D is for Daffodil

  

D is for Daffodil

I love the appearance of daffodils in the spring. They show up just after the crocus and are a sign that spring is really here. These signs of spring are quite common and are naturalized in many areas as well as being parts of formal and home gardens. They are native to the Mediterranean area and were originally grown by Roman and Greeks. At some point they were no longer cultivated and became wild until the early 1600's when the English decided to grow them. The early settlers brought them to the Americas. And the rest is history, as they say.

The name daffodil is often used interchangeably with jonquils and narcissus. Some will say that there are differences based on the specific kind of flower and those terms shouldn't be lumped together. Others say, that they are basically all the same thing. As for me, I don't quite understand the differences that are brought up, so I call them all daffodils. My differences are based on color and shape--such as a big yellow one or a small white one with an orange center.

Daffodils are grown in many cultures and each one has a symbolism based on them. There are variances on this, but most of the symbolism has the theme of rebirth. For me they symbolize hope--hope that there is really one flower that the squirrels and deer won't eat. This may be because the daffodil is a poisonous plant.

Daffodils are in full bloom in my neighborhood right now. However, my yard is a little behind my neighbors. While some are blooming, I have at least two varieties that haven't show a bud yet.

Are you enjoying daffodils this spring?

Spring welcoming Daffodils in my yard.

More Info.

http://www.thepoisongarden.co.uk/atoz/narcissus.htm

http://www.flowermeaning.com/daffodil-flower-meaning/

C is for Cats

C is for Cats

If you visit here very often, you know that cats are a big part of our family. Currently we have three, Lucky, Annie, and Leo. However, here's a story about another one, Samantha, our very first cat.

Samantha as an older kitten

For my birthday one year my husband, Ward, got me a very special present--a kitten. This was a huge gesture coming from a person who said he didn't like cats. We got the kitten from a "Free to good home" ad in the newspaper and for no particular reason, we named her Samantha. (Okay, maybe I had just watched an episode of Bewitched.)

By the time we got her to her new home, it was now late in the evening and time for bed. We decided it would be best to shut Samantha in the laundry room that night with everything she needed because we weren't sure how well she could be trusted on her own. There wasn't a door, so we blocked her in with a piece of plywood. We thought there was no way that the tiny kitten (6 weeks old at the most) could get over this makeshift door.

However, we were wrong. Soon after we had gotten to sleep, I was rudely awakened by a piercing pain in my leg. Samantha with her sharp, little claws had just jumped onto the bed and was scrambling to gain her balance. The little kitten, who had looked so helpless, had some how managed to escape the laundry room.

We had decided that we didn't want her sleeping with us, so I put her back in the hallway and shut the door. Soon I heard a thump and a rattle. When I got up to investigate, Samantha darted into the room. Trying not to wake a sleeping Ward, I took her out into the living room to try to calm her. I petted her for a while and then she wandered off. I heard a loud mew and then I watched as Samantha backed down the hallway, took a running leap and tried to get her paws around doorknob of the door to our bedroom. It looked as if Samantha was actually trying to open the door with her paws.

I put her back in the laundry room with every comfort imaginable and went back to bed hoping to salvage what was left of the night. So as you can probably guess, soon, the thud, rattle, rattle, started again. But I was determined to win. I didn't want to start the habit of sleeping with a cat, so I laid there for the next two hours listening to her intermittent attempts to join us. Bleary eyed, I finally gave in.  I opened the door and she trotted right in, jumped up on the bed, and snuggled in. However, as soon as, we adjusted around her, she jumped down and didn't come back the rest of the night. She had made sure that I knew who had won the battle of wills, so her work was done. (After that, she only tried to sleep with us on very cold nights.)

Samantha was with us for the next 14 years showing us many times that she was one smart and determined cat. We have had five more cats since then but none of them have ever been as smart as our first cat, Samantha.

B is for Brothers--or lack thereof

My sisters and I, but no brothers.

I grew up in a family of four girls and no boys in the 1960's and 1970's--a time when gender roles were changing. The country was going from the traditional roles of women running the household and men bringing in the money to support it to Women's Lib which questioned every male/female role from the past.

So I often wonder if I had had brothers, would they have been treated any differently than the girls in our family. I saw differences in some of my friends' families. In some, the boys didn't have to do any work inside the house including babysitting younger siblings. But the boys had to mow the lawn because it was too "dangerous" for the girls.  In another family, the girls were only expected to get two-year college degrees while the sky was the limit for the boys. While I was used to the indoor/outdoor gender roles, the college difference always bothered me even at the time.

