July is the star-spangled time of year when I feel it is my patriotic duty, and my free speech right, to say why I love small town newspapers.
Don’t we all have a soft spot in our hearts for freedom of speech?
This year in particular I am counting blessings when I consider how many of our small towns around East Texas have careful publishers who are crunching the numbers and managing to stay ahead of the recession while the big boys in big cities across the US are closing down due to the weight of interest on old loans.
Of course, any student of history knows that our forefathers recognized that an independent news source would hold government leaders accountable.
Some folks these days think that the web can fill the need for independent news sources. That may be true when it comes to broadcasting news to Timbuktu. But, just ask yourself this….
Who are you gonna call with a rumor you heard from your kids about something fishy going on between a student and a teacher?
When you hear elected officials are thinking about raising sales taxes, aren’t you gonna whisper in the ear of the reporter who came out to the ribbon cutting on your new business? Emailing a blogger just doesn’t quite cut it.
When your county commissioners and state representatives aren’t listening as you helplessly fume about the new state highway cutting through your grandparents’ old farm place, where are you sending your letter to get public attention?
Any day of the week, our small town publishers, editors, and reporters are accessible. You can drop by the office for a free cup of coffee and a chat, run into ‘em in the line at the bank, or see ‘em in church on Sunday. Heck, you probably have their home phone numbers.
Okay, folks, if ever there was a time to vote with our dollars, now is the time to show support for our local newspapers.
If you have a business, buy ads.
If you can sell something in the classifieds, do it now. Not only will you give the paper a boost, but your own budget will get a bonus, too.
If you want to honor someone’s birthday or anniversary, why not do it with an ad in the local paper.
Instead of canceling your subscription, keep it, at least until we get past this recession. Think of it as a donation to a worthy cause. A really cheap donation.
In fact, why not buy a subscription for a friend? Tie today’s edition up in a bow, deliver it yourself, and tell your friend you love them. And you love a free press and a free country. You can sing “God Bless America” to your friend when you deliver the news.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.co
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Orphaned Front Door
It was love at first sight. A relationship of convenience.
I wanted a new front door and I could afford the aged pine Louisiana beauty with no glass that came with two cypress sidelights included at no extra charge.
This particular door is a survivor. I could tell right away, leaning against the wall with all the other abandoned doors; it had a lot of inner beauty that could easily be overlooked. It looked forlorn. With moldy water-lines, I wondered if it had survived Katrina.
When we set the sidelights next to it, all three pieces looked happier; almost giddy. As giddy as doors can be when missing their window panes. Missing panes must be something like missing teeth for humans.
I took my orphan door family home and began the work of restoring them to their original glory. Or something like that.
In the process of reinventing my door, I learned some important life lessons.
- After trying to sand the fuzz off of cypress for a few hours, I re-visited my strict “no power tools” policy and invested in the cheapest electric sander at Noonday Hardware. Do other women hate power tools only because their husbands’ are way too heavy?
-By the time my builder saw my door family, I was too emotionally invested to re-consider because during all the hours of sanding I developed a respect for each line of the grain. Is this how all wood-workers feel?
-“I will not let my insecurities define who I am” is my motto, but I discovered that I get paralyzed when projects cost more than $100 dollars. Does everyone have a fear factor about messing up a project with a three digit price tag?
On the other hand, in this case, a little DIY doubled the value of the original investment.
-Having to custom fit the recycled door meant dollars went to local craftsmen. My builder kept his carpenters busy an extra half-day doing the custom trim.
-Adopting someone else’s cast-offs, meant I met a bunch of new folks, including Mona and Ferdinand at Antique Woods, 184 Pershing Hwy in Sunset, Louisiana where they had a fabulous selection at great prices.
Also, I met Chris, Toby, and Karen at Columbus Art Glass, 2625 University Blvd, in Tyler who spent more time talking colors with me than it took them to actually cut the glass when I finally decided. We narrowed it down to a mere eight different colors, all based on the symbolism in Russian Greek Orthodox iconography which is, okay, rather customer-specific, right?
