It does my heart good both as an English teacher and as a mom and grandmother, to see Ella already reading a book!! I don't think I need to say anything more about my beautiful granddaughter and her beautiful mom.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
You can never start too early
It does my heart good both as an English teacher and as a mom and grandmother, to see Ella already reading a book!! I don't think I need to say anything more about my beautiful granddaughter and her beautiful mom.
Render Unto Caesar That Which is Caesar's
And unto God, that which is God's. It's Sunday morning, and I am sitting at my kitchen table paying bills. I'm also sorting paperwork in preparation for doing income tax, and I'm setting up a ledger page on which to record my expenses for this month. (It's almost the middle of the month, but I don't care, I've kept all my receipts, and they are about to take over the kitchen table.) This verse from the Bible flits through my brain, and along with it, memories of my dad.
In my childhood, I would most definitely have been at Sunday School, followed by sitting through church. My father would be singing in the choir, and frequently reading the New or Old Testament lesson and occasionally preaching the sermon. It may seem like a great leap to go from bill-paying to thinking about church and my dad, but somewhere in between, I was thinking about how the previous Sunday I had been in church with Todd, Sarah and Ella, listening to Ben preach the sermon. So my brain is putting all this together and thinking how odd it is to be dealing with my finances on Sunday, but truthfully, it's often the day that I pay bills and make sure my checkbook is up to date, and these days, it's a rare occasion to be in church.
So in the process of ruminating (what a great word!!) over this mishmash of ideas, I also recall a sermon my dad gave in the Laconia UCC church when I was a grown-up, and had travelled down from Littleton to hear him preach. His sermon focused on world hunger, and he was, i believe, helping the church conference carry out a massive campaign to raise money to go toward alleviating world hunger. His prop for the sermon was, appropriately, a brown grocery bag from the I.G.A. which was the market where he and my mom shopped. I don't recall the specifics of the sermon, but according to dad on that morning, those initials stood for "In God's Arms." I think the gist of it was that we were all "In God's Arms," and we all needed to help the less fortunate fill their grocery bags by making a generous contribution to the offering plate.
I further thought of how proud dad would have been to sit and listen to Ben preach, and how he would have grilled him afterward and probably would have made some suggestions for things he might have done differently. Dad was like that. It usually seemed to me that whatever I had just done (given a speech, performed in play, etc.) it was never quite good enough, and dad had some "suggestions" to make. Oh well, I'd rather not go there in this blog entry.
All of this is also connected to dad in that he and my mom kept track on a ledger pad of every penny they spent, for all the years they lived in NH until they moved to Langdon Place, when dad was no longer capable of handling the finances. I have resisted doing that religiously, and only did it once (under coercion from dad) when I divorced Bob Whitten and wasn't sure I was going to have enough money to pay all the bills. I did have enough money, and after a few months, I stopped recording. This year I'm taking it up again (probably for a short time) only to track where I spend money, so I can more accurately craft a budget for myself. I found such mundane lists among my great grandmother's letters, and I know it's been a family tradition, therefore, from the 1860s to the present. And, I know that the effect of writing down every cent you spend is to curtail your spending. You have to face yourself when you write down what you spent and what you spent it on. Carrying out this record-keeping will, I hope, help me to render unto Caesar, that which is Caesar's and render unto God, that which is God's. No matter what I discover, I am reassured by my long ago memory of my dad, that I will be able to continue to fill my grocery bags, because I am "In God's Arms," which is where, I am sure, he is now as well.
In my childhood, I would most definitely have been at Sunday School, followed by sitting through church. My father would be singing in the choir, and frequently reading the New or Old Testament lesson and occasionally preaching the sermon. It may seem like a great leap to go from bill-paying to thinking about church and my dad, but somewhere in between, I was thinking about how the previous Sunday I had been in church with Todd, Sarah and Ella, listening to Ben preach the sermon. So my brain is putting all this together and thinking how odd it is to be dealing with my finances on Sunday, but truthfully, it's often the day that I pay bills and make sure my checkbook is up to date, and these days, it's a rare occasion to be in church.
So in the process of ruminating (what a great word!!) over this mishmash of ideas, I also recall a sermon my dad gave in the Laconia UCC church when I was a grown-up, and had travelled down from Littleton to hear him preach. His sermon focused on world hunger, and he was, i believe, helping the church conference carry out a massive campaign to raise money to go toward alleviating world hunger. His prop for the sermon was, appropriately, a brown grocery bag from the I.G.A. which was the market where he and my mom shopped. I don't recall the specifics of the sermon, but according to dad on that morning, those initials stood for "In God's Arms." I think the gist of it was that we were all "In God's Arms," and we all needed to help the less fortunate fill their grocery bags by making a generous contribution to the offering plate.
I further thought of how proud dad would have been to sit and listen to Ben preach, and how he would have grilled him afterward and probably would have made some suggestions for things he might have done differently. Dad was like that. It usually seemed to me that whatever I had just done (given a speech, performed in play, etc.) it was never quite good enough, and dad had some "suggestions" to make. Oh well, I'd rather not go there in this blog entry.
