Snowbound

I can’t say I’ve “never” experienced a storm like this; I’ve lived through a lot of Maine snowstorms.  But this one is certainly a biggie and the line that keeps running through my mind is from Rudolph when Santa says – “It’s the stor-r-r-m of the century!” (And that’s why they need Rudolph’s red nose…and finally stop bullying him.)

The wind was whipping so loud in the night, I feared the new shingles would rip off our roof.  The window panes had snow drifts…on the second floor.  It felt like The Wizard of Oz’s tornado where I might see a cow flying by my upstairs window or the evil neighbor (a.k.a. the Wicked Witch of the West) pedaling her bike swiftly by, in my dream state, with Toto poking his head out of her basket.  Topsy turvey.  Everything felt chaotic. Nature was commanding, loud, and violent.

Despite the scary parts of storms, and the real damage they inflict on so many people, there is something cozy about pulling inward and hunkering down with just your family.  You can’t go out, can’t do errands, sometimes can't watch television or type on the computer or do any of the “normal” things you typically do….and that’s the beauty.  It’s a forced shut down.

The night of the storm, the four of us watched a movie, something we’ve not done together for a very long time – nowhere to go, nothing to do...why not?  Outside, the wind whipped and the snow piled up.  

I am so grateful for heat, a sturdy home, living far enough away from the ocean to avoid flooding, and having my husband to protect us…and snowblow.  I’m so thankful for the quiet break inside.  

 I’m also a grateful witness to the beauty of a snowstorm and the feet of glistening white snow surrounding us when it’s over when, like Dorothy, we gently push open the back door and step outside slowly, eyes blinking in the bright light of the sunshine afterward.  

It’s rather dramatic of me to call my post “snowbound,” but fun to do so.  The camp we rent in Rangeley – now there we’d be snowbound – 10 miles into the woods, cannot see the closest neighbor, heavily snow laden pines, a blazing fire to keep us warm, no city snow plows.   

Mmmm….maybe someday a snowstorm there…..and it will be even more cozy and thrilling!

Photos:  view of my neighbor's house, the snow against my deck doors

My Sons' Headlights

One of my most joyful sights is seeing, out of the corner of my eye, the headlights of either of my sons’ cars.  Whether pulling to the curb out front for one, or into the front corner of the driveway for the other, my heart lightens.  They’re home.  I love having them home; I love their company, their smiles, their conversation, their noise, their quiet.  

My days of joy are numbered.

My boys are very close to turning 22 and 18.  I won’t see those headlights pulling into my yard much longer after a day of work or school or an evening out.  After a road trip to Boston to see a concert, those headlights at 3:00 a.m. on a rainy night give me a sense of gratitude and happiness that is unequaled.  The back door slams, heavy feet pound up the stairs or run down the stairs, and there are no better sounds.  Joy.  I feel joyful and grateful each time they return….because I know I’m nearing its end.  

I never want to forget. 

Mothers Fulfilled - new book release

After 10 long years of work, I have released my second book on Amazon.  At the Massachusetts Conference for Women held in Boston in December, I was introduced to Dr. Brene Brown, a wonderful speaker.   Her new book, "Daring Greatly," got its title from a quote by Theodore Roosevelt in 1910.  Paraphrased he said:  "It is not the critic who counts....the credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena....who if he fails, at least fails daring greatly..."  I knew as she spoke that my book would be released in January, and I knew I was "daring greatly."  Humbly, I offer to you the opening:

Chapter 1

20/20 Hindsight

If anyone could be successful at being a dedicated, deeply-immersed mom while simultaneously working full-time (and then some) at a hard-driving career, naively, I thought it was me.  In my twenties, I believed I had the drive, ambition, commitment, and energy to pull it off. 

Work is a significant part of my life, not something I would give up easily.  I went into college expecting to work my entire life and give back something meaningful to society.  At that time, I never considered part-time work, having a “job” instead of a career, working just for money, or being a stay-at-home mom.  I thought I had so much to offer the world…and then, I had my first son.

Initially, I absorbed all that came with motherhood and integrated the demands into my busy days.  Both my husband and I ran hard to keep up with our work lives while managing our home life.  My weeks were full and physically daunting, but my love and devotion to my son took over all aspects of my thinking and way of being.  He came first and mattered more to me than I mattered to myself. 

This full life became challenging, but for so many years, I just kept going.  I had a second son.  Parenting two sons while working full-time required even more of me, and yet I gave up nothing.  Some years in, I began to have doubts and concerns, but still I kept on that path.

     

Of the women I know in my age group, I am one of the few who has worked full-time all the way through her child-rearing years.  When I began my parenting journey, I was in the minority of the women I knew.  The Shriver Report, a study by Maria Shriver and the Center for American Progress, published in October 2009, says in its preface, “We are in the midst of a fundamental transformation of the way America works and lives.”¹  It prompted Maria Shriver to conceive the phrase “a woman’s nation.”  It compelled me to write this book.

