My Mother-In-Law

When I got my masters degree, my mother-in-law gave me what I thought was an odd graduation gift. I remember thinking "She doesn't get it.  I'm GRAD-U-ATE-ING! From GRAD-U-ATE school!".  

I write those words now and I feel sadness and shame. 

     "Dorchee Dear, what would you like for your graduation?"  

     "Aw, that's sweet — but I don't need a thing.  I'm just happy to be done." 

     "Well, take a look at this. I was thinking this would be nice."  

The little, 6 x 9 Betty Crocker catalog opened to the page where she'd paper-clipped a note with my name. She'd circled the serving pieces. 

     "I've got enough points to get those and I think they'd go so well with your silverware."

     "That would be nice. Thank you."  

The Betty Crocker catalog offered mostly flatware which could be purchased with points earned from saving coupons initially found in on on packages of Gold Medal Flour, Betty Crocker cake mixes and other products. It had become a popular family practice for moms to start building their daughters' hope chests, one piece of silverware at a time, with Betty Crocker coupons. My own mom saved S&H Green Stamps and gave me eight place settings of silverware for my wedding in 1969. Betty Crocker and S&H Green Stamps made it possible for moms to do for their families through even the toughest of times.

But now it was 1995. The world had changed and it just seemed so odd to me that she did this for my graduation.  She just didn't get it.

---

When my father-in-law passed away in 1996, my practical mother-in-law, decided to have both of their names cast onto their headstones. 

     "This way all you kids will have to do is put the date in for me. There.  That's done."

His: S.SGT  US Army Air Corps 

World War II

1917 - 1996

Hers: Beloved Wife and Mother

1918 -

I remember thinking,  "Really? Wife and Mother? That's all you want on there?" 

---

The quintessential homemaker, my mother-in-law thrived on all the details and dynamics of  keeping house and raising a family. It energized her and gave her great joy. This was foreign to me and for the first years of my marriage, I soaked up her guidance like a sponge.  If it worried her that her son had married someone who knew nothing of what it takes to manage a home, she never let on. She welcomed  me as a daughter, and taught me about her world. How to set the table.  How to time it to get a complete dinner on the table. How to fold sheets and make the bed (hospital corners, always!). Little touches to decorate on a shoestring. I wondered why my own mom didn't teach me...but she didn't know either.

In time I found I could do this thing too. Now an experienced homemaker—but more like a self-sure teenager—I had this under control. Oh yeah. Wife and mother? Just watch me. I could make a home, raise kids, work and I could even go to  big shot grad school. 

And just like that cocky teen, I had so much more to learn.

In 50 years of marriage my mother-in-law moved about 16 times, always helping her husband pursue his next "better deal" or dream. A registered nurse, she found work wherever they landed and kept the family afloat. Through a couple of business ventures that didn't work out and uprooting the family again and again, she held them all together. Packing up, handling the details, making ends meet. Lists, and planning and measuring. Working along side her husband, with love, hope and good cheer, she transformed each rental house and apartment into home. She had a couple of mottos:  Bloom Where You Are Planted,  and Illegitimi non carborundum. Translation: Don't let the bastards grind you down.  

As the family expanded with marriages, and cross-country moves, grandchildren and great grandchildren, she stayed close with every one of us. She remained the vibrant north star of the family until she died suddenly16 years ago.  A beloved wife and mother indeed.  

Still bereft and eternally grateful, I cherish those Betty Crocker serving pieces now.  Turns out I was the one who didn't get it.  

A gift within a gift

I'm always a little stumped by what to bring to baby christenings and faced the dilemma again recently when a friend's daughter was baptized. I wanted to give a small present—but what? Something suitable to the occasion (a bit spiritual but not preachy). Something with a little staying power to remember this day. So as is our family's signature gift, I decided to go with...what else? Books!

I'm happy to say, the books I ended up with were completely delightful: First, Cynthia Rylant's Give Me Grace: A Child's Daybook of Prayers

I love everything by Cynthia Rylant but had not seen this little treasure before. Playful paintings and seven prayers for kindness, love, and guidance. Perfect. 

The second was a board book titled All Creatures Great and Small, illustrated by Naoko Stoop. I was charmed by the art and the title tugged at my heart strings. The James Herriott classic of the same name was one of my mom's favorites. 

My photo does not do justice to the art
of the amazing illustrator, Naoko Stoop

Showing the book to J, the conversation went something like,

"But James Herriott didn't write this, did he?"

