Extraordinary woman’s touch is not forgotten

 Today marks the 130^th anniversary of the birth of my grandmother. She was one of the greatest women I’ve ever known and had a significant influence on my life. She died almost 38 years ago, but there aren’t many days when I don’t think of her. Here is a column I wrote about her in 2011.

My mother’s mother lived to be 92. As far as I know, she didn’t work out at a gym, run or exercise.

She simply worked hard. Every day.

I believe physical fitness and a good diet are important, but let’s face it: Some of life expectancy is a combination of good genes and luck.

Her name was Mary Smith, a very common name. But she was no ordinary woman. I remember her as a petite woman with white hair, a beautiful singing voice and patience and compassion that I can only dream of having.

My grandmother washed her clothes with a wringer washer all her life. She did all of her dishes by hand. She scrubbed her floors on the floor.

In her later years she had an electric stove, but it was awhile after that before she gave up the coal stove that cooked many Sunday dinners.

And there were lots of those. Every Sunday after church, our family would go to my grandparents’ house for a big, cooked meal at lunchtime. Most times it was fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, corn and a few other vegetables that some of us tried to avoid. The chicken wasn’t fried in oil. She used good, old-fashioned lard.

Lard also was used for her annual doughnut day marathon, which began in the early morning hours. She fried them in a large cast-iron pan, and we ate them covered in powdered sugar or dipped in good, old-fashioned Turkey Syrup.

One of my favorite memories of grandma’s kitchen, however, was the cookie baking. Her tollhouse (chocolate chip), molasses and peanut butter cookies were excellent. But no cookie ever has come close to her sugar cookies. She kept them in half-gallon glass containers on the shelf along the stairs to the cellar.

My sister and I knew right where they were, and I’m sure she always knew what we were doing there so often. Somehow the jar never seemed to go empty.

My mother learned to make those sugar cookies. So did my wife and a few of the great-grandchildren. There was no recipe, though they eventually wrote down something that was close. But they never got them exactly right.

Grandma would dump the flour, sugar, buttermilk and other ingredients into a large bowl and mix them all without instructions. And they always turned out perfect. Always.

She rolled them out on an old Hoosier cabinet that she had “gone housekeeping with” when she married my grandfather. The Hoosier had been painted several times, the last one white. I know, because we removed all that paint when we refinished it for our kitchen after she died 30 years ago.

I think about her sometimes when I’m tired or when I worry about my lack of exercise and what it does to my health. Or when I eat something that supposedly isn’t healthy. During those times, I hope that perhaps I’m lucky enough to have her good genes so I can overcome things that have replaced her fried chicken, gravy and sugar cookies.

I still miss those things. Almost as much as I miss her.

Still missing her

Five years ago today – on a Friday night – my wife of 41 years departed this world for heaven after a six-year battle with numerous health issues. I miss her and will for the rest of my life. 

So much has changed since then. I fell in love again and remarried. I retired. I lost my mother. Without Mary Ellen in our lives, family dynamics have changed. Everyone who knew her still hurts. There’s an emptiness that can’t be filled.

Time eases the pain, but it never disappears. Neither do the memories of her.

There are many things in life that we can’t control, but I am thankful that God has given so many blessings to me, including many wonderful relationships.

Today our family again will honor Mary Ellen with hot fudge sundaes, her favorite treat. Please join us in remembering her.

Following is the eulogy that I shared during her memorial service:

 

“Grow old along with me. The best is yet to be.”

It was one of Mary Ellen’s favorite phrases. For years I’ve been reminded of those words on a plaque hanging in our family room. We did grow old together, but not nearly old enough.

There was so much more that could have been, but we shared so much more than I ever could have dreamed of.

She was not only my wife, she was my best friend, my inspiration and the only person who was able to scratch the surface of this very private person. She didn’t just scratch me, she dug deep into my heart and soul with a love and devotion I never knew existed.

I wish everyone could have known her as well as I did, but I’m glad you didn’t, because that personal bond that only the two of us shared made our time together, our relationship, even more special.

Here is a brief glimpse into my favorite person and a few of the things that made her the love of my life.

Mary Ellen was a voracious reader, sometimes reading a book in a day.

She loved ice cream, chocolate and cookies.

 She collected bird houses, Willow Tree angels and ornamental snowmen, which filled our mantel and other shelves throughout our home. She also collected shoes and never had enough.

