Remembering Mom: The Land of Counterpane

 

I first wrote this piece to honor my mom in 2007. I shared it again at Mom's Celebration of Life in the fall of 2017. My mom died five years ago today. A lot has happened in my life since 2017. There are so many times I sit alone and wish Mom was still with us. She would tell me what to do about the bugs eating my flower stems. She would calm me before I go visit the tax guy today. She would also remember the questions we couldn't answer at Family Dinner because she wasn't there.

The Land of Counterpane

 Mom was there to comfort me numerous times during illness or injury. When I got a bloody nose rolling in the garbage can, she was there to help wipe up the blood. Before my surgery she sat there talking to me as if everything was normal and we did this once a week. When I cut my arm she used her “for guests only” white towels with the pink tulips to wrap my bleeding gash. When I had the bike wreck by the little park she put ice on my eye and put salve on my road rash.

I have a strong memory of being sick at 14 E. Portland in Kellogg. I was about five years old. Mom stayed home from teaching that day. For part of that year Dad was home babysitting me because Bunker Hill was on strike. I still remember feeling special having Mom all to myself for the day. I got to lie in Mom and Dad’s “big bed”. Mom arranged pillows behind my head to help me sit up. She had to give me a yellow liquid medicine that tasted awful, but was there with a glass of water. I spit some of the medicine back in the glass with the water. I think I was concerned about doing something wrong. Mom comforted me and went on as if nothing happened. I also have a memory of Mom reading A Child’s Garden of Verses . “The Land of Counterpane” and Stevenson’s words are still etched in my memory.
When I was sick and lay a-bed,
I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay,
To keep me happy all the day.
Actually that day the toys were oranges, scotch tape and a box of Kleenex. I must have become restless as the afternoon wore on. Mom allowed me to wrap the oranges like little gifts with Kleenex and scotch tape. I thought it was a marvelous way to spend an afternoon in bed. I think I even gave Dad a gift of wrapped oranges when he got home from work.

Looking back on my sick day I remember the softness of the pillows and bedspread in that big bed. I also remember the warm light from a lamp glowing on my tissue paper gifts. The most important part of that day was the gift of time spent with my mom. Touching my forehead with her cool hand helped erase my fears. Listening to her voice recite the words of “The Swing” and “The Land of Counterpane” as she sat by the bed made me feel better. Holding the little blue book of poems and recited poems she seemed to help take me to another time, a sunnier day.

That was an early experience with comfort. Mom provided a safe haven in that Land of Counterpane. I didn’t understand it as a young child. My life continued to be peppered with numerous illnesses, heartbreaks, and injuries. In different ways Mom has always provided that comfort and safe haven for me. I understand its significance now.

I miss you Mom.

A Sign of Hope

When I retired I moved back to my hometown and moved in the house next door to my mother. As I began building and designing gardens, she continued to tend her established gardens encircling her backyard.

My mom died in 2017 and my brother also moved back home into her house, our childhood home. I wanted to honor Mom in some way in my backyard. My husband came up with the idea of a memory garden. In the spring of 2018 my sister and I both chose plants from Mom's gardens and planted them in our respective gardens.

One favorite flower I moved was one of her peony plants. I have waited four years for it to bloom. In a time when the world has turned completely upside down, it bloomed. My heart was filled with hope as I cut that bloom yesterday and put it in a vase.

A Kitchen Memory

 There are so many memories I have of my mother  in this kitchen. I remember her standing  there frying bacon, stirring potato soup, heating up Campbell's soup, putting an apple pie in the oven, and always cleaning the drip pans under the burners when she was done. 

A Kitchen Memory

My mother is peeling an apple over the sink,
her two deft hands effortless and intent.
The skin comes away in the shape of a corkscrew,
red and white by turns, with a shimmer of rose
where the blade in its turn cuts close: a blush,
called out of hiding like a second skin.
Now the apple fattens in her hand;
the last scrap of parings falls away;
and she halves and sections the white grainy meat,
picks up another apple, brushes back
the dark hair at her temple with the knife hand.
The only sound is the fan stirring the heat.
- Roy Scheele

The last line of this poem didn't happen in our kitchen. Mom didn't have a fan stirring the heat. She just baked, fried, and scrambled no matter how hot the temperature  was.  Every single time.

