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Mom: A Mother’s Day Tribute

Posted on May 4, 2013May 7, 2013 by stilllearning2b

Mom. Such a simple word, yet so loaded with meaning and memory. It’s where we all come from. It’s what we simultaneously yearn for and yet try to escape from. My own mother often jokes that the umbilical cord is never fully cut. It just stretches to accommodate.

There’s some truth in that.

Although I’ve only been able to admit that more recently.

For most of my childhood, it was just my mom and I. She worked long hours (Five Ways You Know You’ve Been Raised by a Therapist) so that we could stay in the house and I could stay in the same schools. That consistency provided early security that gave me roots from which to grow. We were close. Sometimes too close. A perimenopausal woman and a hormonal teenager can be quite the powder keg at times!

She tackled a lot as a single mom. She and my dad had purchased a VW Vanagon when I was little. That blue box on wheels became home base for my mom and I as we started our traditions of camping at Lost Maples every Thanksgiving and spending weeks at the Kerrville Folk Festival every summer. I learned the importance of layering against the cold and staying wet in defense of the heat. I learned how to play miniature golf on a closed course using a croquet set (The trick? Spanish moss in the hole so that you can retrieve the ball). I learned that it’s important to secure the screens against the racoons and that butane curling irons let a self-conscious 11 year old girl fix her hair even while she’s camping. I learned the joy of being silly as we played our kazoos on the drives to the campgrounds and invented crazy dances (don’t even ask – not putting the pumpkin dance on YouTube:) ). She instilled in me a love of nature, simple laughter and of quiet escape. I am so thankful to have had those experiences and to be able to continue them forward. Only without the kazoos!

The van:) Notice my fashionable early 90s plaid flannel in the heat of a Texas summer!

She didn’t always have it easy raising me. I was a willful child, prone to impatience and peppered with perfectionism. Some things don’t change:) She did a great job of adjusting her parenting to fit me rather than trying to get me to fit into some standard mold. I may have to only mom who had to get onto her kid about the importance of NOT doing my homework (I would beg to leave some of those camping trips early so that I could get back to my work)!. She knew that I pushed myself hard enough (or even too hard) and that her usual role was to encourage me to ease up, not to push me further. At the same time, she recognized those situations where I needed some encouragement and she would not let me weasel my way out (Vanilla, Please).

Yet still, I spent most of my life trying to separate from my mom, as though I could not find myself while till securely tied to her. That’s the thing with moms – we need them but we don’t always want to need them.

Several years ago, my mom prepared a gift for her own mother. She obtained photographs of the matriarchal line in the family going back 7 generations. She worked to size and crop the images to provide uniformity and then mounted them in a long rectangular frame, each woman’s face peering out from a separate oval cut into the tawny mat.

It took my breath away. That line of mothers and daughters. Beginning with a woman that I had never met yet whose lineage I carried and ending with a picture of me. Each daughter a product of the mother before.

Many of those closest to me have lost their mothers, either through death, distance or dementia. Some had their moms for much of a lifetime, some for only a number of years and others never met them at all. Yet they all still carry the imprint of their mothers on their hearts.

They have taught me to be thankful for my own mother. To be grateful for the moments and memories we share.

She is my biggest cheerleader when things are going well and my biggest supporter when my world collapses.

I love the relationship I now have with my mom. I need her and I’m okay with that. Love you, mom:)

Community

Posted on May 4, 2013 by stilllearning2b

Yesterday was my favorite day of the entire school year. We took over a thousand students, over a hundred teachers and staff and a couple hundred parents out into the community for a day of giving back. Classes were dispersed to children’s shelters, the Human Society and nursing homes. Students helped set up for Relay for Life and assisted food pantries with organizing and packaging their donations. My class was sent to a local park where they helped move logs that were causing trail erosion and dragged debris onto social trails to obliterate them so that hikers are directed to the primary trails. Back the school, we learned that we raised over $3,000 to donate to three different organizations and collected over $12,000 worth of food that is going to two local shelters.

It’s a beautiful day. Being 8th graders, they usually grumble about it before hand and refuse to admit the significance of the day after, but it is in their faces. I saw quiet students come to life on that trail, no longer worried about their appearance or cool factor as they drug branches and scattered leaves. I saw the pride in their faces as they turned back down the hill and witnessed the transformation they had created in the woods beneath. I saw them connect to the specialness of the place and the bond of working together to achieve a goal. I even saw tears on some of their faces as the donations were awarded to the selected organizations that afternoon.

It is a day that teaches them the importance of looking beyond themselves. Of giving back. Of being connected and belonging to a community.

Those are lessons that will hopefully persist well beyond the day.

