The Rest of the Story

Many of my readers may remember a blog I wrote last winter titled You Gotta Have Friends. In that blog, I introduced you to a little coffee shop in my community, called Café Kolache. It’s a place where we are part of small group that gathers in our little town of Beaver, Pennsylvania. We meet at 8:00 a.m., and usually coffee and chit-chat until close to 9:00. Ironically, some of us were not friends when we started going there, but because we are regulars each morning in the same place, conversations began taking place over table tops, and soon we were inviting each other to join in the conversation.


Interactions like our experience there…bringing strangers together to become friends…is not lost on Kristi and Hugh Harper who own and operate this gathering place. They have started a series of videos titled Everybody’s Got a Story. They asked several of us regulars to the shop to sit for improv-style conversations. Hugh Harper served as our quick-witted moderator. I saw the interviews before and after mine, and admit I was nervous because some of the questions were so random and off the norm. My personal 15-20 minute interview was whittled down to a webpage- manageable 3 minutes. You can view the video of my interview from a link on the Café Kolache website or the Café Kolache Facebook page.

Mother Mary at one of her "favorite" birthday parties.

The focus of the segment chosen for me was marriage. During the interview, I talked about my beloved mother-in-law, Mary. We often referred to her as “the gray-haired lady with the smiling face.” Those brief interview moments were not enough to do justice to our “mother” Mary, so in this blog, I want to share the rest of the story.

I know there are many women who can’t find a good word to say about their mother-in-law. In fact, I read an article recently¹ that said, “according to one study, 60 percent of mother/daughter-in-law relationships — compared to just 15 percent of son/mother-in-law relationships — are strained. Words like “infuriating,” “depressing” and “awful” are only some negative terms used to characterize these tense relationships.”

I wasn’t a young, new bride when I met Mary. Having survived some negative relationships prior to this marriage, I had known other mother-in-laws that were more like the stereo-typical, negative version that are the butt of many jokes. From the moment I met Mary she was kind and loving. Admittedly, I was a little suspicious at first, but soon came to know those qualities as her natural demeanor. My only regret about my relationship with her was that it wasn’t long enough. She only lived about ten more years after I married her son, but in that time I grew to love her very much. I think it’s safe to say she loved me too.

Raised one of seven children in a farm family, her young life was hard. She left home in her early teens to work to help support the family. Her life became better when she met and married her one and only husband. He got a decent job at a local mill, made extra money on the side by playing in a big band at night, they settled into a little Cape Cod bungalow, practiced frugal living, and raised three children.

As a typical post-war bride, she followed the natural order of wives in the 50’s as a stay-at-home mom. She never learned to drive, never handled the household budget, and never desired to make her mark out in the world. She went to work at the local bakery when the kids were older and her oldest daughter started college. It’s was her only post-marriage paid employment.

Soft-spoken, but tough, she was slow to anger, quick to love, willing to understand others, unassuming, and genuinely kind.

By the time I came to know her, she was already a survivor, losing part of a lung to cancer. I was part of the family when she suffered with those who survived the death of her only granddaughter in a terrorist bombing. She also survived the death of her husband, the death of her neighborhood friends, and some of her siblings. The years ticked on.

With each of these events her tiny body became even more fragile. Assisted living became a necessity as her health and physical well-being deteriorated. It was fortunate the she was able to stay in her own home. With all of us children, and paid nursing staff working together, we were able to manage her care.  
  
You would naturally think the memory of losing someone so dear isn’t one you would recall with fondness, but in Mary’s case, I do. She had the best death ever, if there is such a thing.

Once her body started to shut down, the end was coming quickly. As families do, we all came together to be there for the end. For the last hours of her life, as a family, we sat on the bed with her, looked at pictures, played old recordings from her husband’s big band days, sang, and talked to her. We celebrated her life and her memories and her love while she was there among us. Could she hear us? Maybe, maybe not.

As each hour ticked away the breathing became slower, until she was finally at rest. In the end, each of us was still holding onto her, wishing for just a few more moments. It was the end of a life well-lived. After 15 years, I can’t mention her name without tears in my eyes. I still miss her.

Mother Mary’s advice to me when I married her son was that we should “take care of each other.” I try to take care of her son, but it was a blessing to have the opportunity to take care of her too.

And now you know the rest of the story.