Happy Sibling Day to My Sibs, " We Came Together"

Easter at 516

This poem is a perfect choice for National Sibling Day. It reminds me of when families get together and share stories.  The line I love is "it pulls around us like a drawstring, that time, when we come together." This often happens with us now when we get together for our weekly family dinner. Also, enjoy a collection of sibling photos. 

Eagle watching at Beauty Bay

All

all he would have to say is,

remember the time I came home

with a beard and Dad didn’t know me,

and we would all laugh,

Mom would say, just by your voice,

I knew your voice, and my sister

would say, the dog kept barking, and

I would say, that was the

summer I got a camera.

it pulls around us

like a drawstring, that time,

when we come together,

awkward and older,

our frayed conversations

trying to thread some memory

of each other,

one of us will only have to say,

remember the time you came home

from the bush with your beard,

and we were all easy again

with each other,

some will say how

Mom knew his voice, someone

will remember how the dog barked, I

will remember my new camera,

and we are a family again,

young and laughing on the front porch.

-Leona Gom 

At Grandma Woolum's yard with CheeChee

With us we remember the time Bill took Carol down the escalator at The Crescent in Northtown in her stroller.

We remember the time Uncle Jack jumped out from behind the couch in our living room.

We remember when Carol decided to shave and when she decided to cut her bangs.

We remember Dad spending eight hours in the kitchen making Tom and Jerry batter before Christmas and we were banned from the room.

We remember the time Bill and I were cleaning the garage and he cut his foot on a broken pop bottle.

We remember when Carol was born and we hiked up the trail to the hospital so we could see her in the nursery .

dinner at Carol's

We remember how we came together . 

We came together with Mom to help Dad during his last weeks of life. 

We came together when Mom had cancer. 

We came together with Mom when Bill had meningitis. 

We came together to cheer and support Carol many times when she performed on the stage. 

together at Auntie Lila's funeral

We came together during the last part of Mom's life when she needed more help. 

We came together when Mom transitioned to the rehab place across the street and did all we could to make her last time on earth as comfortable as possible.  

We came together when my husband Everett died. 

We had words that always made us laugh when posing for a picture. Here I believe we said, "Uncle D".

 

"it pulls around us like a drawstring, that time, when we came together."

There's a Poem in This Place.

I don't need a special month the focus on poetry because I enjoy it every month of the year. What is nice about designating April as National Poetry Month is it brings an awareness to poetry for readers that may not always choose poetry.

My love for poetry started when I was very young. Mom read us selections of poetry many nights at bedtime from a book I still own. There are many titles in this collection that I taught to students and still read today. I also had teachers that made poetry a part of our classroom instruction. I especially remember Mrs. Tregoning highlighting a poem each month. She would read it, we would copy it in our best penmanship, then illustrate it. These would hang on the wall in the classroom. We would also memorize each poem and recite it in front of the class. In October she had us create Halloween poems. Mine was called "The Haunted House" and  I got to join other classmates and read mine over the intercom on Halloween day.

Poems capture strong images with fewer words. They can also help us honor an historic event with rhythm and rhyme."Listen my children and you shall hear of the midnight ride of Paul Revere." I read and listened to " The Star Spangled Banner" as a poem before I ever learned to sing it.  I loved jump rope rhymes when we played jump rope on the playground. When I was that age I don't know if I thought of them as poems. Poetry was definitely an avenue to my love for words. 

The poem below is one Mom loved. She read it to us many times. Sitting here in the room that was my childhood bedroom I can hear Mom's voice reciting this poem like it was yesterday.

 

I look forward to revisiting childhood poems, sharing some of my favorite poems, and discovering new ones this month. 

The 2022 poster was designed by eleventh grader Lara L. from Saunders Trades and Technical High School in Yonkers, New York, who was the winner of the 2022 National Poetry Month Poster Contest, and features a line by 2021 Presidential Inaugural Poet and 2017 National Youth Poet Laureate Amanda Gorman.

