Mountains and Valleys

I've been thinking about those of you who have had your children quarantined with you over the past few months. There is a part of me that envies the cozy scene I envision: board games,  family dinners, and lots of time together. And there is another part of me that is relieved not to be in charge of keeping children (of any age) occupied and happy during a pandemic. I think no matter who you are and what your situation is, we can all agree that life during a pandemic is a challenge, and we are all playing the quarantine hands we've been dealt as well as we can.

Since we're still smack dab in the middle of COVID-19, we're also still in the midst of learning the lessons a pandemic has to offer about who we are, who we were, and who we want to become (both as individuals and as a country). However, I expect, when we look back years from now, we'll see that there were a lot of good things hiding underneath the hardship, sorrow, fear, and frustration of this time.

Once, many years ago when our kids were young, we went to the ocean for a week with our extended family. As I remember, it rained every day and many in our group got the stomach flu. But on our last full day, the sun came out and we ventured down to the ocean's edge where we found a family of dolphins jumping and playing--they were almost close enough to touch. Above them was a double rainbow. And that's what has stayed with me: that beautiful ending to a tough week.

So in the spirit of holding onto the good and trying to finish strong, here are some things I've been noticing:

1. I am taking life more slowly. I've been walking a lot and taking time to notice the bright, cheerful flowers everywhere and the green of the trees against the blue of the sky. I've been appreciating our quiet little village and the creek that runs through it. I've been reading more. I've been making things from scratch: sourdough bread, hamburger and hot dog buns, pita pockets, and pizza.

2. I've been appreciating the way people are stepping up: sharing their expertise and talent; offering information, advice and encouragement via social media; making and distributing masks; sharing recipes; dropping off eggs, produce, coffee beans, and garden plants; texting and calling to stay in touch; cheerfully crossing to the other side of the street to avoid getting too close; and hosting socially distanced porch visits and small backyard gatherings.

3. Although it's been a struggle, I've been learning to be more patient, to do without, to wait for things I wish for and want right now. I'm trying to be more grateful for what I have--and in the process, I'm realizing I have a lot.

4. While it feels odd to have your kids taking care of you instead of the other way around, I am thankful and touched by the ways our kids (our sons and daughter and our son- and daughters-in-law) have watched out for us over the past few months. They text, snap, and call more often (and talk longer). They Zoom and play online games with us on Saturday evenings and Sunday mornings and afternoons. They do our grocery shopping in between Instacart deliveries and pick ups (and don't say anything about the fact that we're still using Instacart instead of masking up and doing our own shopping). They pick up take-out food. They offer help and advice with technology issues and tree removal. They show interest (feign interest?) in my sourdough bread making adventures. They suggest TV shows and podcasts (along with instructions on how and where to find them). They worry when I'm not sleeping and offer solutions. They listen to our fears. They help us sift through information and give us perspective. They model resilience and courage. They cheer us up. They cheer us on.

There's a beautiful passage in the book Esperanza Rising by Pam Munoz Ryan: "[Abuelita] handed Esperanza the bundle of crocheting. 'Look at the zigzag of the blanket. Mountains and valleys. Right now you are in the bottom of the valley and your problems loom big around you. But soon, you will be at the top of a mountain again.'" When I teach this book, my students and I talk about how spending time in the valleys changes Esperanza and makes her a stronger, wiser, more compassionate person; we discuss how that is true for all of us. Although none of us enjoy the hard times in our lives, it's in the valleys that we do our growing.

We are all in the deep valley of COVID-19 right now, and the next mountain top is barely visible. Since we're stuck here for a while, I want to use the time as well as I can, so that when we're on the mountain top again, I am a little stronger, a little wiser, a lot more compassionate.

Jean Galliher Wendell

My husband's mom died yesterday. She was 97. She'd lived a long and full life. But no matter how old we get or how old our parents get, we're just never prepared to lose them. When I first married Steve, I didn't fully realize at first what a gem I had gotten as a mother-in-law. But for the past forty years, I've learned so much from watching this kind, gracious, generous, classy woman. Steadily and surely, she has shown me what a well-lived life looks like. For most of those forty years, we lived in the same town--and for a short while, even in the same house. My recipe box is filled with her recipes; our house is filled with her furniture, her Christmas ornaments, and her dishes; but most of all, our hearts are overflowing with precious memories. We miss you, Mom; we always will. Thank you for everything.

