FYI – Before starting my blog, I would like to inform all that read it, that during the summer months I will be blogging only once a month. Many folks – both the readers and the writer – are busy enjoying the outdoors during our short summers. I will blog on the first weekend of the month.

 

An old Jewish proverb states that God made mothers because he couldn’t be everywhere. I don’t agree with all of this as I believe that God is omnipresent, but I also believe that mothers are very special beings which is what I think the proverb is alluding to.

Anna Marie Jarvis also thought mothers were special – special enough that there should be a day to remember them and all the good they do. She is the one credited as being the founder of the Mother’s Day holiday in the United States. Her idea came through her mother who she admired deeply for many things – one of which was tending to the wounded during the Civil War. When Anna was twelve years old she remembers hearing her mother praying and expressing that she hoped someday there would be a day given to celebrate mothers.

Anna’s mother died in 1905, but Anna never forgot her mother’s prayer. In 1907 she began to host campaigns for dedicating a day in remembrance of mothers.  In 1910 Anna’s home state of West Virginia became the first state to observe Mother’s Day. It was meant to be a day spent in church. Following the service children were assisted in writing endearing letters to their mothers. Anna also began the tradition of wearing carnations on that day – her mother’s favorite flower. Red ones were worn to show honor to the living moms, white ones were worn to honor those deceased.

By 1914, President Wilson declared Mother’s Day a national holiday. It was to be celebrated yearly, on the second Sunday of May.

Within a few short years, flower venders and card companies were capitalizing on the holiday. The commercialization of the holiday so outraged Anna that she is quoted as saying, “A printed card means nothing except that you are too lazy to write to the woman who has done more for you than anyone in the world. And candy! You take a box to Mother and then eat most of it yourself. A pretty sentiment.”

By 1924 Anna began aggressively trying to abolish the holiday she had fondly founded. Six years later she was arrested for disturbing the peace at a Mother’s Day Carnation sale. She spent the rest of her life and her family inheritance fighting the holiday.

Anna never married, and in 1948 she died, leaving no children to remember her.

Today, Mother’s Day is celebrated in 46 countries, although not all on the same day. I can understand Anna’s thought process about the commercialization, but you will not find me turning down a card, a flower, or a gift on Mother’s Day. I know so many special mothers and  each of them deserves a special moment on this Sunday.

Here’s to all the mothers who every day do what John Wesley proposed: Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can.

Until next month – if you keep on readin’, I’ll keep on writin’.

Probably the only people that don’t take the five senses for granted are those that have had the misfortune of loosing one. They are the ones that truly appreciate the remaining ones they have. If we stop and think about it, our senses are an extraordinary and amazing part of us. It is said that our senses are so powerful and important that they are often locked into our minds and paired with some type of memory or emotion.

The question has come up – can we trust our senses? The answer is “usually.” God gave us senses to protect us and to keep us safe. For example: when we hear a rattlesnake rattle we stop in our tracks and begin to step backwards cautiously. We wouldn’t go closer to the snake because we don’t want bitten by a venomous creature. But there are times when our senses can fool us. Vision is the most dominant sense in humans. This means when we see something, it can override another sense. For example, if Mom is carrying a platter of chicken to the table, you hear her say: “I’m going to sit and eat.” But what she actually said was, “I’m going to sit, I’m beat.” Your eyes “seeing” the chicken was more powerful than what your ears were hearing.

The sense of smell is the most sensitive of all the senses. According to research, people can remember smells with 65% accuracy after a year, while visual recall is only 50% after three months. I can still recall the smell of the soap my grandmother used 30 years ago. I cannot describe the smell to you, but when I run into it I have no doubt that close by there is a bar of the same kind of soap my grandmother used.  I loved going to her house and that smell today continues to fill me with a warm and pleasant feeling.