Garden Stories: Mom's Memory Garden

 

I had a friend visit my backyard for the first time this week. Showing her my gardens and decor I realized that my gardens hold stories. The gardens tell stories of people, stories of special furniture that traveled with us, and a whole collection of gifts from friends and family that are placed all over the yard.

After my mom died in the summer of 2017 I knew I wanted to do something to honor her in my backyard. We had a strip of space between my house and my brother's that Everett suggested he add another flower bed. Mom's Memory Garden was born. I moved plants from her gardens, decor she treasured, and added gifts from friends and family. 

Lady's Mantle from her garden.

Mom loved lilies.

A rose planted in her memory.

It has been a joy to watch this garden flourish in the last four years. I have added other plants and flowers to the garden. I picked flowers that Mom loved. 

Year one

recently

The Shed Notebook: National Poetry Month: "An Observation"

An Observation 

True gardeners cannot bear a glove
Between the sure touch and the tender root,
Must let their hands grow knotted as they move
With a rough sensitivity about
Under the earth, between the rock and shoot,
Never to bruise or wound the hidden fruit.
And so I watched my mother's hands grow scarred,
She who could heal the wounded plant or friend
With the same vulnerable yet rigorous love;
I minded once to see her beauty gnarled,
But now her truth is given me to live,
As I learn for myself we must be hard
To move among the tender with an open hand,
And to stay sensitive up to the end
Pay with some toughness for a gentle world.

May Sarton

I have always had a collection of gardening gloves close, but I too find it hard to use them. I want to feel those plants with my fingers. My mom was better at wearing gloves, but she still had hands that showed toughness and hard work.  Her hands also had a gentle touch. My hands are the same.

The Shed Notebook: Hey Marie Kondo: Bookshelves Full of Books Can Spark Joy!

 When I read Marie Kondo's book The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up right after it came out, I did what any thoughtful reader does. I took the information that mattered to me and used it. Kondo's method emerged in popularity again recently when her series began its run on Netflix. Her philosphy is this: if something sparks joy in your life, consider keeping it. If not, get rid of it. I haven't watched the series yet, but I have seen lots of photos on social media of people motivated to organize shelves, closets, and junk drawers.
One area of decluttering that hit a nerve with book collectors was her section on discarding books. Many book lovers went into panic mode online about paring down their book collections to thirty books. "I love my books. How can I get rid of them?"  "A library of books brings me comfort". "Why thirty books?"

part of my writing resource collection

I reread her section on getting rid of books. She said she would only keep thirty books. Besides, if Marie Kondo suggests you get rid of books, it is a suggestion. Keep those books you book collectors, The Spark Joy police is not coming to your house any time soon. I have more than forty cookbooks alone and I have pared down that collection. The ones I kept spark joy, If The Boxcar Children brings you joy by remembering your first grade teacher reading it to you, keep it! The photo at the top of the post are all books I saved from my mother's home library. Each of them brought her joy. Will I reread them?  Maybe not, but I love having them close.

part of my poetry collection

Now I didn't take all my books and put them in a pile like she suggested. Mine are spread all over the house and in the She Shed.  I did revisit my book shelves and found books that no longer sparked joy.  I had books I had read, but didn't need to keep. Also there were books that were outdated, worn out, or damaged, Did I throw all of them away? No. Did I tear out the pages that had parts I liked? No. I gave them away or donated them.

part of my cookbook collection

I am not a minimalist. I like books to surround me. I have books I use for reference, cookbooks I read and use all the time, a collection of poetry books I reread often, and books that have sentimental value. I also have the pile of books I plan to read soon or someday. Today I did revisit the shelves knowing I am going to the thrift store tomorrow. I found some titles that weren't sparking that Marie Kondo joy anymore. Another reader can enjoy them.

Her philosophy makes sense, but each person is unique in how they declutter. What sparks joy with one person may not with another. I do recommend her book and hope to watch the series, but I am still keeping my books. Every single one of them.

Do you have books you want to donate? This list has some good ideas. https://www.moneycrashers.com/where-donate-used-books/

The Shed Notebook: Ten Reasons Why I Love January

January is an unpopular month for many people.  It is that letdown month after the holiday season. It is a long month that often brings on gray, dark days. Taxes need to be done soon,weather may slow down travel.  I am different. I enjoy January.