Benjamin: Son of My Right Hand

I've been thinking a lot about Ben lately. Today is the middle school musical: he'll spend twelve hours with the cast and crew of Elf Jr. Monday is his birthday: he'll turn 32. And six weeks from today is his wedding day: he'll marry his sweet Becca. As most of you know, Ben is our oldest child; he's the one who has been with us the longest, the one whose name means "son of my right hand."

They say there are a lot of advantages to being the firstborn in a family, but I think there are a lot of hard things about it too. First of all, firstborns have inexperienced parents who are still trying to figure things out. When siblings come along, the firstborn becomes the leader, the trail blazer, the first one to do almost everything. Because of this, firstborns have to have broad shoulders. They become a kind of link between the outside world and home life, a link between the parents and the younger siblings. Younger siblings look to them for help, for advice, for tips on how to navigate life; they expect them to know what to do and how to do it. And it's not just the younger siblings that lean hard on the firstborn, parents do too. Ben has done a spectacular job of fulfilling this role for the past thirty years. He's lived up to his name by being our "right-hand man" in more ways than I can count.

When Ben was young, he used our wooden coffee table as his desk. His desk chair was one of those chubby yellow Little Tikes chairs. On his desk he had a box filled with pens and markers, a red box for his completed paperwork, and a huge stack of paper. He made books, charts, and schedules--lots and lots of schedules. He used so much paper, we started buying it by the ream, well before we had any kind of home computer and printer. As he grew older, his paperwork often expanded beyond his coffee-table desk to the couch, the end table, and the floor. One night when he was about ten years old, he was heading off to bed, and I asked him to clean up his papers before he went upstairs. "I've already cleaned up after you once tonight," I reminded him. He called back over his shoulder, "I have a full life!"

It was true then and it's true now. Ben has always had a full life. And one of the things I noticed early on about Ben was that his full life spilled over and filled up my life in unexpected ways. He had big plans, big sleepovers, big birthday parties, and a big high school graduation party; he brought big groups of friends home from college for the weekend and invited big groups of friends to dinner. As a result, he helped me live a bigger, fuller life too.

After college, Ben came back to Fredonia to live and work. He teaches school and directs big musicals. His life is fuller than ever. And on December 29, 2018, it will fill up even more--in the best possible way.

So I've been pondering what this new chapter in his life might mean in my life. Will his marriage mean the end of watching West Wing and Blue Bloods together, the end of playing Yahtzee, the end of sitting around the dinner table at the end of a school day, the end of his full life bubbling over into mine? 

But then last Saturday, Ben, Becca, and I had tickets to see my husband Steve in Newsies at the Jamestown Community College campus. We went early with Steve instead of taking two cars, so Ben, Becca, and I had an hour to fill before the show. We found some seats in a downstairs hallway of the academic building that houses the theater. Before long the three of us were playing Heads Up and talking and laughing. And in the midst of it, I realized that even though my last child is getting married and my nest is finally well and truly empty, my life is filling up. The dining room chandelier that I wrote about in my very first blog entry isn't dimming after all; it is blazing with the added light of a new son-in-law and two new daughters-in-law. 

So Benjamin, son of my right hand, carry on. Live big and enjoy your full life. (Just remember to clean up your papers every once in a while!)

The Marvelous, Musical Miss Cicelske

A little over a year ago, my son Ben casually mentioned that he'd been seeing someone for a couple of months and would it be okay if he brought her over for dinner. You know how it is with moms and their kids--we can usually read them pretty well. I was immediately on high alert; there was something in his manner and in his voice that made me think this might not just be "someone" but "SOMEONE." When they came to dinner and we met Becca for the first time and watched the two of them together, my inkling about her grew stronger. Here we are many dinners and many months later, and Ben and Becca are engaged; in just a few months, Becca Cicelske will become Becca Wendell.

But before that happens, let me tell you a little about Becca Rae Cicelske. For nine years, she has been Miss Cicelske, the dedicated, hard-working, jack-of-all-trades music teacher at Northern Chautauqua Catholic School. In just a few days, she will start a brand new job as the band director for grades 5-12 at Chautauqua Lake Central School. She also plays the euphonium (which, I admit, I had to google to make sure I knew just what it was) and the ukulele (this one I knew since my mom is a long-time ukulele player!). She also sings, directs musicals, arranges music, and actually hears music differently than the average person (or at least differently than this average person). So that's the musical part of Miss Cicelske.

The marvelous part is revealed in more ways than I can name in a short blog post, but at the top of the list is the way she cares for people: her family (including her beloved nieces and nephews), her students, her friends, and especially Ben. She "gets" Ben. She understands who he is, what he wants, what he needs. Like many introverted people, she is a watcher, a noticer, and in the sixteen months she's known Ben, she has seen things him that have surprised even me. She's also a good listener, an encourager, a person who seems to know what people need before they ask. She's an excellent game player. She loves Ben's dog, Zeke, and is so good with him that we call her the dog whisperer. And to top it all off: she loves mint chocolate chip ice cream and the Buffalo Bills!

