Invariably, when my girls start reminiscing , talk turns to the farm and much of it is joy filled, and sweet to hear. But, almost to the girl, comes that lament, “I hated Pulling Weeds!”

I have come to believe that”weed pulling” might just be the metaphor for all those tasks in our lives that we are called on to do that we dislike, but do anyway. Surely the girls had other tasks on the farm they buckled down and did! They surely didn’t like occasion early morning milking cows with their Dad, or halter breaking young heifers, or chasing a rogue cow escaping onto busy Rt, 33!, But it was “Pulling Weeds” that bothered them.7

This older Mom is so thankful for weed pulling in my children’s lives, Teaching life’s truths without me having to open my mouth with some lecture. Pull those weeds, let the healthy things grow in your life. Pull those weeds and next week you might have to do it again. Pull those weeds, and make your world better for a while.

Lesson learned, my dear girls.

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No phone, no drivers permit, and no patience with a predicament of my own making. After an absolutely wonderful trip to New York with family, I left my purse with phone and permit and all a woman carries with her in a bathroom stop coming home.

Immediately blaming it on an aging mind, my daughters were all quick to recite their own similar goofs. The hotel where I left it found it, and their housekeeping manager immediately told us she would Fed ex it to me. With more than one misstep and falsehoods with Fed Ex, I still do not have my purse.

Took security actions, but darn, it’s hard not to pick up my phone to chat, or jump in my car to go where I please, and I chastise myself for being so spoiled by the modern life.

There’s no other word to describe my persona for the last few days with news of the Texas floods that wasted over my mind as surely as it washed over Texas. Shaken by thoughts of small children joyfully experiencing one of the stable summertime ritual of camp. Shaken by story after story of both heroes and victims thrust into something unexpected. Shaken by thoughts of the many weeks when I was that camper and also that counselor.

But, most of all, shaken by my immediate questions aimed at God. Why God? As if I needed someone to blame for something so tragic. Why?

In my saner, rational reveries, I realize that my faith in the giver and sustainer of life allows that question. Is my faith in God shaken? No. I am shaken by thoughts of my inability to handle what families are having to deal with today.

Today my prayer shall be for God”s eternal love to give comfort and strength to people probably shouting out to the heavens “Why!”

The day’s designation alone speaks volumes of what we cherish and celebrate in our lives, and I am no different. My Dad, a giant of a man, a humble, gentle, lifter of people, a strong moral man, and where my mind goes whenever I need a lesson of the importance in all of the above!!

Coming from the working class, he taught me to be proud of the simple things. His confidence in his self-worth, taught me dignity, and his acceptance of all people, taught me love.

I sit here writing with a smile on my face for one image, one memory that, to me, sums up all the attributes of which I mentioned.

My senior year at Madison College, I lived in the Tri Sigma sorority house. Somedays, after a class, I would walk into the house to find my Dad in his bib overalls and farm shoes sitting in our living room expounding some story with our wonderful housekeeper, Willie, with laughter spilling out the door! Him, with some food or necessity Mom had sent, and Willie comfortably enjoying this old farmer and his stories.

Earth shaking occasion?? Of course not. But in retrospect, exactly what we need in these days. Comfort and complete commonality with people different in every aspect of life, except loving hearts. Thank you Dad for one more reminder!

I just heard that word from an author of a book on one of our US presidents- Good word, not lightly bestowed, but a good argument for such a declaration.

I immediately thought of who earned that beautiful personal description for me in my childhood. My parents personified the word. If you look that word up in the dictionary you will get everything from a concern or pity for, or the urge to help the less fortunate with your actions. My marriage to Bill, doubled my exposure to what the real meaning of Compassion is, as he lived out in real action what that care meant.

Most of us are touched and feel concern for them, but fail in that action part. If you have read some of my stories in my writings, you know I learned better than that!!! Those meals Mom made me take to a neighbor, or the clean clothes to another, or not seriously acting to deter a poor boy stealing chickens, or the food provided to families whose father was imprisoned for moonshining, taught me better

I forget, or I let my church or charity donations substitute for that compassion. I revel in our church’s food pantry, or Blessings in a Bag, or helping with Open Doors, and convince myself it’s enough. And for Heaven’s Sake, they are wonderful and I will never stop, but when someone throws out that word Compassion, I sigh!!!

GRANDMA……..

This post is for all the Grandmas out there, and those who will be grandmothers. You are fortunate. My daughters are now moving into that high position now, and this is the only advice I can pass on with confidence.

