The Time of Year

Lilies of the Valley, cut on Sunday, still fragrant on Thursday

Mother's Day was a little tough for me this year.  I thought of Momma more often than I have in the past.  I missed having her to call.  It seemed like there would have been stuff I would have shared with her, if she had been around this year.

Mom sure would have loved to have seen my girls grown up, and who they have become.  And I think she would have been tickled with my grandbebe girls.  I would love for her to know how I have done since the dee-vorce, and for her to have really gotten to know the Guy, and his (now our) kids.

I think she would have enjoyed sitting on my back patio, knitting dishclothes.  And I think she would nod in approval of the ground I have covered in my knitting accomplishments.

She probably wouldn't think my way of planting iris to be proper, however.  But, we all have to go our own way sometimes...

Momma would love to know of how Wonderful Guy and I travel, and my new camera skilz, I think.

I know, I know. I am thinking of Momma of a few years ago, the woman who traveled to the grandkid's graduations, and gardened, and sold iris at the farmer's market in Overland Park.

But's that the Momma I have been missing lately, the one I have been wishing I could call up and with whom I could chat.

Lilacs, still doing okay, after being buried by the snow, and a couple of chilly nights

Having lilacs take me back to being a little girl. And spending a weekend back in Kansas earlier this spring helped all these feelings, too, I am sure.

Then there is this.  Wisest Sister sent me a package today.  (I swear, my report cards from grade school ended up everywhere but with me!  I suffered no end of abuse when a less than stellar report card fell into Dearest Sister's hands a couple years back!) Click to make big if you really want to read Miss Ravenstein's exquisite handwriting.  Because it is.  Exquisite, that is.

First, I got A's in science!  Now what science-y thing we did in 3rd grade, I am not sure.  Probably had alot to do with reading from a book. Such a good way to learn science.
Second, I got B's in art.  Which I remember thinking at the time meant I was no good in that particular subject.
Thirdly, I was a healthy, model citizen, obedient and courteous, who played well with others.  Interestingly, these are traits that haven't always served me well through life.  I think it might have been good to have spaces for 'assertive', 'stands her ground', 'has found her voice', 'speaks her truth', 'protects the rights of the less fortunate'.  But alas, I was in grade school in the early 60's.  In a small town.  And round pegs needed to fit into round holes....
Fourth, there's my mom's signature.  Always recognizable.  Never able to forge it...if I was to try, that is....

Just missing my mom more than usual.

And now I have to frog about 10 rows on Eldest's February Lady Sweater.  Mom, this one's for you.

Meet Betsy and Sharon

**Disclaimer- Grandchildren of my mother!  Read this post at your own peril!!**

***Don't say I didn't warn you!!***

Our mother was quite a woman.

She had many skills and talents, from frying 'a crispy on the outside, tender on the inside' chicken that I cannot duplicate, and have given up trying, to recreating a garment after viewing it fairly casually on the wearer, using brown paper grocery bags as pattern pieces.

Mom was an amateur photographer, a budding pilot in the early 40’s, and was a highly successful hobbyist gardener, teaming up with DSis and selling iris rhizomes at the local farmer’s market.

She was also highly independent, and at the assisted living facility where she spent the last few years of her life, and where the women outnumbered the men about 6 to 1, this independence seemed to catch the eye of the menfolk far more readily than those women that set their caps for male attention

It would appear this tendency exists in some no matter their age!

So. One trip back to see the fam, DSis and I stopped by to visit Mom, right before her dinnertime. And it seemed that perhaps she had just awakened from a late afternoon nap. She was coming out of her bathroom, the lights were dim, and she seemed a bit…scattered.

Oh, she was glad to see us. She always was. Her kids were her pride and joy. One of her best things (before assisted living) was when we would go to church with her and Mom got to stand up and introduce ‘her visitors’.

But, thinking we had caught her less than awake, and maybe a bit confused, we thought to leave and said we would come and visit another time, when our mother stopped us and said, ‘well, let me make some introductions..’

And then we saw that we are not alone in the room. Mom had a gentleman caller.

Who had been laying on her bed.

Her unmade bed…fully clothed (thank the good lawd for tender mercies!)…but still! On the unmade bed.

Mom says “Robbie, I would like you to meet my girls, Becky and Jan.”

Now. Robbie was the name of a fellow that our mother kept company with when DSis and I were back in high school. And lest I state the obvious, we have not been in high school for a very long time, and Robbie? No longer with us.

But ‘Robbie’ rises up, extends his hand, shakes our very stunned hands, and says,

“Nice to meet you, Betsy and Sharon!”

I looked over at DSis, who had her very best ‘I can handle whatever you tell me-HR manager face’ (Myself -I am trying to not laugh...or...choke...or pass out.) She makes some small talk with our mother about ‘being obviously busy, just wanted to show off a new haircut, be back tomorrow, blah blah blah…’

And we got the hell out of dodge just as fast as we could.

