Getting it Right

Why do I have unconditional love for my grandchildren....warts, stubborn streaks, meltdowns and all?  Because this is my last chance to get it right.

When they are being disciplined by their parents I must bite my tongue and wait for the sting to pass.  I know they must be taught right from wrong.  Not taking children to task can cause the naughty kids we see now and then in grocery stores and who later grow into entitled adults.

I was by the pool one afternoon when my six year old grandson got into trouble with his father.  He tried to explain why it wasn't his fault and his father was having none of his excuses.  He was told to help cover the pool and the meltdown began.  Then he was issued a time out on a chair.  By the time he was told to sit, he had been called for three strikes for not minding. His father and siblings started walking for home, but my youngest grandson would not budge.  I sat with him and waited for my opportunity.

"No one likes me," he said.

"Lots of people like you," I replied.  "Who doesn't like you?"

"Dad doesn't like me.  He hurt my feelings.  Mom likes me."  He then mentioned that his brother and sister didn't like him either.

"Does getting mad and yelling make things better?"  I asked.

"No," he said.

"When your dad asks you to do something, you can't say you won't do it.  That is naughty."

"He hurt my feelings."

"You were pestering your sister and she got angry with you.  You were both to blame.  Your dad didn't want to hear your complaining."

He listened to my words, but continued to sulk.  I said, "I'm going in the house now.  You need to go home as you can't stay by yourself at the pool."

He followed me down the steps and I knelt in the grass to be more at his level.

"I will always love you and be with you," I said.

He looked at me and said, "Not when you die."

I hugged him and said, "When I die, I will be a little angel around your head watching out for you."

The look on his face was indescribable.  It was a look of wonder that something like that might really be possible.  This little boy will need countless guardian angels in his life to protect him from himself.  May they be circling as I write.

"Now go home and say you're sorry and maybe dad will take away your strikes," I said.

"He never does."

"Say you're sorry anyway."

After a final tight hug that could keep a grandmother warm on a winter's night, he turned and walked toward home.  I watched him go and shouted, "I love you Carter."

"Love you too grandma." was his reply.

A note Carter gave to me one summer day.

 

My Favorite Mountain View

My favorite mountain view

If a person has no fear of getting to the top of a mountain, the rewards are unbelievable.  There is a quietness that surrounds one and a view that a person simply needs to drink in.

Switzerland contains many such mountain views, but my favorite is outside the small town of Wengen.  There are no cars in this small town and the only accessible way to reach this village is by train or hiking up the mountain which many people do.

From the train station, a short walk down the main street of town leads to the outskirts and a view that simply takes my breath away.  It is not as dramatic as some other mountain views I've seen but picturesque with the green Lauterbrunnen Valley below and the Staubbachfall in the distance.

The last time we stood and looked at the valley below, a couple from England joined us.  They told us that they came to this area frequently.  They send their luggage ahead and use the trains and boats to tour where they want to go.  The beautiful town of Interlaken is close by and is situated between two lakes called Thunersee and Brienzer See.

The end of the train line, past Wengen, leads to the Jungfraujoch where one can see the magnificent mountain, the Jungfrau.  It takes several hours to get to the top from the valley floor and we have never gone that far.  The Jungfrau is 13, 642 feet above sea level.  We have, however, seen the Jungfrau from the Niederhorn, another mountain with dramatic views and hang gliders going off its face. 

                              A view of the Jungfrau from the Niederhorn.

After viewing the Lauterbrunnen Valley from Wengen we decided to walk back to our car that was parked at the train station in the town of Lauterbrunnen.  As all mountain trails, it zigzagged back and forth and at times we had to be careful not to go down too quickly as it could be steep.

The walk down was as invigorating as the view.  We met several people coming up, including a group of nuns.  It is good to have photos to remind ourselves of these remarkable places.  But it is not as good as sitting on a bench and looking at the beauty that was all around us.   


   

                     Above:  The Staubbachfall from the trail.  Below: An old mountain hut and flowers at the
                          end of the trail.  (Click on pictures to enlarge.)



 

Guilt....from birth to death

Did your mother tell you that she was in excruciating pain when you were born?  When I asked my mother if it hurt to have a baby she said, "Yes, but you forget about it."  See...she didn't leave me with any guilt on that score.