The view from the top of the trail the students helped to maintain.

This also happens to be the weekend that Brock’s martial arts instructor is in town to host a biannual seminar. As is tradition, we will celebrate tonight with the entire group at dinner: Brock’s teacher, Brock’s students and their families and even former group members. It is a diverse group yet we have become a community. Members support each other and look out for each other. It is a family where each person has a sense of belonging and contributing; they know they always have a home in the group. I am so proud of Brock and his effort to bring and keep the group together. It a beautiful thing.

I hope to develop my own community where those who have been through the end of a relationship can find understanding and support. A place that can help to alleviate some that crushing isolation in the early days and where those who have found their way can help those behind them.

This weekend, I celebrate community.

“I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the waters to create many ripples.”
― Mother Teresa

Architectural Escapism

Posted on May 2, 2013May 2, 2013 by stilllearning2b

I think it started when I was a kid. My dad and I used to go on adventures to nearby neighborhoods that were under construction where we would spend hours exploring the partially completed homes. With my mom, I would enjoy touring completed and decorated homes during organized events.

I learned love the feel of different spaces, the interplay of materials and the use of light in the structures. I would picture myself in the homes, imagining how I would live in the space. I would arrange furniture in my mind or debate potential renovations and alterations to improve the structure to fit my tastes.

I have carried that passion into adulthood; I gravitate towards architectural escapism, especially when stressed. In my former life, when I worked too much and was stretched too thin, I would spend a couple hours on occasional weekends flipping through books of floorplans, checked out from the library. I visit home tours when possible, but always love to go on long walks or runs through a variety of neighborhoods, from typical suburban to funky older areas to high end (where I sometimes have to sneak in the gates:) ). My head is turned to the side as I run, surveying the homes as I move past. Even now, my TV is turned to House Hunters International where I can be an overseas architectural voyeur.

As far as escapism methods go, this is pretty benign. It is legal, it won’t destroy my liver or my waistband and it leaves my wallet intact.

It’s still something I need to be careful about; however, as it can indicate that there is something in my life that I feel the need to escape from. It is almost as though I am picturing myself in another life. It has been interesting recently. I started watching HGTV during the two weeks of standardized testing at the beginning of April. I went from turning the TV on a couple times a month to watching a few times a week. I’m running more through neighborhoods and less through parks. I’d probably be reading floorplan books, but the library doesn’t have them available for the Kindle. Is it work stress that I am trying to escape from or something else? Or, maybe I just have houses on the brain as I look forward to buying one again? At this point, I’m just acknowledging the increase in my consumption of architecture. Noting it without analyzing it. If the drive continues, I’ll try to figure out why I’m pulled to houses. Meanwhile, I’ll just continue to enjoy or critique the styles and tastes of others:)

I can’t be the only one with this form of escapism. The sheer number of home shows speaks to this. How about you? Do you ever practice architectural escapism? When does it pull you?

Beneath the Uniform

Posted on May 1, 2013 by stilllearning2b

Last Sunday found me curled up on the sofa next to Brock, my trusty laptop in my hands, watching the Braves lose to Detroit while I Googled, “Naked baseball players.”

Perhaps an explanation is needed here. I didn’t really want to see naked baseball players; I was looking for baseball players in their underwear.

Stay with me:)

I am relatively new to world of sports; I only started watching when Brock and I began dating three years ago. Since I have an interest in health and fitness, I was immediately drawn to learn about the training programs for the various sports and teams. I was already familiar with football training, thanks to my teenage subscription to Muscle and Fitness. I also knew the effect of that training on their bodies – not only did M&F prominently feature these men, but their nearly bare bodies can be seen in national ads.

But not so with baseball players. They are much more secretive.

My search began with curiosity about their butts. At my first Braves game, I immediately noticed that the read ends of the players were quite prominent. I wondered if that was a result of selection bias or training. Not surprisingly, it is a bit of both. Scouts look for big butts and thighs because that is where the power comes from. Then, training focuses on developing that explosive force which leads to greater muscular development.

But I still wasn’t satisfied. I was curious about what lay beneath the uniforms, as many of these men appeared to be rather chunky, especially for pro athletes. I made an assumption based upon their thick lower bodies and blousy tucked-in shirts.

Eventually, my curiosity got the best of me and I turned to the all-knowing Google for answers. My first queries were tamer – “baseball player physiques”, “baseball players shirtless” and “baseball players in underwear”. No luck. Apparently, baseball players like to hide their bodies as much as football players like to display theirs.

I summoned my courage and typed, “Naked baseball players.”

Not a search I would necessarily recommend. But it was enlightening.

