Monday, September 19, 2016

the serendipitous letter

The other day I went to lunch with my father.  We have never been as close as I've wanted, we have very little in common.  It is possible that I'm not related to him.  My mother left us when I was 2.

Today was the best conversation we have ever had.  I was completely genuine with him, and explained that even if my teaching job had worked out, I don't want to live here.  I want to live in the country, with my love.  My dad looked at all the pics of my many weeks on the farm, and he understood. He got it.

He asked if before I leave, we could spend some time at the storage unit.  The unit that could park an RV, that houses years and years of his sister's things, his mother's things, his own things...  We do this every year or two, spend a few hours, get overwhelmed, ignore it for another year.  I have told him we need to do this before he dies, because I will never ever open the unit again after he dies.

We ended up spending many afternoons working together, had some bonding, shared stories.  It was so healing to me.

On the first day, he opened a box (there are hundreds of boxes there, by the way) and found a letter I wrote my gramma, his mom, when I was in college.

I don't remember this particular letter.  I wrote her many.  It's in my handwriting, purple pen too.  I read it out loud, the words written from my younger self just before graduating college... from my 22 year old heart to one of my favorite humans in the world...  sent to my gramma a year before she died.

"On the weekends though, when everyone is going out, I am working.  But really, I don't like to go out all that much.  I really miss you, and sometimes I feel like I live so far away!  I miss just walking over when I want to visit, and spending whole evenings together.  I need more hours in my day.  Life is so hectic and fast paced.  That's why I want to live in the country.  I want to have lots of grass and wild flowers, trees, a river or a lake...  I want to plant a garden and cook all my food homemade.  I want to lie in the sun and look up at the clouds through the leaves of trees, sleep outside under the stars...  I don't want to see sidewalks, street signs, traffic lights, traffic, freeways, litter, malls, or anything.  I want to ride my horse to the mailbox, and shop at a farmer's market.  How's that for future aspirations!  

Maybe I lied.  I didn't go to college so I could get a good job.  I went so I could learn something about life... find a deeper meaning to this existence than just partying and working, earning money... When I get to the end of my life, I want to look back and feel like I really lived, not just consumed and wasted.  I want to find nature.  So that's my deep thoughts..."

My dad and I stood there looking at each other, both too choked up for words.  He said he didn't realize I wrote letters like that to his mom.  I said she raised me.  He didn't realize we were that close. And then in front of my eyes, I watched it dawn on him that he doesn't know me at all. And never has.

What are the odds we would find this letter, this day, in this box, just a week after I decided to go live in the country, on a farm, where all the foods are grown fresh and we go to the yard to pick dinner... He lives on almost 300 acres of country, in the farm house his grandparents built, surrounded by more country; blue skies, orchards, ponds, grass, wildflowers.

I felt like I had written this letter to my future self, to remind me not to shut out what my heart has most wanted my entire life, to never forget my soul yearning.  I needed to remind my future adult self to stop listening to what others think I should do, what society tells me to do...  I had forgotten I had written this letter, but deep down, I have never forgotten what kind of life I deeply longed for.  For the first time since my gramma died, I felt like she had reached out to me, her angel hand put this letter right here where we would find it.

Serendipitous.  Goose bumps.  Tears for homecoming to my heart and being genuine.

My dad said, "You have always hated the city huh?"
Yes.  But I gave it 21 more years after this letter, just to make sure.
We laughed and hugged.



Sunday, January 24, 2016

grounding is good for the soul

We hiked five miles in the foothills today. Laid on our backs in the sun at the top of the mountain, watched the clouds, thanked creator for such beauty in the world <3  A sunny day and a full moon tonight!







25 rules for moms with daughters

I want this. I wanted this as a child.  Part of me still wants this, even as an adult.   What a challenge it has been becoming a mom now to a son who does not want any of this kind of love.  (I show up anyway!)  

So.  I'm doing these things for myself.
Ahem.  Don't judge the flowers in my hair.

I found this article on facebook, posted by Emain Barnard Fourie.  I don't know if this is the original author.  It speaks to my heart though.


25 RULES FOR MOMS WITH DAUGHTERS

1. Paint her nails. Then let her scratch it off and dirty them up. Teach her to care about her appearance, and then quickly remind her that living and having fun is most important.


2. Let her put on your makeup, even if it means bright-red-smudged lips and streaked-blue eyes. Let her experiment in her attempts to be like you…then let her be herself.


3. Let her be wild. She may want to stay home and read books on the couch, or she may want to hop on the back of a motorcycle-gasp. She may be a homebody or a traveler. She may fall in love with the wrong boy, or meet Mr. right at age 5. Try to remember that you were her age once. Everyone makes mistakes, let her make her own.