All of this is also connected to dad in that he and my mom kept track on a ledger pad of every penny they spent, for all the years they lived in NH until they moved to Langdon Place, when dad was no longer capable of handling the finances. I have resisted doing that religiously, and only did it once (under coercion from dad) when I divorced Bob Whitten and wasn't sure I was going to have enough money to pay all the bills. I did have enough money, and after a few months, I stopped recording. This year I'm taking it up again (probably for a short time) only to track where I spend money, so I can more accurately craft a budget for myself. I found such mundane lists among my great grandmother's letters, and I know it's been a family tradition, therefore, from the 1860s to the present. And, I know that the effect of writing down every cent you spend is to curtail your spending. You have to face yourself when you write down what you spent and what you spent it on. Carrying out this record-keeping will, I hope, help me to render unto Caesar, that which is Caesar's and render unto God, that which is God's. No matter what I discover, I am reassured by my long ago memory of my dad, that I will be able to continue to fill my grocery bags, because I am "In God's Arms," which is where, I am sure, he is now as well.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Not being able to see the forest for the trees
I know I am way too close to my mother all the time, and therefore don't have much perspective on her any more. I was reminded of that quite sharply on Tuesday, when I drove her to the Hematology Clinic to get her blood chemistry checked and find out if she needed a shot to build red blood cells. My whole focus that day was in trying to trump the clinic modus operandi so that we could get in and get out and I could start driving north for an Arts Alliance Board meeting.
The good news was that the whole appointment only took 2 hours for me from start to finish, and that is a new record. I now know enough to demand to see the doctor the moment we have blood results that I know mean that mom doesn't need a shot. Actually, I now know that I can ask for the blood results so that I can ask for the doctor to interrupt his rounds to patients and stop in to see us. Before I knew these things, our trips there sometimes took 4 hours. Not fun for me and exhausting for mom.
To my main point: I was drawn up short, when the nurse had asked mom a whole bunch of questions, many of which I had to answer, and then the nurse said to mom "Do you have any advice for us?" Mom was clearly confused by the question, so she followed up by saying: "I mean, how did you get to be 94 years old and still look so beautiful?" Mom just beamed, and said she didn't know if she was beautiful, but she just had lived a good life, or words to that effect. She giggled too. I realized how I don't often think of mom in that way, and that was sort of sad for me to realize that.
Leaving the clinic, mom thought it was fun to be pushed in her wheelchair across the street and into the parking garage, and expressed her delight at being outside. A simple pleasure that I take for granted, but which has become a rarity for her, especially now that we're into serious winter.
My next moment of epiphany came after I had gotten mom safely back in her chair at Langdon Place. As I approached the 3rd floor elevator to leave, one of the men on the floor was sitting looking out the window into the parking lot. He is not as talkative as some others, but he turned to me and said, "Is that your mother you just brought in?" I said, "Yes." He said, "She has a Mona Lisa smile. I've never seen such a beautiful smile." "Yes, she does," I said, thinking about how mostly I wonder if she's brushed her teeth!
So, all in all, it was a successful clinic visit (her blood numbers were good), and a good reminder to me to take a few steps back every now and then, and appreciate my mother.
The good news was that the whole appointment only took 2 hours for me from start to finish, and that is a new record. I now know enough to demand to see the doctor the moment we have blood results that I know mean that mom doesn't need a shot. Actually, I now know that I can ask for the blood results so that I can ask for the doctor to interrupt his rounds to patients and stop in to see us. Before I knew these things, our trips there sometimes took 4 hours. Not fun for me and exhausting for mom.
To my main point: I was drawn up short, when the nurse had asked mom a whole bunch of questions, many of which I had to answer, and then the nurse said to mom "Do you have any advice for us?" Mom was clearly confused by the question, so she followed up by saying: "I mean, how did you get to be 94 years old and still look so beautiful?" Mom just beamed, and said she didn't know if she was beautiful, but she just had lived a good life, or words to that effect. She giggled too. I realized how I don't often think of mom in that way, and that was sort of sad for me to realize that.
Leaving the clinic, mom thought it was fun to be pushed in her wheelchair across the street and into the parking garage, and expressed her delight at being outside. A simple pleasure that I take for granted, but which has become a rarity for her, especially now that we're into serious winter.
My next moment of epiphany came after I had gotten mom safely back in her chair at Langdon Place. As I approached the 3rd floor elevator to leave, one of the men on the floor was sitting looking out the window into the parking lot. He is not as talkative as some others, but he turned to me and said, "Is that your mother you just brought in?" I said, "Yes." He said, "She has a Mona Lisa smile. I've never seen such a beautiful smile." "Yes, she does," I said, thinking about how mostly I wonder if she's brushed her teeth!
So, all in all, it was a successful clinic visit (her blood numbers were good), and a good reminder to me to take a few steps back every now and then, and appreciate my mother.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)