Three time periods. Four human main characters. Horse racing. Art. Racial issues. Romance. Clean fiction based upon real life.
All descriptors of the book Horse by Geraldine Brooks. I’ll add one more descriptor: one of my favorite books.
When my friend Judy gifted me the audiobook a couple of years ago, I’d never heard of it. I was intrigued, though, because I was one of those girls who loved horse books. From Black Beauty to more contemporary books involving horses, I read as many as I could. Dreams of someday living on a ranch and having my own horses were a constant in my life, even into adulthood.
The horse Lexington, who was known as Darly until he was sold, was a real horse upon which Brooks created a a story by interweaving real people and events with her imagination. The result is a book that you don’t want to put down. Well, I didn’t. I’ve listened to the audiobook three times and am getting ready to do so again since I will be sharing information about it with one of my book clubs in October.
Two weeks ago today, some friends called to see if we wanted to take a quick trip to eastern Kentucky. Along the way, they said, we’d stop at Abraham Lincoln’s birthplace and childhood home and then go on to Lexington to tour Claiborne Farms, a breeding facility where Secretariat is buried. Lexington is only about a four and a half hour drive, so we were up for it. During the drive, I wondered aloud about the location of the International Museum of the Horse, the place described in the book where Lexington’s skeleton is on display. Was it in Louisville or Lexington?
Lexington at the Kentucky Horse Park. I couldn’t believe it. I was thrilled.
Not only did I get to see Lexington’s display, I also was able to pet and give peppermints to two race horses, now used for breeding, at Claiborne. The first horse was worth $11 million. The horse in this picture is worth $85 million.
If you love horses, I encourage you to the read the book. And however you feel about horse racing, you might enjoy touring one or more of the many horse farms in the area as well as the Kentucky Horse Park. I hope to go back someday.
When I was a middle school principal, the school’s bookkeeper and I agreed that working kept us sane. Our days were full of things we had to do and people with whom we had to interact. We had no time to think about what was troubling us. Sure, there were days that were too long and exhausting, and the human body is not programmed to live like that seven days a week, and our lives are often a case of feast or famine (either too busy or not busy enough), but I’ve noticed in others and in myself that boredom is perhaps more dangerous than being too busy.
I get it. Some of you are never bored. You’re busy with children and grandchildren and maybe caring for a parent from time to time. But we’re all bored at times. Sitting in a doctor’s office waiting too long for an appointment. Sitting with someone in a hospital. Sitting through a long-winded speaker who’s just not very interesting.
But too much boredom leads to crime, unhealthy habits, and depression. Loneliness may play a role in some cases, but even lonely people can find contentment in productive activities. An old saying that dates back several centuries is something like “idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”
We live in a world of need, even here in the United States that is blessed beyond measure. There are always things to do and people to help if we look for them.
I’ve had to learn that lesson. As my regular readers know, I’ve struggled with retirement. Not that I want to go back to full work days, but I have too many empty hours to fill. So I look for ways to fill them.
If you’re struggling with boredom or loneliness, allow me to share what has worked for me:
Try new things. A new hobby, cook something different, invite people over for a simple lunch or a potluck dinner.
Call or visit a shut-in or even just someone who lives alone and is unable to drive. Go to the nursing homes and see how you can help.
Volunteer at your church or find a civic club of which you can be a part.
Be the organizer of activities instead of waiting on someone to reach out to you.
Think of things on your bucket list, and do as many as you can afford or do physically. For me, it was being on the Sirius XM Elvis Radio Quiz Show, participating in the St. Jude half-marathon in Memphis (I mostly walked), and a couple of trips I’d always wanted to do. I’m adding to the bucket list.
Learn something new. With the Internet, countless courses, both free and the paid kind, are available. I’m learning Braille, but I also want to keep my Spanish and French language skills, so I watch videos to keep me from forgetting. Audit a class at a local university.
I could keep going, but you get the idea. Don’t let boredom control you. I’ve been guilty of it more days than I like to admit. But I’m working at it.
I’m not talking about the passions common to many of us–our faith, our family, our friendships. I’m talking about the hobby that brings you the most joy and never fails to pique your interest.
For my brother, it was fishing, specifically bass fishing. For my husband, it’s sports, especially University of Tennessee sports, NFL Fantasy Football, NBA’s Boston Celtics, and MLB’s Pittsburgh Pirates. For my friend and neighbor Ruth, it’s painting (and she’s very talented). For several men in our church, its’ golf.