4. Be present. Be there for her at her Kindergarten performances, her dance recitals, her soccer games…her everyday-little-moments. When she looks through the crowds of people, she will be looking for your smile and pride. Show it to her as often as possible.


5. Encourage her to try on your shoes and play dress-up. If she would rather wear her brother’s superman cape with high heals, allow it. If she wants to wear a tutu or dinosaur costume to the grocery store, why stop her? She needs to decide who she is and be confident in her decision.


6. Teach her to be independent. Show her by example that woman can be strong. Find and follow your own passions. Search for outlets of expression and enjoyment for yourself- not just your husband or children. Define yourself by your own attributes, not by what others expect you to be. Know who you are as a person, and help your daughter find out who she is.


7. Pick flowers with her. Put them in her hair. There is nothing more beautiful than a girl and a flower.


8. Let her get messy. Get messy with her, no matter how much it makes you cringe inside. Splash in the puddles, throw snowballs, make mud pies, finger paint the walls: just let it happen. The most wonderful of memories are often the messy ones.


9. Give her good role models- you being one of them. Introduce her to successful woman- friends, co-workers, doctors, astronauts, or authors. Read to her about influential woman- Eleanor Roosevelt, Rosa Parks, Marie Curie. Read her the words of inspirational woman- Jane Austen, Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson. She should know that anything is possible.


10. Show her affection. Daughters will mimic the compassion of their mother. “I love yous” and Eskimo kisses go a long way.


11. Hold her hand. Whether she is 3 years-old in the parking lot or sixteen years old in the mall, hold on to her always- this will teach her to be confident in herself and proud of her family.


12. Believe in her. It is the moments that she does not believe in herself that she will need you to believe enough for both of you. Whether it is a spelling test in the first grade, a big game or recital, a first date, or the first day of college…remind her of the independent and capable woman you have taught her to be.


13. Tell her how beautiful she is. Whether it is her first day of Kindergarten, immediately after a soccer game where she is grass-stained and sweaty, or her wedding day. She needs your reminders. She needs your pride. She needs your reassurance. She is only human.


14. Love her father. Teach her to love a good man, like him. One who lets her be herself…she is after all wonderful.


15. Make forts with boxes and blankets. Help her to find magic in the ordinary, to imagine, to create and to believe in fairy tales. Someday she will make her 5 by 5 dorm-room her home with magic touches and inspiration. And she will fall in love with a boy and believe him to be Prince Charming.


16. Read to her. Read her Dr. Seuss and Eric Carle. But also remember the power of Sylvia Plath and Robert Frost. Show her the beauty of words on a page and let her see you enjoy them. Words can be simply written and simply spoken, yet can harvest so much meaning. Help her to find their meaning.


17. Teach her how to love- with passion and kisses. Love her passionately. Love her father passionately and her siblings passionately. Express your love. Show her how to love with no restraint. Let her get her heart broken and try again. Let her cry, and gush, giggle and scream. She will love like you love or hate like you hate. So, choose love for both you and her.


18. Encourage her to dance and sing. Dance and sing with her- even if it sounds or looks horrible. Let her wiggle to nursery rhymes. Let her dance on her daddy's feet and spin in your arms. Then later, let her blast noise and headbang in her bedroom with her door shut if she wants. Or karaoke to Tom Petty in the living room if she would rather. Introduce her to the classics- like The Beatles- and listen to her latest favorite- like Taylor Swift. Share the magic of music together, it will bring you closer- or at least create a soundtrack to your life together.


19. Share secrets together. Communicate. Talk. Talk about anything. Let her tell you about boys, friends, school. Listen. Ask questions. Share dreams, hopes, concerns. She is not only your daughter, you are not only her mother. Be her friend too.



20. Teach her manners. Because sometimes you have to be her mother, not just her friend. The world is a happier place when made up of polite words and smiles.



21. Teach her when to stand-up and when to walk away. Whether she has classmates who tease her because of her glasses, or a boyfriend who tells her she is too fat - let her know she does not have to listen. Make sure she knows how to demand respect - she is worthy of it. It does not mean she has to fight back with fists or words, because sometimes you say more with silence. Also make sure she knows which battles are worth fighting. Remind her that some people can be mean and nasty because of jealousy, or other personal reasons. Help her to understand when to shut her mouth and walk-away. Teach her to be the better person.



22. Let her choose who she loves. Even when you see through the charming boy she thinks he is, let her love him without your disapproving words; she will anyway. When he breaks her heart, be there for her with words of support rather than I told-you-so. Let her mess up again and again until she finds the one. And when she finds the one, tell her.

23. Mother her. Being a mother - to her - is undoubtedly one of your greatest accomplishments. Share with her the joys of motherhood, so one day she will want to be a mother too. Remind her over and over again with words and kisses that no one will ever love her like you love her. No one can replace or replicate a mother's love for their children.


