Tag Archives: son

Graduating, wedding, writing

Graduations.

June has so far been a month of unexpected and utterly amazing graduations.

Last weekend my son was married; a beautiful, relaxed and sunny wedding north of Boston, their dearest friends and family surrounding them on a bluff that hung over a salty estuary dotted with lobster boats. There were serious tears from our first row, waterworks of happiness, love and gratitude. We gained a wonderful daughter and sister that day. He is my married son. When they slid the rings on and said ” I do” my status — in an instant — changed to “mother of two married children.”

I now will take any and all suggestions on how to be a good mother-in-law.

That same weekend I received an email that I had won the Anne Dillard Creative Non Fiction award at the Bellingham Review with my essay “The Language of Flowers.” A piece I submitted last February when the sleet and snow were pelting the windows on Bainbridge Island, about planting a garden while my mother was dying. Utterly surprised, utterly honored, I have now graduated to ‘award-winning writer.”

Mic drop.

I took graduations with a grain of salt in my early years: I didn’t even attend my college graduation despite being notified of several distinctions. I was too busy getting on a plane to hike the Inner Hebrides of Scotland with my mother. And there was too much champagne at the pre-game for my Masters graduation that admittedly the day is a bit of a blur and the photos too. Both were rites of passage I expected when the educations ended. I never gave them much thought again.

But marrying a son, well, we all hope it will happen but did we know that it will rearrange our hearts — tear out little bits and at the same time fill us with happiness until our chests feel twice bigger? That we will be forever changed by both loss and love? In a good way. Growth, in one day, that has changed me.

Writers, we just keep submitting, keep writing, keep waiting for the right reader to be changed by our words and inch us further out into the world. In my case, a published and extraordinary Native writer, Sasha LaPointe, chose me. My heart is so big right right now I could burst.

I will let the newlyweds share their photos of the excellent day. And until notified how and where Bellingham Review will publish my piece they own the rights for a little while. So it’s only Tuesday — two days since this special weekend — and I have a sore arm from tossing my mortar board in the air.

These graduations will stay with me for my lifetime. May I honor their lessons well.

Until then, you get me as a sign-off; the Matron, complete with some false eyelashes that also, may I note, was it’s own noted and enjoyable graduation experience.

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National Women's Day, Success, Surge, Women

Surge.

Early this morning I waited outside in a wintery mix for the doors to open at Apple. Through the glass walls the tech teams got ready for the day in a meeting that began with an International Women’s Day video played on the big screen; Michelle, Hillary, Malala, Maya Angelou flashed across the vast room. The employees clapped through the clips. I didn’t need to hear the audio to feel inspired.

At the end, this sentence hung on the screen until the doors opened:

WHO IS THE WOMAN THAT MOST INFLUENCED YOU IN YOUR LIFE?

I was a half hour early in panic mode so gratefully this focused my attention on something besides my blank, un-chargeable brand new iPhone 14. Who indeed?

Whether I go backwards or forwards in time, women have been the indelible, invincible marks on my life. From a grandmother who endured health challenges while holding up households, to one who became a Senator. To a mother who chose art over secretarial school. To my daughters who have strong careers and choose their lives, their way. To my future daughter-in-law who is the backbone of her job.

And my women friends and family: Writers, lawyers, negotiators, mothers, doctors, influencers, curators, designers — to name just a few of their remarkable talents.

Do I have to pick one? I am surrounded and always have been. And by men like my son who supports us all with grace and honor. My mother once said to me, when I balked at a PHD: “What did I burn my bra for?” We argued, for years, that I got where I did because of that bonfire that was her, and now I had to do my own blaze.

My phone had experienced a ‘surge’ and I learned how to reboot from a nice techie who took thirty seconds to identify and fix the problem. We conquer, one step at a time, in our surge of failures and successes. Cheers to you all, past, present and future.

Proud of them all.

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Uncategorized

And so we go on.

 

The mother-of-the-bride status has been interesting. Sort of like being visibly pregnant and strangers feeling free to rub their hands on my belly. With the engagement of my oldest daughter, suddenly the subject matter of every conversation is weddings past and present. And dresses. And money. And the best way to do things is…

But here’s what keeps me up at night.

I regret many decisions or lack of decisions back thirty years ago when I got married. So I cannot help imposing my “what-if’s” on their “maybe’s.” Today the issues are not that different: While the costs are so much more significant, getting a wedding planned still makes it hard to remember that love drives us to these conversations about flowers, and dresses, and invitations. I keep a running mantra in my head, thanks to a friend — what will make this wedding feel wonderful to you? I repeat myself often to everyone’s frustration.

I have an Aunt who now has known five generations of women in my family. One of my favorite conversations with her over a cup of tea sitting in front of her bay windows wreathed in rangy red geraniums is listing them off and commingling our memories. My Aunt was a young adult when I was five years old yet our memories of Anma, my great-grandmother, her grandmother, are not dissimilar. As the eaglets fly outside the picture window and the sea lions dive for fish in Puget Sound just beyond our chairs, I never cease to be amazed how our ages evaporate as we laugh over these women, how pulling the thread of family and time tighter between us makes me so incredibly happy.

How do I pull the thread tight as our family marches towards the next phase, a new man at the table, new holiday traditions? My son watches us as we role model as sisters, mothers, daughters, women. I want all of them to be able to pull that thread tight in the years to come — with or without me — to laugh at the memories, to remember shopping for the wedding dresses, the successes or disasters of our first holidays as a new family. Our favorite colors. How we stayed in touch.

In the middle of the night I am filled with a fierceness that keeps me awake until the birds begin to sing. How do I make this feel right for all of us?

I want them to remember all the quirks and failures and fabulousness like my Aunt and I share together. I want to rub their bellies and swat the hands of strangers away. I want to welcome my son’s partner into our quirky house and applaud her for jumping into this family of strong women that will soon go back six generations in my memory when babies arrive. I want to rub her belly when the time comes and tell stories about a great-great-grandmother that embroidered the footrest for her swollen feet.

And so we go on. I just have to keep the faith I am a thread that will not break, despite any and all changes. That I cannot control much of anything.

But I will keep saying,

“What do you want to feel so this is the most wonderful day of your life?”

And ignore the eye rolling.

 

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Me and the girls. Canton, NY May 2016

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