Gratitude for Spring Flowers

It is cool outside today in Ontario, Canada (16 C) but the sun is shining. Although we are 3 to 4 weeks behind this year for gardening, I will not complain today because the trees are starting to leaf out and my spring flowers are starting to bloom. Enjoy the colour with me and let’s allow gratitude bloom in our hearts.

Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night. ~ Letters of Rainer Maria Rilke

Awake, thou wintry earth -
Fling off thy sadness!
Fair vernal flowers, laugh forth
Your ancient gladness!
~Thomas Blackburn, “An Easter Hymn”

I love spring anywhere, but if I could choose I would always greet it in a garden. ~Ruth Stout

No matter how long the winter, spring is sure to follow. ~Proverb

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Society’s Sneaky Scapegoat Game

Every society has a tradition of a scapegoat, a person or a group of people to blame and punish for the sins of that particular culture.

People need to blame someone for the problems and suffering in their personal lives and in the life of their community as a whole, so they pick on someone to punish. It could be a witch, a ‘heretic”, an ethnic group, illegal residents, those on welfare..anyone who is weak and vulnerable, anyone who society can ostracize, marginalize and pick on.  The Old Testament’s practice of picking a scapegoat is a brilliant illustration.

In the Old Testament, the Azazel goat, translated as scapegoat, was one of two goats chosen for a ceremony on The Day of Atonement. The first goat was sacrifice but a priest would lay hands on the second goat and symbolically transfer all the sin and guilt of the community on to this animal. The scapegoat was then driven into the desert, to die, thus cleansing the community of its sin.

The practice of scapegoating people drives many to mental illness.

Case in point, Every single person, in a recovery group of 10,  are intelligent, articulate, many university educated or self educated people but they are also sensitive, usually intuitive. Often for arbitrary reasons, as tiny children, they felt responsible for problems in their families, be it a death, family discord and dysfunction or divorce. Like all little kids they tried to fix problems yet ended up crushed by adult emotions and burdens that were not theirs. Now decades later, they are waking up to the fact that they have punished themselves for crimes they did not commit. Society is only to eager to marginalize, blame, shame and condemn them for not functioning as active, contributing members of society.

Yet, in the end, it is up to each person to say,

‘ Enough; my suffering is not helping anyone, least of all me. I refuse to play scapegoat anymore. I refuse to try to save the world or heal those around me. Only God can do that. I give up control by letting God have his job back.’

The results are immediate..burdens lighten and depression lifts. Of course these patterns are so ingrained that the process must be repeated hundreds of times before a person’s core identity changes but it is a glorious journey into freedom and a privilege to walk with others as we experience new life together.

Babies Are Preverbal, Not Idiots

Newborn babies are complex little people who see, hear, touch, communicate, receive information and who above all, remember. 

Of course we can readily see that loud, sharp or deep voices cause a newborn to jump but are you aware that a newborn will turn to look at a voice he remembers hearing in the womb? It was still  amazing to watch my first grand-daughter turn towards her mom’s and dad’s voices when she was only hours old.  When her parents held her, she calmed down right away because she had been constantly reassured of their love and devotion while she was still in the womb. Now out in the world, she knows that she is safe and protected especially in their arms.

Conversely, all babies are sensitive to the approach of a stranger.

The most blatant  personal example I can remember is my six-month old Mary. I was holding her when a tall, slender, older priest, dressed all in black, gently reached out to hold her. He smiled and patiently waited while Mary tensed her 

little body, drew back and looked him up and down very suspiciously. She drew back a second time,even further, and once again glanced from his head to his feet and slowly looked back at his face again. A third time, Mary repeated the process and then suddenly she relaxed, broke out into a wonderful smile and reached her own arms out to lean forward so Father could pick her up.

That baby was receiving unspoken messages from Father’s facial expression, tone of voice,  body language and emotional and spiritual ‘vibes’ that radiated from his inner spirit. In short, even though Mary was not talking yet, she was not an idiot. We tend to forget that.

Michael and I were lucky because we somehow understood, right from the start, that we were relating to another human being when we communicated with our babies. I stopped and listened when they cooed and then I answered them . It might sound, foolish but I believe that this attitude instilled respect for themselves and others. I tried to treat them as people, they just happened to be little people.

RAISING CHILDREN

RAISING CHILDREN IS NOT A DEFAULT CHORE FOR WOMEN WHO FAILED

IN THE WORLD OR POWER AND WEALTH

MELANIE JEAN JUNEAU

Boredom

Kids need time to be bored; 

that’s how creativity is born. 

melanie jean juneau

Finding Joy in Chaos

“Welcome to OUR home. We love kids, animals, plants and even you. Just come on in!”