In our family, hard work and education was stressed more than anything else. My parent's hard work and education had allowed them to come from poverty to build a decent lifestyle for us. One of the things I remember that was said to me many times was that I had to have enough education to get a job that could support myself, a husband, and a family because you never knew what would happen.

My parents were a mix in the examples that they set for us in household roles. My mother stayed at home when we were little and went to work full-time when the last one us started school. My father always had a job outside the home, but did cooking and grocery shopping when needed.

How did that translate into what we kids (girls) did? We learned to cook, to sew, to iron, and to babysit. We learned to be caregivers for our grandmother and other elderly in the neighborhood. We also learned to wallpaper and lash a table. My mother would take us to Sunday school and my father would take us fishing and hunting. A little bit of a mix of everything.

Wally and Theo have no sisters.

I just don't know how my "brothers" would have been treated. I'd like to believe that we would have been treated equally (as equally as you can treat different people with different personalities) but I don't know. While I think my brothers would have had to cook, I don't know if they would have had to iron. And while I was ironing, I think they would have been doing more yard work, but I'm not sure.

I only had boys, so I don't really have any experience with a mixed gender family. We tried to raise Wally and Theodore with a set of skills they would need take care of themselves when they were adults. This included jobs across all traditional roles. Would we have treated daughters the same way? Probably, but I don't really know. (Okay, if I'm being honest, I was always envious of how cute little girls clothes were while little boy clothes were just stripes and solids. A girl may have had more clothes.)

So what's your experience? If you had both boys and girls in your family growing up, were they treated differently? Did you or are you seeing differences in the way you treat the boys and girls in your family?

A is for A-Z Challenge

How did the time get away from me? It seems like only a year ago that I signed up for the A-Z Challenge the first time. Some of you may remember that was when I posted every day in April (except Sundays) using the letters of the alphabet as guides.

And it seems like only 11 months ago, I said that I wouldn't do it again. It took too much time to come up with a post every day. And then I said, if I did it again, I would do a themed month to make the topics for the post easier to come up with. And then I said, if I did it again, I would plan ahead and have an outline and and several posts written.

So I seem to have selective amnesia because I've signed up for the A-Z Challenge again and I have no theme, no outline, or posts written.  I think I must be crazy because I'm gonna give it a go. We'll see what happens.

(BTW, if anyone has an idea for one of the posts, I welcome all suggestions. I'll work them in if I can.)

A Second Look--March 30, 2016

The goldfinch are changing from their dull winter colors to their bright summer colors .

Changes

Spring is the season with the most dramatic changes as the world emerges from its dullness. Yesterday, I was surprised by one of these changes. There was a brightly colored goldfinch on the feeder. Both the males and females have been a muted, yellow-gray all winter, but yesterday I saw the brilliant yellow color that they are so well known for. (I guess the males are sprucing up to attract the females.)

Changes have been very much on my mind recently after a visit with my mother in a nursing home. During my visit, I spent many hours every day with her and observed a lot of things.  I saw people whose bodies and, sometimes, minds were wearing out. Basic everyday functions that I took for granted, most residents needed help with. This makes a nursing home a difficult place to visit for many including me. The most difficult part of all of this was imagining myself reaching this point some day besides the obvious grieving for losses my mother suffers.

Ward pushing my mother on a walking
path they have. Another positive.

But after a little time, I started to see past the problems and started to see the people underneath their aging bodies. And they were not all a miserable bunch. I saw some with new found contentment as they no longer had to worry about how they were going to care for themselves. I saw others who found out that they liked certain foods that they thought they didn't like. I also saw some who were very happy with the social aspect of things and were present at every activity. And yet another with dementia who forgot she liked to smoke. In other words, many of the residents had found the positive in the changes that had brought them there.

But even more than realizing that one can be happy anywhere, I was comforted to know that the basic personality of someone still shines through from the beginning of life to the end. There was a man who were unable to speak, but had on clothes from his favorite sports team every day. There were some who noticed every detail in the room and others who only saw what was in front of them. There were some who were quiet and others who were quite talkative. All things they did before. My favorite story about this is the sense of humor that one woman still has.

My mother's roommate, Elsie,  is 98 years old and has never been married. While she is bedridden, she still has a very good mind and sense of humor. One evening one of the staff sat down and talked with her for a while and as she was leaving said, "Now, Elsie, if you need anything, just let me know." To which Elsie said with a twinkle, "Well, it certainly won't be a man!" That comment has made me smile for days.

While my mind continues to sort out both the global and personal issues associated with aging and end of life, I am starting to come to understand that although the changes can be quite dramatic, underneath them all, it's just another phase of a person's life.