When Becca got the job at Chautauqua Lake, I was so thankful: being a 5-12 band director is her dream job; but I was also thinking how great it was for them: I knew they'd gotten a gem. When Ben proposed to Becca, I was so thankful: Becca is the girl of his dreams and I knew how happy they make each other; but I was also thinking how great it is for us: our family has gotten another gem. Welcome to the family, Becca!

Advice to My Son

To my sweet boy,

One month from tomorrow is your wedding day, and my heart is already brimming with emotion. I think maybe parents of grown-up children all share a strange ability: when they look at their child, they see not only the current, full-grown person that child has become but also every single version of that child—from baby to toddler to child to teen to young adult. My mind is flooded with memories of the boy you were and visions of the husband you are about to become. Because I can’t get you out of my mind, I thought I’d take this opportunity to offer you some advice on marriage. I’m not sure you really need advice from me—but when has that ever stopped me?!

1.    I remember a hot summer day when you were helping me in the yard by hauling weeds to the compost pile as I was gardening. You disappeared into the house for a while, and when you returned, you had two Tupperware cups filled with lemonade. You smiled and said, “I thought this might hit the spot.” So my first piece of advice is this: Take lemonade to Emma. Surprise her with your thoughtfulness. Show her in unexpected ways that you are thinking about her and noticing what she needs.

2.    Another memory from much later on: you, Em, and I went sledding late at night on hill behind Eagle Street school. We were having a lot of fun until I bounced off my saucer and hit my head hard on the packed snow. You were beside me in seconds, helping me up, retrieving my sled, walking me home, and checking my pupils. So that’s my second bit of advice: Always watch out for Emma’s safety and well-being. Take care of her. Protect her. Cherish her. 

3.    I still have several of the notes you left me over the years of your childhood tucked away in my dresser drawer, and I know from a snap or two Emma has sent, that you’ve carried on your note-leaving tradition with her. Keep it up! Keep leaving her sweet notes.

4.    Recently you were telling me about putting together the hammock you got as a shower gift. You were saying how much you love it, how nice it is, how you plan to take care of it and bring it in when it rains. Then you said, “At least for the first year. After that, it’ll probably be like everything else; we’ll forget and it’ll get rained on.” While that is so true for things like hammocks and so many other possessions, don’t let it be true for your marriage. Protect it like the treasure it is. Don’t take it for granted. Don’t ever stop taking care of it.

5.    This is getting long, and I know you are no fan of lengthy posts, so the rest I will put in short bullets:

·      On snowy mornings, clean off her car windows.

·      When she looks nice, notice. Then tell her. 

·      Keep making her laugh.

·      Make sure she knows that you will always take her side and be in her corner.

·      When she’s having a bad day, find a way to make it better.

·      Be as cheerful as possible as often as possible.

·      When you mess up, admit it and apologize.

·      In the long run, the little moments in a marriage matter as much or more than the big ones. So value the everydayness of your life together.

·      Be careful in arguments not to say things you can’t take back, things that will hurt—even if they are true (and especially if they are not true).

·      Working hard is important and having money makes life easier, but making a life is more important than making a living. 

·      Never, ever, ever give up on the relationship even if the going gets tough (and it will). Hang in there and fight for your happy ending.

·      Hold her hand, touch her shoulder—stay connected in big and small ways.

·      Treasure her: make sure she knows you value her, admire her, and appreciate her.

·      Tell her you love her—often.

I’m sure there are other things I could or should add. But as I said before, I think you already know how to be a good husband—just keep being the kind, loving, funny, thoughtful, protective person you’ve always been. And if you ever need advice (or anything at all), you know where to find me . . . 

We Got Her

Emma and Darton, 2012

In June of 2012, we met our son in Buffalo to pick up the family Honda he'd been driving but was now passing along to his sister. Since he had to bring two cars to Buffalo, he enlisted the help of a friend, a girl from Roberts Wesleyan named Emma. She was pretty, friendly, and polite. She was wearing white pants and very cute sandals. And there was an ease between the two of them that I liked. Although our meeting was brief on that sunny day in June, a couple of months later when we found out they were dating, we were delighted but not surprised! And the more we got to know Emma, the more we liked her.