We probably don’t think about the sense of smell as much as we do the sense of seeing and hearing. But because smell is the sense most linked to emotional recollection I do not wish to loose that ability. I like that it triggers pleasant memories as in my grandmother’s soap.  One of my favorite smells is the smell of freshly cut alfalfa. It means summer, working with my dad, and enjoying ranch life in Nebraska. I also love the unique smell of horses, my Mom’s cinnamon rolls, timber being cut into firewood, and a summer rain after weeks of “rain wishing”. All of these hold good memories and pleasant experiences. I have a few smells I would just as soon forget too. The one that is engrained deeply into the area of the brain that keeps track of such things is the combo smell of rotten fish and spoiled corn. I learned this smell when our deep freeze quit. We didn’t realize it for days until the stench traveled upward from the basement to our living area on the main floor. At the time I was pregnant and was having difficulty even with the mild smell of frying hamburger.  I hope never to be subject to that smell again! If I do though, I have a couple things  in my favor – I won’t be pregnant and scent cells are renewed every 28 days so it might be that my “new nose” won’t smell it like the “old nose” did.

What are your favorite scents? The majority of people rate vanilla, some forms of orange scents, cinnamon, crayons, and cookies as their favorites. Except for Mom’s cinnamon rolls, I’m a bit of an odd duck. Do you join the majority of folks or are you an odd duck too?

Until next week – I’ll keep on writin’ if you keep on readin’.

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes I struggle as to what this week’s blog should be about, but not this week. I’ve had the experience of having a common theme presented to me twice this week by two different people.(That must be what I’m to write about, right?) Both of these presenters are pastors, one lives in Valentine, Nebraska and one in Spearfish South Dakota. They do not know each other as far as I know, but each of them know me and each had a similar message with a little different twist; both equally valuable. Bruce, in Valentine,  shared his written message with all of his Facebook friends – one of which is me. Doug, in Spearfish, shared his verbal  message through the pulpit this morning at church. Each of their messages hit home with me, because they spoke of treasures that might be found when cleaning out a parent’s or a grandparent’s home or shop.  My siblings and I did this recently when we took on the task of clearing out my parent’s home so that a niece and her family could move in. Dad  resides in Heaven now; Mom resides at the Cottonwood – an assisted living facility.

Bruce and his siblings just this last week finished cleaning out their parents’ house in Ainsworth Nebraska. (Bruce’s mom lives across the golden street from Dad now, and his dad lives down the hall from my mom at the Cottonwood.) He writes about going through the boxes in his folks’ basement and unearthing the treasures you always find in basements of that generation. Photos, newspaper clippings of family members’ accomplishments, obituaries of those that have passed, and just things that you think you’ll organize someday, but instead are invariably left for the kids to sift through. Most of the things out of his folks’ basement and those  from my parents’ basement are finding companionship at the city dump.  What was reiterated to Bruce through this experience and can be a reminder to us as well, is that life is fleeting and fragile.  In Bruce’s words, “we better invest in what really matters…and lasts. That is God, people, faith, family, and friendships.”

This morning Pastor Doug used scripture in Luke 15 – the parable of the lost sheep and the parable of the lost coin to tell us how we are the lost sheep and the lost coin, but because we are a valuable treasure to God, He searches for us high and low – just as the shepherd sought after his lost lamb – until He finds us. It doesn’t matter how ugly our life has been – He pursues us. Pastor Doug brought along an old toolbox of his grandfather’s to illustrate what someone else might consider just a piece of junk, was to him a great treasure. This tool box not only stored tools for Pastor Doug, but many fond memories of his grandfather and him working side by side with that old toolbox between them. These treasures are dear to our hearts, just like we are dear to God’s heart.