On my dresser in my bedroom is a framed, hand written and decorated sheet of paper that I treasure. It is simply entitled “grandma.” By Jane.

Jane listed 11 things that make me Grandma and I hope they help you appreciate how little it takes to set you apart as something special to a grandchild. So here they are as Jane sees me. 1. My grandma sings in a choir. 2. My grandma has 7 daughters. 3. My grandma is a good cook and baker. 4. My grandma has grey hair and brown eyes. 5. My grandma is super nice to me and my family. 6. Whenever I walk through the door she comes to hug me. 7. My grandma loves to go on hikes. 8. Me and my grandma love telling stories to each other. 9. My grandma has so many good treats. 10. My grandma listens to me when I talk, 11. My grandmother and I like to eat perogies

I think numbers 8 and 10 are my favorites and her Polish heritage explained the perogies!! Jane was about 10 when she wrote this, and entering her teen years now with the grace and confidence we want to see in young women. And let all of us grandmothers take pride that our role was a part of that transformation.

We talk about the “circle of life” as the inevitable path we follow in this world. We are born, grow, thrive, age, and die. But, all of us have experienced that circle being skewed by circumstances or illness, or some unexpected tragedy that defies the norm, and we shake our heads and pray for understanding.

Our family is caught in that dilemma now as a dear life, shortened and puzzling send us struggling to accept a broken circle. Our prayers are more pleas for understanding. Our minds are full of fears as to our own vulnerability. Our hearts bleed in love for a mother saying “This can’t be true!”

This serves as a reminder for all of us to appreciate our life’s circle, and remember that a circle really doesn’t have an end!! Round and round it goes and never ends! Thanks be to God.

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With so many people losing jobs today, and the sweeping upheaval in society, made me think of my Uncle Ed.

Most of my writing, as you know, has been a running history of our family, in hopes it both informs my children, or at least entertains them about who they are and perhaps why!

Uncle Ed was Mom’s brother, and when Granddaddy Marshall died, each of the children inherited some substantial money. Uncle Ed took his money and moved to Chicago, where he went into business and had heavy stock investments. With the Great Crash of 1929 and the resulting Great Depression that followed, he lost all of it.

Moving to California, leaving family and defeat behind, the only job he could find was a janitorial position in the types of businesses he once owned. But here is the story I want to remember. Every day he put on a full business suit, white shirt, ascot tie, shiny shoes, complete with walking stick and went to work. At work he put his clothes in a locker and put on coveralls and work shoes, and worked all day, changing into his street clothes and walked home.

I won’t begin to explain this, but I think it just might be what we need to do right now with the climate we wake up to, we need to put on our best attire, our best mind set, our best attitude and go to work, then putting on whatever it takes to clean up the dirt and rubble wherever we find it.

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When did it change? Where did I miss the clues? Why am I out of step with so many people? I am 86 years old, great grandmother, gentle, benevolent old lady who gets labeled as “Woke” for the same values I have held all my life! Never heard that word before a few years ago, hurled at those of us who embrace a tolerance of those somehow dismissed by some of our peers.

Where did my values become the object of scorn and hatred? How did I become who I am? Maybe, just maybe, growing up in a home where love and belonging swirled around our house as free and important as the air we breathed.

Maybe it was being married to a man whose very core exuded an air of love and acceptance. Like loaning a car to two young men on 81, whom he had never seen before, with only a phone number to call. That number proved troubling, but it never stopped my dear one from doing the same kind of thing over and over in his lifetime.

Maybe, just maybe, it’s believing what Matthew: 25 in the Bible says. Maybe its message has put a call on my life that my parents and Bill heard so clearly and passed it on to me. Not maybe, but absolutely!!

The first thing I learned, kicking and screaming for my own opinions on care, was that the experts were right all along! I did need that new knee. I wasted a lot of time with stop gap remedies that lasted a bit, but failed to stop the hurting.

So, to all my peers who have had a similar medical need, you are a hero and a winner in every sense of the word. The unheralded heroes in this story are the medical staff and physical therapists who stepped in where I failed and made me well again.

The things since surgery that I learned to accept were more about changing Ellen than about the steps to healing that occurred. First, I learned I have no patience with any weakness or perceived failure on my part! Did I really need that pain medicine, was the pain a figment of my imagination, surely no one had felt this before! With a very easy medical history, I hadn’t had to test my tolerance of long term discomfort and mental toughness.

The real heroes of this adventure were the medical and therapists who overlooked my personal prejudices and healed me.

Continue reading “What I Learned From A Knee Replacement……..” →