Accidental Gardening

 The other grandmother in our family once used the phrase "accidental gardening" and I liked it, as it applies to so much of what goes on here at my north Georgia place.

The photo shows my, not so great looking compost, which needs some expert help.  I once heard a gardener on radio WSB say that having a compost is so easy, you just pitch any fruit/vegetable scraps and grass or greenery onto an out of the way place and it will compost itself.
So that is what I did for a long time and just left it there, mostly I just did not want to put peelings, etc. into the land field.

Then my son-in-law suggested he make a new one in a different spot and fence it in, etc.  That was a good plan so that is what I am now using.  Proof that I have neglected it hit me square in the face this week when my son-in-law pointed out to me that I had a jonquil blooming in my compost.  I had seen something  green but supposed it would be an onion which had been discarded there.  Not so.  It truly is a jonquil.  But how did it happen?

We speculated about that but came to no conclusions.  He  had seen jonquils coming up near his garden in the Atlanta area, in much the same surprising way.  My best guess is that when I trimmed the old dried flowers from my jonquils in front of my house, I must have thrown them into the compost.  There must have been some seeds already formed in at least one of them, thus the several jonquils coming up right where they had been thrown.

For me this is a first in traveling jonquils.  I have other plants which reseed themselves and present new flowers in odd places but never before jonquils.  In fact Jim's idea that the birds had planted the seeds may be the best  answer, as I saw another jonquil blooming far from the others down in the front near a big curve.  I had orange day lilies there but would never have put jonquils up next to the trunk of a  tree where these are growing.  So, let's blame it on the birds, or shall I say that accidental gardening has taken over where I had let down my guard.  Yes, I like that.  It does sound a lot better to me.

Scars

A scar by definition is a mark left on the skin after a wound has healed.  There are other scars however which are not readily visible, as emotional, financial or environmental scars.  What I am thinking about today are the scars which we collect on  our skin.

I began thinking about this kind of scarring when I meditated about why I did not like to own a dog.  Most people like to own dogs and have more than one such pet.  What came into my mind is  a far away memory when I was so small that I was being held in someones arms.  There was a little puppy in the room and I reached for the puppy but my outstretched hand was stopped in mid air by when it hit the searing, hot side of a stove.  From that incident I carried a scar on the back of my left hand for almost all of my life.  So long in fact, that I had forgotten about it but somewhere in my memory box it surfaced this morning.

Meditating brings up related incidents and I thought of  another burn.  I was burn.running on a cold snowy day, slipped and  landed on red hot coals which had been dumped on a  slope.  That accident also left a scar, on my right leg midway from my knee to my hip.

Some years before that, before I could walk, I was in a walker which had wheels and I was happily pushing myself all over a porch which had a flight of steps down to a flagstone walk.  I was probably too young to know where I was heading and I went right over the top step and on down to the ground.  The scar I collected that time is under my chin and still faintly visible when my skin is pushed around.

The only other scars I collected were left from a surgeon's knife.  A no doubt, inexperienced doctor, left a long scar on my right abdomen.  It was  emergency surgery caused by an infected appendix.

Other smaller scars that I lay claim to  are not as prominent, due to improved surgical techniques.  I carry scars inside of me which cannot be seen by me.  They are scattered all over my lungs and are the result of many lung infections.  By the time a skilled doctor  discovered the cause of the frequent infections I had already accumulated too many for my own good.

So, I live with them, those scars which are a part of me, that are not noticed, and rarely come to mind.  They were caused by  wounds which have healed over.  All of us have scars left from wounds which heal and are forgotten.  The emotional wounds which we collect are not so easily healed and are hidden from view.  Some we take great care to hide, some we are not aware of and carry them with us and thus they  influence us forever.   If only meditation could heal them also.

Camelot

A lovely place to be and a lovely time of life; alone, but not lonely, busy, but not overworked, free, but not at loose ends, at peace yet not a dull state of mind, those are the components, I think, that identify Camelot.  Contentment is a great state of mind, free of pain and worry with loving friends and family who are there but not hovering.  What brings on this favored state?

 Not just one thing I think, but a combination of prior planning, choosing, and determination to plant oneself in a place which is satisfying to you and not necessarily to anyone else.  A book lover would probably live peacefully in a library setting.  I do enjoy a good book, and also writing, but seeing things grow and reach maturity and bloom gets my vote.  Having four distinct seasons is just enough diversity to keep me interested.  In the coldest season I adjust by pursuing other interests, but at the first hint of spring my antennae go up and I begin to explore outside for what is stirring.  There is always something that needs attention.  This would probably annoy a book lover, but it just nudges me into action with pruning shears or shovel, or just gloves and weed pulling.

