A Breath of Spring

A heartfelt thank you to those of you who sent cards and emails to cheer me out of my winter blahs a couple weeks ago. I especially want to thank my very good friend, Juliet, for the “sunshine from Minnesota” bouquet she sent.

Two weeks ago we were experiencing a frigidly cold spell with single digit temperatures. One day that week I had been out most of the day and when I came home there was a box propped up by my garage door. On it was 1-800-FLOWERS and I was quite confused as to why I would be getting flowers when it wasn’t my birthday, or Valentine’s Day (yet), or any other special occasion I could think of. I took the box in and opened a bouquet of dead flowers. I don’t know how long UPS left it outside, but the poor flowers had frozen.

So I called 1-800-FLOWERS and explained what had happened. They were most solicitous and offered to send another bouquet the next day. No, I said, no one will be here, send them on Wednesday. Of course, they could do that, no problem. I got home on Tuesday and sure enough, there sat another box of flowers in the snow.

Evidently UPS had made their delivery only a little while before the box was found, and I now have a beautiful arrangement of alstroemeria, or Peruvian lilies as they are sometimes called. As unlikely as it seemed, I put the first dead-looking bunch in water and several of those “came back to life,” so I have a large vase and a small vase of springtime. Thank you my friend, it was just what I needed.

I did manage to renew my spirit a bit more with a trip to the Botanical Gardens in Buffalo with my very Significant Other on Valentine’s weekend. We were regulars at the Como Conservatory in St. Paul, but this was our first visit to the Buffalo gardens. What a breath of fresh air!

From the tropical rainforest to the desert cacti, from the Florida Everglades to a Victorian ivy garden, the Botanical Gardens have it all. There is a room devoted to orchids, but they adorn almost every room in some way. As I was strolling along I got a whiff of chocolate in the air and I thought how quaint for Valentine’s weekend, they’ve got chocolate somewhere. Turns out, the aroma was coming from the chocolate orchid (oncidium sharry baby). Oh what a sensory delight! If they weren’t so difficult to grow I’d have a house full of those luscious calorie free blossoms.

Finding topiaries of dinosaurs and alligators in several rooms was a delightful surprise, but you must look closely since their camouflage is close to perfect. The amaryllis show is just winding up, with only this weekend to go, and sadly many of those tall stately flowers were wilting or stalks had fallen over from the sheer weight of the multiple flowers it held.

The gardens are only an hour or so away, so next time I get into a winter funk, I’ll pack up and drive to the tropics; unless of course the roads are impassable with ice and snow and blowing wind. Ah, winter, gotta love it. Think Spring everybody.

What’s Love Got To Do With It

Tina Turner posed the question. What’s love got to do with it? Love is a second hand emotion, brought on by physical response, so the song would have us believe. Oh Tina, there is so much more to do with it.

Do you love someone? Why? Just because is the best answer I can think of. Love does not have a reason, it just is. Maybe it started with a physical response, but that certainly doesn’t last. Love has no strings attached. Love does not demand you be or act a certain way. True love is freely given without expectation.

I’m not prone to quoting Scripture, but the best description of love I know is in I Corinthians 13. Translations differ between versions of the Bible, but they mean the same thing. Love is patience and kindness. Patience does not come easily to some people, or as the adage goes, “Lord give me patience, but give it to me NOW.” Practice patience with those you love. Kindness will follow. Loving someone is a quiet, private thing – not a selfish me, me, me attitude. Love is not jealous or boastful, proud or rude. Love is about the one you love, not about you. Loving someone should be done without keeping a record of wrong doings. It isn’t a competition of how many things you did or did not do for each other.

Love rejoices in the successes and accomplishments of the one you love. Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes and always perseveres. Three things will last forever, the passage says; faith, hope and love, and the greatest of these is love.

Just think what we could do if the entire population of the world knew love. Prejudices of color, race, sexual preference, religion, and nationality would end. Abuse and slavery would end. Hunger and deprivation would no longer be tolerated. Petty squabbles and wars would cease to exist. I am pretty sure this isn’t going to happen in my lifetime, but I keep on trying to spread the love around where I can.

What's love got to do with it, Tina? Everything.