Five-year old Daniel is leaping off the fourth stair wearing his black cape, a purple Batman sweatshirt and his 'Mountie' hat. Three-year old Rebecca carries a huge, old purse stuffed with cut pieces of paper and fake money and she is trailing behind seven-year old Grace who is gathering stuff to make a scrapbook. Mary is in the same living room playing "Magic School Bus" on the computer and Claire is upstairs changing her clothes again. Joseph and Mark are building a Lego plane across the hall in the family room but eighteen year old Matt is the brains behind the construction.Alison is on the phone and Jean is listening to music that is way too loud while leaning over the upstairs railing and complaining about life. Michael is tending the animals.

WHAT AM I DOING?

Why I am putting in the fourth load of laundry that day and planning a folding marathon where I sort laundry and literally toss each kid their own clothes to fold

 Guess what?

I learned to be happy in the chaos. I don't have a living room , I have work and play areas. A table in the living room is covered in a 1,000 piece puzzle and the coffee table is Katie's craft station. There are goldfish on my too small counter, a huge dog trips anyone walking through the door and the cat thinks she owns the most comfortable chair in the house and I warn you, do not try to move the queen! My kitchen walls, fridge and cupboards are decorated with all kinds of art and scribble art and I have too many indoor plants.

 

One day my father-in-law tripped over our dog (who did not move, by the way) and he gruffly asked me,

"What is that dog doing in the house? He should live outside."

I laughed and said,

"Welcome to OUR home. We love kids, animals, plants and even you. Just come on in!"

SURVIVING A NEWBORN With Grace

My newest grandson is 17 days old. His dad must work 12 hour days for the next two weeks and his mum, my daughter is recovering from a traumatic birth experience, the kind that happens rarely in the First World, about one in  thousand births.  So I am helping out during the weekdays. After walking and rocking for hours, I wonder how I managed to mother nine newborns because it is exhausting. Life is indeed reduced to the basics, especially given the fact that we must return to the doctor’s office twice a week to make sure this poor babe is gaining enough weight.  No wonder modern mums quit breastfeeding; the pressure and anxiety to produce enough milk to satisfy science is enough to deter anyone, never mind a first time mum, whose iron levels are down, and is exhausted from the demanding schedule of feeding every three hours with barely an hour and a half rest between feeds.Thank goodness my daughter is determined and dedicated. 

I AM REMINDED OF HOW DEMANDING LIFE IS WHEN WE ARE YOUNG MOTHERS.

One afternoon before Easter, I was ironing cotton dresses and shirts for church the next day. Six year old Sarah watched for a while and then pointed to the iron and asked,

“What is that mummy?”

I laughed because I realized that this little girl had never seen me iron; I usually used the clothes dryer as my wrinkle smoother when I wasn’t looking for perfection but rather efficiency. My mother and aunt didn’t laugh when they heard this story;they were horrified, thinking that it was terrible I rarely ironed.

Actually it was not just the iron that seldom received attention as I mothered a large family, I eliminated many activities which I formerly thought crucial to my well-being with the birth of every child.

Painting portraits went with Matthew. Other babies gave the boot to crafts, dusting, bread making, interesting meals and laundry folding (each child dressed out of their own personal laundry basket). As every mother knows, a newborn takes at least eight hours a day to nurse, burp, rock and comfort, bath, change clothes and diapers (at least ten times a day), and to wash diapers, clothes, receiving blankets, sheets and baby blankets as well as your clothes which tend to get covered in vomit, and other nasty surprises.
The lack of sleep leads to a rather narrow existence where the best days are when you can sneak in a nap or shower and dress before noon. Oh, those were the days when babies reduced life to the basics.

Guess what?

Those basics were all I required when I relaxed and allowed myself to live in the moment, enjoying my newborn rather than bemoaning all the “important” activities that I couldn’t seem to even start. The very fact that everything my little one required to grow and thrive was inexpensive and near at hand was amazing. My baby didn’t need a lot of money spent on him, he simply needed arms to hold him, mother’s milk to drink and warm clothes and blankets

A friend who had five children, couldn’t quite grasp my peaceful demeanour as I sat nursing a newborn with family life whirling about me. She finally surmised that I was content to enjoy the present experience of mothering a tiny, dependent newborn. Her comments sparked an epiphany in me which kicked out guilt. I think I must have received a gift of understanding that ultimately my failings and lapses would be covered and hidden by Love.

Horses and Bicycles

Have you ever tried to catch an animal that does not want to be caught?

If you raise animals, they always manage to escape by breaking through fences or because someone leaves a gate unlatched. When any animal escapes it must be caught. Imagine the chaos as cars slam on their brakes to avoid a 2,000lb steer, neighbouring cattle scatter as an upset, fugitive pig surges through their placid herd, a pregnant highly prized mare due to deliver, is hounded into a frenzy as our stallion threatens to break through into her enclosure. The possible comic- tragic scenarios are a countless. Picture kids running around in circles in knee-deep snow with a grain pail following a cavorting calf in the middle of a huge windswept field or a dozen squawking chickens flapping their wings, darting every which way deeking and dodging squealing kids However the hardest animal to capture is a horse because they are swift, smart and strong, emphasis on all three adjectives.