Hopefully, the new front door with the colorful panes will serve to remind family and friends that our home is a sanctuary from the trials of a cold, cruel world where not only doors, but also humans, can sometimes feel orphaned.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
I wanted a new front door and I could afford the aged pine Louisiana beauty with no glass that came with two cypress sidelights included at no extra charge.
This particular door is a survivor. I could tell right away, leaning against the wall with all the other abandoned doors; it had a lot of inner beauty that could easily be overlooked. It looked forlorn. With moldy water-lines, I wondered if it had survived Katrina.
When we set the sidelights next to it, all three pieces looked happier; almost giddy. As giddy as doors can be when missing their window panes. Missing panes must be something like missing teeth for humans.
I took my orphan door family home and began the work of restoring them to their original glory. Or something like that.
In the process of reinventing my door, I learned some important life lessons.
- After trying to sand the fuzz off of cypress for a few hours, I re-visited my strict “no power tools” policy and invested in the cheapest electric sander at Noonday Hardware. Do other women hate power tools only because their husbands’ are way too heavy?
-By the time my builder saw my door family, I was too emotionally invested to re-consider because during all the hours of sanding I developed a respect for each line of the grain. Is this how all wood-workers feel?
-“I will not let my insecurities define who I am” is my motto, but I discovered that I get paralyzed when projects cost more than $100 dollars. Does everyone have a fear factor about messing up a project with a three digit price tag?
On the other hand, in this case, a little DIY doubled the value of the original investment.
-Having to custom fit the recycled door meant dollars went to local craftsmen. My builder kept his carpenters busy an extra half-day doing the custom trim.
-Adopting someone else’s cast-offs, meant I met a bunch of new folks, including Mona and Ferdinand at Antique Woods, 184 Pershing Hwy in Sunset, Louisiana where they had a fabulous selection at great prices.
Also, I met Chris, Toby, and Karen at Columbus Art Glass, 2625 University Blvd, in Tyler who spent more time talking colors with me than it took them to actually cut the glass when I finally decided. We narrowed it down to a mere eight different colors, all based on the symbolism in Russian Greek Orthodox iconography which is, okay, rather customer-specific, right?
Hopefully, the new front door with the colorful panes will serve to remind family and friends that our home is a sanctuary from the trials of a cold, cruel world where not only doors, but also humans, can sometimes feel orphaned.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
Lots of Paint, Glue, and Icky-Sticky Stuff, Discovery Science Place
One of the things I like about Discovery Science Place in downtown Tyler is the folks there let me think I’m volunteering to teach.
With over 90 camps to choose from this summer there’s a little something for everyone. For more details, go to www.discoveryscienceplace.org.
The kid in me loves any opportunity to get gooey in the name of education, so, I volunteered to do a one-day science camp that spontaneously combusted art, science, history, and lots of paint, glue, and other icky-sticky stuff.
The truth is I learned more than I taught. Of course. Isn’t that the way it always is?
Preparing for the day-long seminar was already instructive as I tried to tie all the loose ends of my activities together with info from history and science.
Fifty years of learning and yet, I found gigantic gaps in my knowledge. How can this be!
Just exactly why does ketchup shine up copper pennies instantaneously?
I suppose this is trivia, really. Nothing earth-shaking.
On the other hand, in the name of adults everywhere, pride demands that I maintain some semblance of knowledge.
The reality of six uninterrupted hours with smart kids and their questions began to take shape in my mind. My confidence shrank in the face of my ignorance. I began to grasp for straws
What was I thinking? I muttered unintelligibly with a cloudy, bewildered look in my eyes.
To calm myself, I decided that this summer I would observe a real teacher simultaneously handle the science and the room full of smart kiddoes, rather than taking on the daunting task for a week myself.
So, just in case you have smart kids in your life and you, like me, feel the need to project the illusion of being well-educated, in order to maintain the adult-to-child balance of power, here’s your chance to send them off to science camp and let them come home excited and full of facts.
You won’t even have to admit that you are learning, too, as they tell you all about the experiments, projects, and fabulous teachers.
By the way, the penny/ketchup experiment we did scientifically proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that kiddoes love science in direct proportion to how messy it is.