You can view other Everybody's Got a Story videos at   www.cafekolache.com

If you enjoyed this, please share it with others. 

http://wisewomenofage.blogspot.com/2015/02/you-gotta-have-friends.html

¹http://www.today.com/id/32450000/ns/today-today_health/t/are-you-wired-dislike-your-mother-in-law/#.VZBzzkb1KJ8

Round, Round, Ready, Touch – The Death of Penmanship

Every morning during the week there is a group of us that gather for coffee at Café Kolache in Beaver. As regular patrons there, we have a great rapport with the staff. If it’s a slow morning, one or another of the baristas may sit with us for a few minutes to join in the conversation of the day. 
This morning, our barista Lyndsey had a note in her hand that she wrote to give to someone. One of our group noticed that it was hand-printed. He asked her why she printed instead of writing? She replied that she didn’t write very well, so she printed instead. This surprised me because Lindsey is an exceptionally bright and talented young woman. She went on to explain that she only had to take cursive writing up through third grade.

I’ve heard several times over the past few years that schools are discontinuing teaching cursive. Call me old fashioned, but that just sets my blood to boiling. 

I try to stay as technologically current as my senior brain will allow. However, I can see how technology is diminishing the personal touch of a handwritten note. People just don’t send many greeting cards anymore. They send e-cards. People don’t write thank you notes anymore. They send you an email. People don’t even write invitations anymore. They send e-vites. If we want a quick answer from someone, we instant message, Tweet, or text them. Do you want to know how your friend is doing? Check their Facebook page. 

I read an article recently about college students related to writing, and I’m sure many are as bright as my friend Lindsey, but they admit that hand writing is difficult for them.

Here’s what I think (get ready because I’m climbing on my soap box): I think we are depriving students of one of the most aesthetically pleasing accomplishments of childhood. I remember making rocker and rainbow motions. I remember “round, round, ready-touch” as we oval-ed our full-motion arms across the pre-lined practice papers. For heaven’s sake, many of us remember the true privilege of learning to write with a real pen dipped in an inkwell! We’re not talking ancient days here. I was the proud recipient of more than one Peterson Penmanship certificates. 

No one ever expected us to carry around a bottle of ink and pen tips. What they did expect of us was that we could write our grandma a thank-you card for the $1 she sent us on our birthday.

At the University of Portland, Richard S. Christen, an education professor says in an interview with The Oregonian, “Cursive writing in its flourishes and graceful strokes expresses an artistic beauty that goes beyond its utility and gives artistic experience to those who use it.”

I say AMEN to that Richard! Think about this--Where would we be if the signers of the Declaration of Independence didn’t know how to write? How could you recall the eye color of your first boyfriend without your teenage diary? Aren’t your husband’s love letters, your mother’s recipe cards, and your children’s Mother’s Day cards a treasure to you? Each time I hold one of those treasured documents in my hand, it fills me with love and memories.

Today’s generations store everything in the “cloud.” Meaningful messages are lost with every upgrade to the next, newest cellphone.  

This lack of writing in the younger generations hurts me. Yes, I text, I type, I email. I receive texts, emails, and IMs. However, when I open the mailbox and find a hand-written greeting card or thank you note, that tells me that I’m special to the person who wrote it. They could have taken the easy way out, but they didn’t. They bought the card, wrote the message, wrote the envelope, put a stamp on it, and got it to the post office. To me, that means love and caring. 

Here’s my challenge to you. Saturday, February 7th is NATIONAL SEND A CARD TO A FRIEND DAY. I swear there’s nothing in it for me. I’m not getting a kick-back from Hallmark.

Please don’t say you don’t have time. We all lead busy lives. On this one day, February 7th, just stop for a minute and send one card to one person. Buy it, make it, I don’t care what kind of card. Use a real pen, add some flourish to your name that only you can do with a nice fluid stroke. Just show someone you love them by making the time to take the time to do this.

After you do, please just take a minute to drop me a note. I won’t criticize you if you use the box at the right to shoot me an email. Please let me know if you sent a card, and if it was to a friend, your mom, your child, or if you left it for the mailman, or if handed a thank you note to someone in a random act of kindness.

I want to hear from wise women that feel the way I do about the power of pen.

If you know someone who may enjoy this article, please forward to them. They and you are welcome to join the conversation at wisewomenofage.blogspot.com

Read more here: http://www.oregonlive.com/education/index.ssf/2010/10/most_college_students_print_as.htmlcomment