The View from a Pew

I need someone to please tell me who is in charge.  We are running out of grownups in my family and I am sitting closer and closer to the front pew in church.

When making a graham cracker crust last week  I instinctively reached for the phone to call my mom and ask her about baking temps.  She has been gone for 9 years but she is still my go-to person.  I had no idea how much information was stored in her head until we lost her.   She was the central pivot in our family, keeping everyone rotating in orbits, tracking the whereabouts, births, deaths, marriages, arrivals and departures of the vast tribe that is our extended family.  When that ship sailed, so did a mountain of information.

We lost another grownup this weekend - My Uncle Ed.  The McGill side of my

[caption id="attachment_1616" align="alignright" width="193" caption="St. Leonards - the McGill "Mother Church" "][/caption]

family has/had a nice tradition at funerals.  We line up in semi-birth order, the cousins are together, the grandchildren of the deceased are together, the siblings, etc.  We then march into church with the immediate family sitting up front, then the grandkids, cousins, etc.  all in order.  I have noticed that as the years pass, I have moved closer and closer to the front pew. The people in church are mostly younger than I am - and sitting behind me.

When I am  in  Iowa or  Wisconsin with one of my sisters, we chatter endlessly on those long drives across the plains to Nebraska.   When we get stumped on some bit of family history or knowledge we hit the invisible OnStar button on the dashboard and say, "OnStar, could you ask Mom (enter question here.)"   Mom was our OnStar.  Our "MomStar" if you will.   A vast repository of  wide-ranging resources, trivia, experience and wisdom.

As I lose more and more of those grown-ups from my childhood  it makes me feel a little wobbly about who is in charge - who are the grownups now?  Me - an OnStar?   It is not an option.  We are destined to  step up, take the place of our elders  and pass along  those same things.  We are  the role models, supporters, informers, and safe-harbors of their life's  journey.

We are the grownups now.  We have the view from the front pew.

A Valentine for My Teacher

We have all had teachers in our lives who profoundly changed who we are or what we become.  I will never stop seeking out people who can teach me something; the  love of ongoing learning is what keeps us fully alive.

One of my most remarkable  teachers was my high school music teacher.  I was always a back-row soprano, much too tall for anything but the last row of the risers.   I was content with that since I  never had the desire to do anything but sing for the pure love of singing.  That changed in my junior year of high school.

I missed the first three weeks of school hospitalized for a spinal fusion (scoliosis) and being plastered in to a walking body cast that I would have to wear for the next year.  I remember walking into the chorus room and taking a seat in the back, hoping like ANYTHING that no one would notice me, point or gasp at the incredible bulk of plaster that encased my entire  upper body.  Enter the new music teacher - (then) Miss Blecha.  She was a ball of fire with a take-no-prisoners attitude about everyone giving their best and enjoying the music as much as she did.  Then it happened.   She had me stand up, come down and SIT IN THE FRONT ROW.   She  told the entire class that in order to sing properly  they were all to sit up as nice and straight as I did.

Better  a hole in the earth open up and suck me in to the abyss.

No such luck.  As it turned out it was one of the greatest things that ever happened to me in my life.  Being a front-row soprano was a much different deal.  I paid attention for the entire class (imagine that), stayed on task, learned how to breathe and sing properly, and found out I loved singing even more than I thought I did.  I went on to sing in small groups, musicals - you get the idea.  After high school I paid for my college books by singing at weddings and  funerals. I sang at the weddings and ordinations of my dearest friends.  The first time I sang Messiah with my college chorus and a live orchestra the experience so overwhelmed me   I went back to my dorm room, sat on my bed and cried my eyes out.  With joy.

I am fortunate enough to still have her in my life.  When my parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary in 2000, I flew home for the festivities.  I  called Jean (now Mrs. McGee) and sent her the music for the mass - all of the same songs my parents had at their wedding.  Jean was at the church for rehearsal and we got right down to business, tackling Shubert's Ave Maria first.  It's a tough, tough piece to sing.  When I finished,  I turned around to look at her and there was this long pause...... and she said, "Well, are you going to sing it that slow?"   WHOMP.   I was sixteen again, nervous in front of my teacher.  She rocked me through the rest of the music and by the time she was finished with me I was ready for the big day.  My parents renewed their wedding vows with their son, my brother Steve, as the presiding priest.  My brother Gary did the scripture readings.   I sang, as did 3 of their granddaughters.  My mother later told me it was the happiest week of her life.  She was gone from us one year later.