Ten Reasons Why I Love January
10: Snow usually covers all mess in the backyard left by dog toys, dog droppings, and dog bones.
9.   Snow usually covers all the weeds I didn't get cleaned up in the fall.
8.   I celebrate my birthday!
7.   We also celebrate Mom's birthday and work on keeping her memory alive,
6.   As tax documents begin to arrive in the mail, you only have to think about taxes.
5.   College basketball is in full swing. Go Zags!

4.    Winter photo walks produce beautiful pictures.
3.   It is a good time to show off handmade mittens, hats, and scarfs.
2.   It is a perfect month to just stay home and catch up on movies, reading, and writing.
1.   It is winter decor month which means my snowman collection fills the house with cheer.     

Sibling Assignment #198: Autumn Rituals With Mom

I gave the following assignment:  " The one year anniversary of Mom's Celebration of Life

happened recently. Reflect on life with our mother." You can find sister Carol's post is here
and brother Bill's post here

Whether it was when I lived in Kettle Falls or when I moved next door, we had a autumn ritutual
every year at Mom's house. It was that week-end when we "put her gardens to bed" for winter.
We tried to schedule it when Carol and Paul could join us if possible. I always enjoyed this week-end.
It was in October when I was ready to take a week-end off from schoolwork. It was usually sunny, but cold.

Mom always had her list of tasks that needed done. We all usually knew what to do. We empties plant pots, deadheaded spent flowers, cut back perennials, added to the compost bin, and raked leaves. I loved the smells of the rich dirt in her raised beds, wet leaves in a pile, and the remaining aroma of lavendar and dill.

When Mom was able she was right there with us helping with the tasks. Later, she used her ATV walker and kept up with us. Later she stayed in the house, but watched from the kitchen window. All of us worked hard, but it was a labor of love. We all felt a sense of accomplishment when the day was over. With sore muscles, tired feet, and dirty hands we sat on the deck and looked over what we completed.

The best part of the day was the meal Mom prepared at the end of the day. Wine was uncorked, cold beer was opened, and Mom usually had a homey comfort meal that satisfied our hunger. Mom was such a good cook and on those days I think we were also treated to apple crisp or some other fall dessert favorite.

We live next door now and do the same rituals, but it is not the same. We rest more, we don't have Mom montioring our progress, and we don't have as delicious of a meal at the end of the day. This is one of the many reasons I miss Mom in the season of autumn.

Sibling Assignment #192 : The Memory of Lilacs

I gave the following sibling assignment #192:

“What flower evoke strong memories with you? Share those memories in our next sibling assignment. “ You will find brother Bill's assignment here and sister Carol's here.

I have been surrounded by garden flowers since I was a little girl, Both my
grandmothers raised beautiful flowers gardens as did my Auntie Lila. Mom did the best she could, but the smelter smoke always made it a challenge in Kellogg. Later she was able to add more flowers when the smoke went away. When I would go visit these family gardens, it usually was in August when many varieties of perennials and annuals were in bloom. 

In spring though I could also look forward to lilacs. Lilacs evoke strong memories
with me. When we moved to 516 W. Cameron the back fence was lined with lilac bushes. The lilacs were strong enough to stand up to the smelter smoke. I looked forward to them blooming in the spring and filling the air with a sweet, heady fragrance.

Grandma Woolum also had lilacs in Spokane. Spokane is the Lilac City and what I
remember is that hers always bloomed first. We would bring home a bouquet that would carry that sweet scent in the car and continue when we arrived home. I could treasure that bouquet until ours bloomed.

It was one the first thing I planted when I had room for lilacs at Martin Creek.
 Now that I am back next door to Mom’s lilacs, I was pleased a row of lilac bushes were planted in my new backyard also.

Lilacs are also a favorite bloom to photograph. Here are a few of my favorite photo images.There is one thing I wish I could change about ilacs. I  just wish they lasted longer.