"I don't think so."

"Huh, funny that they don't have the author's name on the book."

 "Yeah, I wonder who did write it?"

Is the verse in the public domain? Is it not necessary to credit the author at this point in the life of the work? It just seems whoever wrote these words should at least be named somewhere, doesn't it?

Thanks to the wonders of our glorious information age, I can tell you the writer is one Cecil Frances Alexander and the verse is from a children's hymnal she wrote in 1848. I think she would be very pleased to see how her words come alive with Ms. Stoop's paintings.

Well, you know how it goes, next I started thinking I'd like to see of more of Naoko Stoop's  work, and I did...and well....

If you are looking for sweet gift for little one's big day, these books are wonderful. And if you're looking for a little juice break, a little inspiration or breath of fresh air -  take a moment to check out  Naoko's Stoop.  Truly a gift within a gift.

It's not the destination, it's the doggie bones!

A few summers ago our granddaughter Josie introduced us to "doggie bones."  She had just turned three. We would set out for a walk to Capannari's Ice Cream or the library, or Central Continental Bakery, and she would be bursting with excitement, not about ice cream or cookies or books, but chattering about "doggie bones."  We soon learned this was what she called the squiggly bricks that pave the sidewalks of downtown Mt. Prospect. Doggie bones! How fun is that?

 

We live just down the street from the doggie bones. Out the front door, down the block, cross the street and joy of joys, DOGGIE BONES.

Walking together she holds our hands and can't get enough of "1.2.3. swing!" ...until she decides to let go and tries to keep up with her big sisters. But she's not in a hurry. There are treasures to find; fun to be had. Skipping along on the doggie bones she is secure and happy, surrounded by the people she loves and who love her to the moon and back. Josie finds fun and laughter wherever she goes.

As summer ends, I wonder as I did this time last year, will she still delight in the doggie bones next summer? How long will she see the world with such imagination and unbound joy?

I walk to work most days and a good part of my walk is on the doggie bones. Like Pavlov's dogs salivating when they hear the bell, when I reach these bricks my mood lightens. Thank you, Josie.

My Sister

Three weeks ago on this night I was summoning my muse to help me write the story of my sister's life. It's amazing to me that somehow I got it done, and I want to share it here.

On August 11, my sister died of a heart attack that she did not even know she'd had. She spent a week at home trying to get over what she thought was the flu. When she finally went to the doctor and learned that she'd had a heart attack five days prior, it was just too late. Things fell apart quickly and she died about 12 hours after she entered the hospital.

This is the story I wrote and shared at the visitation and funeral. There's more I want to write/say but I think about all the posts I've started and not published because I wanted them to be perfect. This is not perfect...but it's what I have at the moment. And it seems that the moment is all we have.

So, here's the story of Pat, my sister and lifelong friend.

Pat was born in Chicago on July 23, 1946, the first daughter of Fred and Babe Kerr. Bright, spirited and cute as a button, she charmed everyone, especially her father. Perhaps it was his absolute delight in her and the depth of this love that gave Pat her strength and the belief she could do anything she set out to do. And early on what she set out to do was make others happy.

When her parents welcomed another daughter, Dot, and son, Bob, Pat embraced being the big sister. It didn’t take long for her to take on the role she was born to play—caretaker, homemaker, mother.

Growing up, she stuck close to home, refusing to go away to camp or to sleepovers with friends or cousins. Afraid she would miss something, Pat needed to be home. She was known as the “pony express.” She knew EVERYTHING that was going on and to the dismay of her siblings, she made sure everyone else knew too.

As a teenager she said she couldn’t go out or do fun things because she had to do the cooking or the ironing. But in truth, home was where she was most comfortable. Fixing, cooking, cleaning, being home. Knowing that everyone was okay. That's what mattered to Pat back then and throughout her life.

In high school, she played saxophone in the band and excelled in her home economics classes. Sewing was her thing and it was to play a part in every phase of her life; sewing everything and anything for the family, owning and operating a dry cleaning business, sewing professionally for a formal apparel company, and running a side business of sewing and alterations in her home. She was never without needle and thread.

After high school, Pat found her calling with the birth of her daughter, Roxanne. Living in the apartment below her parent’s home in Chicago, she worked and went to school but her true happiness was found in being a mom. It was never easy, but Pat always said she wouldn’t change a thing.