Mary Ellen was a twin, whose sister died before birth. I wonder now if all her love and caring was doubled as a result of that.

As a girl, she loved camping all summer with her family at Halfway Dam and along Penn's Creek. She taught me to love that too.

She was a farmer's daughter, and, yes, Mary Ellen had a little lamb. She always had puppies in her life too, which is why we have Shadow.

Mary Ellen didn’t like working in the kitchen and as a girl told her father that she wasn’t going to have a kitchen in her house. But she was a very good cook and baker and missed those things when she was no longer physically able to do them.

She loved children, which is why she and her close friend Cheryl started Rocking Horse preschool. Their knowledge, caring and love was what made it so successful for all those years. She was an excellent student, but ironically, as a girl, she hated going to school. That may have been what helped to make her such a good teacher.

Every evening, we watched Jeopardy together. She was one of the smartest people I knew in part because she was so well-read. Even in her last two years, when she didn’t seem to be aware of the answers on that show, she would come out with the correct question.

She loved our marathon cookie baking, which we did in early December for many years.

She loved her gardens and the large pond we built together in Bern Township. We spent many days and evenings together watching the fish and being serenaded by the waterfall and the frogs.

She loved the music of John Denver, especially “Grandma’s Feather Bed"

“Sitting on the dock of a bay” was her favorite song because it was about being near the water. She loved being at the beach, especially Ocean City, N.J.

She loved to travel and did everything she could to pack more than was possible into family vacations to Maine, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Seattle, Portland, the redwoods in northern California, Ocean City and Disney – the last two her favorite places.

She loved Christmas and insisted on giving her children and grandchildren more gifts than our room could hold. 

The greatest gift she gave to me and to so many others was the love and devotion she had for her family.

When you love someone you never really lose them. They remain in your thoughts and in your heart. But are we ever really prepared for this?

Praying was very private for her – until the last year. She began to pray out loud before meals and at other times during the day. They were long conversations with God unlike any I’ve known. It’s when I really understood the depth of her faith.

She suffered so much near the end, but she kept fighting to stay with us until God and she knew we were ready to go on in this life without her physical presence and constant teaching.

We had our share of conflicts but love allows you to overcome them. She could be very stubborn. Because she cared so much, she was easily hurt. Yet there was no limit to her compassion and forgiveness for her family.

She was the first of us to use the term “baby hog” when she felt I had overused my share of time holding our first grandchild.

She was a protective mother, like a bear with her cubs. She had the better part of four years to bond with Andrea, including almost 2 years while I was working in Reading during the week before we moved from Elysburg to Leesport. She bristled when anyone picked on her little boy, and she was completely devoted to helping Megan, her baby.

Many years ago, probably around the time her father or mother passed away, she wrote notes to me and to each of our three children. They were sealed in an envelope and to be opened after her death. They are very personal and written in her beautiful cursive handwriting. I hoped I never would get to read the one she wrote to me.

But I did read it. I’m a writer, but nothing I’ve ever written has come close to the beautiful words and love that was in that note. At the end, she promised to be waiting for me.

There is nothing I can say, write or do to make this pain – this feeling of loss and emptiness – go away. There’s nothing anyone can do to fix this. But we can remember her, cherish the good memories we have, learn from the best teacher I’ve ever known and love each other, even though it will never match the love she had for us.

A year or so ago I wrote a column about how everyone makes time for a funeral and that we should eulogize people while they are living. 

So reach out and touch someone who is sitting next to you now. Please do it. Go home today and tell those closest to you how important they are and how much you love them. Please do it. Do it as a tribute to Mary Ellen, who understood more than anyone I know the importance of family. Do it for those you love. Do it for yourself.

“Grow old along with me. The best is yet to be.”

I wish we could have grown much older together. Looking back, the best was what we had together.

The best was the love she gave to me.

 

 

This day belongs to my mother

Today my mother celebrates her 68th Mother’s Day. I’ve written numerous columns about Mother’s Day. This one, from 2012, is one of my favorites.

There were many other things I could have written about today, but none more important.

It’s Mother’s Day, and if you don’t take the time to visit, call, write or remember your mother, shame on you.

So this column is in honor of all mothers, but especially my own. This year is a special one, because it’s the 60th time she has celebrated this day.

Unfortunately, there are some people in this world who have had a bad relationship with their mother, or no relationship at all. For them, I hope they at least had a motherly figure to whom they could relate.