Every Silver Lining has Its Cloud

I am depressed; in a blue funk; melancholy; down in the dumps. I am tired of cloudy days. I look out my window and I see white snow and gray skies. I can see Lake Erie from my window, and even it is now frozen over in striated shades of white and gray. The world is awash in shades of gray. It’s depressing. I want it to go away.

A tiny bit of research assured me that I am not imaging that we live in the cloudiest place in America. Cleveland, Ohio is near the top the list of the cloudiest cities with two hundred ninety nine days with cloud cover of some sort. Buffalo comes in with three hundred eleven days of cloudiness. Being nestled in between these cities on the lake, we are bound to have just as many dismal days. A mere fifty four days of total sunshine grace our area each year! No wonder I’m depressed! How do we live like this?

Unsurprisingly, Phoenix is the sunniest place around. Unfortunately it isn’t around here. The closest “sunny” city to us is Oklahoma City, and folks I want to tell you, that’s over twelve hundred miles away. I am in serious need of some sunshine. I don’t even care if it’s cold and snowy; I just want some blue sky and sun.

I am not fortunate enough to be able to go to Florida or Arizona or some other sunny, warm clime in the dead of winter. I am stuck here in the white-washed world of western New York. So it becomes necessary to play mind games, trying to convince myself that it isn’t as bad as it seems. Before the lake froze over I could look out and see strips of blue and I reveled in the aliveness of it. It was a touch of intense color in an otherwise dull world. Now, in the depths of winter, I look out and try to imagine the world as one big silver cloud. I peer up and imagine a damask tablecloth with flat weaves of tree branches on it and I gaze at the stand of evergreen trees covered in snow as if they were gowns all dressed up with silver glitter. Every cloud has a silver lining they say. My world is all silver for the moment.

I really do try to appreciate each season for what it brings, but this white world we live in is feeling a bit like a padded cell right about now. Did Punxsutawney Phil see his shadow this week? I’m in dire need of spring.

Continuation of Child Care 101

I have a treasure trove of cards and letters as well as pictures drawn by little hands that I keep from my years of child care. Every once in awhile I pull them out and bask in the love there. Who’d have thought I could love so many children and families from so many different backgrounds, and they would love me.

I wrote last week about three children in my care that stood out in my mind because of the extreme circumstances they presented. Over twenty plus years of providing care, I worked with dozens of families, most of whom were normal, ordinary people. I won’t lie and say I loved every child in my care. Children are people too, and sometimes you just don’t hit it off with someone. But I loved most of them. And I sincerely cared for the welfare of each of them.

First of all, I’d like to make it perfectly clear; in all my years of child care I never once sat on a baby. Babysitters are teen or pre-teen young people who come to your home to watch your child while you are away for a short time. They perform a much needed and underappreciated job.

A child care provider, aka daycare provider, however, is a person who cares for your child while you are away at work, often providing nine hours or more of care each day, acting as a surrogate parent. As a child care provider I routinely worked ten and a half hour days. Admittedly, I was located in a city where I was able to charge considerably more per day than the fees providers get around here. Even so, I worked for less than $4 dollar per hour per child.

I won’t bore you with all the details of my day caring for children; suffice it to say I had prep time, like any teacher, I provided two, and sometimes, three meals a day in addition to two healthy snacks, I read to the children, roughhoused on the floor, taught games and puzzles, kissed countless owies and boo-boos, real or imagined, monitored fevers and runny noses, and cherished and held each child in my care. In this time together the kids learned their ABCs, numbers, could recite poetry, learned critical thinking skills, discovered conflict resolution, blossomed with self confidence…shall I go on? At the age of three, “my” children moved on to other providers or centers where there was more structure for the preschoolers.

The point is, caring for someone else’s child is hard work. It demands patience, skill and love. It is also one of the most undervalued and underpaid professions around. I appreciate that parents don’t necessarily make a lot of money at their own jobs, but they are entrusting their child, the most precious thing in their lives, to another person to care for, guide and nurture. How much is that worth?

I guess this is my pitch for all the women and men who care for children on a daily basis. If you require their services, appreciate them and SHOW it. For those of you who perform this valuable service, remember: Daycare is the hardest job you’ll ever love.