She worked in the office of Standard Scientific in Chicago, and captured the eye and heart of her boss, Larry Layton. He says it was her can-do spirit and no-nonsense work ethic that first attracted him. They were married at St. Peter Lutheran Church in 1971.

She, of course, made her own wedding dress and the reception was held in the backyard of Pat and Larry's new house in Schaumburg. Opening their door to family, friends and neighbors set the tone for the life they would build together in that home over the next 42 years.

Within a couple of years of the wedding their son Patrick was born, followed by the birth of daughter Katie, and the family was complete.

The years flew by: room mother, lunch mother, Brownie leader, 4-H leader, Girl Scout leader, cheer mom, and baseball team mom. She was the go-to mom for many of Roxanne, Patrick and Katie’s friends. Pool parties, barbecues, craft nights. Graduations, weddings, baby showers. Remodeling, redecorating, forever fixing; making things better. The quintessential mom became the doting aunt, and finally, her ultimate pride and joy—four beautiful grandchildren. 

Never far from her roots, she saw or checked in with her parents everyday for as long as they lived. She was often the counselor and cheerleader for her sister and brother, and for countless friends. Generous to a fault, she would spend her last dollar and borrow another if it meant giving a loved one something they needed.

Pat loved kids and was a kid herself. Christmas was her holiday and she stopped at nothing to find the perfect gift for each niece, nephew and grandchild. All the kids remember the Christmas drill at Auntie Pat's:  "1. 2. 3. Open!"

She cared little for clothes or shopping for herself. A fun day for her was going to the gambling boat and playing the slots, or spending a day breezing through the shops in Geneva, always on the lookout for new kitchen gadgets. She was an avid reader and in recent years she became just a little addicted to playing on her iPad, a gift from her kids. She always wanted a convertible and allowed herself that one indulgence. Her license plate says it all: Sew Fine

Making others happy was her mission and she loved and worried and fretted over all of us... just as a mother does.

Beloved and dutiful daughter. Devoted sister. Proud aunt. Loyal friend. Above all loving wife and mother and grandmother. Love you and miss you "all the muches."

Miss Kim is a late bloomer

When we planted our front garden about ten years ago, we chose plants based on a landscape plan we had drawn up by a landscape designer. The plan called for all kinds of things I had never heard of: Cranberry Cotoneasters, Astilbe Fanale, and a Miss Kim Lilac. Of course, I'd seen lots of lilacs and loved them but I didn't know Miss Kim.

That first year we planted too late in the season to see what our plants would look like in full bloom. The following spring the grass greened up overnight, and up and down the street our neighbors' trees and bushes were alive with color. But nothing from Miss Kim. Just some seedy little, vaguely purple buds. Jeesh. Is that it? Is that all you got, Miss Kim?

I'm not going to lie. I was disappointed. Why would the designer recommend this dud? I wanted to like her - But I wanted the luscious blossoms of my childhood memory. Big, soft blue cones dripping from the branches. You call this a lilac bush? Hmmph.

Several weeks later when spring was giving way to summer, tulips and daffodils, long gone,  just like my expectations for this lilac bush, Miss Kim bloomed! Not a big, showy, BLOOM - but she presented us with some rather brief, timid blossoms. "Uh...here you go. I made these for you. I hope you like them."

Every year it's been kind of the same thing and I guess I've come to accept it. I stopped thinking of her as a disappointment and realized that's just how it is. She operates on her own timetable no matter what the other kids on the block are doing. She's persistent and serious - a bit restrained. She's working on her game. She's hangin' in. I like that is a lilac bush - and in a person.

This year she took me completely by surprise. I walked out the front door one morning last week, and was blown back by Miss Kim's spectacular appearance. Lovely pale lilac blossoms, full and round and everywhere. Why Miss Kim! Look at you! Nicely done!

Here's to Miss Kim, and late bloomers everywhere. Long may we reign.

Jello Break

I signed up for the Scintilla Project a few days ago. This is a two-week long series of of daily writing prompts for anyone who wants to write, discover, learn or connect through stories. Last year I signed up for it and wrote not one post. This year I want to give it another try. Want to get some flow going with Juice Break. Here goes!

So...the first prompts from March 13: Tell about a time you were drunk before you were of legal drinking age. Or tell a story from your first job. I'll go with getting drunk on my first job. No. Just kidding.  Far from it.

My first job was working as a tray girl at Ravenswood Hospital, just a few blocks from my home in Chicago. I was 14 or 15 and the job paid 90 cents per hour.

