Maternal Musings

This was my childhood, and perhaps the reason why my mother drove in the distracted, clutch burning way I (and all my friends) recall. I have no two-legged children of my own - I've always been mother to the four-legged, furry variety - but that hasn't kept me from exercising innate maternal instincts to serve, protect, and discipline my own students, niece and nephew, and other young children in my charge, as well as function as surrogate seatbelt as the need presented itself.

In the days and weeks leading to this Mother's Day 2013, I've had the opportunity to reflect on mothers and motherhood in a variety of ways. Age and circumstance does have a way of providing perspective, and Mother's Day is about more than just buying the token gift of appreciation. So, in no particular order, I offer the following musings of a non-mother, middle-aged woman.

Musing 1:  I'm at the age where I and most of my friends are learning to adapt to aging mothers - and sometimes experiencing a bit of role reversal. Once discussion of who is taking Lipitor and acid reflux meds and how much, concludes, the topic often turns to the enormous difficulty of maintaining respect for one's parents while feeling the need to take on a parental role with them. It often feels like a delicate balance between respect and neglect.

Musing 2: Several of my closest friends have lost their mothers recently (from as early as 6 weeks to 2 years ago). We all lost our fathers earlier. And I am faced with the very real prospect of joining them as a member of the middle-aged orphan's club in the not too distant future. It is sad to ponder, but for all of us, we have great memories, and our mothers lived (and in my case, continue to live) full and fulfilling lives. They miss their mothers, and I will miss mine, but our mothers were there for us through the tougher parts of life, and we are all better people for it. I saw a comment on Facebook this morning from an old college friend to another close friend that I found particular poignant - "In general I don't like Mother's Day. It is an unnecessary holiday if we love and value the relationship. But once our mom is gone it is a reminder to recollect and celebrate times past, much like observing saints days. Happy Doris and Daphne day to you." I really like this - thanks, Cheryl.

Musing 3: And then there are those who lose their moms way too soon. I see this with some of my students. Some fare better than others, with great step-moms or surrogate moms. Some find themselves toughing it out in foster care, or with relatives who aren't as supportive as one might hope. I don't always know the details of their stories, but everyday I see the results. I also see the detritus of kids with great, though imperfect, moms - who love them passionately, even if imperfectly at times. I worry about them, because they get angry with their mom's imperfections and lose precious and special moments with their moms during those angry times that they shut them out. Someday, when they are 52 and their mom is gone or aging to the point they aren't quite "the same," they will regret those lost moments and memories. Or worse, the unexpected will happen, and they will lose their mom way too soon, and they will find out too late that they can never get those lost minutes back. I was reminded of that when I read the Facebook posting of one of my strong, smart students on Wednesday: "I want my mom. I want her to come see me sing tomorrow night, and I want to give her flowers on Sunday, and I want her to see me pass junior year. I just want those simple moments. Nothing fancy, just the little things." She gets it. And I'm sad for the kids whose moms are still around who don't.

Musing 4:  My mom and I have never had one of those "warm, fuzzy" touchy-feely relationships. I suppose there have been times in my life where I wish we had.  But, we have always been close, and we have always had the ability to communicate - good or bad, happy or sad. There has never been any doubt in my mind that she loves, and has loved, me to the very best of her ability to love. We are both imperfect humans, and we have both disappointed each other at times, but I don't think either of us has ever doubted that we were there for one another. That's the love part, friends. Happy Nancy Day.

Thankfulness, Traditions, & Transitions

I have been reading with interest the vast number of Facebook posts expressing gratitude for any number of people, places and things over the past month. I haven't participated in the daily postings, but I have been doing a lot of pondering about thankfulness, traditions and transitions that occur - especially at holidays - as one's life progresses.

My own Thanksgiving "tradition" has been evolving and changing over the past few years.  What once was a gathering at my parents' home with my sisters, grandparents, aunt and uncle, brother-in-law, niece and nephew, and eventually my wife, with obnoxious amounts of food, followed by Black Friday shopping marathons and visits to Santa, and a return to my own home to decorate and usher in the Christmas season, has undergone dramatic reduction over the years.  We lost members of the gathering - first my youngest sister, an infant niece, then my grandfather, my father, and most recently my grandmother.  We don't "do" the Black Friday shopping anymore, my aunt and her husband are celebrating in their own way, my sister is single again, and my niece and nephew are grown up teenagers with busy lives and work schedules, and shared time with their dad.  So this year, we celebrated - the food and family part - on Wednesday.  We've done that for a few years so that the kids can be with their dad on Thursday.  Instead of my mom's house being the gathering point, "everyone" came to our house.  "Everyone," in addition to us, has become my mother, my sister, and the kids, and since my nephew had to work, it was just "us girls."  It was pleasant, the food was good (if I do say so myself), as well as the company.  But it was different. No family gathered around the table looking at sale ads in the paper, no big card or board games.  And that's ok.  It's just another transition.  I've been learning to live in the now and not in the past. But it hasn't stopped me of thinking of, and being thankful for, people from the past that I still miss now.  And I know a lot of my friends and students are experiencing similar transitions that are resulting in changed traditions.

Not to be maudlin, but having a day of Thanksgiving which is more of a quiet day with the Frau rather than a full day of family festivities is giving me some quality time to be thankful for the people who are no longer with me, but have been an important part of my life.

I'm grateful to have known my sister, Sharon, who was hit by a car and killed just a couple of months shy of her 18th birthday on October 29, 1986.  She would be almost 44 if she had lived, but she is frozen in time at the age of almost 18, and in addition to her great, bright, and giving personality, she reminds me every day as I deal with high school students of the unpredictability of life, and that there are no guarantees for a long future.  Her loss impacts the kind of teacher I have become.  I'm thankful she remains a part of my life, if only in the shadows of memory.