Child Care 101

My daughter sent me The Nanny Diaries to read, thinking that because I had been in child care I would enjoy it. The book is about a college student in New York City who works as a nanny, caring for a four year old boy whose mother is a socialite, more concerned with her appearance than her child. The book left me unsettled and sad.

After twenty three years as a child care provider, I’ve met all kinds of parents, although thankfully none as bad as the socialite mentioned. Someday I’m gonna write a book.

The saddest case I ever cared for was a little girl I referred to as the well kept pet. She came to my day care in lovely dresses and pants outfits, which she was not to get dirty. And when she went home after a nine and a half hour day, she was delivered to grandmas or a babysitter for the evening while her parents attended meetings or social occasions. At home she was expected to keep quiet, mind immediately, and stay neat and clean. One of the first things I did for this child was buy some second hand play clothes and change her as soon as her parents left for work. This little one bonded with me early. She loved coming to my house and playing with me and the other kids. After nine months in my care, her parents pulled her out of my day care because she “was becoming too attached.” They placed her in a day care center where she wouldn’t become accustomed to just one provider. I’ve often thought about how this lonely little girl turned out 20 years later.

Then there’s the opposite extreme, where the parents were so overprotective they could hardly pull themselves away to go to their jobs. In the name of love, they hovered over their child; loathe to leave her if she so much as whimpered. In the beginning the goodbyes sometimes lasted an hour or more, making the child unsure and nervous. If mommy and daddy act apprehensive about leaving the child in the care of this stranger, it follows that the child will be nervous about being left. Children pick up on the emotional issues of the parent. Timid and unwilling to take risks, I wonder whether, upon reaching her teen-age years, she will become totally rebellious or just remain the shy wall flower she learned to become.

Then I remember with laughter the little boy who experienced no discipline at all before coming to me. He started out by climbing up on kitchen chairs well before he was a year old, rapidly progressing to teetering on the edge of the kitchen table, and then onto literally climbing my bookshelves. Determined to reach the top of the seven foot case, I caught him on the second shelf with the entire case swaying ominously. He was one of those devilish little kids who get away with things because they look at you with those twinkling little eyes as if to say, “Ain’t I cute?” His parents had the attitude of boys will be boys and weren’t fazed at all when met by their little guy with a swollen lip or gigantic bruise on his forehead. After visiting their home, I could see why they weren’t upset; he had virtually no boundaries and the word “no” never crossed their lips. A born Evel Knievel, he’s sure to be a risk taker all his life. Hope he survives.

I’ve seen a lot of parenting styles over the years, and I can pretty much tell you how these kids are going to turn out. Thankfully, however, MY children are perfect. Of course.

Thackeray the Cat

If you’ve ever visited the Ripley Library, you’ve no doubt run into Thackeray, the resident cat. Recently Thackeray posted this message on his Facebook page: “Okay. Here goes. I’m hoping to receive post cards (or notes or letters) from my friends all over the world. I’d like my friends to tell their friends who tell their friends, etc. Tell them in Facebook, your emails, text friends, everyone u know. Send a postcard to Thackeray, c/o Ripley Free Library, PO Box 808, Ripley, NY 14775. U need only to sign with your first name & last initial. I will post the places I’ve heard from. Thx!”

Being a friend of Thackeray’s myself, I thought you might like to know a bit more about this trepidatious cat who thinks he should be renowned worldwide. Thack, as he is often known, is approaching mid-life at seven and a half years of age. The only home he’s ever known is the Ripley Library, since leaving his mother’s care at 8 weeks.

Thackeray’s official function at the library is to greet the patrons as they enter, which he does or doesn’t do as the whim takes him. He can be exceedingly charming on occasion or deliberately standoffish. Don’t take it personally, however, since as is the case with many writers, he can be very moody. Did I mention that Thackeray writes? He not only has his own Facebook page where you can find him by searching for Just Ask, but he also writes the occasional book review on the Ripley Library page at http://ripleylibrary.blogspot.com. This may not seem like much to declare oneself a writer, but you try typing with paws.