I am fortunate, because I have a mother who not only cares about me but always has been and continues to be a major, positive influence on me.

So here are some special thoughts about the best mother who has ever walked on Earth — something you may dispute but won’t change.

Mom was a stay-at-home wife and mother. Not because she had to be, but because that was important to her and my father. It wasn’t easy financially — and many times we all went without things — but it was worth it. She always was there for our family. And she could stretch a budget further than anyone I’ve ever known.

She was a great teacher, whom I never wanted to disappoint. I learned more from her than from all my years of school. And not just the basics of life. She taught me good values, faith and the importance of family, including building strong relationships with grandparents. Through her I learned, and eventually practiced, patience, compassion, sacrifice, charity and forgiveness.

Mom is the one who always bakes the birthday cakes and has spent countless hours quilting a special blanket for the wedding of each grandchild. When we were young, she would treat our cuts and scrapes and wipe our tears. She would cheer us when we were sad and hold us when we were lonely. Whenever we needed her, she would drop whatever she was doing and give us her attention. She seldom asked for anything for herself.

In fact, she is nearly perfect in my mind, but she did have a few flaws.

She turned me against mashed potatoes. We had them at almost every evening meal because my father liked them, so it was many years after I left home until I would eat them again.

To this day I can’t eat or even tolerate the smell of red beets. Mom, in one of her rare stubborn moments, decided I needed to stay at the table until I learned to eat vegetables, which were not among my favorite foods. We both learned something when I got sick that day many years ago. She never forced me to eat something I hated again, and I never again ate red beets.

In reality, Mom never had a favorite child, but it didn’t seem that way growing up. For years, we have teased my parents that my sister, the middle child, was the favorite. My brother, the youngest, always seemed to get away with things. When I complained they said, “He’s only little.”

So I came to refer to them as “the favorite” and “only little.”

My designation came from the times I would ask why my little brother could get away with things and I couldn’t. “You’re old enough to know better,” they explained.

She did save me on more than one occasion when I would get into trouble. She would warn, “Wait until your father gets home,” but she seldom shared the bad reports of the day.

The most special times were at night, when my mother always had time to read to us. They were good stories and would take our minds off the monsters hiding under the bed. They were fun things, such as the poem “Somebody Did” by James W. Foley about a little boy who would get into trouble or break things and then go running to his mother to tell her what somebody had done. We never grew tired of hearing that one.

Those stories relaxed us and helped us to fall asleep. In fact, to this day, I can’t read a story to my grandchildren without yawning incessantly.

All of those good memories — and there are so many more — grew out of her immeasurable love for us, and I hope we continue to add to them.

What child hasn’t asked why there’s a Mother’s Day and Father’s Day but no Children’s Day and been told, “Every day is Children’s Day”?

For me, that has been true. Mom has made sure of it for 60 years.

Writings worth reading

If you’re looking for some quick and inspirational reading during this difficult time of confinement, this column I wrote 10 years ago points to several of my favorites. It wasn’t included in either of my books, so I hope you enjoy it now.

Keep in mind the names Adair Lara, Kent Keith and Mary Schmich. They are writers whose writings are worth reading.

If you’re like me and enjoy reading, you likely have a list of favorite books or articles. They are the stories you can’t forget. They are special memories.

What often happens, however, is that the authors of some articles are far more obscure than the articles. And worse, the work is sometimes credited to someone who didn’t write it. Or not credited at all.

That has become far more common since the explosion of the internet. People read an article, like it and pass it along to friends by way of email or blogs. And if they don’t know who wrote it, they simply attribute it to “source unknown” or “anonymous.”

Of course there are copyright laws, and as a newspaper editor, I value those laws. So I encourage you to obey them and give credit where credit is due.

For those copyright reasons, I can’t print complete copies of some of my favorite articles or columns that were written by people not employed by the Reading Eagle. But I can send you to online sites where you can read them.

I assure you they’re worth taking the time.

One of my favorites was a column headlined, “When Children Turn Into Cats.” It was written by Adair Lara, a columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle, in 1996.

I first read the article when it was reprinted in a magazine, and I still have that clipping. It was especially interesting at the time because my wife and I were still raising teenagers.

