Scents and Memories

I've heard that the sense of smell is the most primal of all the senses. Going back to the very beginnings of our beginnings. I know smells are powerful memory makers.

There are smells in my life that are constants, either reminding me of people or places or things. Estée is my mom. I love hugging her hello and smelling the cloud of Estée around her. Many times I've purchased Estée for her, in one form or another, whether lotion or powder or perfume, to perpetuate the security and love associated with that cloud.

My older sister was a unique blend of Youth Dew and cigarette smoke. I'm not much for Youth Dew on its own, and who likes the smell of cigarette smoke? But the 2 together, ahhh! Made me smile and breathe deep. It was my sister. That's a smell I'll probably not smell again, since she is gone and it was a unique combination.

White shoulders is a long time Friend. She's worn it since we were in high school, I think, and I never smell it, at a perfume counter or out in public somewhere, without thinking of her.

Hubs wears Halston Z, I think. I don't remember the name, I just know the bottle. And the smell. That smell says he is mine and I am his. It's speaks of history and shared experiences and love.

Perfume is purposeful. The manufacturers work very hard at catching your brain through your nose. But there are other smells. Onions and garlic sautéing in olive oil equals "hope you're hungry!" Pancakes cooking in bacon grease is Pops. Fresh from the oven bread fills the primal "ah, my belly is full!" need. You know, that whole "bread is life" thing. Well, it is for me!

Other smells, a family one, A&D ointment. I know, empirically, that fish oil and vitamins is not a pleasant smell, but for me, the smell of A&D means comfort. It's the relief for the chapped nose of a cold, the ahhh of a scab being soothed from the pull of healing, the comfort of the covering of dry hands or feet or elbow or lips. It also always stirs feeling of love. I now put on my own A&D, but as a kid, it was the gentle hand of love that smeared the comfort.

Pine resin is mountain rest for me. Camping, hiking, sitting in a lounge chair watching a Yellow Bellied Sapsucker fledge from its nest in the hollow of a tree. Campfire smoke is S'mores and guitar music accompanied by voices, meaningful (or silly) conversation and engagements. The smell of horses is the Stock Show and the barns and rabbits and clowns and rodeo. Childhood discovery.

Before my first child was born, I actually thought about, for quite a while, and made a conscious decision about, which baby lotion I wanted to use on my children. There were really only 2, Johnson's and Baby Magic. It never occurred to me to use a non-baby lotion. Probably a good thing, or the decision process might have been agonizing. Anyway, I remember being in a store, in the baby aisle and going back and forth, between the bottles of Johnson's and Baby Magic baby lotion trying to decide. Johnson's was the most popular at the time, I like the smell, it brought to mind visions of babes in arms. Baby Magic was different, almost a little spicy. That was my choice, I didn't want my babies to smell like everyone else's babies, so I chose the less popular, little bit spicy, scent of Baby Magic...and that was all I used. Every day. On both of my kids. Marking them with a perfumed baby lotion that tied them to me in just one more way. When I headed to the hospital to have my second child, I took a cloth diaper that my daughter used as a lovey and smeared it with Baby Magic. Even as I anticipated the birth of the coming child, I knew it would be a while, maybe even a whole day, (gasp!) before I would see my baby, my little girl, again, and I wanted to take a piece of her with me to the hospital, her lovey with her smell.

A few years ago, my Sister-in-Law, my best friend, walked in my house, took a deep breath and said, "Ahh, your house smells like you!" Really? I wasn't cooking. I didn't have candle burning. I hadn't just taken a shower. Really? I asked her what the smell was. Was it my hair spray, my favorite potpourri, the cleaning supplies I use on my sink?  She said it was none of these, or maybe all of them. She recognized my house, because it smelled like me. All that is me.

I never fully understood that until yesterday. Yesterday, I walked in my daughter's house to play with her dogs for a minute while I had a break in my day. She's been gone for five months, now. And her house no longer smells like her. Was it the shower gel she used? One of several perfumes she liked? Was it the cologne her husband used when he would take her out, to dinner or a friend's wedding? Her various lotions, always appropriate to the season? Was it the candle scents she preferred? Was it the cleaning products I used to keep her house safe for her? Was it the usual meals I cooked, like grilled cheese, or Mac and Cheese, that she could and would eat in those many months of treatments? I think it was all of those things. And because she is gone, those magical combinations of smells that mark her and her space as my daughter are gone.