Even though I googled penny, ketchup, copper and science experiments, I still don’t know why copper reacts to ketchup.
But not to worry, I’ll get another chance soon. DSP has a full docket with over 40 teachers brave enough to teach- or is it play- science, art, music, cooking, and culture this summer.
And of course, there will also be the folks like me, generally helping out while trying to be invisible when the smart kids ask questions.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
With over 90 camps to choose from this summer there’s a little something for everyone. For more details, go to www.discoveryscienceplace.org.
The kid in me loves any opportunity to get gooey in the name of education, so, I volunteered to do a one-day science camp that spontaneously combusted art, science, history, and lots of paint, glue, and other icky-sticky stuff.
The truth is I learned more than I taught. Of course. Isn’t that the way it always is?
Preparing for the day-long seminar was already instructive as I tried to tie all the loose ends of my activities together with info from history and science.
Fifty years of learning and yet, I found gigantic gaps in my knowledge. How can this be!
Just exactly why does ketchup shine up copper pennies instantaneously?
I suppose this is trivia, really. Nothing earth-shaking.
On the other hand, in the name of adults everywhere, pride demands that I maintain some semblance of knowledge.
The reality of six uninterrupted hours with smart kids and their questions began to take shape in my mind. My confidence shrank in the face of my ignorance. I began to grasp for straws
What was I thinking? I muttered unintelligibly with a cloudy, bewildered look in my eyes.
To calm myself, I decided that this summer I would observe a real teacher simultaneously handle the science and the room full of smart kiddoes, rather than taking on the daunting task for a week myself.
So, just in case you have smart kids in your life and you, like me, feel the need to project the illusion of being well-educated, in order to maintain the adult-to-child balance of power, here’s your chance to send them off to science camp and let them come home excited and full of facts.
You won’t even have to admit that you are learning, too, as they tell you all about the experiments, projects, and fabulous teachers.
By the way, the penny/ketchup experiment we did scientifically proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that kiddoes love science in direct proportion to how messy it is.
Even though I googled penny, ketchup, copper and science experiments, I still don’t know why copper reacts to ketchup.
But not to worry, I’ll get another chance soon. DSP has a full docket with over 40 teachers brave enough to teach- or is it play- science, art, music, cooking, and culture this summer.
And of course, there will also be the folks like me, generally helping out while trying to be invisible when the smart kids ask questions.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Father’s Day: A True Apology is an Act of Courage.
A true apology is an act of courage.
I was so fortunate to grow up in a home where apologies were modeled at intervals, when appropriate, by a dad who took his parenting responsibilities seriously.
I only appreciated this phenomenon, when, as an adult, I began to recognize how many of my friends had NEVER heard an apology from their dad. EVER.
Sure, my dad lost his patience with three rowdy kids from time to time. But, I never remember a time when he didn’t follow a cross word with a heartfelt apology.
For instance, in typically generous fashion, my parents decided that the thing to do was drive all three kids to Disney World. Yeah, they were habitually naive about how well-behaved their kiddoes would be in the car.
Having patiently ignored and endured two days of bickering, interrupted by complaining, my parents nerves were beginning to fray about the time we reached the freeway in California during rush hour. Finally, my dad turned around and chewed us out.
All was silent in the car.
Suddenly, the silence was interrupted by the flashing lights and siren behind us that can mean only one thing; my dad was fixing to get a ticket.
As kids, it seemed like an act of God.
Amazingly, after the officer pulled away, my dad did the truly miraculous, no, heroic thing and apologized to us kids for losing his temper.
On a side note, I don’t think any one of us kids apologized for our attitudes. Personally, I remember gloating inwardly, just demonstrating again that children want justice for everyone but themselves.
There are plenty of ways to apologize which are cowardly. We’ve all experienced the kind of apology that only dodges responsibility.
So, what makes a true apology?
-Take responsibility for what you did or said. Simply and clearly, “I am sorry that I….”
-Don’t point out the other person’s faults. Period.
- Saying the words “Will you forgive me?” gives the person the chance to decide.
-Accept their answer. That’s it. If they need more time, then that’s their responsibility. You are free.
