Happy Birthday, Mother!

My mother, 8 years old

Yesterday was my mother's birthday. She would have been 96. She was born during the Great Depression and had a hard life growing up in poverty and a troubled family. But she always said that she had it better than her siblings. Because she was the baby, they took care of her first. 

Times were tight, and often, there was not enough money to have much of a celebration for Christmas, let alone her birthday. She vividly remembered the Christmas when the Salvation Army brought them presents. It was a very special time. That's why my sisters and I always put money in every Salvation Army kettle we see. 

When my sisters and I were barely aware of when my mother's birthday was.

When we were kids, my mother's birthday was not celebrated much. We were too involved with the magic of Christmas to think beyond ourselves. My aunt always brought my mother a gift, but we never got her anything. I'm not sure what my father did. 

Fast forward to when we were in college, and my mother decided that she had had enough of not having a birthday celebration, so she "moved" her birthday to March 26. We were usually on spring break then, so that was when we could be home for it. We still didn't have big celebrations, but she always said our visit was enough. But over the years, we tried to have a cake and presents. 

My mother on her birthday many years later.

Fast forward many more years to when my mother was having memory problems. When she moved to a nursing home, we told the staff that if my mother said her birthday was March 26th, she knew what she was talking about. They kind of looked at us funny but said okay. 

So Happy Birthday, Mother. I'd like to think you're in Heaven with Daddy, celebrating your birthday whenever you want.

Memories

 One of my recent StoryWorth prompts was, "What Were Birthdays Like When You Were A Child?" For the prompt, I wrote about birthday traditions from my childhood and how they varied as I got older. Then I sent a draft to my sisters, complete with a picture from my 6th birthday party. I often send drafts of the prompts to them to get comments about what they remember and sometimes to clarify things. This usually leads to interesting discussions and reminiscing.

After reviewing what I had sent, my oldest sister commented that the picture was not from my 6th birthday but more like my 4th. She is six years older than I am, so she often has clearer memories of things than I do from the early years. However, I told her that I remember this birthday very clearly because that was when I got a Bible with my name on it, and Mother didn't give us Bibles until we could read. I was not reading at four. Then another sister chimed in and said that four made sense to her. I was starting to get irritated because they didn't agree with me. This was not a fuzzy memory as some things were. It was very clear to me. I responded and said the picture was labeled on the back in Mother's handwriting, and it said, "June's 6th birthday." The oldest sister said that wasn't right if you looked at the clues in the picture's background; it looked like we hadn't lived in this particular house for very long because of the sparseness of furniture. I couldn't believe that she was persisting with her line of thinking after all I said. 

The next thing I did was get the picture out to scan the back of it and send proof that I was right. And you know what I found? I found it was my handwriting on the back of the picture, not my mother's. When I looked at the picture more carefully, and one of my 5th birthday, I had to agree that it was when I turned four that I got the Bible. 

How could I be so sure but be so wrong? I had a clear mental image of my mother's labeling on the back, and I thought I remembered the event so well. This points out that our memories are just memories, not necessarily an accurate depiction of what really happened. In this case, I think what I had done was combine my "memories" with labels from other pictures. And over the years, I reinforced my confusion until I was sure of the "facts."

There have been many studies about the accuracy of memories, and they have concluded that there can be problems. In general, the more sensory clues associated with the memory, the more likely it is to be accurate. However, a person can totally believe what they "remember" is true. Not necessarily that they were lying when facts prove them wrong. What does all of this mean? Well, not much in my case. Whether I was four or six when I got my Bible is of no consequence. But in serious issues such as trials or hearings, the complexity of memories should be considered.

Happy Birthday, Mother!

My mother at 8 years old

Today is my mother's birthday. She would have been 92 if she were still with us. My mother was one of those people whose birthday was always lumped with Christmas. I don't remember her complaining about that, but when we were in college, she declared that her new birthday would be March 26, (the same day but a different month), so she could actually have a birthday celebration separate from Christmas. She chose March because that was usually when we were home for spring break. She didn't ask for any gifts. She always said that she just wanted to look at us and that was gift enough. I always thought that was weird until my children were no longer living at home. However, that's not to say that my mother didn't enjoy opening a gift as much as the next person.

So today, to remember my mother and to celebrate her actual birthday, my sisters and I are having Andes mints, a favorite candy of hers.

Happy Birthday, Mother! You are greatly missed and lovingly remembered.

The celebratory mints 

A Patient Mother

 Today is my birthday, so it's time to rerun a birthday post from the past. 

_____________________________________

I am thankful that I had a patient mother.

Today is my birthday which has me thinking about when I was a baby. Of course, I don't remember anything about my first year, but I have the stories I've been told.

Apparently, I was late in arriving. Very late. My mother had to wait three weeks past her due date for me to be born.  My parents sent my older sisters to stay with my grandmother in the next town when the event was eminent or so they thought. My sisters were there so long that my parents visited them on the weekends. My mother had made them a box of surprises for their stay with ribbons attached to a trinket that they got to choose everyday. However, the box emptied before they were back home. During what must have been a very miserable extra three weeks, I am thankful for my mother's patience for my arrival.

Me at 4 months. True to form, I had a cold in
one eye for this appointment.

My mother said that before I came she had time to clean the entire house and she even waxed the kitchen floor. She thought things would go smoothly with me. The house was in order and this was her third child, so she knew what she was doing. But then I came. And I cried. And cried. And cried. For the first six months, I cried so much that I burst a tear duct and herniated my naval. The neighbors used to take me in the car with them while they were delivering groceries to try to calm me. I am thankful for my mother's patience during the very noisy, exhausting time of when I was trying to settle into the world.