 Firing up my work horse golf cart, and chugging all around this place is the way I start exploring my outside environment, looking for “needy” plants.  If you have planned your environment for year around blooms there is always something to admire, to perk things up.  Part of the contentment comes from knowing that at certain times of the year you will be seeing  plants produce blooms that can be cut for indoors.  Some plants keep their blooms for longer periods - as the camellia – and the enjoyment lasts longer.

 If you choose plants which attract birds, or butterflies, you compound the fun.  Also if they produce sweet fragrance – such as Gardenia or Daphne it adds to the whole fun experience.

 Yes, you can enjoy life at any stage and different surroundings or events can make it your Camelot and not necessarily anyone else’s.  Sometimes the smallest things can make the biggest differences.  So, if you are not content with where you are planted, seek those changes and claim them for your own.  It is never too late to change course, and you can begin with small changes, or small adjustments.  Women know this and that may be why they like to rearrange furniture.  It does give the appearance of a new beginning, a new adventure, a visual announcement that things will be different.

 At one time, years ago, the library in Decatur had a lending program for paintings.  I made use of this service by checking out paintings to hang on my wall at home.  I was already using the library for films, and picture books in my classroom.  Just putting up new paintings gave me a psychological lift.  Now I have plenty of lovely paintings, thanks to my sister, Katrine's talent, but I still shift them around from time to time.

 I hope this writing has given you some ideas on how to create an environment of contentment for yourself, or even helped you to see that you already have that place you can call your Camelot.

 

 

How Did Your Grandparents Meet?

There is a current sitcom on television called, "How I Met Your Mother".  That reminded me of the story of how my parents met.  So, for the benefit of my children and their children I will tell what I know about how their grandparents met.

It happened in the early part of 1900.  My father, and their grandfather, Chester Craig Matthis worked in the office of the National Biscuit Company ( still in business) in Louisville, Kentucky.  At that time the  only telephone at the NBC was in my father's office.  If anyone wanted to make a telephone call they had to go to an inside window in his office to place the call.

My mother worked in another part of the office which had no phone.
By her own admission, she used the ruse of needing to place a phone call, in order to talk to a tall dark haired young man who worked in that office.    He was quiet and naturally reserved but she was not above making many trips to that window in order to start a friendship.  She told me herself that she would twist the phone line in order to keep herself there longer than necessary. She knew what she liked and she liked him.  It took several years of courting before they married.   He was obligated to support his parents Professor Charles Wesley Matthis and Jemima Jane Stuart Matthis.   The only way they could afford to marry was for them to set up housekeeping in the home where he lived with his parents.

After several years of courtship, they were married in the Lutheran church in Louisville, Kentucky in November of 1909. The pictures show them at the age of their marriage.  My mother was 20 and my father was 26.  I do not know if they were photographed in their wedding clothes, but my guess is that they were.  I am pretty sure that her clothes were made by her sister Amelia Marker who was an accomplished seamstress and earned her living by custom sewing.

My mother told me  that before they were married she knew she would love Chester's mother and entered into the marriage with that attitude.  However she had not reckoned with the strong willed and strong opinionated Jemima.
The old adage that two women cannot live under the same roof turned out to be prophetic for them.

Jemima did not welcome a new bride in her home where she had been in charge for decades.   The arrangement did not last too long as my father prudently found employment in another part of the state, where he moved with his bride.

His sister Kathleen was married to Dr. O.P.Nuckols in Pineville, Kentucky.We think he influenced Chester to go to Kentucky where the coal industry was thriving. Chester could earn more money there for a home of his own and also help out the old folks, as he referred to them.

As a side note, the first time I ever saw or spoke on a telephone was when I was around four, in1930.  My father worked in an office of the Harlan Fuel Company, a coal mining business.  Someone, I do not remember who, took me to his office.  While there,  he picked me up and held me so I could reach the black phone box attached to the wall.   The speaker was on the base attached to the wall and the receiver was on a hook on the side.  To place a call you lifted the receiver and put it to your ear.  Lifting the receiver was a signal for the operator to ask for the number of the party you wanted.  My father put in a call to  my older sister Frances in nearby Harlan, where she worked in a beauty shop.  While he held me in his arms I spoke to my sister for my first phone call. 