I knew I missed seeing her face. I knew I missed feeling a hug. I knew I missed hearing her voice. I did not know that when I walked in her house, and it didn't smell like her anymore, that I would cry.

My baby boy is 25!

How is it possible that my sweet baby boy, my heart, is 25 years old? It was only yesterday, surely!

Oh Honey, I love you so much. I think about how I loved your baby self and it's hard to believe I could love you more than I did then, but I do. I know that still and always, my heart sings when I hear your voice or see you walk into a room.
 

It's difficult to hold a single thought as I think about the last 25 years. There has been a whole lot of living and a whole lot of loving that's rolled through those years.

I think about your sweet round baby legs, the extra roll hiding inside the leg of your diaper. I remember when you reached teenagehood, marveling that those sweet little pudgy legs could possibly have grown  into the hairy man legs you have now! I guess you'd look pretty silly as a grown man with fat baby legs!!

I remember so much of your young life in conjunction with your sister. Since you were only 17 months younger than she was, you 2 were basically a unit for a very long time. I couldn't let either one of you out of my sight, so you were together all the time. I distinctly remember, however, having you in the car by yourself when you were 2 or so. I didn't realize, until that drive, that you could talk! As in, full sentences, talk!! Because your sis did so very much talking, you just never had to. But once your voice was unleashed, wow!
 

And yet, you'd let her talk as much as she wanted. Remember, driving home from church? I'd ask you kids what you'd heard the priest say. You'd quietly sit there, making like you were thinking, and let her answer. And then you'd chime in with EXACTLY the same thing she said!!! You thought you were so sneaky. Sometimes, I'd hold her back and make you go first. Then the squirming would start!! Haha! But it did make you begin to pay attention, since you never knew when I would pull that on you!  
 

I remember baseball and street hockey, but you always loved swimming best. Such a little fish. And your bike. I think you could ride a bike when you were 3! You always had such a natural body awareness and strength. And you, much like your Dad, just presumed you could do anything you decided you wanted to do...and then did it.

You also were always a natural leader, even as a little one. I think your innate confidence and sense of self allowed you to lead and made others comfortable in following. I was always thankful for your equally strong innate sense of goodness, of right and wrong. That part of you that is from Pops. I sure wouldn't have wanted to figure out how to redirect you, had you decided to lead a gang or something!
 

You're so smart! Math and science, philosophy. I've always loved your writing. Your written voice sounds so much like your spoken voice, I can picture you saying what you write. That is also true of your Marno. You must have gotten that from her. I think back to elementary school. A couple of teachers thinking you were behind. They just didn't know you were uninterested! Haha! I'll never forget sitting in that conference with teachers, the principal, the building resource teacher. The BR teacher talked about testing you and how it was going along fine and then you just kind of hit a wall and she didn't quite understand what had happened. I just laughed. I knew EXACTLY what had happened. You were done, over it, finished! She didn't understand, because you maintained your charm, politeness, wit, really your "presence", and she said that when children were done, they usually threw the equivalent of a tantrum. Not you!! You would never be disrespectful or angry or uncooperative, on the surface, but you just took over the session and took it your own way. I'm not sure, but I don't think I've ever been more proud of you than I was that day, knowing that you were you and perfect and great, and unwilling to just be what someone else wanted you to be, just for the sake of conforming.
 

I remember taking you for your first audition, Rumplestiltskin. You wanted to try out, because a friend of yours had done a Missoula Children's Theater production the year before. We were in a gym, with probably 50 kids and their mothers. In a giant circle. They taught you all one line, "and I'll spin, and I'll spin, and I'll spin your hair to gold." Each child, in turn, said the line. Some with shyness, some with boldness, some with the giggles. And then it was your turn. You didn't just say the line, you ACTED the line. I felt the hush in the gym, the attention of the kids and adults alike, and I knew I'd be at the gym every day for reversals because I knew YOU were Rumplestiltskin! You were gone. Your first love, from then on, would be the stage!