Lara’s take was that “while children are dogs, loyal and affectionate, teenagers are cats.” Her comparison is pretty sound:

“It’s so easy to be the owner of a dog. You feed it, train it, boss it around and it puts its head on your knee and gazes at you as if you were a Rembrandt painting. … Then, one day around age 13, your adoring little puppy turns into a big old cat. When you tell it to come inside, it looks amazed, as if wondering who died and made you emperor.”

Take the time to follow the link to her column. It has a happy ending. You can find it at https://www.sfgate.com/entertainment/article/ADAIR-LARA-When-Children-Turn-Into-Cats-2988639.php by Googling “When Children Turn Into Cats.”

There are two other excellent articles you may have read or heard about because they have been making their way around the internet for years — often with inaccurate attribution.

“The Paradoxical Commandments,” often referred to as “Anyway,” begin:

“People are illogical, unreasonable, and self-centered. Love them anyway.

“If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives. Do good anyway.”

You may have seen them attributed to Mother Teresa. In fact, they were written in 1968 by Dr. Kent M. Keith when he was 19 and a sophomore at Harvard. They were part of a booklet for high school student leaders, “The Silent Revolution: Dynamic Leadership in the Student Council.”

You can read about The Paradoxical Commandments and Dr. Keith at www.paradoxicalcommandments.com

Perhaps one of the most famous wrongly attributed articles was “Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young.” You probably know it better as “Wear Sunscreen.” It made its rounds on the internet incorrectly credited as a commencement speech by Kurt Vonnegut at MIT in 1997.

It begins:

“Inside every adult lurks a graduation speaker dying to get out, some world-weary pundit eager to pontificate on life to young people who’d rather be Rollerblading. Most of us, alas, will never be invited to sow our words of wisdom among an audience of caps and gowns, but there’s no reason we can’t entertain ourselves by composing a Guide to Life for Graduates.

“I encourage anyone over 26 to try this and thank you for indulging my attempt. Ladies and gentlemen of the class of ’97:

“Wear sunscreen.”

It actually was a column by Mary Schmich of the Chicago Tribune and was first published June 1, 1997. You can read it at https://www.chicagotribune.com/columns/chi-schmich-sunscreen-column-column.html or Google “Mary Schmich wear sunscreen.”

All three are great articles, worth reading and worth keeping. But they also are worth crediting properly. So thanks to Adair Lara, Kent Keith and Mary Schmich.

How are you? A great question if you mean it

I hope this worldwide health crisis will give a new emphasis and meaning to a question many of us often ask without really expecting an answer: “How are you?”

Our real concern about others in recent months has us asking about their health and well-being. In this difficult time of social distancing – and especially when the restrictions caused by the coronavirus pandemic have been eased – if you’re going to ask how someone is doing, really mean it. And then expect and pay attention to a genuine answer.

Here is a column I wrote nine years ago, when “How are you?” was a substitute for “Hello” for too many people.

The exchange goes much like this:

“Hello.”

Hi.

“How’re you doing?”

Fine. How are you?

“Fine.”

Perhaps it should continue:

That’s good.

“That’s good that it’s good.”

Etc.

It’s all with good intentions. But that sample conversation is among my pet peeves.

Many times, that exchange takes place when people are passing each other, sometimes without stopping. Sometimes it takes place without the thought of what is being said, or without even an interest.

If you’re going to ask that question — How are you? — do it because you want to know and are willing to wait for an honest answer.

Don’t ask it in passing or while looking away. If you ask the question, stop and expect a real answer. Otherwise, just stop at hello.

A woman who used to work for our company always would ask how I was doing when we would meet. Because she is a sweet person and someone with a good sense of humor, one time I responded to her question with a question: Do you really want to know?

And she genuinely did.

I explained to her my annoyance with people asking how someone is doing but not really wanting to know the answer. After that, “How’re you doing?” always was accompanied by an exchange of smiles and sometimes with genuine answers.

Don’t misunderstand: I think it’s great when people are interested in how others are feeling or how their day is going. But the question shouldn’t be a passing greeting.

I enjoyed the beer company commercial that aired a few years ago. An out-of-towner walks into a bar, and the others there greet him in a New Jersey accent, “How you doin’?” And much to their amazement, he responds, “Well thanks for askin’. I’m doin’ fine. Just got in today, my brother-in-law picked me up at the airport. …”

It was amusing because of their reaction to his answer. But also because it was so real. We can see ourselves in that conversation and the surprise that someone would actually answer a question from which we didn’t expect an answer.