The reason the three rowdy backseat siblings like to laugh now about the time our dad got pulled over, instead of say, complaining to a psychologist, is because Dad had the guts and integrity to apologize to us. Wow.
Just a quick acknowledgement that he lost his patience with us. That’s all it took to convey a world of good mental health to his kids.
This Father’s Day, if your kids have never heard you apologize, please change the ebb and flow of your relationship by acknowledging the things that weigh on your conscience.
Give your kiddoes a heart to laugh.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
I was so fortunate to grow up in a home where apologies were modeled at intervals, when appropriate, by a dad who took his parenting responsibilities seriously.
I only appreciated this phenomenon, when, as an adult, I began to recognize how many of my friends had NEVER heard an apology from their dad. EVER.
Sure, my dad lost his patience with three rowdy kids from time to time. But, I never remember a time when he didn’t follow a cross word with a heartfelt apology.
For instance, in typically generous fashion, my parents decided that the thing to do was drive all three kids to Disney World. Yeah, they were habitually naive about how well-behaved their kiddoes would be in the car.
Having patiently ignored and endured two days of bickering, interrupted by complaining, my parents nerves were beginning to fray about the time we reached the freeway in California during rush hour. Finally, my dad turned around and chewed us out.
All was silent in the car.
Suddenly, the silence was interrupted by the flashing lights and siren behind us that can mean only one thing; my dad was fixing to get a ticket.
As kids, it seemed like an act of God.
Amazingly, after the officer pulled away, my dad did the truly miraculous, no, heroic thing and apologized to us kids for losing his temper.
On a side note, I don’t think any one of us kids apologized for our attitudes. Personally, I remember gloating inwardly, just demonstrating again that children want justice for everyone but themselves.
There are plenty of ways to apologize which are cowardly. We’ve all experienced the kind of apology that only dodges responsibility.
So, what makes a true apology?
-Take responsibility for what you did or said. Simply and clearly, “I am sorry that I….”
-Don’t point out the other person’s faults. Period.
- Saying the words “Will you forgive me?” gives the person the chance to decide.
-Accept their answer. That’s it. If they need more time, then that’s their responsibility. You are free.
The reason the three rowdy backseat siblings like to laugh now about the time our dad got pulled over, instead of say, complaining to a psychologist, is because Dad had the guts and integrity to apologize to us. Wow.
Just a quick acknowledgement that he lost his patience with us. That’s all it took to convey a world of good mental health to his kids.
This Father’s Day, if your kids have never heard you apologize, please change the ebb and flow of your relationship by acknowledging the things that weigh on your conscience.
Give your kiddoes a heart to laugh.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
Entertaining Kids is Highly Overrated: Nine Tips to Delete “Bored” From Your Summer
“Mom, I’m bored.”
Yes, summer is when all children everywhere try to shift the burden of entertaining themselves to mom.
Entertaining children is highly overrated, in my experienced opinion.
Never one to take on additional responsibilities regarding my children because they were already so much work, I always balked.
“Okay, get out a pen and a piece of paper,” I responded each year sometime during the first week of June.
Kids are way too smart to fall for any tricky business that involves pen and paper after school is out, so already I had them on the run.
With groaning and complaining, they proceeded to list their goals for the summer. Then, we posted them on the fridge, in case boredom struck again. I saved the lists; they are pretty cute.
If you are lucky enough to still have bored young ones in your home, here’s a list to arm you for the summer ritual:
-Walk the dog. Wash the dog. Teach the dog tricks.
-Create a sweet treat. Clean up the mess. Deliver it to a neighbor.
-Interview an elderly person about history.
-Plan an easy craft. Invite a younger child over to play.
-Plan a meal for the family. Make the grocery list. Guess at the cost of items on the list. Take it to the grocery store and shop with a separate cart for the items. Give the cashier the money and compare it to the estimate. Prepare the meal for the family.
-Make a special table decoration and set the table. Eat by candlelight.
-Make paper dolls using cookie cutters for patterns.
-Write a screenplay and act it out with siblings, neighbors, or cousins. Video tape it.
-Choose an amazing book and take turns reading it out loud together. Then, rent the movie version.