Next was Peter Pan, after our big move. I knew then, too, during the audition, that the part was yours. You were so nervous. And so worried because we were camping that weekend, and you were afraid, if you didn't answer the phone if the director called you to offer you a part, that they'd just go on to someone else. You didn't understand, she would have hunted you down. YOU were Peter Pan! We drove into a pay phone, so you could call our answering machine. And then you just had to call Marno to tell her! Joy, pure joy. Yours and mine!

Lots of shows later, you've chosen the theatre as your life's pursuit! Costumes. You still love the acting. I was more than delighted to see you back on stage in the Mikado last spring. Now you are making your mark at Yale!! YALE! And you still are not content to just do what everyone else is doing. You are going to make the program your own. You're going to make it work for you. And in the process, you are touching a system and making it better! Who would have thought a simple spreadsheet would be enlightening?!
 

You are cream, you realize that, don't you. Cream always rises to the top. It is the best, the brightest, the most sought after. It is the prize. You are a prize!!!

My dear, sweet son. I love you more than I can say! I love you more than my heart can hold! Remember, when your sister died, we talked about the fact that rather than the heart feeling like it had a  hole, a missing piece, it really felt more like it was overflowing? A wellspring of love flowing out of the heart and filling the mind and body with the purity of love?  

My heart overflows with love for you! I love you with every thought and every fiber of my being. I love you with every breath.

ILYEM!!

Mom
 

Letter to Heaven

Hi Baby Girl,

How's your day? That sounds funny, but I'd really like to know. Does Heaven have day and night? Do you get to nap? You loved a good nap. Have you met any sweet little ones today. I can picture you greeting kids, as they arrive. You loved bright, well-behaved children, and I can only imaging that all little ones entering Heaven have no longer any reason to be grumpy, or disagreeable, or contrary or unhappy. Children, especially little girls, always thought you were a princess. I can only imagine that in the perfection of Heaven, you are, indeed, the image of Princess! I picture you, beautiful, perfect, happy, radiant and just shepherding the children about, holding hands, reading, singing. The children, I'm sure, love to hear you sing. You could Irish Step dance for them, too. You have the energy and the grace to dance all you want.

Your dad and I have had a busy weekend. We've deiced the drain spout, watering can by watering can of hot water. Your dad had the torpedo heater out, even! He does love his gadgets. As well as his big metal fire extinguisher.  Pressurized hot water! Crazy, but it worked. The new patio and deck are awesome, but there are some challenges that were not anticipated...

We watched Wild Card football off and on all weekend. The games were uninspired. I'm hoping the rest of the playoffs are a bit more exciting. It still fascinates me that you liked to watch football. Not all day long, any game, football, like your hubby and so many men, but still, you liked football. That is a conundrum. Prissy, girly you, liking football!

We got new bedroom furniture this weekend, too. Gorgeous and huge. We got a platform bed, the original intent was to have a bed that was a bit lower. Instead, it's higher!! I can see you laughing at us as we figure out how to make it work for the dogs!! All 5 of them, yours and ours.

Talked to your "Lil' Brother" today. He had a revelation: he'll be 25 in 2 weeks. Isn't that crazy?? He's all grown up. Well, mostly... I keep thinking that in a little more than a year, he will be older than you. How can that be? Unimaginable, but still...

I have to laugh at your hubby. You and he were perfect for each other. If for no other reason than the fact that you are both terrible texters!! It was always so funny to me, that you were an excellent communicator, except via electronics. I can't tell you how many times you didn't answer the phone, didn't return a voice mail, didn't respond to a text or email. I think you would answer in your mind and that was that. Or maybe you figured that you'd talk to whomever later, so you'd catch up then. I don't know, but your hubs is exactly the same. I'm actually a bit surprised when I get a response in a timely fashion!! 

I'm traveling this week. Frigid Idaho. You're here with me, though you know I'd much rather you were at home, on the couch, with Sophie on your lap, so I could call you on the phone and talk about nothing. Instead, I talk to you in my head all day long. I wish you'd answer me...

