannon Smith is my niece.

I posted the first comment with the picture

You think Mom would go for this? I giggle just thinking about the look on her face. I am so mean ...

Rhiannon Smith She might like it :)

Ellen WhiteOwl Smith-Apple She would say Wheeeeeeeeeee!!!!! When we were young we tried to teach her to ride a bicycle, and hula hoop. Get her to tell you about it. She was so much fun as a mother.

I have thought a great deal about this over the weeks since I had this interaction. My mother was 25 years old when I was born, and throughout our childhood she was one of the fun mothers. I am not real sure I appreciated that aspect of her personality. There was a lot of laughter in our house. My sister and I would roll on the floor laughing at times.

When we (my sister and I) were about 12 and 14 she went to work at the elementary school as an aide in a kindergarten class. She loved children so much, and would wipe their tears and give them hugs as needed. I suppose that would not be allowed in schools today. She made it a personal crusade to assure that there were sufficient funds for all the children to participate in all activities. No child went without ice cream. All children went to paid activities like shows and plays and field trips to farms. Each child had at least one book to take home from the book fair. Those with less always had enough. She took socks and gloves and underwear and soap to school on a regular basis. She unabashedly harassed her clubs and ladies groups for monies to help the children at her school. All of this was done in a manner as to not belittle or call attention to those in need.

We were not well off. We were not even middle class. I cannot ever remember having surplus, except for laughter and family and love.

She and my father did well, they loved us and helped us grow into pretty decent people. She usually but not always let Daddy do the physical discipline. We were rambunctious kids.

They played with us, games and cards and outside. They welcomed all of our friends, often feeding 3 or 4 extra at mealtimes.

Just a few memories of my mother on the eve of my 54th birthday.