This past
week has been a jumble of emotions. If
you’ve ever read, Feisty, a tribute to my parents, you may know that my parents
were 40 years old when I was born. All
my grandparents were dead by the time I came into the world.
As a little
girl, when people would ask if my parents were my grandparents this caused
anxiety in my heart. I knew that my
grandparents were in heaven. If people
thought my parents were old enough to be my grandparents, would my parents die
at any minute?
It was a
huge concern to me as a child. It didn’t
paralyze me from enjoying life, but it’s always been floating around in my
brain. So, basically I’ve been trying to
cope with my parents’ mortality all of my life.
Probably the entirety of humanity deals with the inevitability of our
parents leaving this earth.
And so the
finality of it all has come to pass. Mom
went home to Glory 5 years ago this week. My
father can no longer live independently due to a massive stroke. This past weekend, my childhood home was
disbanded. I realize few people have the
opportunity to spend their entire childhood in one home, one community. (We dragged our poor children across the
USA.)
It was a
modest home that my parents built in 1969 paying cash. I remember my parents finishing the woodwork in
the kitchen by the light of a Coleman lantern after dad got off work. The smell of the lacquer was heady and I
liked it. The happy memories and smells that
kitchen held. The turkeys roasted, the
hams glazed, the Christmas cookies cut, the green beans canned, the birthday
cakes iced, the wonderful homemade noodles.
I would sit
on the floor in front of the refrigerator while the female kinfolk would clean
up after a big family meal. In the
winter this was delicious because the fridge put out warm air at the
bottom. We’d talk and laugh.
There was
always lots of laughter.
The kitchen
table was scratched and scuffed from the countless games of Euchre, Poker,
Spoons, Pictionary, Trivial Pursuit, Scrabble, Cribbage, Scattegories. Spoons often drew a little blood, too.
My bedroom
evolved from light pink with Cinderella wallpaper, Purple and Green 1970’s
patchwork quilt motif, and in college to green palm frond décor. The door would barely shut over the phone
cord. To have some much needed teen
‘privacy,’ I would drag the phone into my bedroom from another room. As much as I begged, there would be no phone
in my bedroom. (Our firstborn would be conceived in this bedroom.)
The bathroom
where I experimented with make-up, hairstyles and hot rolled waist length hair
had an incredible seashell countertop! Seashells
were encased in a clear resin, an unexpected touch in an Indiana farmtown. No wonder
I love the sea. The tub and double sinks
were blue. In adulthood, my sisters and
I had many a wonderful conversation over those double sinks as we would get
ready for special occasions. I loved
that bathroom with it’s unique corner bathtub.
However, I never could embrace the silver metallic wallpaper mom installed after I left for college.
Even after
we all started our own families, this little house was the central meeting
point for siblings who lived across the country. Cousins would watch tv jumbled together on
the floor. The rusted swingset out back entertained
the next generation.
These sweet
memories are what I have left as I say goodbye to the physical presence of my
childhood. I write this to encourage
you, sweet reader, to do whatever possible to create a warm and happy home for
your precious children, even if this home takes residence at different
addresses.
That’s the
whole reason for this blog. It’s for the
children. It’s for our grandchildren,
for the great grandchildren. Even if you don't have children, you will have influence over children, if you desire. It’s for
the legacy we will leave.
In a way, I
write this blog to pass along my mother’s joyful heart. She taught me that you do whatever it takes
to walk through adversity having faith. On the other side, there would be
good. The good may take surprising
forms. She taught this in all aspects
of life. But, I’ve found this
lifeskill most applicable in my marriage.
A good
marriage doesn’t just affect you and your spouse. It affects your children. It mentors your co-workers, friends and
extended family. Happiness that is
gleaned through a thriving homelife filters into your corner of the world,
every inch of it. I want to affect
people through my contentment rather than bitterness, don’t you?
So, low
libido ladies, figure out what it will take to redeem a broken marriage or to
make a good marriage better. If you
don’t know where to start, PRAY.
Be the
sunshine for your corner of the world.
In My Life, the Beatles