ILYEM!!!

Mom

Acceptor or Resistor??

Are you a Resistor or an Acceptor??


I've been pondering a thought for several days, now. What makes one person accept things easily, while another person resists everything?  Is it about those who color inside the lines vs those who ignore the lines and color as they wish, or is it bigger than that?


I am, by nature, an Acceptor. I take what comes and make do. Life is good. Conflict is difficult. I can adapt. So I do. Adapt, that is. Accept. If I have the choice between a green sweater and a red sweater, it never occurs to me to want a blue sweater. I just pick from the offered choices. Now, I'm all about doing things up right, mind you. I never take on anything, unless I'm sure I can do it really, really well. But, as a remarkably adaptable soul, with a natural "half-full" look at life, I think things are mostly fine, just as they are. There is no perfect anything, right? So what IS can be made to work just fine and, mostly, I'm happy about what IS.


My Hubby is a Resistor. If there are 15 choices, he's pretty sure the 16th option will be even better. Never mind the fact that there is no 16th choice. That's simply not possible. There's always a 16th choice. If you just look long enough, search wide enough, spend enough energy beating the bushes, the 16th choice, and while we're at it the 17th, 18th and 19th choice will show up. He is an optimist in pessimist's clothing. On the surface, it looks as though he's never happy about anything, when in reality, he just know perfection is right around the corner. He resists the status quo in favor of the next amazing thing.


Now, obviously, neither of these ways of going about life is right or wrong, better or worse. But they are remarkably different.  I know I find his persistence to be, sometimes, exhausting. And I'm sure he thinks I settle for much less than is possible, or than I deserve. Perhaps this dichotomy is why we are perfect for each other. He makes the amazing possibilities come to life and I smooth the waters and keep the everyday moving forward.


Are you an Acceptor or a Resistor? What makes you that way? Is it your very nature, or is it something in your life's experience?  If you know the answer, pass it along please! In the meantime, today is fine the way it is, unless your my Hubby. Then there's bound to be something amazing just around the corner!

50!!

Age is an interesting thing. We look forward to a certain age. We dread a different age. No matter how many years are under our belt, we're often longing for a bygone age or are anxiously awaiting a coming age.

Here's my reality at 50.  

• Life keeps moving forward, whether I'm ready or not
• I know more now than I did then
• I recognize the beauty in imperfection
• Not everything is worth putting your energy into
• Some things are worth all the energy you have
• Today will not last
• Time flies when you're having fun and crawls when you are not
• Everything is temporary
• Laughter really is great medicine
• If you love it, put it where you can see it
• A hug before every parting is very necessary
• Family is not always determined by genetics
• I have not a drop of the control I thought I had 

Would I trade the backache and creaky knees of 50 for the supple body of my 20-somethings? Not if it meant giving up the wisdom and introspection that is 50. I look forward to what this year will reveal to me about me. Am I as together as I think I am? Or am I spinning in some random  dance while others watch and think "poor thing, she's crazy!"?

A Mother's Heart

A heart is a remarkable thing. When you think of a heart, do you think of the muscle, the valves, the blood? Do you think of the beat, the rhythm, the steadiness? Do you think of resting heart rate, max heart rate, training heart rate? Do you think of courage, emotion, feeling?

According to the Encarta online dictionary, one definition of heart is:

The Basis of Emotional Life: the source and center of emotional life, where the deepest and sincerest feelings are located and a person is most vulnerable to pain

I want to give you a peek inside a mother's heart. Not the blood, tissue, cell, electricity, but the reason a mother's heart beats.  It beats first like an eagle soaring to great heights. The news that a baby is on the way, whether a feeling, a store-bought "+" sign, a blood test, a doctor's notes, an agency's phone call. It's that knowledge that you are going to become a mother that immediately begins to change the heart. It palpitates, it flutters, it clenches, it expands, it screams, it sighs, it laughs, it cries. A mother's heart is born. And the transformation will leave the woman forever changed, no matter the outcome.