Soon after there was finally some quiet in the house (as much as you can have with a baby and two small children), I got pneumonia and was in the hospital for two weeks. The hospital was in another town and my mother spent all of her time with me while the rest managed somehow at home. Once I was back home, my oldest sister remembers the extra care that I still required. For my mother's patience while taking care of a sick baby, I am thankful.

Throughout the years, I have heard various stories about when I was a baby, but never did the stories come with any guilt or resentment. Just another story from my mother like the one when they had to call the fire department to get my sister's foot out of a drain. So for having had a very patient mother who gave me a great start to life despite how hard I made it for her, I am very thankful.

Highs and Lows

Lilac

It was a weekend filled with highs and lows:

The Highs:

1.  This was the first weekend in a month when I didn't have to write a blog post, meaning the A-Z challenge was over. I did it! Having a theme this year was easier, but limiting at times. We'll see what next year brings.

2. The weather was good, so that we were able to work in the yard and enjoy the continuing blooms.

3. It wasn't my Saturday to work, so I was off all weekend.

4. Ward, Theo, and I are all fully vaccinated as of yesterday. Wally only has one more to go.

4. Because of our vaccination status, yesterday, we had a cookout to celebrate Ward's birthday. It was a small affair with just family, but it was so nice. The food was simple and we had a relaxed time enjoying each other's company. This was a first cookout since over a year ago.

5. There are good leftovers from yesterday to have today, including Key Lime Pie. Yum!

The Lows:

1. Something (deer probably) has broken or eaten all of the branches on our small apple tree. We need to prune up what's left and figure out if we can construct protection for it from critters.

2. I found out a friend has been put in Hospice Care. This was a shocker because last time I talked to her, she was doing well. These kind of events spur introspection and this time was no exception. 

More Highs:

Nature continues to put on a good show: More scenes from around the yard.

Tulip

Azaleas

This came from a pack of wildflower seeds. Can anyone tell me what it is?

Azalea and bumble bee

Nandina berries and azalea

Lanium

Periwinkle and Lanium

Apple tree

Wallflower

Until next time...

Thankful Monday, July 20, 2020

I am thankful that I had a patient mother.

Today is my birthday which has me thinking about when I was a baby. Of course, I don't remember anything about my first year, but I have the stories I've been told.

Apparently, I was late in arriving. Very late. My mother had to wait three weeks past her due date for me to be born.  My parents sent my older sisters to stay with my grandmother in the next town when the event was eminent or so they thought. My sisters were there so long that my parents visited them on the weekends. My mother had made them a box of surprises for their stay with ribbons attached to a trinket that they got to choose everyday. However, the box emptied before they were back home. During what must have been a very miserable extra three weeks, I am thankful for my mother's patience for my arrival.

Me at 4 months. True to form, I had a cold in
one eye for this appointment.

My mother said that before I came she had time to clean the entire house and she even waxed the kitchen floor. She thought things would go smoothly with me. The house was in order and this was her third child, so she knew what she was doing. But then I came. And I cried. And cried. And cried. For the first six months, I cried so much that I burst a tear duct and herniated my naval. The neighbors used to take me in the car with them while they were delivering groceries to try to calm me. I am thankful for my mother's patience during the very noisy, exhausting time of when I was trying to settle into the world.

Soon after there was finally some quiet in the house (as much as you can have with a baby and two small children), I got pneumonia and was in the hospital for two weeks. The hospital was in another town and my mother spent all of her time with me while the rest managed somehow at home. Once I was back home, my oldest sister remembers the extra care that I still required. For my mother's patience while taking care of a sick baby, I am thankful.

Throughout the years, I have heard various stories about when I was a baby, but never did the stories come with any guilt or resentment. Just another story from my mother like the one when they had to call the fire department to get my sister's foot out of a drain. So for having had a very patient mother who gave me a great start to life despite how hard I made it for her, I am very thankful.

Thankful Sunday, July 21, 2019

I am thankful to be
another year older.

Yesterday was my birthday. Another year older and that's great because you know what they say, "Consider the alternative." In some ways, I don't feel any older than I did many years ago except for an occasional creaky knee.  In other ways, I feel my age--mostly in the insights that have come from years of experience. Sometimes when I hear what a younger person has said or done, I am surprised and judgmental until I remember what I thought and knew at their age. That puts it in perspective and I realize that experience has been the way that I have gained wisdom. And I've only gotten that through living year after year.

So for my past birthdays and the ones to come, I am thankful.

Birthday Turkey

I live with a family of wannabe carnivores. According to Ward and the boys, meat would be the sum total of every meal if we didn't need those pesky vegetables to stay healthy. Therefore, I was not surprised when Theodore said he wanted a “Meat Event” for his recent birthday. After some discussion, it was decided that the event would be a fried turkey.

Our turkey fryer setup

Everyone I know swears that a fried turkey is the best turkey they've ever had. Also, they claim that since the oil doesn't penetrate the skin, it's still healthy. Well, that's not entirely true, a little of the oil does go into the meat--why else would it taste so good? But overall, it's not a bad choice, nutritionwise, in the meat world.

350 degrees is optimum frying temp.

I don't know how many of you are familiar with frying a turkey, but the concept is simple. Basically, you take a full size turkey, submerse it in hot oil, and fry it until it is done.* The first time we fried a turkey, I was very excited because a large size bird was only going to take about an hour to cook--what a time saver. However, we failed to realize that the setup and the heating of the oil to cooking temperature took a couple of hours. Lunch was a little late that day.

Ward getting ready to carve the turkey.

Ward was the mastermind behind frying the turkey for Theodore's meat event. He beautifully fried a 10 pound turkey most of which was eaten during the birthday meal. Did I mention that the males of the family like meat? We topped the evening off with a birthday cheesecake—but didn't fry it. Maybe next time.

*A word of caution if you are going to try this at home. A frozen turkey can explode in the hot oil.