However my guilty feelings started early because I was a story teller.  In other words a fibber....a liar....a purveyor of tales.  I remember in grade school I was talking to a girl by the name of Sherrill who was a year old than I was.  She told me how her father gave her a special doll.  Not to be outdone, I told her that my father, who was a truck driver, (which he was) brought me home a special doll too that was wearing a fancy dress.  And so it started.

One school day we had an assembly with a magician.  He went into the audience and started finding money in students' hair.  At dinner that night I was so excited to tell my mother all about him and I told her that he had found money in my hair.  I failed to remember that my older brother had been at the same assembly and he said, "He did not!"  My mind is a blank after that.  Was I punished?  My father was not there so he must have been on an overnight driving trip and even if he had been there, my mother was the disciplinarian.  Maybe she forgave me that little slip up.

Guilt was always present in my life, but the thought of getting caught and punished and having my parents be disappointed in me often kept me on the straight and narrow.  Growing up I would say I was basically a good kid.

Yet there are things I did or did not do that still haunt me to this day.  I was 21 when my mother became severely depressed.  I was newly married and living in East Lansing so I couldn't help much.  I was finishing up at Michigan State University and then started my teaching career.  I was over three hours from home and it was impossible to see the big picture.  Often I would just feel frustrated that my mother could not snap out of it. 

My mother took her life when I was 23 and in my second year of teaching.  There was a helplessness and an extreme guilt that I could not see where she had been heading.  At the end of the funeral when everyone had left us alone to say our final good byes, an old woman came up to the casket and started asking questions.  I didn't know who she was although my father did and I just became angry at the whole situation.  I was angry with my mother and angry at this woman and the guilt of both was more than I thought I could bear.

There are things I remember from my teaching career that also brought me guilt.  I taught 7th and 8th graders at two different country schools for several years before I started teaching at Hart High School.  One student I had came from a dysfunctional home and he was always a handful.  One day as I was escorting him to the office for something he had done in class, he got belligerent.  I swatted him and knew immediately how wrong it was and that I had lost him forever.  I'm sure he was used to getting hit at home and to have a teacher do the same thing was beyond his comprehension.  I was a young teacher, but it was no excuse for what I did.  I still carry that guilt with me.

Teaching at Hart High School for 22 years also brought situations that I wish I could change.  I had a male student, Don, who also could be a problem, but I was usually able to keep him under control until one day I failed him too.  I always taught a unit on poetry in my American Lit class.  I did a lesson plan I got from my own 11th grade high school English teacher.  While reading poetry from our lit book for several weeks I told my students that on one project they could pick the grade they wanted to receive.  To get a C they had to read a poem to the class and explain what they thought it meant.  To get a B they had to memorize a poem and recite it in front of the class and to get an A they had to write a poem.  To get an A+ they had to write five extra poems.

As the unit came to an end I told one class that Don had written a poem.  They all started talking and one student asked if I would read it.  Caught up in the moment of everyone's surprise that such a thing could happen...Don would write a poem...I read it in front of the class.  Needless to say I lost that boy as well. He heard in the hallway what I had done. His macho status was ruined and I had humiliated him.  I apologized but the damage was done.  To this day I still remember my guilt at having let down a student who before that time had respected me enough to try to behave himself in class.

There are other guilty feelings that a mother always has who works outside the home.  I felt guilty leaving my children with babysitters.  I can still see the face of my little boy looking out at me from a window of a babysitter as I drove off.  But I knew that I could not NOT teach.  My mother had been a teacher and I thought that if she had continued her career and still had children she might have felt more complete.  However, like most women of the 50's she stayed home to raise us. 

As my father aged and his second wife died, he wanted to move near us.  We found property 1/2 mile down the road so he could be close and then the guilt was really heaped upon me. Even though he was still very independent he became a needy person and no matter what I did to help him, it never seemed enough.  I tried not to feel guilty but even after his last two years in a nursing home and his death I wondered if I should have done more.

So here is a message to my children.  I have my own interests.  I have friends so if I live a long long life, I do not need you to entertain me.  If I am not in my right mind, feel free to deposit me where you will.  When I die, do not feel like you didn't do enough to please me. Even in taking my last breath, I do not want to feel any guilt of being a burden. It is not up to children to make their parents happy.  That has to come from within and it is all right to feel euphoric when I pass over.  I felt it when my father died because I knew he had lived a long full life and I was finally free from all the guilt.  I should probably feel guilty about those feelings, but I don't.