The sad part is, it’s a breakdown in our society. We want to give the impression we’re interested, even if that’s not entirely true.

So the exchange becomes so rote that it’s tiring. We go through the motions.

The fault isn’t just with the person asking the disinterested question. It’s also with the person who answers.

Many times, we don’t want to burden others with our problems or concerns. So, “fine” is a safe answer. They don’t really need to know that I’m having a bad day, that I’m in pain or just had an argument with someone.

Although it’s not related to this subject, I’m reminded of a line Rod McKuen wrote in a poem “The Art of Catching Trains”: “Everybody has the answers or they’ll make them up for you. Just once I’d like to hear a brand-new question.”

I’d like to hear a question such as, “How is your day going? — I’m really interested.”

And then I’d like to hear a real answer.

So don’t stop asking the question, “How’re you doing?” When you ask it, mean it.

Learning and remembering lessons of life

      I originally shared this column in 2014 during a difficult time in my life. Much of it seems appropriate to share again in this difficult time for most of us.

I remember hearing someone say, “I learn something every day and will till the day I die.” Since I can’t remember where or when, it must have been one of those times when I was talking to myself. My wife says I do that. Even if she is correct — and I’m not saying she’s not — I certainly never answer myself. But I do listen to what I say, even if no one else does.

Besides, I truly believe that statement.

Anyway, here are a few things I have learned or been reminded of in the past few weeks. It really doesn’t matter how I classify them, because if I needed to be reminded, I probably should have learned them better in the first place.

Doctors really care about the patients they treat. Most aren’t driven by money. They work long hours under a lot of expectations and stress. Many take the time to explain things over and over until patients and family members with no medical background can understand.

Nurses are unsung heroes. They care for people around the clock, and most do it with a smile. Even though it may not be good for them to get attached to those they treat, many can’t avoid it. That’s because they care. It’s easy to see. They are forgiving when patients are in pain and sometimes don’t show appreciation or get very angry. They are patient when patients hit the call button frequently. They help to maintain dignity for people who are placed in undignified or embarrassing situations.

Family members are the most important people in our lives. Regardless of how much they get annoyed with each other, when there are problems, most of them come together to assist and support.

There is no substitute for the power of prayer. Whether it’s a small group of family members or 5,000 Bernardine Franciscan nuns who spread the word, it makes a difference.

I’m not in charge. There are things out of my control. Sometimes when I am willing to accept that, things improve. Sometimes they don’t. That’s a test of my faith.

Things happen that we don’t always understand. That’s just a part of life.

Hard times in life are experiences that can make us stronger. How we handle them often serves as an example for others. We may not even know who is impacted by what we do, but our approach definitely makes a difference in a positive or negative way. So, even though it’s often difficult, I try to choose positive.

It’s amazing how far we can push ourselves when we want to or have to. Eventually, however, it catches up. That’s when we need the family members mentioned earlier.

Crises tend to cause us to review and reorder our priorities. It’s unfortunate it takes a crisis.

When you need help or support, you need to tell people or ask for it. They can’t understand or help if they aren’t aware.

Never give up hope. Sometimes when things look the darkest, new light shines. And giving up hope admits defeat before it occurs.

Technology can be a wonderful thing. It helps us to stay connected. It helps us to communicate. That can include social media. For all the bad that comes with it, there are many benefits if we choose to use it in the right way.

Snow and ice come at the most inconvenient times. I’m not sure what a convenient time would be, but since it’s another of those things I can’t control, I just have to accept it and shovel or chop.

People love to see their name in a printed newspaper. Last week, I spoke at the Seniors College at Alvernia University about the future of newspapers. During an interesting and engaging question-and-answer period, one woman asked if I planned to mention the group in my column.

I just did.

I’ve also learned that it never hurts to keep your readers happy.

Writing, reading and sharing

For almost 10 years, I wrote an Editor’s Notebook column that I allowed the Reading Eagle to publish each week in the Sunday newspaper. Since I retired two years ago, I’ve been writing and posting my columns – new ones and reruns – on my Retired Editor’s Notebook blog.

I continue writing because of the response from readers who share that they are encouraged, inspired and entertained by my columns.

So, if you are looking for something to do during this time of self-isolation because of the coronavirus pandemic, I invite you to read my columns and share the link with anyone who might enjoy them or find them helpful.

Stay safe.

https://retirededitorsnotebook.blogspot.com