24. Comfort her. Because sometimes you just need your mommy. When she is sick, rub her back, make her soup and cover her in blankets - no matter how old she is. Someday, if she is giving birth to her own child, push her hair out of her face, encourage her, and tell her how beautiful she is. These are the moments she will remember you for. And someday when her husband rubs her back in attempt to comfort her...she may just whisper, "I need my mommy."


25. Be home. When she is sick with a cold or broken heart, she will come to you; welcome her. When she is engaged or pregnant, she will run to you to share her news; embrace her. When she is lost or confused, she will search for you; find her. When she needs advice on boys, schools, friends or an outfit; tell her. She is your daughter and will always need a safe harbor - where she can turn a key to see comforting eyes and a familiar smile; be home.



Saturday, January 23, 2016

learning without language

I'm in my car now, just sitting.  I can't drive away.  There were 33 refugee kids from Africa in the library room with a max capacity of 19 (says the sign on the wall).  The kids are aged 9 mos- 12th grade. Some don't speak English.  They look at me with big gorgeous chocolate brown eyes, with a mixture of tenderness, curiosity, kindness, pain...  They want to learn from me. Ironically, they are strangers here in my hometown, and I am the stranger in the room.

I want to give them hope, to teach them skills to survive here, to be successful, happy, to do well in school so they can make lives for themselves.  I don't speak any of the many languages they speak. My heart explodes in my ears, compassion chokes me up, and (pun intended) I am at a loss for words. The book I brought is useless.  As is the planned lesson.

I hand out paper, markers, pens, colored pencils... and ask one girl to translate for me. 
"Draw something you love.  Draw what makes you happy.  Draw something you love about yourself. Draw something you want me to know about you."  She translates into French.  Another girl translates into an African dialect.  A young man translates it again into a third language.  They look at me in wonder, confused for a moment.  Then they lunge for pens and paper, they smile, they draw, they chatter, they sing!  They color, and for a moment, we are all happy children.  

I try to explain that libraries are supposed to be quiet places (with help of three translators). They don't understand.  A happy place full of books and they have to be quiet??  They don't have libraries in refugee camps. Or books. They don't know how to read.  

We need a bigger room!  Kids are sitting on laps, on the floor, under the table...  Kids in chairs behind kids at the table!  I ask the librarian. Yes there is a bigger room.  It's available some Saturdays. $25 a week, paid in advance with the reservation.  (I wonder, who can pay for that? I can't even pay that!  $100 a month?! But oh I want to!)  I don't know what to do, there is no system for any of this it seems.

The man who has organized it thus far- Asukulu has spent a year trying to arrange transportation for the kids to be here today.  None of the families have cars. Asukulu and his family have immigrated from Congo; they won the lottery to come to America.  He is highly educated, was a school principal in Africa, he speaks 6+ languages.  He is a janitor here, an intelligent well-spoken compassionate man who loves children.  And in his free time arranges rides for them to libraries so they can learn the skills my program teaches, and hopefully succeed here.

Before class, he tells me refugees are promised the American Dream, land of freedom and opportunity.  He says there are 600,000 people in African refugee camps... no schooling in the camps, no education, no training, just waiting.  The lucky ones are plucked out of the camps and plopped into America, but no system to work with them.  They get 6 months of food stamps (for refugees, none for immigrants he says), and good luck.  No training, no language classes, no skills to survive. He is their advocate it seems.

He confides that the kids have never been to school before, they don't like sitting at desks, they don't understand the value of education (free education even!), they don't even speak English.  The parents are working several jobs each, tired out,  most don't have plates or silverware, no welcome kit for survival.  Parents are divorcing, children drop out of schools and get into trouble or live on the streets.  

I guess it's better than living in war...  But should we promise them so much and them leave them to struggle?  

Asukulu was the janitor at a church; the church has been good to him and his family.  The church members care, and gather clothing and household goods for other families... but the families feel pressured to join the church... and on top of all the changes they have already faced, it's uncomfortable.  Asukulu anonymously sneaks the items into the apartment laundry facilities for the families to find later.  I love his heart.  He is not just a janitor, he is a custodian of children's futures.  

He tells me he's sad that a few generations will be lost, families torn apart by this new way of life.  But maybe, just maybe, the younger ones can be reached, maybe we can make a difference for some of them, that they can have a chance to become productive successful members of society.  Oh I hope we can make a difference!

I called my friend, my boss, the director of the program.  We brainstormed together, made a list of nearby churches and schools to contact for a bigger space for these kids who want to learn on Saturdays.  It's a start.  I guess now I can drive home.



Almost every one of them brings me their drawing to see, they are shy to show me...  The drawings are marvelous, colorful, beautiful, happy.








Home of the Brave Audiobook
My son read this book in the 5th grade; it moved him so much he had me read it too.