“I can’t imagine being so obsessed by a hobby,” I told my husband one day. I wasn’t being critical. I was actually envious. What would it be like to be so enamored with a hobby you were guaranteed never to be bored because you always had something to do that interested you? I’ve been very open that retirement, for me, can be pretty boring, likely due to my circumstances, so I wanted to have that passion, that interest, that diversion from the routine of everyday life.
Today, though, while walking Draco, it hit me.
I do have a passion for something. It goes back to my childhood and is the one activity I never tire of, the one activity guaranteed to bring me entertainment. It makes me laugh, makes me cry, and makes me dream.
Reading. I’ve loved to read ever since I learned how.
When I was growing up, my parents ate breakfast earlier than I did because of my dad having to leave for work before I was up for the day, and I can remember eating my cereal while reading the cereal box. That’s right, I read the Cheerios box just to have something to read.
I was a regular at the local library, and the highlight of my school experience was when the teacher passed out the Scholastic magazines for us to order books. My parents were not the type to buy toys for me unless it was my birthday or Christmas, but they always allowed me to order a book through Scholastic. What a treat!
I read Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden books and every horse book I could find. I read the classics like Black Beauty and Beautiful Joe, and I read Little Women so many times, the cover was worn with use.
I graduated to more mature fare in my teens, and my author preferences have ranged from Janet Daily’s Calder series to Jeffery Archer and John Grisham. My current favorites are Kristin Hannah and Lisa Wingate, and my current favorite book is Horse by Geraldine Brooks. I’m in two book clubs, and what I love about them is I am forced to read books out of my usual genre, books I wouldn’t have read otherwise. Most of the time, I end up enjoying the book and resolve to be more diverse in my selections.
Unfortunately, I can’t hold a book and read it anymore, but fortunately there are other options. I can read e-books (only Kindle books) on my iPad with the font set as large as it will go. While this is manageable, it’s not ideal. There are about eight to 10 words per screen. Plus my reading speed is about like a second grader, so sometimes it’s just not worth the effort.
But audiobooks are available 24 hours a day and only a touch away. I have two apps on my iPad and phone. One is the Libby app through Tennessee Reads. All you need is a library card through your local library, and you can check out e-books and audiobooks as well as magazines. Because I’m considered to be blind, I also have Bard, a service for the blind that allows me to download audiobooks or have Braille books sent to my house, free of charge. Another trick I have learned is if I purchase an e-book on Kindle, Alexa will read the book to me. I can use some accessibility features like Voice Over on my phone also.
So do I have a hobby about which I’m passionate? Absolutely.
Reading, or in my case, listening to books. From the Bible to fiction to biographies to educational to magazines, my world is ever expanded beyond the confines of my home and my community. I can travel to places I’ll never go and visit past and future time periods. I can be a lawyer, a member of the French resistance during World War II, or deliver books on horseback to rural Appalachia during the Depression.
I could go on about the fun and benefits of reading, but this post is already too long. Please don’t misunderstand. As much as I love to read, I don’t want to listen to books all day. I still enjoy other activities and believe in the motto “variety is the spice of life.” But the one constant has always been reading.
If you’re like me, you’ve heard wise sayings all your life. From “a penny saved is a penny earned” to “life is like a box of chocolates,” we’ve heard plenty. The one, however, that I read in a devotional book or even on Facebook has impacted me the most. I may not be quoting it exactly, but it is basically this: Dwelling on yesterday and worrying about tomorrow robs you of joy today.
What a wise saying.
The truth is, we all think about the past. We remember the happy childhood that seems so perfect now or dredge up past hurts and disappointments that continue to hut us today. We miss the happier times without realizing how lucky we are to have endured the bad times. We plan for the future and worry about finances, our loved ones, our health, and our jobs.
We can be so busy looking back or looking forward, we fail to appreciate where we are right now.
No doubt there are times we don’t want to focus on the now. Going through a health crisis or grieving the loss of a loved one or dealing with a broken relationship can make us long for better days, and that is perfectly normal. After all, we are human, and how we react to negative events is unique to each of us because of our varied personalities and abilities.
But what about all the times when life isn’t hitting us hard and dragging us down? What about the day-to-day events that are part of our routines and irritations? If we could remember that wise saying, could we not do a better job of handling and accepting things that really aren’t that important?
I have been guilty more than I want to admit of failing to appreciate the here and now, and I’m not saying I will never be guilty of it again. But I am sharing these thoughts in the hopes it will remind me, and maybe you, that we really do need to “stop and smell the roses” at times.