Not surprisingly, my assumptions were wrong. Some of the players are certainly carrying some extra weight but many others hide six-pack abs under their voluminous shirts. The uniforms may be identical yet the players they cover are unique and resist stereotypes.

It was a reminder about the uniforms that we all wear in our lives. The outward presentation that does not always match the inside.

It takes courage to remove your uniform and reveal the vulnerable self beneath. To show the world who you are without the socially-approved costume disguising your form.

People make assumptions based upon what we show them. Those labels can persist, even though they may not be accurate or inclusive. We can feel comfortable behind the uniform, fearing that to remove it would be to stand out too much from the crowd, perhaps painting us as the weak gazelle at the back of the pack.

The trick to being comfortable revealing what hides behind your outward attire is to accept our naked, authentic selves. To understand that that the seemingly perfect facades worn by others are hiding their own vulnerable selves.

I learned a parallel lesson as a child who frequented campgrounds with their not-so-private showers and hippie-friendly festivals. I grew up observing all types of bodies – young and old, fat and thin, smooth and wrinkled with age. Those experiences did more for me developing a healthy self-image and attitude about my body than any after school special could ever have achieved. I saw the “perfect” bodies marred by scars that were only visible out of clothes. I grew to appreciate the tales of children born upon the abdomens of the women and the sagging skin over once-filled biceps on the men. Under the clothes, people were at once more unique and more similar than they could ever be when shielded by their attire.

Our internal selves are no different. We shield them from public view. The men I met while dating who appeared to be the toughest were wearing their tattoos, leather and muscles to hide their insecurities. The women I know who are super polished and put together are often afraid of losing control. I, myself, can hide behind my analytical attire, hiding my more emotional self with the fear that it will not be accepted.

I’m trying to use my lessons from childhood to shed this uniform, this comfortable shield.

It’s scary at first, revealing who you are, but the freedom that comes from shedding the uniform is unbelievable. We are more alike underneath than we often realize and yet we each have our own unique beauty. Don’t hide yourself – you have much to offer as you are.

But I still caution you against Googling “Naked baseball players.”

The Garden

Posted on May 1, 2013 by stilllearning2b

In my old life I had a garden.

When we first moved into our home, the 1 acre yard was a motley medley of scraggly grass and tenacious weeds; too wet to mow and too shady for grass to thrive. It was a blank canvas. Slowly, I began to paint, using the medium of small starter plants, tree seedlings obtained from the forestry department, and cuttings and divisions nurtured from friends and neighbors.

I had a vision of a magical woodland retreat, filled with the soft haze of ferns and the subtle flowers of the understory. For years, this image existed only in my head, the reality of small, young plants planted in a vast, weed-strewn yard looked nothing like a garden. I spent hours on the weekends and after work attacking weeds and planting replacements. On days when the weather was prohibitive, I would research plants and growing conditions. I made annual treks to a budget nursery in a nearby town, filling my car to the bursting points with dreams held in the bright green folds of new growth.

But slowly, it emerged. I watched 2 foot bald cypress saplings grow to 30 foot trees. Ferns and hostas spread their roots far and wide under the protective shade of the understory. Hydrangea proudly held their blooms high, as though no longer ashamed of their companions. Colors would come and go throughout the weeks: daylilies, Lenten rose, iris, geraniums, azaleas. Their spectacular shows provided endless variety and interest.

From February through November, I would begin most every day with a walk along the stone path, through the pergolas, and over the boardwalk. Examining the new growth,watching the wildlife, reveling in the beauty of the plants. On the weekends, I would bring my papers to grade out to one of the hammocks to enjoy the breezes through the leaves and the interplay of light and shadow.

In my old life I had a garden.

It was painful to walk away from my plants, nurtured for so many years. I found myself staring at plants around town wistfully, thinking of their counterparts in my yard. As with much of my transition, it was painful, but also freeing. I no longer had to worry about the assaults of deer, the dangers of a last freeze, or the effects of a flood. My weekends were not filled with weeding. My hands no longer frozen from the cold February soil.

But still, I mourned my plants. I purchased a pass to the botanical gardens and promised myself a monthly visit. Now, I walk their perfectly manicured paths and appreciate the beauty created by teams of professionals. The gardens are stunning, but it’s not the same as one created by my own labor. My own dreams.

In my old life I had a garden.

The last few years, my nurturing energies have been turned inwards, helping myself to grow and thrive. I have tried to eliminate the weeds, start new plantings, and encourage growth. I have become my own garden.

And, now, with home ownership again on the horizon, I look forward to creating a new garden, filled with both familiar and untried plants. A testament to the persistence of life and the beauty of growth.

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