-Play an old-fashioned board game, like Candy Land or Sequence. Make caramel corn in the microwave. (For the recipe, go to my blogsite.)
I know times have changed with so many moms working. Children spend summer almost as busy as they are the rest of the year.
But don’t forget to schedule in a little down time. Being bored is good for kids. It gives them a chance to think about and make their own plans for a few hours.
Boredom can be a good thing, especially if it produces a disciplined mind.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http:/checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
Yes, summer is when all children everywhere try to shift the burden of entertaining themselves to mom.
Entertaining children is highly overrated, in my experienced opinion.
Never one to take on additional responsibilities regarding my children because they were already so much work, I always balked.
“Okay, get out a pen and a piece of paper,” I responded each year sometime during the first week of June.
Kids are way too smart to fall for any tricky business that involves pen and paper after school is out, so already I had them on the run.
With groaning and complaining, they proceeded to list their goals for the summer. Then, we posted them on the fridge, in case boredom struck again. I saved the lists; they are pretty cute.
If you are lucky enough to still have bored young ones in your home, here’s a list to arm you for the summer ritual:
-Walk the dog. Wash the dog. Teach the dog tricks.
-Create a sweet treat. Clean up the mess. Deliver it to a neighbor.
-Interview an elderly person about history.
-Plan an easy craft. Invite a younger child over to play.
-Plan a meal for the family. Make the grocery list. Guess at the cost of items on the list. Take it to the grocery store and shop with a separate cart for the items. Give the cashier the money and compare it to the estimate. Prepare the meal for the family.
-Make a special table decoration and set the table. Eat by candlelight.
-Make paper dolls using cookie cutters for patterns.
-Write a screenplay and act it out with siblings, neighbors, or cousins. Video tape it.
-Choose an amazing book and take turns reading it out loud together. Then, rent the movie version.
-Play an old-fashioned board game, like Candy Land or Sequence. Make caramel corn in the microwave. (For the recipe, go to my blogsite.)
I know times have changed with so many moms working. Children spend summer almost as busy as they are the rest of the year.
But don’t forget to schedule in a little down time. Being bored is good for kids. It gives them a chance to think about and make their own plans for a few hours.
Boredom can be a good thing, especially if it produces a disciplined mind.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http:/checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
Microwave Caramel Corn
2 2.9 oz. bags of microwave popcorn
Caramel sauce:
1 stick butter
1 1/2 cup brown sugar
½ cup white corn syrup
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 teaspoons baking soda
Begin by using your butter to lightly grease a cookie sheet.
Then, nuke your popcorn. Empty the bags into a big bowl and separate away all the unpopped kernels.
Next, make your caramel sauce in a big microwave dish. I use a 2 quart measuring cup. Melt the butter first. Then add all the other ingredients, except the baking soda. Nuke for 1 minute. Stir. Repeat two more times or until the sugar feels less grainy. Then add the baking soda and nuke 1 more minute.
Pour the sauce over the popcorn and stir. Spread it out on the cookie sheet to cool.
My friend gave me this recipe years ago and it is a family tradition on game nights.
Caramel sauce:
1 stick butter
1 1/2 cup brown sugar
½ cup white corn syrup
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 teaspoons baking soda
Begin by using your butter to lightly grease a cookie sheet.
Then, nuke your popcorn. Empty the bags into a big bowl and separate away all the unpopped kernels.
Next, make your caramel sauce in a big microwave dish. I use a 2 quart measuring cup. Melt the butter first. Then add all the other ingredients, except the baking soda. Nuke for 1 minute. Stir. Repeat two more times or until the sugar feels less grainy. Then add the baking soda and nuke 1 more minute.
Pour the sauce over the popcorn and stir. Spread it out on the cookie sheet to cool.
My friend gave me this recipe years ago and it is a family tradition on game nights.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
The Gift of Perspective, Mom’s Day 2009
Life has a way of putting things into perspective.
My mom is the kind of person who everybody wishes would mentor them.
Even if I could list all the community service she has done over the years, I wouldn’t do it. She’d be mad at me for the attention. And, even though I’m fifty now, she is still my mom and I know better than to mess with her.