 I spoke of soaring and I really mean soaring.  Imagine the lark at the peak of it's song flight. Or a sand crane, circling higher and higher on the warm thermal currents of air. Effortless, climbing, reaching. This open, joyous flight doesn't happen just once. The news that a baby is on the way is the first time, but it's not the last time a mother's heart takes flight. Little things send it leaping. A first laugh or a first step. The first time with no training wheels. The first handmade Mother's Day card, scribbles and all.  There are big things that set a mother's heart soaring, as well. Award ceremonies and graduations, badge awards and good report cards.  I've found, though, that nothing makes a mother's heart soar quite like watching your baby get married.  The enormity of the moment. The wishes, the prayers, the worry, the joy, the incredulity of "that's my baby", only my baby is a woman of great beauty, inside and out. And she's actually getting married...to a man...who she loves...and who loves her...and she's not my baby anymore...and it's so right and so good and so magical. A real "heart takes flight" moment.  People talk about the newlywed's hearts, when it's really the mother's heart that takes flight and soars to the sun in joy, in supplication, in astonishment.

A mother's heart is not only capable of flight, it's also a frighteningly fragile thing. It's a wonder to think that something so strong, is so vulnerable. The heart of a mother can break like a twig, under the strain of a footfall. Mean words hurled in anger by a small child for the first time. "I hate you", even when you know they don't.  But the worst breaking of a mother's heart is for the heartbreak of the child. Tears resulting from a bully's words or actions stream down a child's face, but sear a mother's heart into pieces. Watching your child struggle to learn, or experience the loss of a dream, or a first love, or a favorite pet, or innocence in the face of a cruelty, tear a mother's heart in two and then those pieces are flung to the wind." I'm their mother, I can't fix it, stop it, keep it, do anything about it", and it's that helplessness that seals the deal on a mother's broken heart.

But a mother's heart can sing like the angels in the next breath. The accomplishments of your child, big and small, bring forth a hum, a song, a lilt in a mother's heart. The first time they actually tie their own shoes, or make their own bed, or brush their teeth without you having to remind them. Sometimes it is a small hum, sometimes it's a symphony of song, but a mother's heart is capable of singing. That unsolicited hug, out of nowhere, for no reason. Now that's a singing moment.  The yell "MOM" with the bang of the front door. Just the fact that your child is home and looking for you to share their world with you. The look when dinner tastes soooo good. "Can I have more?" "What's this called?" "Can we have this again tomorrow night?"  Ahh, the song of accomplishment that rings in a mother's heart in those moments. A hum with a smile, a song with a skip. A mother's heart singing.  When the kids are older, there are still mother's heart song moments. Again, that hug will get a mom every time. Or an unexpected phone call, "just to say hi". How about walking in to an unexpectedly clean kitchen. Now that's a symphony!

Just as a mother's heart sings, so a mother's heart can cry. Watching a child reap the consequence of a bad choice causes tears in a mother's heart.  These are the sad choices of a preschooler caught hitting a friend, or the choices of a teenager breaking a rule. The consequences are meted out, the child rages, or dissolves, or pleads, or accepts...and the mother's heart cries. A mother's heart cries, too, over the irrevocable. The "can't fix it" things of life. The girl who wants to be tall, or short, or blond, or thin, or curvy, or whatever she's not.  The boy who wants to be taller, or stronger, or better at sports, or not teased because he'd rather read, or embarrassed by his voice, his glasses, his feet. A mother's heart cries as her child is sick or in pain. She feels her child's pain as her own, and cries for the loss, the fear, the feelings of the child. But she also cries the anguish of the mother. The worry, the fear, the feelings of What can I do? What should I do? What did I miss?  As the children grow, a mother's heart cries, because she's done her job. Her kids are becoming independent, they're making their own choices, their own life, their own way...and leaving her to stand on the porch and wave them off as they dance into their future.

A mother's heart waits...and waits...and waits.  Waiting for the arrival of the baby is only the first wait a mother's heart endures. There's the waiting in the ER with a child who's broken their arm. The mother's heart waits with the anxious youngster wanting to find out if they made the team, the play, the party list. The mother's heart waits for morning with a croupy toddler and waits for midnight for a teen out on a first date. And waiting for answers, from her child, for her child, about her child, oh the waiting of a mother's heart.