When we moved away from the mining camp and into Harlan,  the county seat, we had a telephone at home. I still remember the number there, it was 507.  My sister worked at her first job as a  switchboard operator. She sat in front of a large wall board and spent her day plugging in and disconnecting callers to the number they wanted.  Some customers shared a phone line.  It was called a party line and was not exactly private!

Telephones became very commonplace in our culture.  It makes one wonder how we ever managed without having the instant communication that we have today.  We mostly wrote letters, which we now refer to as snail mail.  Much has changed in over one hundred years, but human nature has remained the same. We still want to keep in touch with family and friends, we just have more options for doing so.  Our means of communication is considerably more efficient than using the wall phone that I first used back in 1930.

 My parents would love to be able to use the modern ways of communicating that we have access to today.  The wireless communication that we depend upon today would seem impossible to them. I can only imagine what my mother would think of to start a friendship in our modern world.  She would not be too timid to start the conversation, I feel certain of that.

 

The Old Morris Chair

Does anyone out there remember the old Morris Chair?  The last time I visited my father before his death, he was sitting in his special chair, a Morris Chair.  The year was 1953, in the summer.  I was living in Maryland on the Delmarva Peninsula and had gone home to Kentucky to see my father.  He had suffered a stroke and I went to see if I could be of any help to my mother in caring for him.  He was 71 and had given up working at his job as a tax and bookkeeping service.  The night before he had stayed up to watch the coronation of Queen Elizabeth on television.

On the particular day I remember, he was sitting in his favorite chair, in his bedroom and he was using his right hand to lift his left hand.  His left arm and hand were resting on the wooden arm of the Morris chair.  He was attempting to make his left hand move and saying "Come on Lefty, come on".  Not much was known about strokes at that time, so no rehabilitation was ordered.  He lived for six months in that condition.  In the present time he may have been rehabilitated through any of several means.  As it was, he struggled with his inability to use his left side and eventually died from complications of  pneumonia around Thanksgiving of that year.

My father knew he could not continue to live like that and he had discussed it with my mother.  He told her he did not  want to die as "the children might need me".  With eight children, he dearly loved each one of us and began each day in prayer for every one  of us.  I suppose I associate my father with that Morris chair as it was his chair and we had it in our home for a long time.  I think it was the forerunner of the Lazy Boy of today.

This memory was pulled to the fore this morning when I was looking at the favorite chair of my late husband, a Lawson chair.  It was originally red leather and we probably bought it in the 1950's.  Now it is upholstered in a masculine pattern of blues and blacks and maroons which my son-in-law had selected around twenty years ago.  Because it was my husbands favorite chair, it has sentimental value for me, plus it is a comfortable chair for resting.

You may have a favorite chair now or one that you wish you still had.  I am in that category also.  We once bought a Lincoln chair and it may have been the forerunner of the Morris as it  looked similar but was set on a rocker base.  I had the audacity to undertake the task of reupholstering it myself with  no skills in that area.   It was covered with old red velvet and looking rather ratty. I was brave enough to try as we only paid $10 for it from an "antique" dealer.  I do not  believe for one minute that it had any value as an antique, but it had rockers and I wanted a rocker for the baby we expected.  Since we were on a limited budget it seemed like a good idea.  We did not keep the Lincoln chair however.  It was old and musty and somewhere along the way we gave it away or junked it.  It really had no sentimental value for me and that is why I did not feel compelled to keep it.

I think most men have a favorite chair in their homes, or it seems that they should have a place to relax after a day of work.  Archie Bunker had his and beware  anyone who sat in his chair.  For my father, he used his chair to sit while he read the evening newspaper.  That is almost a thing of the past.  So many people get their news via television or on line.  I think that favorite chair for most men is now where they sit to watch television in the evening.  It may be an unnamed symbol of authority. He who sits here has earned the right to enjoy this space and not be disturbed.

I had almost forgotten about the old Morris chair so I checked it out on Wikipedia and learned that it was originally a prototype of Ephraim Colman in rural Sussex but was marketed by William Morris company, as early as the 1880's.  The main feature of it was the reclining back which was hinged to be raised and lowered as desired.  I understand a type of Morris chair is still available for purchase.  All that I knew about it at the time was that it was Daddy's chair and if anyone was in it when he entered the room, they vacated it  immediately.  It was relinquished not out of fear, but out of respect for him.  He was always respectful of others and it was returned in kind. 

So, the old Morris chair has special memories and meaning for me, as it reminds me of the head of our family, my father.

The Thing About Family.......