Jean and Dennis came to Gloucester to visit us on their 25th anniversary and she sat in my living room and played on our rickety piano and made all of us (and our guests).....sing properly.  We had a BALL.  It was a howl to watch her teach my husband how to sing in his  "head voice."  Years later,  he still talks about "head voice" singing like he has a clue.  (He was the darling in a boys choir until he hit puberty and so misses having that singing voice.)  Pretty cute. Her gifts keep on giving.

So why the Valentine for Teacher?  I mentioned in my Christmas letter that I had started writing a blog.  Jean wrote back and asked me for the web address so they could read up.  I  immediately reverted back to that nervous, sixteen year old student.  Oh mercy, what would she think of a written "performance"?   So,  I'll send her the link to this blog, but the first entry I want her to read is this one. We both have had a lot of love - and loss - in our lives lately.  I want to very publicly thank her, and to let her  know the gift of what she has taught me continues to feed and sustain me.  When I am stressed out on my long commute,  I sing in the car - it relaxes me.  When I am at dinner with friends, we sing around the table.  When I am too angry or grief-stricken to find words to pray, I sing hymns instead.  (St. Augustine said, "Those who sing pray twice.")  She has taught me much more, but that is for another time.

So a very Happy Valentines Day to Jean,  and to all the great teachers we have had  in our lives. May we all realize the obligation of passing that knowledge on, and teach others what we have been blessed with.  (And may we also remember to tell them to never rest one hand on the piano when we stand properly and sing. )

Make Valentine's Day About Them

Since my Bernina is STILL being repaired  I threw in the towel and acknowledged the existence of housework.

Sunday afternoon I was watching TV and  cleaning up the kitchen when a Hallmark commercial came on and announced something like,  "This Valentines Day, it's not about I love you - it's about I love US."  Luckily I had an empty stomach and was able to suppress an urge to vomit.  I have major issues with Hallmark (details on request) mostly about how they shafted the thousands of women who made them what they are.... but I digress.   I get a little up in my head about Valentines Day, not so much for who we remember - but  about those we overlook or forget. These are the people who really spelled it out and gave us a living example of what real love means. I would like to tell you about a couple of mine.

These four women are the McGill sisters. Three of them (including my Mom, wearing Valentine fuchsia!) are no longer with us, and we had a scare with Aunt Addie this past weekend. She is thankfully home and on the mend, but it got me to thinking.  When my Mom was in her early 20's  she gave birth to a baby girl who did not live for  more than a couple of hours.  Her older sister, my Aunt Helen, was a nurse - and she wrapped up baby Mary, put her in a small box,  put on her coat and carried her down the street to the mortuary. (Aunt Helen later told  me she did it  because she couldn't bear the thought of anyone else but family touching that baby.)  My Aunt Addie (also a nurse) stayed with Mom and Dad.  Can you imagine that?  Can you imagine what it would take to do any one of those things?   I've always sent a Valentine to Aunt Addie - and not because she is all I have left of these four wondrous women and I just love her to pieces. I also honor her for what she represents - lessons of unconditional love and support.  These  four  women overwhelm me with their incredible strength and resilience.

Now meet  John and Emma Major, my paternal grandparents.  They have been gone a long time but every time I look at this picture of them it makes my eyes fill up.  They lived on a farm with no electricity for much of their lives.  Grandma gave birth to five children at home in the same bed they were conceived in.   Severe arthritis sent her to a wheelchair in her 50's.  Grandpa was the caretaker.  Tough sledding, huh. They are shown here on their 50th anniversary - and just look at how they still looked at each other.  We should all be so lucky.  Grandpa died first, and Grandma always said she wanted to die on a holiday because  "her mother died on Easter and that was a joyful day to meet your Lord."  Grandma died on Valentines Day.   While at first  it broke my heart,  I had a wise and loving sister-in-law who observed, "What better day for her Lord to reunite her with the love of her life?"

That's the kind of love I am talking about.  Not just the love we have for our significant others or our children, but for the people who gave us a living example of what it takes to meet the real demands of love.  We all have neighbors, acquaintances,  teachers or relatives who taught us great lessons about love. I'm even tempted to send a Valentine to Mark Kelley, the stand-up, gusty, loving husband of Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords. We all know  it is easy to love when things are good.  It is when things get tough, or ugly, or scary  that real love manifests itself.  I am thankful to have had such wondrous examples in my life.