Anyway, the things she did around my home town are not nearly as impressive as the things she did accidentally along the way with her kids.
Take, for instance, the last time we saw her Uncle Ernest alive.
Ernest Wilson grew up on a farm with four other brothers, eeking out a living in a family accustomed to the struggle of surviving.
He volunteered for WWII and soon found himself assigned to Dwight D. Eisenhower. After the war, he was invited to stay on as personal secretary to the general, soon to be president.
It was an invitation Ernest turned down because he had other dreams.
So, he came back to Texas, studied geology and was soon helping to guarantee that our nation’s oil supplies would be coming out of the ground in Texas.
At which point, he did a profound thing with his newfound wealth.
He paid for his nieces to go to college. Thus, my mom became a geologist herself. And she also met a cute Austin boy with a charming personality at the university.
The last time I saw Uncle Ernest, he was a few days away from death, pretty much comatose, in a nursing home in Dallas.
I can imagine my mom’s perspective; it was probably a difficult decision to take us kids to see him in that condition. She would have worried that we would remember him the wrong way, as frail rather than amazing.
My perspective is entirely different, of course.
I remember the tender way she sat on the edge of his bed and whispered her affection to him. I remember that he stirred briefly as if to respond.
Mom and I were remembering that day recently and we wondered what Uncle Ernest’s perspective would have been.
Was he disappointed to be confined to a bed, this man with the insatiable drive? Honestly, he didn’t seem restless at all; he seemed peaceful.
When you think about it from a certain perspective, sleep feels pretty good.
Waking occasionally to find someone you love hovering over you to tenderly tell you again how much they love and appreciate you, that’s pretty good, too.
This is how you treat the people you love, I remember thinking as a kid.
Thanks, Mom. I’m the lucky kid who got to be mentored by you in the quiet, accidental places where Life really matters.
And Happy Mother’s Day to all the gentle, loving moms out there, mentoring as you go.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
My mom is the kind of person who everybody wishes would mentor them.
Even if I could list all the community service she has done over the years, I wouldn’t do it. She’d be mad at me for the attention. And, even though I’m fifty now, she is still my mom and I know better than to mess with her.
Anyway, the things she did around my home town are not nearly as impressive as the things she did accidentally along the way with her kids.
Take, for instance, the last time we saw her Uncle Ernest alive.
Ernest Wilson grew up on a farm with four other brothers, eeking out a living in a family accustomed to the struggle of surviving.
He volunteered for WWII and soon found himself assigned to Dwight D. Eisenhower. After the war, he was invited to stay on as personal secretary to the general, soon to be president.
It was an invitation Ernest turned down because he had other dreams.
So, he came back to Texas, studied geology and was soon helping to guarantee that our nation’s oil supplies would be coming out of the ground in Texas.
At which point, he did a profound thing with his newfound wealth.
He paid for his nieces to go to college. Thus, my mom became a geologist herself. And she also met a cute Austin boy with a charming personality at the university.
The last time I saw Uncle Ernest, he was a few days away from death, pretty much comatose, in a nursing home in Dallas.
I can imagine my mom’s perspective; it was probably a difficult decision to take us kids to see him in that condition. She would have worried that we would remember him the wrong way, as frail rather than amazing.
My perspective is entirely different, of course.
I remember the tender way she sat on the edge of his bed and whispered her affection to him. I remember that he stirred briefly as if to respond.
Mom and I were remembering that day recently and we wondered what Uncle Ernest’s perspective would have been.
Was he disappointed to be confined to a bed, this man with the insatiable drive? Honestly, he didn’t seem restless at all; he seemed peaceful.
When you think about it from a certain perspective, sleep feels pretty good.
Waking occasionally to find someone you love hovering over you to tenderly tell you again how much they love and appreciate you, that’s pretty good, too.
This is how you treat the people you love, I remember thinking as a kid.
Thanks, Mom. I’m the lucky kid who got to be mentored by you in the quiet, accidental places where Life really matters.
And Happy Mother’s Day to all the gentle, loving moms out there, mentoring as you go.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http://checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.
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