I miss my dad, Carl, every day.  I quote him a lot in class, since our life's work is similar.  And I'm thankful for his gift of laughter, and playfulness, and love of music, games, and gardening that he passed on to me.  He never really understood my love of reading, and especially at the holidays seemed to get mildly irritated that I'd rather read a book than entertain him. He usually managed to pout or badger until he won that little battle of wills. But he was always ready to take some time off from work when I arrived home on a holiday break to go see a movie - especially if it was one we knew my mother wouldn't enjoy, and eat a Double Steakburger and a Very Strawberry Shake at Steak 'n Shake. Sometimes we would go to the local Denny's together for breakfast, and I would always order the breakfast sandwich there called "Moons Over My Hammy" - I liked it, but I would never (and still don't ever) order anything else, because it caused him to cackle with such laughter when I ordered it. I don't go to Denny's often these days, but when I do, I always order the same thing, just to hear that laughter in the shadows of my memory.

My grandfather taught me to love golf and a good cigar, and my grandmother and I developed a bond in my adulthood that I never had with her as a child. I think I miss her at Thanksgiving more than any other time. She was always hell-bent on getting everyone's "Christmas squared away" before the weekend ended.  That little 4'10" and 80 pound bundle of energy could outlast us all, and set the pace for the mad-house of post-Thanksgiving shopping. And she could eat us under the table when it came to left-overs, especially the pies. I think she fueled that little body on sugar.  When I was teaching in Texas, and after my grandfather had died, she and I would usually fly to my parents' home together for Thanksgiving. While we waited to board, she would invariably spot some family or group of travelers that she found intriguing, and she would excuse herself to go to the restroom.  On the way back, she would walk slowly behind the object of her attention, and sometimes just stop and stand for awhile and listen.  When she had enough, she would make her way back to me, and I would ask for a report from the Nosy Rosy Detective Agency. She would laugh like a giddy schoolgirl and tell me everything she learned. I miss those days.

I'm missing my mom a bit these days, as well.  She is still with us, and still acting stubbornly independent.  But she is aging, and it is starting to show in her health, in her memory, and in her social encounters with the world in general. This is a transition that I'm finding harder to handle. But I'm learning.  Some of my closest friends are in similar situations. We commiserate with one another, are thankful for our aging parents, understand that the transition is just as difficult for our parents, and try not to long too much for the days when we didn't have to juggle finding a way to be respectful of, and responsible for, our parents.

I've always been a traditional person and for many years have fiercely tried to cling to those sacred family icons. Finding the person with whom I now share my life has helped me to realize that people are more important than tradition, and losing people has taught me thankfulness and the necessity for transition and new traditions. 

In spite, and because, of the circumstances, gifts, gains and losses, traditions and transitions of my life, I truly am thankful and blessed.   And I wish the same for you. 

On Growing Older . . . and Growing Up

Several weeks ago, I had the opportunity to take some of my students to visit my college alma mater on a field trip. It wasn't the first time I've done this, and I always look forward to the trip. Funny enough, this "Music Day" event that the college hosts each year is always very near to my birthday - so my reflections on my student past always coincide with my annual musings on aging. For some reason, they seemed a bit more profound in their collision course this year - I'm not sure why. I can only surmise that as I'm growing older, I'm also growing up.

I'm sure I'm not the first student who dreamed of returning to the hallowed halls of ye old alma mater to teach. As I grew older, I would addend that desire - at least publicly - to say "or some place like it." Privately, I continued to hold to the original plan. At my core, I think I believed that my "journey" would not be complete until I found my way back "home" to teach. I even told myself over the past couple of years that it is no longer the same place - still a very good place - and, yet, not the place I dreamed of returning.

This last visit, though, served as a catalyst of sorts to shake up my thinking. And in a good and resolutely satisfying way, I might add. I followed my students around to various classrooms where I had spent countless hours as a student. They were seeing what the future might hold for them as a music major or minor. I was getting lost in echoes of memories in each room - a Saturday morning practice session with my chamber trio, the excitement of introduction to music literature as a freshman (yes! it was exciting!), Beethoven's Ninth and performances by Marilyn Horne and Janos Starker and countless others in the "chapel." I would wander in and out of these memories, as the current staff was telling prospective students about all that the college had to offer them. And that's when it clicked.

For years, as I tried to create my own little master plan, I was wallowing in those memories and making plans to go BACK - back to the past. There was nothing forward thinking about it. This particular day, I found myself getting caught up in the present and FUTURE of the school. It was a place that I would be excited to attend TODAY as a student. But not because it was the same - but because it had continued to GROW and look ahead. The college is still rooted in a strong heritage - some of which includes my very fond memories - but it hasn't gotten stuck there. It has continued to be a dynamic, growing entity.

The college has grown up, and I think maybe, so have I. Turning 47 (which in my mind is "almost 50") seems a good age to start feeling more like an adult. I'd be lying if I said I had no desire to teach there anymore. I don't think it will ever happen, and I'm really quite comfortable in that knowledge, and I'd certainly explore the opportunity if it should present itself. What I know, though, is that now I would want to teach there because of who the school has and will continue to become, not merely because of who it used to be. That bit of clarity leaves me content to be a proud alumnus of the school, a better potential teacher, and an adult who has found contentment in the life she has been given as opposed to the life she planned.

"Cardinal is her color . . . "