Sent a note or a card or a flower or make a phone call to those who schooled you in love.  Raise a glass to those gone before us.   Open up that circle of who is or isn't a Valentine in your life and you will quickly  realize you are surrounded by them.  Make  this Valentine's Day about them.

PS - At some point this week either you or someone you know will say,  "I don't need a fake holiday for me to tell people I love them, or take them out to dinner, or buy them a card and say what is in my heart."  Oh yeah?  Go ahead and throw a bullshit flag and call their bluff.   It  does not need to involve a purchase or a night out, but it does need to happen.

Just Not Feelin' it Today

Sometimes you wake up with a gray cloud over your head and sometimes you wake up IN a gray cloud.  Nothing drastic,  just an overabundance of crap.  Here is a sample:

1. Got a phone call from my NEW Bernina repair dude.  The same Bernina I spent almost $300 on getting it cleaned, the motherboard rebuilt, etc. just a few months ago is now going to cost me an additional $200 plus to get it CLEANED AND REPAIRED AGAIN.  The first dealer (who shall remain mercifully nameless until I really snap) did not wish to honor their warranty. It's a building-the-pyramids long story,  but suffice to say I'll never go back.  New Bernina dude talked my ear off telling me about all the bits and pieces and mechanisms that were maladjusted, and the fact that there was OIL AND LINT INSIDE THE MACHINE (after I brought it home the first time I used it less than half an hour before it malfunctioned) so I'm feeling like I got royally fleeced by the first repair dudes......


2. After I hung up from the 2nd Bernina dude, I burst into tears.  My husband gave me a beautiful, mushy card for Christmas that had two crisp $100 bills inside it - and I cannot for the life of me find it.  I am sick to my stomach.  It was truly a gift worthy of "The Gift of the Magi" love, and I was already SO upset about it -  so when Bernina Dude II said, "$200" I just wanted to sit on the floor and weep.  So I did.  (Except we had company for supper so I ran into the far room and had a private bit of weeping.)


3. Youngest sister spent the weekend with my Dad (in pseudo hospice) and reading her emails and reports just left me so sad, angry, bitter and heartbroken.  I have never had my faith and beliefs so tested - and I'm a freakin' cancer survivor, for pete's sake.


4. We are in the first 1/4 of a 2 day blizzard, so I lose another day of work tomorrow (most likely) and will feel that sting in the paycheck.

See what I mean?  And in the middle of all of this, Shannon from Monkey Dog Quilts has so very kindly gifted me with a "Stylish Blogger Award" !  How nice is that?   I told her I don't feel very stylish today, sitting here in my sweats and my hair pulled back with a headband.  So before I can share 8 things about myself and award it to 8 other bloggers, I'm just going to chill out and pull myself out of this funk.  Either that, or I'll make a pot of coffee and eat some bar cookies. Better yet - I'll give you the recipe.  These things are like heroin  so don't say I didn't warn you.  It is one of my favorite recipes from childhood - thanks, Mom!

BUTTERFINGER BARS

Mix together in a 9 by 13  (or whatever is close) pan:

1. 4 cups of uncooked oatmeal (the real stuff, not the instant garbage)


2. One cup of brown sugar


3. One half cup of white sugar

Melt one cup of butter (two sticks, just go with it) and pour it over the mixture, stirring it around as you go.  Then press that mixture into the pan, bake it for 10 to twelve minutes at 350.  Let it cool.

Frost with one cup of chocolate chips (melted gently in a saucepan) and add 3/4 cup of  CHUNKY peanut butter to the warm chocolate - blend together, then pour it over the cooled base.  Chill and devour.   IMPORTANT:  There are 8 ounces in a cup, and 12 ounces in a bag of chocolate chips.  I just throw in the whole bag, melt it,  and add an extra dollop of chunky peanut butter.  You get a nicer ratio of chocolate to base.  ( If you use  the word "ratio" it makes it science,  so it's okay - no guilt.)

Enjoy.  You can self-medicate with prescription drugs or you can self medicate with chocolate.  If you think chocolate is bad for you,  ask Charlie Sheen how it's all  workin' out for him......