 

                                     Cheers to a guilt free life. 
                                     

 

 

 

'No Man is an Island'

The mighty Pacific

No Man is an Island

No man is an island
Entire of itself
Every man is a piece of the continent
A part of the main
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were.
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.
                                -John Donne
               

When my college English classes read this poem, I always asked them if it was possible to mourn for everyone we heard about who had died.  They didn't think so or we would be constantly overcome by grief.

In John Donne's day (1572-1631) mourning most likely was contained to those known in the community.  Life spans were shorter and disease was rampant.  Simpler maybe, but still painful.

With our ability to hear news from around the world at any moment of the day, there is more to tug at our heartstrings.  In December when first graders were shot and killed in Newtown, Connecticut, the minute I saw it on the news I started to wail.  I could not stop the tears and the dreadful feeling of grieving consumed me for days.  As a teacher I wondered how something so horrific could happen in a school.  Even though I remembered Columbine, this seemed so much worse.

So many people like to express their rights as Americans.  Is there a time where one person's rights end and another's rights begin?  Do children deserve to lose their lives because someone has the right to own a gun? 

If those who are strong gun rights's advocates feel their gun rights are more important than a child's life or any innocent person caught in the cross hairs, they need to acquaint themselves with Donne's words.  If a person believes that their rights supersede the welfare of the whole than the last line of Donne's poem is apt, just as it is fitting for those of us who mourn....Never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

In The Cool of the Morning

I took my breakfast to the deck where I could be wrapped in morning cool.  I sipped my coffee and listened to the bird songs which were prolific.  The sun and shade made patterns on the front yard.

Was someone shaking cherries?  I heard the hum of machinery in the distance.
The creek was lightly gurgling in the background.  There was a simplicity to it all, yet a great complexity.  In the back of my mind is always the question of who are we and how can we understand the life that surrounds us?

Too much thinking for a beautiful July morning.  The car door slammed and my husband was home from early golfing.  Time to start the day. 

 

The Sound of Silence

The house is quiet as the city cousins left to go back home and the country cousins are away for the day.  Grandpa and Grandma's summer camp is closed for another year and the silence is deafening. 







Avery age 8, Bella age 9, Adrianna age 11, Jay age 11 and Carter age 6 gear up for Grandpa and Grandma's summer camp.



Summer camp starts on July 4th when the city cousins Adrianna and Bella come up to stay for a week in the country.  Their three country cousins, Jay, Avery and Carter live within spitting distance of Grandpa and Grandma so there is constant going back and forth, but most of the time the five are at G & G's house.

I just saw a quote on Pinterest which said, "Grandmas...The place cousins go to become best friends."  There is a great deal of truth in that, but in our case Grandpa is also an important part of the scenario.  Bella and Avery pair up and are often seen taking a walk together and chatting.  That leaves Jay and Adrianna who are a day apart in age and Carter who is the youngest.  Adrianna has endeared herself to Carter as she allows him to tag along with her and Jay.

        Bella and Avery are like two peas in a pod as they get ready to watch July 4th fireworks.




Now lest you think this is just a fun free for all, let me set the record straight.  There is a combination of work and play although the play dominates. 

This year the week started out in the basement of our old barn.  I wanted it cleaned out in order to store my accumulated furniture pieces that need to be repurposed and much work had to be done. 


Carter gives Adrianna a hug to show how much
he loves her. 













The basement of our old barn gets a thorough cleaning with the help of five grandchildren. 












The morning was similar to an archaeological dig. Bits and pieces of the past were found in boxes, on the floor and under old pieces of stacked wood.  The constant sound of "Grandma....Grandma...Grandma...look at this.  What is it?  What was it used for?"....echoed through the musty space.  The pieces would be examined and identified and then stacked on a table designated for the treasures.  Very little was pitched in the junk pile.  Old pieces of iron were put in a rusty bucket.  There was much sweeping and organizing.

One rainy morning the children needed some work to do so I typed up a list of chores and the grandchildren army went to work.  In less than an hour the house was cleaned.

Between work sessions all five made up a game that I allowed and only peeked in on a couple of times.  In an upstairs bedroom they spread out my jewelry and with old monopoly money were buying and selling.  This literally kept them busy for hours on two different days.  I never knew what the rules were but there was a banker and sometimes they had to have jewelry sales to make some money to buy more.  When they were finished they put everything back in place.

In the middle of the week they worked an hour for their uncle/father in the woods.  While he cut the wood, they stacked it in the trailer.  They each made $4.  I paid them for their work in the barn and cleaning the house and when they went to Pentwater before going to the beach they had money to spend.