My favorite kind of day is a busy one. Whether it’s cleaning house or working in the yard or spending time with my young granddaughters, I love being so weary at night that sleep comes quickly and I can appreciate the bliss of a good night’s rest. When I’m inactive and bored, my mind goes places it doesn’t need to go. I wish for things I can never have, like my vision back or a fun job (I used to imagine myself selling tickets at Graceland so I could listen to Elvis music all day, ha ha) or living in a community with sidewalks and stores I can walk easily to since I can’t drive.
But the truth is, in both situations, I am learning to focus on today and look for the joys it has to offer. I’m doing my best to make the most of each moment and doing my best to help others in whatever small way I can. Doing that gets me out of my own head space.
As I write this, I realize maybe ten people will read it, and that’s okay. But if you, like me, feel the need to learn to appreciate today, I hope this blog is an encouragement to you. Whatever distractions and worries are bringing you down, I hope you can let go of them, at least for the moment.
No, I’m not talking about walking across two states. But this new weight loss program I’ve discovered, quite by accident, is guaranteed to work. If I need to lose two or three pounds in a hurry, this has worked every time. In only a week, up to five pounds can disappear depending upon how well you follow it.
Yes, it does involve a measure of portion control. It does involve some lifting which engages your core as well as your legs, arms, and back. It is important to get seven to eight hours of sleep each night, which gives your body much needed rest.
Here’s the schedule:
Arise at 6:30 A.M. Drink one or two cups of coffee. You’ll need the caffeine. I don’t eat breakfast, but if you do, eat something like yogurt with fruit.
Lunch will consist of a small sandwich.
Dinner/supper will be one serving of whatever you’ve prepared. Nothing fried, no dessert.
No bedtime snack.
So what’s so different about this? Well, it’s what you’re doing in between meals.
No running or aerobics workout or even yoga. No treadmill or walking five miles on an outdoor track.
Then only equipment you need is two toddlers. More if you can handle it, but at least two. By the time you follow them around, push them in swings, lift them up or down, deal with happy times and sometimes frustrated times, read books to them, and whatever else interests them, you will log about 7,000 steps and keep your metabolism revved. You may rest during nap time or you may choose to take care of laundry or other household chores. Once they are down for the night, you can collapse. And you will have some of the best sleep you can imagine, as long as they sleep all night.
You will burn calories singing songs, laughing, kneeling to console when necessary, holding hands, and yes, you might give them a little more Mickey Mouse viewing time than Mom and Dad would like, but…well, there’s still plenty of activity.
Not only will you build muscle, lose weight, and have improved sleep, you’ll create memories that will, for you, last a lifetime. They’ll forget these days if they haven’t already, but you’ll never forget the cute sayings, the sweet hugs, and yes, even the occasional temper tantrum.
Or at least you hope you won’t.
Grandparents’ fitness week or long weekend. It works every time.
I know many of you teachers both retired and still working, are rolling your eyes at the title of this blog. Allow me to explain.
Obviously this photo is not of me. It is one I found online, and I’ve used it before. But what I miss about teaching is not what we see in this photo.
I don’t miss getting up at 5:30 AM. I don’t miss teaching the same lesson five or six times a day. I don’t miss dealing with discipline issues. I don’t miss my principal and supervisors popping into my classroom to do an evaluation. I don’t miss state testing. And I sure don’t miss long days of teaching followed by a night of working the gate at a ballgame.
I do miss the interactions with the kids and fellow teachers. You see, I taught high school Spanish or French for 25 years and served as a middle school principal for seven years. Each job had its drawbacks, and to be honest, I enjoyed being a principal for the most part. I loved working at the school in the summers when I could dress casually and work on scheduling and plans for the next year and interact with the teachers/coaches who were in and out of the school during the summer months as well as the interacting with the custodial staff.
Being a principal gave me a new perspective when I returned to the classroom. I understood more why principals had to do the things they did, and I understood that principals were not looking for what teachers were doing wrong. Instead, they (most) were looking for what teachers were doing right. I learned so much from the teachers I evaluated and incorporated some of their methods when I returned to the classroom.
It’s the students, though, I miss the most. They kept me young at heart and up to date with what was going on in the teen world. Sure, I was one of those teachers who thought I had to teach bell-to-bell (our supervisors told us to do that), and if I could go back and do things over, I probably wouldn’t do that all the time. I like to think my methods improved over the years, and as I learned how to do things in different ways, I think learning improved. I hope so.