Walking down the hall to the door of the building, we looked at each other. And I said.

“Well, Sharon?”  And she said...

“Well, Betsy?”

“Well, I don’t think that was Robbie…”

Meet Sharon (Dearest Sister) over here.  And see Betsy and Sharon's (our!) foray into eCommerce at Atomic Sisters.

My Mother's Story (the last)

She kept smiling...

My mother’s birthday was April 14th, and this year she would have been 90. She died 3 years ago this year today, at 87.

This is the last part of my little tribute to her memory.

Mom never remarried. There were a couple of fellows she saw for quite a while, and Dearest Sister and I thought we might have to make room for a daddy. Nothing panned out, for unclear reasons to us at the time. Later, when asked, she told me that she never believed anyone would love us girls as much as our daddy did. I also think a big part of it was the fact that she like being independent, as unfortunate as the circumstances were that forced her into that situation. I don’t believe she relished the idea of trading that independence for the role of a wife and the dependence that meant to a woman of her generation.

Before the birth of Grandbebe #3

She was incredibly energetic until the last years of her life. Momma maintained the exercise philosophy that one stayed active and fit and flexible by doing whatever one could. Not one for health clubs, she took the every man's approach. Obviously, she gardened, and was not above the shoveling of manure. And she drove a standard transmission (tightening up the abs whenever that clutch was engaged!). She loved to swim, and I remember her swimming laps, slow and steady, the crawl and sidestroke and backstroke. Momma said the tension just flowed out of her those times. There were some other interesting aspects to this theory, with her flexibility exercises and Barley Green (again with the rolling of the eyes!) but mostly she walked when she could and took care of her health. She remained healthy and full of life, and lived independently until the last few years, when her memory started to fail, and her congestive heart disease slowed her down.

Age 67-ish?

My siblings and the grandchildren, of whom there are 10 grandchildren and 7 great-grandchildren, have their own memories of Mom. On her last day with us, Dearest Sister, myself, and the Three Daughters were sitting with her. Middle Daughter suggested we share what we each remembered best about Grandma. I don’t recall what I said really, but I remember what the girls said. They remembered that when Grandma came to visit, she always brought Shredded Wheat and ‘Shaklee’ Protein Powder, and she let them have as much as they wanted. “It was like ICING,” all three cried! Dearest Sister and I burst out laughing. Not something indelibly etched in my memory, but it is for them.

(Note: one of them commented yesterday about the shredded wheat before even reading this section!)

With Grandbebe #6

When Momma passed, we all knew how she wanted things done. She had made that plain. And plain was the word for it. Nothing fancy, and as inexpensive as we could make it. As that young widow, with few funds, she was called upon to spend a hefty amount for the transport, funeral, and burial of Daddy. She saw so much money go into flowers when she didn’t know how she was going to support her children. It irked her tremendously. She made it clear to us that was not what she wanted. She was not going to be there. She wouldn’t care, and it was not going to matter. So her wishes were what we adhered to. Cremation without viewing, a memorial service, donations to the church instead of flowers. We bought flowers in bulk from Sam’s, and Youngest Daughter, a floral designer, created some beautiful sprays. When we saw the prices of the urns at the funeral home, we bought Mom’s off EBay. (She would LOVE that.) We worked together very well as siblings during that time, and it occurred to me that is often not the case.

I remember her saying ‘I’m just so proud of you kids’. And her grandkids. And her great-grandkids. And while she may have been a bit stiff-necked in the way she showed it, I know down deep her pride was true. She just was a product of her generation, and had definite ideas of what was right and what was wrong, and how one went about doing things the right way. And by golly, she was not above telling someone when they needed to straighten up and fly right. And how…and why…,and what was going to happen if they didn’t…. I don’t think it ever registered that we were rolling our eyes, and waiting for the end of the lecture. She didn’t do all of it right, and there were mistakes made. But her kids are still talking to each other, know they love each other, and truly enjoy being around each other. She did the best she knew how, and I am feeling that she did a bit better than that, too.

My Mother's Story (part 3)

At age 51 (about my age currently...more or less...well...less...)

My mother’s birthday is today, and this year she would have been 90. She died 3 years ago this year tomorrow, at 87.

(This is the 3rd part of my story of my mother.)

Mom and a later roommate, Gladys, started growing iris, like crazy iris ladies…but not really. Well, maybe a little. She served as president of the local chapter of the iris society. Dearest Sister and my mother had quite a hobby business selling iris rhizomes at the local farmer’s market for years. They had a system truly finessed, and I have come to find out Wonderful Guy very likely bought iris from them, but that is a story for another post.

Momma in one of her show gardens...