The following day we all went bike riding and rode from Shelby to Country Dairy where there is great ice cream.  Uncle Brett ordered a pizza which was eaten after dessert and we all, Grandpa and Aunt Heather included, biked back to Shelby.  Afternoons were spent in the pool and Grandpa fed them all well no matter which grandchildren were here for the meal. The country cousins often came down for Grandpa's breakfast.

           Above: Carter only posed for this picture on a trike.  He rode a two wheeler on the bike trail. Below:  Carter does an impressive cannon ball into the pool while Adrianna looks on with amusement.  
                                 

This kind of summer camp is not for the faint of heart.  If someone is a neat freak, it would drive them crazy.  Piles of shoes and sandals and flip flops were everywhere.

Despite repeated reminders to hang bathing suits and towels on the deck railing, they were often found wadded in piles.  Just plain stuff was everywhere and even after a cleaning spree, the clutter reappeared.  Toothbrushes littered the sink as one or two of the country cousins slept over at Grandpa and Grandma's house almost every night. 

So for a week I looked the other way, and enjoyed the camaraderie of my grandchildren who are growing like weeds.  I know there will come a time when the sound of silence will be a sad thing for me.  Now it is just a reprieve until the next time we hold summer camp and the city cousins and country cousins can get together and entertain their grandparents with their funny comments, loving natures and yes little spats. 

 

Click on pictures to enlarge.

Cherry Pickin' Time

My mother's record for cherry picking was 22 lugs.  That was when she was a young woman.  My record was eight and I only achieved that once or twice in my picking career.  That will give you an idea of why my mother was always a bit disgusted with my cherry picking ability.

I started young, at around five, when my mother took my sister, brother and me with her to her uncle's farm to pick.  The season usually began shortly after the fourth of July.  When I was five I was required to get 1/2 lug in the morning and then in the afternoon I could go into the farmhouse with my younger sister while she took a nap.

The farm would have been a great place if cherry picking was not involved.  During the lunch hour we were allowed into the barn to play in the hay.  The aroma of the new hay and the fun of jumping off the bales is a fond memory.  At the end of the season, which usually lasted two weeks, my mother's cousin Emily fixed a great picnic lunch for everyone.  It included hamburgers, potato salad, lemonade and wonderful desserts.

We were paid 50 cents a lug at my mother's uncle's farm and it may have gone up to a dollar in my early teen years, but I don't recall as I made only enough to buy a few school clothes.   A lug was a wooden box of a certain size that I now sometimes see in antique stores.  I find it amusing when I see them as I wouldn't be caught dead buying one.  Yet I have seen them sell.  We used a picking pail that was hooked onto straps that went over our shoulders.  They were always stinky and sticky.  On bigger trees we had to haul ladders around to get to the tops of the trees.

In later years we picked cherries for my Uncle Tom.  There were cousins and other kids from town who joined the crew.  Here's where my picking problem started because expectations were higher.  I liked to pick on the same tree with my cousin Susie.  Susie was a good talker and I would sit on my ladder and listen to her while I picked slowly.  Soon Susie would be emptying her bucket and mine wouldn't even be half full.  She could always pick two lugs to my one and sometimes she was even faster than that.  My mother thought she would encourage me along when she said, "I don't know why you can't pick like Susie."  Her words never made me faster.

When boredom hit mid afternoon there was often a cherry fight.  My brother was a good one for hitting someone with a cherry and then the battle was on. Usually it was stopped by an adult who could hear the shrieks and laughter.  The discussion that always went on in the orchard was the wish for someone to invent a cherry picking machine.  We thought my uncle might have some ideas and we always dreamed it would be ready for the next season.  It never happened in my cherry pickin' lifetime.

I must admit though that the most fun was picking the "Lake Farm" which my Uncle Tom owned close to Lake Michigan.  It was a young orchard and we didn't have to use ladders to pick.  We could walk from tree to tree and if the trees were loaded we got our lugs easily.  That is where I set my record of eight.

At the end of the day if it was really hot we might get to go to my aunt and uncle's cottage on Lake Michigan which was just down the road from the cherry orchard.  If we could end the day with a swim in the big lake we were happy.  Even though I disliked picking cherries as a kid I think it beat what my husband had to do when he was young......hoe beans!