When we cleaned out my parent’s house, I came home with very few treasures, but they were the ones that meant something to me. The old “earcorn” salt and pepper shakers had been around longer than I had been. (Is 61 plus considered an antique? I hope not.) Those shakers sat in the middle of our kitchen table three times a day. My parents’ hands, not to mention my siblings and my own would have left their print on those shakers at least once a day. (Some of us seasoned heavier than others.)  I can’t think of anything else in that household that would have been more shared among us all than those ears of corn. When asked what I would like out of the house, I shouted, “the earcorn salt and pepper shakers!” They continue to be used every day as they sit beside my stove.  Another treasure that I brought home was a large, old professional photograph. My great grandmother, Minnie Ristow Schultz  stands at the far right on this photo. By the time I knew her, she was gray haired, stooped, and deaf. This picture reminds me that we are all young at some point, but life continues on from there. Great Grandma Schultz may have loved to skip rope and hug puppies just as I did when I was a girl. Maybe she even collected rocks from her driveway and kept them in a shoebox. When I look at that picture I am connected to each one of them, for they are family.

As important as we sometimes think our earthly treasures are, how much more valuable are our treasures in heaven. The souls we help to find their way are our true treasures.

Until next week – if you keep on readin’, I’ll keep on writin’.

 

Today I want to give you a snippet into the sequel of “Bound by Secrecy.” Of course, my motive is to wet your appetite. For those of you that have read “Bound by Secrecy” you know that Doc played the role of the small town doctor in the book. He has now become the protagonist in this second book – but don’t worry – Laurel, Tom, Joshua, Old Boot, and the Clayburns are back as well. With no further ado, I will let you see a tiny glimpse into  chapter 3 of the next book. (Title not determined as of yet.)

 

Doc leaned forward in his desk chair and rested his head in his hands. The fourth note had arrived in his post office box this morning. The four notes still lay in front of him on the desk. He had hurried home after work, not bothering to grab a glass of ice tea from the refrigerator as he usually did. He had rushed into his library, taking the four notes and lining them up in a row on his desk. Going over them one by one and comparing each to the previous, he found no clues as to the writer. All four notes and envelopes were identical; down to the Elvis Presley stamps. He hadn’t ruled out that it could be Lisa sending the notes. It seemed odd though, that she would come to his office with medical concerns if she were trying to discourage a developing relationship between him and her mother. Not only that but she had not mentioned the relationship at all during the visit.

Doc was deep in thought when the ring of the phone jolted him like the first crack of thunder on a spring night. He doubted he had heard the first couple of rings. He leaned toward the phone, focusing on the caller ID. Gwen? He hadn’t talked to his sister since they had settled mother’s small estate two and a half years ago. It wasn’t all Gwen’s fault they didn’t talk often. He could have called her just as easily, but he hadn’t made the effort either. A stab of guilt pierced his conscience. Gwen could have used some support over the years – say, when she went through her divorce, or during the time that her only child was in and out of trouble. Doc wasn’t even sure how serious Michael’s trouble had been. He did know the kid had spent some time in a juvenile center. He had even lost track as to how old Michael would be now…maybe in his late twenties, early thirties. He hadn’t seen the boy since he was eight or nine. Doc blamed the disconnection between himself and Gwen to their age differences. She had been a surprise baby and was twelve years younger than he was. When he was eighteen and headed for college, she was just a kid. They had very few memories to laugh and cry over like many siblings did – they simply had never spent enough time together to form memories. He hoped this call didn’t mean bad news.

“Hello Gwen. Nice to hear from you.”

“Hi Vince. It’s been a long time.”

“Yes…yes it has. Are you doing ok?”

It was always a bit awkward talking to Gwen. Doc always felt inadequate when visiting with her – why was it so easy to talk to everyone else, but he felt cumbersome talking with his sister? He wished conversation would come easy to them, but it had never flowed smoothly; tagged with pauses and hesitations. He did remember to ask about Michael and was told his nephew was doing fine. Of course, Doc didn’t know whose standard Gwen was holding him up to. She had said he wasn’t married yet, but expressed her hope that it could happen, now that he had his life together.

Gwen got to the point of her call soon after draining themselves of small talk. “Vince, I’m thinking about taking a trip and coming out that way for a visit. “

Doc was taken aback. In forty years, she had never touched foot in Nebraska. He had invited her more than once, but she had always come up with an excuse. Because Doc’s mother had wished to be buried back in Illinois, Gwen had chosen to have a memorial service for her there, rather than attend the one at Grace Community Church in Hooper. Doc had suspected that Gwen had not been interested in experiencing small town life in any way. She was used to having all the commodities she needed or wished for at her fingertips.