Back to the students though. Most of them were great kids. They made me laugh. They made my day when they told me they finally understood something they’d been struggling with. I loved it when they came to my room before or after school just to chat.
To those of you still teaching, I get it. Summer break is wonderful and desperately needed to refresh and regroup. I know you’re burdened with a mindset of parents unlike any I had to encounter. Parents today, from what I’ve been told, don’t believe in holding their children accountable for anything, and I saw some of that in my later years of teaching. Like the parent who called me one week before school was out to give her son a passing grade when his absenteeism had been extremely high and he’d never made up the tests and quizzes he missed, resulting in a failing grade for every six weeks, yet she called one week before school was out? So I have an idea of what you’re putting up with. A slight one.
You may be discouraged and feel you’re not accomplishing much. You may feel students are not learning responsibility and accountability. But keep working at it. Keep trying. You’re making a difference with some if not most.
And someday, when you retire and find yourself no longer important or needed in the lives of students, you might miss it.
No real reason for this photo except I couldn’t find anything in my library. Plus I’d much rather share photos of my younger self than my current self!
How weird am I? Well, read the list, and you tell me.
I’m not a huge fan of chocolate. I’ll eat it but don’t love it. I’d rather have vanilla.
Although met teen and college years were in the 70s, I prefer music from the60s.
I don’t particularly like hamburgers or pizza. I can eat them, but it would be fine with me if I spent the rest of my life without eating either.
I love, love, love to go for long fitness walks.
I love aerobics like the old Jane Fonda exercise tapes and Jazzercise.
I’d rather iron clothes for an hour than unload a dishwasher for five minutes. I actually enjoy ironing. Stand in front of the TV and have a talk show on or listen to an audiobook, and I am perfectly content.
I liked Elvis when liking Elvis wasn’t cool.
I don’t love retirement.
Going to the beach and doing nothing more than sitting on the beach and going out to eat does not appeal to me. I’d rather be spending some time on the beach then going and doing other things. I think I posted about how much better our trip to the Outer Banks in 2018 was than any trip we’ve made to the Gulf.
I thrive on change. I’ve been fortunate that most changes in my life have been positive ones, but I would never be the type to work in the same job for 40 years. Too boring.
The idea of moving doesn’t bother me. Part of it is actually appealing. Maybe because I moved around quite a bit the early years of my life.
I love broccoli. Really. Without cheese sauce.
Speaking of which, I’m not a huge fan of cheese. I definitely don’t like cheeseburgers.
I also love Brussels sprouts, Cracker Barrel turnip greens, and most vegetables.
I don’t like just sitting and watching television. I like to be doing something while the TV is on. Before vision loss, I used to put jigsaw puzzles together while watching TV. Or I worked on a cross-stitch project. Or I did a lap quilt project. Can’t do any of those things anymore, but I have learned to use a loom to make crocheted caps for premature babies and cancer patients, so I’m enjoying that.
I could keep going, but how do I rate on the weirdness scale? Pretty high, I bet.
Okay, okay, I’m not blind in the way you think. I am legally blind, though, and if you’re confused by that term, go to Amazon and get my book “Learning to Live with Vision Loss” for free if you have Kindle Unlimited (until the end of June) or for $2.99 as an e-book, or for $5.99 as a large-print paperback. In case you choose not to buy the book, though, I’ll give a brief explanation. What being blind means for me is that I have no central vision in either eye as well as some peripheral loss, and my peripheral sees 20/400. What that means is what a person with normal vision sees from 400 feet away, I have to be as close as 20 feet.
But that’s not the point of this post. Nor does this post have anything to do with the sketch above, other than to share that I used to enjoy sketching people and animals, but that once very enjoyable hobby is now very challenging and not quite as much fun.
Being unable to sketch like I once did is not the worst part of my vision loss story.
The worst part is being unable to drive.
I have devices that help me do things like use the computer, watch television, read short amounts, and other activities (once again, explained in my book). I can still enjoy being around people and doing physical activities like walking for fitness, yoga, dancing, swimming, even playing miniature golf. My life is good. No, make that great. I’m extremely blessed.
Yet one negative continues to resurface despite my best efforts. That little voice in my head that whispers, “If only I could still drive…” There are so many things I could do if I could still drive. I could run errands again. I could go to town or to visit shut-ins or go walking somewhere else besides my neighborhood whenever I wanted. I could drive to bigger towns for a day of browsing the stores. I could help others by running errands for them or taking them places instead of someone else having to do those things for me. I could go see my granddaughters, who live over two hours away. I could help my family more.