 

 

 

 

 

A delightful corner of the world

Sometimes in life we stumble upon a place that draws us back to visit again.  Such was our encounter with Reit im Winkl, Germany.  The village is tucked
geographically into a corner close to Austria.

As a birthday present to myself I requested that we stay two nights in 2010.  It was the second time we had been in this small town and I wanted to do more exploring.  Charming is a little too glib for this place as it was beyond that.

Summer and fall are not the high seasons there, but winter and skiing.  That made it all the more delightful because in September it was not overrun with tourists.

There are many places to spend the night from guest houses to hotels to bed and breakfasts.  We chose the Edelweiss, a name hard to resist.  We had stayed in this small hotel before and loved the atmosphere and the sunny breakfast room.  This time we got the room at the top of the hotel under the slanted roof.  It was a three story climb to the top, but after we had dragged our suitcases up, we were glad for the view.

 

The town is surround by meadows with streams coming down from the higher hills and mountains.  Flower boxes abound and one can not miss the feeling of everything German.  One of our favorite restaurants has a massive green tiled stove in the center and we've enjoyed several wonderful meals there.

 

On this second visit though we discovered a restaurant that had once been a lodge in the mountains but had been moved to the center of a small meadow walking distance from Reit im Winkl.  We ate lunch on the deck.  When we went back at night for dinner, a dog came and sat on a bench by me on the inside of the restaurant.  Dogs are welcome in many European restaurants if they are well behaved and we've never seen one that wasn't.

 

 

One evening we started walking up a hill and discovered a small park.  One part of it was designated for foot relief.  There was a wading pool filled with cold mountain water to give one's feet special treatment.  The following day we followed walking paths that led to small streets with vacation houses decorated with many flowers. We circled back through a meadow

 

On another walk out we saw a guest house, the Alpenrose, that we knew we had to return to someday.  Again the street led us to a path through a meadow.  We were never far from the Edelweiss. 

 

 

Four years previous to this trip I had noticed at the Edelweiss a lovely teapot used at breakfast that had the name of the hotel on it.  I asked Frau Bichler, who owned the hotel with her family, if she would be willing to sell me one.  She said not at that time, but if I returned in four years they would be getting new china and maybe then.  Well, it was four years later and I asked if they had gotten their new china.  She told me no, but it was to come in another month.  I once again asked if she would sell a teapot and she seemed happy to oblige me.  I was thrilled.

Reit im Winkl is a paradise for someone who just wants to relax, hike, eat a good meal, ski in the winter and enjoy the ambience of a small town that sits in a lovely area of Germany.  If we ever return, there is a guest house on a hill calling our names.  Perfect peaceful place. It's a corner of the world worth putting on anyone's bucket list.



                                         Click on pictures to enlarge.   



               

                            

 

 

 

Silhouette Children

Silhouette Children

Backlit children
Bouncing over
Waves of power
And movement

Dancing up and
Down as
Currents
Push and pull
Small firm bodies

Sunlight sparkling
On heads washed
In droplets of
Frothy water
Rushing

Silhouettes all
Against moment
And memory
I watch in
Wonder

                -Joan Ramseyer


               
                      

Windows and Doors

If I were an artist I would be painting small vignettes....flowers in pots, birds perching on branches, interesting doors and small children.  But because I still draw stick figures and square houses as I did when I was five years old, I'm thankful for photography.

Without an artist's touch but with an artist's eye I have noticed that one of the outstanding things about houses in Europe are the window boxes.  They are like snowflakes, no two alike.  Sometimes there are shutters or ironwork or some decoration that adds to the beauty of the flowers spilling over the edges of the boxes. 

Europeans tend to have window boxes everywhere.  Germany and Austria are my favorite countries to photograph boxes that go from the rustic to the elegant.  I never have to look far as flowers overflowing window boxes are around every corner.  I am always captured by the color combinations that are used.

On the other hand, doors can be equally as beautiful.  Many that I take shots of are old and heavy.  Beautiful simple wooden doors or ornate with unusual colors always catch my eye.

Copenhagen, Denmark

Tallinn, Estonia

Going into a place through something beautiful and looking out of a window with flowers at its base are what captures my spirit.  Beauty can be in such ordinary things and it is up to us to see it. In Europe that kind of thing can hardly be missed.                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

                                                    Reit im Winkl, Germany



                                                                               Prague, Czech Republic                                                                                              





Flower boxes in Germany

Click on pictures to enlarge.