Fast forward five-and-a-half years. Darton and Emma are still together. Emma is still pretty, friendly, and polite. There's still a lovely, just-right ease between the two of them. And Emma's shoe game remains consistently strong! I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that with every single visit, we love her more. In fact a couple of years ago, our other son said, "If they ever break up, we're just going to have to adopt Emma."

A week before Christmas we got the phone call we'd been waiting for. Darton had just proposed to his sweet Emma. None of us could stop smiling.

In the days after that happy phone call, I kept thinking of a chapter title in the book Sahara Special, by Esme Raji Codell, called "We Got Her." At the beginning of the chapter, the students in an ordinary fifth-grade classroom are waiting to meet their brand-new teacher, Madame Poitier (Miss Pointy). As the story unfolds, the students realize that as far as teachers go, they have hit the jackpot. Miss Pointy is a teacher like no other. She's the teacher they've been waiting for, the teacher who will forever change their lives. We feel the way those fictional fifth graders felt. As far as (future) daughters-in-law/sisters-in-law go, we have hit the jackpot. Emma is a girl like no other. She's the girl we've been praying for, the girl who will forever change our family. We Got Her. We Got Her. We Got Emma!

Emma and Darton, 2017

SaveSave

Our Daily Bread

I was thinking recently about the ways moms provide for their kids throughout their lives. One of the first and most crucial needs they fill is hunger. In fact, for the first few years of life, most of the food we eat comes from Mom. As you grow older, you start to have more choices about the food you eat and more opinions about when, where, and how you eat meals. You might chafe against the "clean plate club" rule or wish you could go out for pizza with friends instead of being home for family dinners. Then one day you're out of the house and on your own for meals, and you remember how good your mom's Swiss steak and mashed potatoes tasted on Sunday afternoons or how exciting it was to see the fogged-up windows when you came home from play practice because you knew that meant it was spaghetti night. You look forward to coming home for visits to eat Mom's home-cooking again. It's something kids never really outgrow. But twice now, with Steve's mom and my own, I've seen that moms start to outgrow their ability to provide those meals. As with so many parts of the parent-child relationship (the last time you held your parent's hand, the last time your family all went somewhere together in the family car), you don't usually realize while you're eating it, that it's the last meal your mom is going to make for you. My mom's home-cooked meals are a thing of the past. The last time I visited her in her new little personal care apartment, she offered me a cup of coffee, but she couldn't even quite remember how to operate her Keurig.

If you were raised in a family like mine, it wasn't just physical food your mom provided, she also nourished you spiritually. You probably took for granted the daily bread she provided: everything from her little wooden music box full of Bible verses on small colored cards that played "Standing on the Promises," to the familiar sight of her well-worn black leather Bible with its onion-skin pages and the flat red pencil she kept tucked in its spine for neatly underlining favorite verses, to her helping you memorize Luke 2 and the first chapter of John. As you grew older, your spiritual diet started being supplemented at Bible Club and youth group meetings, and those new tastes started to seem a little more appealing than the same old spiritual food you got at home. You may have started to get a little impatient with mealtime and bedtime prayers, and you chafed at missing Wonderful World of Disney every Sunday night because of evening church. Then one day, you are out on your own, deciding for yourself when and where to go to church and pray and read your Bible.

However, unlike all the physical meals your mom made while you were growing up, the spiritual food she provided continues to nourish you throughout your life. Over the years, you find yourself humming the hymns you heard your mom singing around the house and repeating the same mealtime and bedtime prayers with your own kids that she said with you. And your mom's ability to provide spiritual guidance extends much longer too. For as long as I can remember, every three months, I'd find a fat envelope in my mailbox containing a copy of "Our Daily Bread," a little booklet that contains short daily devotionals I've read steadily over the years. In April, my mom's emergency surgery and the aftermath that changed her life and ours ended that long-standing tradition. The picture above is of the last copy she sent me. For four months now, I've been on my own: I've had to forage around and find my own copies of "Our Daily Bread"; it's been fine, but the ones I've found are one-month versions, rather than the three-month copies she sent, and I miss finding those fat envelopes in my mailbox. Although she can no longer mail me those booklets or make me a meal or a cup of coffee, her ability to feed me spiritually has not ended. Last time I was down, she told me about how she's catching up on her daily Bible reading and thinks she'll make it through Revelation by the end of the year; she played hymns for me on her CD player. And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she prays for me and for my kids and for the rest of the family every single day. Some days I think those prayers are the only things keeping me standing, and I hope and pray that for as long as I live, I will follow in her footsteps and "stand on the promises" as firmly and strongly as she has. Thanks for all the food, Mom.