“Well Gwen, this is a surprise.” Doc rubbed the top of his balding head.

“Yes, I suppose it is. Guess I’m realizing since Mother’s death that we aren’t getting any younger. I would like us to get to know each other better and spend some time together.”

“I would like that too Gwen.” Doc said the appropriate words, but he wasn’t sure how much either one of them would enjoy it. He was ambivalent about the idea. He could be excited; after all, Gwen was his sister. But he might also be relieved if she cancelled.

“Do you know when you will be coming?”

    “Not yet, but now that I have made up my mind I don’t want to wait long. Do you have any plans of being away?”

    “No. My job keeps me here for the most part. I do have some help coming in two days a week now, but I usually spend those days fishing the lakes close by, working in my yard, or catching up on some reading. Anytime you choose should work for me. Let me know.”

Doc hung up the phone and turned his attention back to the notes in front of him. Sooner or later, the writer would provide him a clue – he was sure of it.

Until next time – if you keep on readin’, I’ll keep on writin’.

 

A couple of years ago I watched a video come across Facebook of an elephant painting a picture. I was amazed by what this elephant named Suda could do. Some of the videos make it out that the elephant is painting whatever she wants to paint. However, other videos tell us that a trainer stands beside the elephant and gives it signals by pulling on its ear. If the trainer pulls the ear one way – that means “make a line to the left” or if he pulls it a different way, that means, “make a line to the right.”

Even though knowing that  these elephants are trained to paint pictures so that someone can make money, it still wet my appetite to learn more about this kind beast. And what I have found  is that elephants, whether they can paint pictures or not, are amazing animals. Scientists have been intensely studying and documenting their findings  in the last ten years and are finding that elephants are one of the brainiacs of the animal kingdom. The scientists have concluded that elephants are adept at using tools and they are cooperative problem solvers. They are highly empathetic creatures  – comforting each other and showing grief in times of loss of a family or clan member.

Kandula lives at the National Zoo in Washington D.C. In 2010 researchers set up some props to see what Kandula would do when favorite foods were strung high above the elephant’s reach. The researchers placed sticks and heavy duty block cubes around the yard. It wasn’t instantaneous, but within a few days Kandula had an “aha moment.” With his trunk he rolled the cubes beneath the strung food, climbed up onto the cube with his front feet, stretched out his long trunk, and enjoyed lunch. When the researchers changed out the cubes with tractor tires, Kandula was not detained, using the tires just as he did the cubes. He even figured out how to stack the cubes and tires to extend his reach.

In 1968, Cynthia Moss, director or the Amboseli Trust for Elephants, moved to Africa to study elephants in the Amboseli National Park – one of the few places where elephants can live a relatively undisturbed existence in natural conditions. One day while observing the animals Cynthia watched in amazement as a young, audacious female bound into the camp of a different clan and was kidnapped by that clan. They kept her captive with their trunks and strong legs. Her mother, Echo, and elder siblings took action to free her, but were unsuccessful, and they had no choice but to retreat. A few minutes later, Cynthia watched in awe as the mother and sisters returned with all the members of their clan. They charged into the enemy camp and rescued Ebony. Cynthia maintains that this took forethought, teamwork, and problem solving.

Not only are they problem solvers and team workers, they are also capable of genuine empathy. When coming upon an elephant skeleton, especially if it is one of their clan, they will caress the bones with their trunk and the bottoms of their sensitive, padded feet. Cynthia Moss has observed elephants kicking dirt over the skeletons and covering them with palm leaves. Elephants have never been seen doing this with the bones of other species.

In my way of thinking, elephants don’t need to paint to be impressive. Maybe God wanted us to see their greatness in more than just their size.

Until next week – if you keep on readin’, I’ll keep on writin’.