Daily Peace: The Most Beautiful People

" The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen." Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

Above are a few of those beautiful people in my life.
From top left clockwise: Grandma Woolum with sister Carol, Uncle Bob West and Mom, Dad, Uncle Bob, Aunt Lila, Grandma West, Mom

The Shed Notebook: One Art

Moving from childhood into puberty, then on to adulthood frames a timeline of losses. A loss of a first tooth, a bicycle key, or the first dollar earned. Between the bookends of puberty is the loss of first love, which may seem like the end of the world. Growing older loss may include a favorite sweater, a much needed assignment, a faded photograph. Pets fill in painful spaces of loss. In this timeline of loss there are people. Young children, a childhood friend, an elderly family friend, grandma, then parents. 

Until my mother died, I read this poem with a whole different meaning. For me, the art of losing is very hard to master.

One Art

BY ELIZABETH BISHOP

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

places, and names, and where it was you meant

to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or

next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident

the art of losing’s not too hard to master

though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Elizabeth Bishop, “One Art” from The Complete Poems 1926-1979. Copyright © 1979, 1983 by Alice Helen Methfessel. Reprinted with the permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC.

Source: The Complete Poems 1926-1979 (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1983)

The Shed Notebook: Mom's Memory Garden

I knew last summer I would acquire plants and garden decor from Mom's garden next door after her death. My brother and his wife weren't clear how they wanted to approach the backyard, so they generously gave my sister and me permission to dig up what we wanted. I also inherited some garden signs and decor favorites Mom had collected. 

As we sat in our own backyard last fall, JEJ came up with an idea of building one more raised bed in the narrow space on the side of the house so I could create Mom's Memory Garden. He got the bed built last fall. We are going to add a gate and fence to keep our canine "kids" out. I am now getting excited about planning and planting it.

I know a rose given in honor of Mom from the Pearson/Brown family will be front and center. I will include plants from Mom's garden, then fill it up with her favorite flowers. My friend Chris gifted Mom with a beautiful  yellow metal flower that will be placed in the garden, along with a perfect statue I found today with angel wings and a nice saying. It is also a vase and will hold flowers!

 I will be excited to post pictures when it is completed. 

Sibling Assignment # 186 : Sunday Dinner at 516

Carol gave one of our sibling assignments for the month of February.

“Since we have started doing family dinners, has this created memories of family dinners growing up a 516 West Cameron?  Think of a particular dinner, or kinds of dinners you ate while growing up and share some memories from these family dinners.”  You can find Carol's here and Bill's here.

Mom taught school during the years of my childhood. She was still able to get dinner on the table every night. Every once in a while we got burgers from the S and R or French Dips at the Sunshine Inn.

Sunday was a different story. Most Sundays when Mom had more time, she prepared memorable Sunday dinners. I always loved the Sundays she made homemade bread and rolls. We had the rolls with dinner, the had the bread for toast and sandwiches during the week. On a special Sunday we got cinnamon rolls.  Mom told me once kneading bread on Sunday relaxed her.

The dinners I remember most are navy beans and ham, chili and cinnamon rolls, roast beef dinner with all the trimmings, homemade vegetable soup, and pork roast dinner with all the trimmings. We had traditional comfort food on those Sundays. No “weird shit” food for my dad. It wasn’t a good time for us to ask Mom if we could experiment with a new recipe (that Dad usually didn’t like).

What I remember is how Sunday was a slower pace day, a calmer day at 516. Mom had time to prepare soups and roasts and not be rushed. That was why I liked all those meals . They were filling, filled with flavor, and there always seemed to be more quantity.

I can’t really pick a favorite dish. I did learn from my Mom that cinnamon rolls go well with chili. Vegetables cooked with roast beef are the best way to eat them, especially when there is gravy for the potatoes.  Applesauce always goes with pork roast . I also loved the leftovers. I could always count on another meal made with those roasts or a heated up soup later in the week.

Along with being a calmer day, it was a day my dad was always happy. These meals just lit up his face and he often ate seconds. No peanut butter on white bread after dinner on Sundays. ( He pulled that out on weeknights when Mom made something he didn’t really like.) The picture above is before a dinner in later years, but the table is in the same place and holds the same love for family.