I believe there were two attractions for Momma about the farmer’s market iris gig, besides the iris. There was, of course, helping people with her wealth of knowledge. And there were PEOPLE. Mother never met a stranger. Ever. She could strike up conversation in check out lines, in parking lots, with people at other tables in restaurants, waiting for a table in restaurants, cashiers, anyone anywhere! Dearest Sister and I often comment on the fact that she and I find ourselves incapable of interacting easily with those we don’t know while Mom didn’t have any problem at all.

KC Star article regaling Mother's efforts...

After Mom moved into the ‘Towers’ (apartments for retired folks), she organized a community garden. The garden, which started small, and under protest and much negativity, grew to triple and quadruple its original size, ending up funded by the apartment management. Gardeners had their own farmer’s market, and those that didn’t grow got a bit of exercise walking out to see what was being grown. It was a tremendous success, but Momma was just glad she could keep gardening after moving to the apartment! I have inherited the grow light set up she used. I cannot convey with words the delight she took each year from perusing the seed catalogs. She was quite progressive in choosing some new variety yearly. She started her seeds in the cleaned, styrofoam cups she would scavenge from the gathering area in the lobby of the ‘Towers’, ever dutiful in her thriftiness.

With the gardening ladies...

Momma loved her grandkids, even if it wasn’t shown in the ‘traditional’ sense. She wasn’t one to indulge them, especially if she could teach them a lesson…like how to transplant tomatoes. Or weed the iris. She really didn’t like unproductive time. At all. Which is why, to this day, it is difficult for me to just sit. I need to ‘be doing something’. So while I watch TV, I knit, or quilt, or read, or spin…always being productive, getting something accomplished.

Being at Grandma's wasn't completely without it's treats, and that usually came in the form of a Dr. Pepper served in a frosty mug. Dr. Pepper was Mom's favorite drink from as early as I can remember. When Dearest Sister and I were young, and money was tight, Momma would occasionally indulge herself, and us, with a carton of six bottles. She would share, but always rationing. The caps of Dr. Pepper back then had the numbers 10, 2, and 4 on them. Mom had Dearest Sister and I convinced that those were the only appropriate times for a Dr. Pepper break, 10AM, 2PM, and 4PM.

With Precious Niece...

I learned to sew and to knit from Momma, two skills I am very grateful for, and upon which I have built. She spent years knitting dishcloths, and that story is here. I have many cooking skills that she taught me as well, but those are more basic. Her skills in the kitchen were not so much of the formal variety, but could she bake some bread! It just wasn’t ever the same twice. I remember her homemade cinnamon rolls especially. Everyone loved her carmel rolls, with all the sticky stuff on the bottom. Everyone except me. So she always made a small pan of non-sticky ones, just a few, special for me. At least that’s the way I remember it. And of course, I do not do anything a thing in my yard without a thought going to Momma.

Always ready to travel, especially to see the grandkids...

She truly valued education, and traveled until she couldn’t, to every graduation of kids and grandkids, be it from high school or college or flight school. Partly, I think, because her love of travel never dimmed, and I think it gave her an excuse to get up and go! Mostly, though, it was a sincere celebration of achievement on her part for her offspring and grandchildren. Growing up without financial resources, we didn’t have much, but we always had books, and as an adult moving often, one of the first things I do upon moving to a new place is to get a library card. Wonderful Guy is often confounded at the amount of money I can spend on books without any justication. Books, and reading, and learning are...productive!

Reading to the grandkids...

Happy birthday, Momma.

Tomorrow, I think, will conclude my memories.

My Mother's Story (part 2)

My mother’s birthday will be April 14th, and this year she would have been 90. She died 3 years ago this year on April 15th, at 87.

(This is the 2nd part of my story of my mother. )

After a ten-year gap, two more offspring arrived, me and Dearest Sister, much to the chagrin of Only Brother, much to the delight of the Big Girls. The two groups of children became known as ‘the big kids’ and ‘the little girls’. (To this day, Dearest Sister and I, now in our 50’s, can still be referred to, in the right crowd, as ‘the little girls’.) When I was three, and Dearest Sister was one, Momma and Daddy decided to settle down in permanent style in Holland, Michigan, taking a position with one of the big pipeline companies.

Easter before...

Within a matter of months, Daddy died suddenly of a heart attack at 43, leaving my mother at 41 with 5 children, ages 18, 16, 13, almost 4 & 2. He left no insurance, no house, no means of support. She had no education past high school to speak of. She was halfway across the country from any relatives. It was 1959, before any big social support program, when social security was still relatively new.

She had his pickup, and an income tax refund. Momma put his body on the train, and brought it back home to Kansas. Selling the pickup and with the money from it and the tax refund, she put a down payment on a house. It was not really habitable at first, but a family friend worked on insulating, installing a furnace, adding the rooms upstairs and some closets. We moved in about a year later.