Growing up in a family which celebrates Christmas and the values of that Christian family helps to keep you centered in your life.  I could compare it to the point on a child's toy - a spinning top.  The balance of the top is in the point on which it spins.  If that is toppled the top goes out of control, yet when it is  righted again, it continues spinning.   Our spiritual life keeps us spinning.  Since we are imperfect beings our balance sometimes wavers, but being embedded into our conscience, it rights itself and we regain our momentum to continue our ingrained spinning.

The strongest earthly source of energy to keep us spinning is  our family.  The stronger the family ties, the smoother the spinning, and the weaker the ties, the more likely it is that the energy runs out.  As the reader may surmise, I am an advocate for strong family ties.

Families begin with a vow of fidelity, a promise to love and stay together, no matter what forces may try to break the bond. If the people taking the vow understand what that means and  say it sincerely they are more likely to keep their vows and make a strong family.  It is this strong bond of family that is foremost in my mind today. Much has been written about what makes a family strong.  One thing that glues us together is tradition of gathering for special events, year after year, and Christmas is one of those events we celebrate.  Being alone on Christmas day after having years of being together as a family can be a very lonely time.  We have to relive the past times to keep from feeling alone by phone calls, or texts or emails or inviting someone into our homes to enjoy the warmth of friendship.

Happily, I had half of my family here to spend the night and then on Christmas day we enjoyed our time together with meals, games, gift giving and also with those phone calls to the ones celebrating elsewhere.  Families do grow and begin to include new family members as children marry and have their own families.  Families grow and change but our inner source of energy remains because we have been centered with special experiences which are unique to our family.

Each family has a different story to tell, some may be similar but at the core of our being is the love of the family that energizes us and keeps us spinning through life.  I hope your Christmas events included those happy times with family to keep you renewed and energized, if not, try to find someone to be your family and start building some memories to keep you centered through both happy and difficult times.

In the Aftermath

It seems reasonable to say that every American and most of the world has heard of the carnage of Sandy Hook.  No one who has knowledge of this unfathomable event can go unchanged.  Everyone can relate to it at some level.  We cannot imagine how those parents will continue to live out their lives after this horror has been inflicted upon them.

Some changes will come about as our conscience demands it.  To live in a free society we must come to terms with more controls to protect the general public.  Those who never do harm to others will have to accept new measures to assure that those who would do harm are hindered in their efforts.

Looking back to the years when I was in the classroom with six year children to guide, educate and supervise to keep safe, I remember the tactics used in our schools then.  Back in the 1950's no thought was given to major disruptions.  Our concerns centered on snow and icy roads, playground safety, transportation to and from schools, weather and supervising the washing of hands before eating.

In my first classroom we had no running water.  I was adamant about the children washing their hands before eating.  Most of the children brought their lunches in brown paper bags or they walked home for lunch.  Some of their homes were in sight of the school, which was on a mountain top.  Each day we had a ritual.  I had brought a round metal pan to school and a large pitcher.  I stood beside the pan and poured water over the little hands after they had soaped with a bar of ivory soap.  In a modern version of this procedure, I stood outside the bathroom and if I suspected little hands had not been washed I asked that they be lifted so I could smell for soap.  Sometimes a little boy who was suspect at the time would just turn and go back into the bathroom not waiting for me to check his hands.  He knew the procedure and what he had to do.

When I was in a school with an intercom system we would receive a coded message from the office if there was a need for it.  Our school was near a prison so we would occasionally have a prisoner on the loose.  If we were outdoors someone would come out to tell us to come in.  The most we had to fear was an irate parent who would storm in the building and head straight for the room of the intended target.  This coded message was for every teacher to step out into the hallway and just stand by his/her door.  This was a silent message that witnesses were all around and although I never saw an incident to prove the effectiveness of the method, it was said to work very well.

Later on, a sign was placed near the entrance stating that visitors must sign in at the school office.  I think much more stringent measures are already  at play in our schools.  Since I last had a classroom in 1991, our world has become much smaller with instant viewing of events around the globe.  We are much more informed and vigilant and less safe than we were thirty years ago.

During World War II, President Delano Roosevelt said that "All we have to fear is fear itself".  I am not so sure that will hold true for 2012.  It is all too real that there is much to fear today.  There are some real measures that we can take to reduce the possibility of danger, but in reality, we cannot be sure that we will be safe.  To over react to try to defend ourselves can have ugly consequences.  Unfortunately we have seen the consequences of this over reaction played out in this latest unspeakable tragedy.  No one wants to put it into words, but it is a true.