My complaint (and it is a complaint although I don’t like to admit it) is common among adults who lost their vision later in life. We went from being independent to being stuck in our homes or neighborhoods and having to rely on someone else to get us to the places we need or want to go. Maybe people in large metropolitan areas that offer public transportation or people with limitless money who can afford Uber or Lyft anytime they want don’t share these feelings, but for most of us, the inability to drive means we have lost much of our freedom.
That’s a hard pill to swallow. It can be done, but it takes a long time.
I’ve been extremely fortunate to have family and friends to take me places. I know there are many not as blessed. I appreciate it more than they know while at the same time feeling embarrassed to need their assistance. I’m strong and healthy. I can walk five or six miles at a fast pace and not even be tired. The thought of me living like an elderly shut-in while still as healthy as I am seems wrong somehow, like the universe is out of kilter.
I guess I am writing about this for selfish reasons. I guess I want to vent, to make people understand what it’s like. It could be I’m writing this in case you know someone who is unable to drive for any reason so you will understand what they’re going through if they have the health and the will to get out and about. If you do, maybe reading this will persuade you to reach out to them, to go visit them, to take them places without them having to ask you.
After five years of not driving, it has gotten easier. I am adjusting and accepting, but I still have my moments. I’m getting there.
And if you’re still fortunate enough to be able to drive, don’t take it for granted. Try not to get worked up about that person in front of you driving five miles under the speed limit or staying in the left lane when he should be in the right or any number of things that can go wrong when traveling from Point A to Point B.
It’s annoying, no doubt. But at least you can drive. I’d gladly drive slower than the speed limit or behind a driver in the wrong lane just to be able to drive again.
Fifty years ago, on May 28, 1974, I graduated from high school. Our reunion was this past weekend, and the thought that kept going through me head was “how did we get to this point so fast?”
Of course, it only seems fast when looking back. That’s what my parents used to tell me, but I had to reach this point on my own to understand it.
You may be wondering why I posted the photo of a research paper I did for Advanced Biology my senior year, but it is relevant because it is a part of the memories we shared. There were probably 350 or so in my class, and we had almost 100 in attendance at the main event Saturday night. Twenty-seven of us, though, showed up on Friday for a tour of our old high school with stops in important spaces to share stories. One of those stops was Mr. Stubblefield’s classroom, the teacher who had us do a 40-page research paper during one six weeks period of time. If you’re old enough, you remember typing on that lined-margin paper and having to use white-out or white tape for all those typing mistakes.
Ironically enough, my topic was the human eye. Some kind of preparation for what lay ahead for me maybe? Just think, when learning about the structure of the eye and the diseases affecting it, I had no idea I’d be legally blind due to myopic macular degeneration. Weird, huh?
Anyway, back to reunions. I think people who had unpleasant high school experiences resist going, and I understand why. People who were not close to classmates have no desire to go. And some people just don’t like looking back on the past. Reunions, then, are not for everyone, but even for those of us who enjoy them, they can be bittersweet.
Sweet because of reconnecting with classmates and old friends who helped make us become the adults we became. Bitter because of those we’ve lost and the obvious effects of aging. We’re no longer those young hopefuls with an exciting life ahead of us. We’r enow adults who have experienced loss of loved ones, health crises, broken relationships, and loss of dreams. For most, if not all, life has not turned out like we’d imagined.
That doesn’t mean life hasn’t been good to us, and for those who have had more than their fair share of adversity, they still manage to focus on the good instead of the bad. One of my classmates shared he has been near death four times, bad enough that the doctors told them to call in the family. But he pulled through each time. He told us all how blessed he is, how grateful he is, and how happy he was to be with all of us Saturday evening.
For those of us who moved away and seldom return to our former hometowns probably have a different perspective than those who have remained and changed along with the town and each other. I, along with many others, found ourselves hugging each other, even “school-only” acquaintances, as though we were long-lost friends. And in a way, we are.
Our class of 350 has lost almost eighty classmates. We no longer have concerns about things that don’t really matter, like social status, economic status, being “big man (girl) on campus,” or part of the in-crowd, however that is defined.
Instead we are united by common experiences, shared memories, and a common realization of how precious time together is, however brief.
To the ones who planned our wonderful reunion, thank you. A tremendous amount of planning and work created a special experience for us all.
And if you are undecided about attending your own, try it. The worst that can happen is you will not enjoy it, but you will never know until you try.