...in front of our home.

Things were very tight financially, and I can only imagine what it must have been like to be such a young widow. It was not a time where being different was such a good thing, and that sort of tragedy sets one apart. She struggled with depression, and there were relatives that helped considerably with us ‘little girls’ when she couldn’t manage. Part time jobs were taken to make ends meet at the local greenhouse, teaching knitting, and sewing for others. We walked most places, not having a vehicle, but it was a small town, and totally doable. Again, relatives gave rides when necessary. Her outside activities were limited to church, getting her hair done on Saturday, helping us participate in 4-H, and making us practice our piano.

with the most helpful relatives ever...

The big kids graduated and moved out. Momma made sure that Dearest Sister and I learned what she thought was important, things like balancing checkbooks, the pros and cons of owning a car, sewing, knitting, pulling weeds, how to swim, a love of books. She taught us to like the idea of a lot of other things, but not so much how to actually do them….an organized household, cleaning our room, doing well in studies, saving for retirement, buying a home. Momma pretty much discouraged us from buying a car or a house because the expense would always be more than expected. I can hear her now…’it’s more than a a payment….there’s gas and insurance and maintenance…’! She taught us thriftiness and the necessity for accomplishment.

The ‘big girls’convinced Mom to move to KC after about 8 years after Daddy’s death. She lived in the suburbs on the Kansas side until her death, never owning her own home, but renting or sharing homes with others.

Living in Shawnee Mission (KC) helped considerably in providing outlets for her to pour out her helpfulness. And she had so much helpfulness for others, whether they wanted it or not! Momma was a force in the mother of all self help groups, PWP (Parents Without Partners). She met people there that became friends for years to come. She continued to be active in church, her faith being a lifelong support to her life. Her incredible sense of humor allowed her to dress for the yearly church Halloween parties in unforgettable style.

To complete the effect, Mother removed her dentures for the evening, renduring her totally unrecognizable.

Raising teenagers as a single parent is never easy, I imagine, and Dearest Sister and myself cut her no breaks. She passed away not knowing all the stories, believe me. Or maybe she did, and just didn’t let on. I had the opportunity to make an amend in the last years of her life for the sleepless nights I must have caused her during this period. Her response? “Are your girls causing you grief?” Yep, she probably knew more than she let on, and it was easier to hope we learned our lessons on our own. I risk Dearest Sister not ever speaking to me again...

Tomorrow, more of my mother's story.

My Mother's Story (part 1)

My mother’s birthday will be April 14th, and this year she would have been 90. She died 3 years ago this year on April 15th, at 87.

She was a remarkable woman, and everything I am I owe to her, both the good and the less desirable traits. I am grateful one of the stronger inclinations she instilled in her children was the idea that we can continually grow and learn.

Born in rural southwestern Kansas, on a farm at the end of WWI and the end of the flu pandemic of 1918, she grew up through the depression, attending school in a one-room schoolhouse. She was one of four siblings, three sisters and a brother. My mother learned all the skills required of a female at the time, and became an extraordinary seamstress, making a living doing so later. She became adept at knitting as well as gardening. I believe there were probably other skills and talents but these are the main ones I associate with the woman I knew.


with her sisters...


Mother liked to dance, and in the small town near the farm on which she was raised, there were dances held on the weekends. It was at one of these dances she met Daddy. He was from another town, not a farmer, but a welder, and as I understand it, a very good one. She was certified to teach, and was employed teaching in a rural one room school.

before they were Momma and Daddy...

They married, started a business in town, and had three babies during WWII. Daddy kept farm equipment working at a time when all factory resources were applied to the war effort. Therefore, he was not allowed to serve. His best friend was killed overseas, and I believe Only Brother was named after this best friend.

with the 'big kids'...

During this time, my parents started flying lessons. They became the first married couple to solo in single engine aircraft in western Kansas. When my mother’s third pregnancy was ratted out to the authorities by her sister, the nurse, she was not allowed to fly, and did not finish the required solo hours to achieve her license. After that…well…there were three kids. Need I say more? I think Momma also purchased her 35mm camera around this time. I remember this camera well at family events as a child, but it was only later, as an adult myself that I recognize how cutting-edge this was for a young woman in the early 40’s.

the photo from her pilots license...

My father’s business was not successful due in part because of his inability to pursue payment from those who had members of their families serving. There were probably other reasons, too.

When Daddy sought to support the family with employment with the pipelines, Momma traveled with him, with the kids. Many of the other employees, who traveled laying the big pipelines from Mexico to Canada and beyond, had families who stayed put somewhere. Not Momma. She was an adventurer, and everywhere she went, they played the tourists. With her camera! Texas, Colorado, New Mexico, Wyoming, and Canada, to name just a few of the places.

that's me and Dearest Sister...

Tomorrow, my version of my mother's story continues.