Among Thack’s unofficial duties, he is chief mouse catcher, if ever any should appear, and acts quite often as a paper weight for the librarian’s in-box. Most helpful among his exploits in the library, he delights in rearranging the books displayed on the tops of shelves or tables and quite often helps put jigsaw puzzles together, pushing particularly worrisome pieces to the floor.

Like most cats, Thackeray enjoys romping about the library, chasing his laser mouse or simply chasing his tail round and round one of the support poles. But his greatest delight is sitting with the Knitting Club. The balls of yarn are irresistible temptations and he gladly helps unwind them as the knitters knit and pearl. The ladies are kind to him of course, never casting him off.

Thackeray will sit with patrons from time to time, keeping them company. He is a great listener – unless he gets bored, whereupon he will simply jump down and meander away.

Some small word of caution about our beloved Thackeray, however. He does not appreciate being picked up, as he would rather make the first move. And should you be wearing clothing with loose strings dangling or Ben-Gay, that analgesic heat rub for aching muscles, watch out! Thackeray is particularly fond of attached strings, and the smell of menthol sends him into paroxysms of delight. It might even be better than cat-nip.

As for Thackeray’s request for post cards, letters or notes please spread the word. Send a card yourself and by all means, invite your friends, relatives, acquaintances and online friends to do the same. Maps will be hung in the library to track the mail Thackeray receives and the cards displayed. As mentioned above, correspondence can be sent to Thackeray, c/o Ripley Free Library, P. O. Box 808, Ripley, NY 14775. I thank you and Thackeray thanks you.

The Power of Positive Thinking

We’ve all heard this before: we are masters of our own fate. But what does that mean? Life throws curves at all of us from time to time. Some people crumble under adversity, others seem to thrive in spite of it. The difference may be in how we look at things. Positive people tend to cope better and see life’s set-backs as challenges to be met. I know this from personal experience.

For a large part of my life I was a negative, angry person. Everything that was wrong with my life was someone else’s fault. Circumstances beyond my control seemed to run my life. I certainly did not feel I was the master of my own fate. None of this changed overnight; but the power of positive thinking made all the difference.

Several decades ago my husband told me the story of his aunt, whom he called Nanny. Nanny came to this country shortly after World War I with her sister and sister’s husband to help care for her two nieces. Nanny was surrogate mother to the two girls while their parents worked hard to achieve the American dream, and Nanny continued to care for the five children of one of the girls. She never married. She never had a home of her own. She had fled her native land and knew very little English. Her outlook on life was always one of gratitude and thanks, however.

Nanny’s greatest delight was a piece of apple pie and a cup of coffee. The story goes that even when she was an old woman in her late 90s, her great nephews and nieces would take her out for pie and coffee and no matter how dried out the pie or how bad the coffee, she would smack her lips and declare that was the best piece of pie and cup of coffee she’d ever had. She was grateful for every little blessing in her life. She focused on the positive aspect of just being able to go for pie and coffee, not on the condition of the food she ate.

I was inspired by that image of a woman I had never met. I wanted to be like her, appreciating the little things in life, not complaining about everything. I thought about her a lot and tried in small ways to emulate her attitude.

Many years later I was at a workshop about positive thinking. The suggestion was made that we write down something we wanted, something specific that we wanted to change in our lives and then post it somewhere where we would see it every day. We were told to read what we wrote every day, out loud. We were told if we thought positively about what we desired, it would eventually come true.

Some few years after that, at a party, I was given a card that I put by my mirror, saying, “I am at the perfect age for where I am in my life.” I repeated that line, along with the other two thoughts, every morning for years.

When you are confronted by positive thoughts and affirmation day after day, it cannot help but become part of your mind-set. Just as dwelling on the negative will bring you down, concentrating on the positive things in your life will bring you up. I began focusing on the positive things in my life; letting the negative thoughts go as best I could.

I am by no means the person I want to be. I have much more to learn, about myself and the world around me. I am, as the saying goes, a work in progress. Remembering Nanny’s attitude, focusing on a positive change in my life, and repeating daily that I am where I should be at this moment has made all the difference. Perhaps your New Year’s Resolution could be to start with one positive thought. Repeat it daily. Eventually it will become a part of who you are, who you were meant to be. It will allow you to become the master of your own fate, whatever that may be.