This morning I watched some interviews with mothers and daughters openly talking about how their relationship changed when the daughters became mothers. These mothers and daughters were extremely close, but when grandchildren came into the picture, the relationship changed. The daughters wanted and needed their mothers to respect their choices in child-rearing. The grandmothers wanted to give their advice.
Listening to their stories helped me understand myself. My mom and I had a great relationship. We went shopping together, walked together, went to the movies together. When I became a mother, however, that close relationship created some conflict.
Mom had set ideas on how things should be done. She was my greatest cheerleader when I did things she approved of or encouraged–my writing and drawing efforts, my activities in drama club in high school, flying by myself to Arizona at the age of 18 to visit my only brother and his family, and my career change from banking to teaching. She and Dad thought teaching was one of the highest callings, probably just a shade below nursing. Mom had always wanted to be a nurse.
She wasn’t a cheerleader if she didn’t approve of the choice. Go to Europe with a well-chaperoned group following high school graduation? No way. The plane might go down over the ocean. Go to art school in Atlanta instead of college? No way. Atlanta was a dangerous city. Continue to live in my apartment after she and my dad moved to the town I was living? Of course not. It wasn’t proper for a young woman to live away from her parents if they lived in the same town. There was no question I would have to move in with them, even though it was 1979, not 1939.
When I became a mother, then, the unasked for advice, meant to be helpful, began to flow. I listened to some things and made my own choices in others, but listening to that advice was hard at times. “Better put him in bed with you tonight,” she told me and my husband on cold Christmas Day referring to our then six-month-old son. “The electricity might go off, and he’ll freeze to death.” No, I’m not kidding, she actually said that. Or, “I can’t believe you’re going off and leaving him,” she said when I took my five-year-old youngest son to my parents’ house for him to spend the night while I drove to Nashville to meet up with one of my best friends at the Opryland Hotel. “I never left you and Ronald.” It was Friday. I was going to be home on Saturday.
You get the idea. But as strange as these things sound and as annoying as they were, the good things outnumbered the bad. She and my mother-in-law insisted on keeping our boys so they didn’t have to go to daycare, which saved us a huge amount of money. The downside is it gave my mom more free rein to do her own thing as though our sons were hers.
We made it through without a rift. Sure, we had our moments, our hurt feelings, our spats. My mother was a loving, well-intentioned mother whose love I never doubted. If anything, her crime, if you can call it that, was loving too much. As her independent, ambitious, dreamy daughter, I often read her reservations and concerns as being a wing-clipper.
But maybe she was right in most things. Maybe she was right about me going to Atlanta alone. I have a feeling I would have been homesick. Maybe she was right about not going to Europe. If I’d gone to Europe instead of flying to Arizona, my life would have turned out very differently because I wouldn’t have made the choices I did. And no doubt she was right about the times I resisted taking the boys to do the doctor because I thought whatever they had would run its course when they needed antibiotics.
Please understand I loved my mother very much while still recognizing her flaws. And I guarantee my sons look at me and see my own flaws, the ones I don’t see in myself. I’ve done things over the years that have embarrassed them or made them think I’m too old-fashioned or set in my ways or whatever, but I’ve tried to avoid interfering. I haven’t always succeeded, but I continue to try.
The women this morning described how they still have a strong bond and relationship, and my mom and I stayed close until she died. Sure, I could have been one of those daughters who separated myself from her, full of resentment over her perceived bossiness, but how could I do that? My mother loved me in a way no one else ever would or ever could. To dishonor her by shutting her out of my life was never an option.
I am not meaning to dishonor her now. She and I had these conversations, and I know in her mind she meant well and wanted only the best. She had a strong sense of family commitment and rook care of her own mother the last three years of her life, even though their own relationship was a little bumpy at times. Mom knew the bonds of family were stronger then the rifts that sometimes occur.
If your mom is still alive and your relationship is sometimes a struggle, I ‘d encourage you to find a way to overlook what’s bothering you or have a conversation to resolve your differences. If you and your mom have a great relationship, count your blessings. From what I saw this morning, most adult daughters and their moms travel a bumpier path.
Above all, if your mom is alive, honor her this Sunday. When my husband’s mother was dying, she told him, “There’s nothing like a mother’s love.”
I know that statement is not always true, but if you’re one of the fortunate ones who has/had a loving mother, no matter what her flaws, realize how fortunate you are and recognize your own shortcomings. Your mistakes as a mother don’t mean you don’t love your child. It just means you’re human.
Thank you, Mom, for loving your children and grandchildren so ferociously, no one and nothing could ever kill that love, no matter how we treated you, no matter what happened.
Life As I know it 