Looking back, I can now trace my happiness/love/need of work to this first job. So many things about it that fed a need in hungry, young me.

Order. There was a prescribed routine and structure. It happened every day, same time/same place. Took the bus straight to the hospital after school, changed into my uniform; a crisp, clean, gray, short-sleeved shirtwaist dress with white collar, cuffs and apron.

We worked in groups of 4-5 girls, each team serving a different floor of the hospital. We'd get our patient count for the day then set up our trays with paper liners and silverware. We'd stack them neatly in the big rolling, vertical racks. The hot-food cart for each floor was pre-loaded with the meat du jour plus mashed potatoes, gravy, assorted veggies and soup and clear broth.

Jello was a staple at the hospital and before we could head up to our floor we had to make the Jello. Grab a gigantic metal pan of smooth green, yellow, orange or red. Carve it up and spoon the shiny, slippery cubes into the little plastic serving bowls. Fun. Orderly. Meticulous.

Loaded with food and trays, we took the service elevator up to our assigned floor. The little team worked  to assemble the meals; bland, soft, liquid, regular, sugar-free, low sodium. Little pots of coffee or hot water. Some patients got desserts like apple crisp or pudding. Like it or not, everybody got Jello.

We had an assembly line and as the set-ups were completed some of us walked around delivering the meals. During dinner we cleaned up the kitchen and the food cart, then went around and picked up the trays and got everything back in order. Once our floor kitchen and the cart passed inspection, we hauled everything back down to the big kitchen and we were done.

I think the whole process took about 2-3 hours. I loved it. Our supervisor was  a little, gray haired lady with a bit of an Irish lilt. (She wore a little gray uniform, too.) She was our housemother. A sweetie. I liked that if I worked hard and did a good job she noticed. I liked being noticed and it felt like she cared about me. I liked that she counted on me. I felt like somebody.

In most parts of my life I didn't feel good enough, clean enough; didn't have the right clothes. Didn't know the right thing to say. Didn't feel I mattered. But at the hospital I knew the drill, could fit right in and do a good job. I felt safe. I was never late for work, never called in sick. Never let them down and they didn't let me down.  And thus I learned to count on work.

The writing prompt for today wants a "story" from that first job. Hmmm. When you are totally focused on doing what you're supposed to do, following the rules and routine, there's little room for fun or stories. And that in itself is an interesting observation.

A story of sorts: one hot summer day (no air conditioning in the hospital kitchen) I remember walking into the cooler to get the Jello. I got in there and stopped. Leaned back and just took in the cool. Broke the routine and the rush. It was a Jello break.

All these years later here I am at Juice Break, still trying to break from the routine and the rush and spend a little more time on my own stuff. And thanks to today's writing prompt I did! It's a start.

Playing dumb. It's just not smart.

I expected to like, even love, the new series of Allstate ads, The UnReal Adventures of Ted and Traci. The series of short videos features Barbie-and-Ken-type dolls enacting everyday mishaps; getting into a fender bender, burning something in the oven, fire in the backyard barbecue. Love the idea of something fun, something different. I thought the the Allstate Mayhem ads were brilliant and I was excited to see this new series. Sadly, The UnReal Adventures of Ted and Traci miss the mark for me.

Where as Mayhem was smart, engaging, funny though terrifying, I found Ted and Traci naive, predictable and their actions just too dumb to be entertaining or scary. 

Distracted driving is a huge and serious problem. Deadly serious. But showing any driver, doll or stunt person, doing yoga poses on top of a car is just too far a stretch (no pun intended.) Too easy for a viewer to say, "Oh, I would never do that. I mean, sure, I talk on the phone, read texts, put on makeup, but it's not the same." I can't relate to these ads. Can't see myself or anyone I know in them.  

Compare Traci http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0gsOoKMphOc&feature=player_embedded

with Mayhem: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BlfinjxFEYI

I'm not against using dumb in ads but dumb is hard to do smart. What makes the Geico lizard or the AFLAC duck work? Or Progressive's Flo? Not the sharpest pencil in the box but the Flo ads are still in play. 

To Allstate's credit the ads look good, the punch lines are clever and the episodes manage to highlight various lines of coverage. I applaud the team for trying something different. 

My old boss used to say, "Never put two 'cutes' in an ad. They cancel each other out." Maybe you can't put two 'simples' or two 'dumbs' in an ad. The combo of the childish execution with overly simplistic stories cancels out the engagement factor. 

Happy 4th, friends! Don't do anything dumb out there!