     

I married in 1986 at the age of 24 to a man I began dating at 13.  We are still married after 26 years.  We had our first child in 1991 and a second, four years later.  My sons are now 21 and 17.   If The Shriver Report is accurate, women trying to do what I have done for the last 21 years may now become more prevalent and could soon be the norm in America.  The report says we’ve hit this “major tipping point in our nation’s social and economic history:  the emergence of working women as primary breadwinners for millions of families at the same time that their presence on America’s payrolls grew to comprise fully half the nation’s workforce.”²  

     

I was compelled to write this book because, with 20/20 hindsight at the age of 50 and knowing what I know now, I would have made a couple of different choices.  If parenting while working full-time as I have done is becoming the norm for women and their families, I feel a responsibility to speak up and show what that looks like, because I don’t believe it’s the best way.  What I would change is not major and is very do-able; small changes can have a huge impact.  

Brown, Brene, Ph.D., LMSW, Daring Greatly.  New York:  Gotham Books, 2012, p.1.

Christmas Magic

When our sons were young, we took them to the Portland Symphony Orchestra’s performance of the Magic of Christmas a few times.  We dressed them up, brought them downtown in the evening’s cold of December to see the holiday decorations and the enormous tree in Monument Square, and held their hands in Merrill Auditorium while watching and listening.  My older son said he has no recollection.

“None?”  I ask.  “The Symphony’s music?  The crazy hats and reindeer antlers they wore while playing Sleigh Ride?  The 4-year old ballet dancers in leotards that brought out Santa’s sleigh at the end?  (There is nothing cuter than 4-year old ballet dancers with little buns in their hair!)  Really?  Nothing?”  I was incredulous.

“Nope,” he replied.  “I can’t remember everything.”

I can’t remember everything?  Now that my sons are grown, since they can’t remember everything, I can only hope they remember the good feelings that the things we did for them brought in that moment so many years ago.  If they don’t remember the actual events, I can only hope they remember the feeling.

Frank and I went to the Magic of Christmas with our friends this year.  How the show has changed!  Now it included the Windham Chamber Singers and an incredible illusionist.  We had attended the Deering High School Christmas Concert earlier in the week which we think is just about the best thing….but when the PSO began to play, it took my breath away.  Yes, they’re a lot different than high school.  Hearing live classical music by talented musicians, especially Christmas music, transports me to a place far, far away.  It can bring me to tears. 

This year felt different to me, in a positive way.  Maybe it’s my increased gratefulness of all things as I age; maybe it’s appreciating more what others bring to our society by means of beauty, color, music, warmth; maybe it’s my increased understanding of what community means. 

When conductor Robert Moody paused to give tribute to the recent shooting of an elementary school in Newtown, Connecticut and then said let us be the light, I could feel that the audience already held that thought before he even said it.  I could feel such a sense from the audience of happiness to be right there, in such a beautiful, historical arena, among the people of their community at this most blessed time of year. 

Collectively, the entire auditorium sang, laughed, clapped, paused amongst the bustle of our holidays for a few hours in the dark letting ourselves be swept away and dazzled.  The audience was magical that night.  Truly, I could feel the positive energy all around me.  Whatever we each brought to that auditorium to make us magic can only come from good; it can only come from letting us be the light.  

Photo: courtesy of Frank Kalicky

Struggling

I had change and a $20 bill in my pocketbook.  I was busy, running errands on a vacation day one morning, stopped at a light in Deering Oaks.  Only one other time have I given money to someone on the street corner, but in that moment, on that busy Friday before Christmas, the man and his sign brought me to tears, and I handed him the $20.  

Lots of forces came into play that morning.  

I’m troubled by the increase in people of all ages begging for money on Portland’s streets.  Each afternoon when I get coffee at Arabica, I pass the same man on our street corner.  My colleague gives him $1 regularly.  I was waiting for my $4 coffee to be made one afternoon when my colleague had a day off from work.  That man was leaving Arabica, not with a cup of hot coffee, but having used their restroom.  He emptied his paper cup’s change into the tip jar for the baristas.  I was awestruck.  I asked the workers about it and they said, “Oh, yeah.  He does that.  We’re good to him.  He comes in to get warm and use the restroom.”  I was so touched that he would give to THEM what he had, and I texted my colleague at home to tell her that her gift to him was the right thing to do.

The one time I tried to give a man $5 as I waited to turn left at a busy intersection in Westbook, I felt awkward rolling down my window and making him come to me for the cash, but I was in four lanes of traffic ready to pounce as soon as the light turned green.  I held out the bill…and then saw, the man could barely walk.  It was incredibly sad to see him stumble his way toward me and I leaped out of the car with complete disregard for the other drivers.  I was saddened beyond belief. 

And now for the tears last Friday.  My sister recently lost her job.  She’s a single mother of two autistic daughters.  I’ve never seen her cry.  I’ve never heard her say, “Why me?”  Kiddingly, over our family Christmas party, she said someone had stolen her schtick.  She thought she’d be a novelty standing on a street corner having never relied on welfare, having worked her entire life, well dressed, with a home…but definitely in need of cash very soon if a job wasn’t procured.  And lo & behold, she saw just that person on a corner in her hometown in New Hampshire – not a homeless man, but you or me (or her) standing begging.

It was this that I thought of when I looked at this man in Deering Oaks who looked like he could have been one of my friends, not someone who lived out in the elements.  His sign said 3 KIDS, NEVER TAKEN STATE AID… and on the back NOT 4 BEER.  

I can’t help but wonder how low a person must have to get to stand on a street corner in his town in the cold and beg for money.  Don’t say they’re lazy.  Standing there in that most vulnerable way must be the hardest work someone could ever do.