The beauty of a mother's heart is in it's magnificent capacity to grow and expand.  A mother's heart is infinitely expandable. Every mother wonders will there be enough love? Will there be enough for a baby, for 2, for 10? What about those children we take into our hearts, who are not of our bodies?  The best friends, the lost puppy children, the ones our kids want to "save", is there room for all?  And miraculously, there is room. There is enough love to go around, with love to spare. There's room for the best buddy, the BFF, the fiance', the in-law, the family of the in-law.  Miraculous! There's room and more, there's love and more, there's capacity and more.  It's the loaves and the fishes all over again, and it happens in a mother's heart every day, in every way. There's always enough with extra to spare, and it's been blessed by God.

A mother's heart grows. It grows in wisdom, it grows in experience, it grows in understanding. Through singing and crying, soaring and breaking, her heart is marked by and for her children. I watched a show on the dolphins of Australia's Shark Bay. Shark Bay is named because it is the home of sharks. Lots of sharks. All the time there are sharks.  And these dolphins come to Shark Bay, not just to eat, or play or swim, they come to give birth.  Literally in the home of the sharks, these dolphin mothers have their babies.  And all the mother's have the scars of shark bites. These mothers do what they need to do to protect their babies. There was one particular mother the researchers watched from pregnancy, through the delivery of the baby. The mother was part of a pod of dolphins and just as "it takes a village to raise a child" for humans, the pod helps protect all the babies.  This one particular mother and baby were missing for a couple of days. The researchers feared the worst.  And then they returned, mother and baby.  The baby was perfect; healthy, playful, growing, learning. Not a mark on its skin, not a worry in it's swim.  And the mother had new shark bites to accompany the scars of previous bites. She placed herself between her baby and the sharks. She fought off the sharks. She protected her baby from the sharks. She bore the wounds of the sharks...for her baby.

And so a mother's heart grows and expands, and is marked and scarred by the experience of motherhood. A mother's heart is a work of the Master. Beautiful, miraculous, and a brief glimpse into the heart of the Father.

"I don't wanna!!"

Do you ever wake up in the morning and just think "I don't wanna?"  I don't wanna get out of bed. I don't wanna go to work. I don't wanna talk to anybody. I don't wanna do anything. Well, I sure do!

I don't wanna pick up dog toys.
I don't wanna unload the dishwasher.
I don't wanna do laundry.
I don't wanna balance the checkbook.
I don't wanna call _____________.
I don't wanna exercise.
I don't wanna eat right.
I don't wanna go to work.
I don't wanna file paperwork.
I don't wanna cook dinner...again.
I don't wanna get out in the snow, rain, cold, heat, wind...take your pick!
...I don't wanna be happy today...

I think this last one is often, for me, what this is all about. I don't want to try to be happy today. I'd just like to wallow in the muck for today. Hold a pity party. Nurse my wounds. Refuse to smile. Refuse to even try.

Luckily, as a half-full type person, I don't live in this "I don't wanna" place too much. But I do visit. Sometimes I visit the land of "I don't wanna" on a daily basis. Sometimes a couple times a day.  But I cant' live there, even if, in my heart, I really wanted to, and thankfully, in my heart, I don't really want to even visit there.

So...

I do what I can
I put on a happy face
I pull myself up by my bootstraps
I look on the bright side
I count my blessings
I stop to smell the roses
I remember those who are less fortunate
I think of all the starving children...

Sometimes, all it takes to pull me out of "I don't wanna" is watch my puppy play w/ my grandpuppy for a minute. Or open the door and take a breath, a really deep breath, of fresh air. Or text my kids that I love them. Or hug my husband. Or smile at a child, or an elder, or just a stranger. Sometimes it's noticing the robins are here, or the first bee of the season was loving on the flowers on the casket.

Sometimes it's just closing my eyes, giving heartfelt thanks, and then opening my eyes, putting a smile on my face, and doing exactly what "I don't wanna!"