Chad was an older, pure bred, Arabian stallion that we bought as a safe horse for our kids to learn to ride. I admit, he was the perfect, docile pet horse. He would stand absolutely motionless as a toddler scrambled under his belly, a preteen braided his tail, a five-year old fed him a carrot and two kids sat on his bare back. Chad was unflappable. Anthony could even stand upright on him bareback. Yet this mild-mannered animal had a dual personality disorder. Once he escaped his personality flipped. Chad galloped like a highly prized , temperamental race horse. One little slip up and Chad would dodge ropes, people, cars and gallop full-out, head arched proudly tail poised and his main and tail streaming behind him. He was picture perfect, looking decades younger. Once transformed he was almost impossible to reign in.

One particular time was absolutely ridiculous. Chad galloped across the road to a neighbouring field surrounded by tall firs and ran in joyful abandonment. As we desperately tried to head our stallion off, he tossed his head, laughing at our pitiful attempts to capture him. Sometimes raised Chad stood on his hind legs, pivoted, changing directions in an instant. I sent three of the kids back home for their bicycles, thinking to match his speed, what a farce that was; dog barking, kids running and calling, mum shouting out strategies of attack, bicycles, swinging grain bucket all swirling around in maddening circles of confusion. Although trees screened our circus from the road, we managed to snag the attention of a young horse trainer.. He issued quick directions to all the kids and cornered our stallion then leaped out of his pick-up to lasso our equine fugitive.

DO SMALL THINGS WITH GREAT LOVE

When I was in university, I wanted to carry out something great, heroic even. Like all young people, I wanted to make a difference in the world. After spending 18 years pregnant and/or nursing, I have done nothing noteworthy. Yet I intuitively understand that by mothering, by doing simple things, I have changed the world.  Even though I do not always feel that I serve with love or bring light into the world, even though I feel like a failure, I know that the light of one candle, pushes back the deepest darkness because darkness is simply a lack of light, not a force.

Me: One Part Guts,Two Parts Gift

How to create Melanie from scratch: A layer cake, tart, not too sweet.

I have dredged a few ingredients up from my core, as the result of dire circumstances and sheer necessity, others have been pure gift and a delight to embrace and incorporate into my life.

Baking Tin

Must be constructed from a shiny, iridescent hot metal called love which shines and reflects warmth even in a dark, cold room.

Bottom Crust

5 pounds of sheer determination ( guts), layered, alternately, with 5 pounds of sinew and true grit. Make sure the crust is firm yet still flexible so that it does not crack under pressure but rather bends when needed.

Sprinkle with pounds of humour and laughter. Both must be shaken on top of the crust and in each subsequent layer because laughter is essential to my survival. Do not omit this life-sustaining ingredient or my life will collapse.

First Layer

Add liberal amounts of creativity and intuition combined with circular thinking. DO NOT MEASURE. Large quantities of these three ingredients are vital. Do not substitute with logic nor linear thinking. Completely vital to my sanity and to the insanity of my husband. This layer is the thickest and most lively; it springs back into shape even when neglected for long periods of time.

Second Layer

Delight in children. Since I had nine kids, nine shakes of delight will suffice. The whole cake will fall into depression without delight.

Top Layer

Gratitude and thankfulness make up this layer, the more the better. This is a clear, gelatinous layer that receives light which permeates all the other layers.

Icing

Joy. This ingredient cannot be purchased and is pure gift.

Drink with a strong cup of tea, steeped at least five minutes. A must.

What Makes a “Good” Parent?

What makes a good parent? In one word? Humility. In two words? A sense of humour and humility.

Lately, I have spent more time with my five grandchildren, all age 2 and under. I am struck with the fact that most adults are not natural baby whisperers and that our society really does not spend time preparing hapless adults to parent.

Children, especially babies are well…little , little and vulnerable, vulnerable to the large, often clueless adults, who care for them. Put yourself in a baby’s situation. Preverbal for years it must be frustrating to be tired or in pain, only to have a bottle thrust into your mouth or have a tense, upset mother try to nurse you when your stomach is bloated with burps.

This disconnect does not end once children can communicate. Nope, our adult reasoning simply does not always compute in little brains. Why, I have been told that human beings do not get their adult brain till they are 25 years old! Apparently, the frontal lobe that makes sane, rational decisions is not fully developed till the mid-twenties.

That means for almost a quarter of a century, humans need a special kind of love and nurturing that will not only meet them and connect with them right where they are but guide them gently without controlling them and stunting their own growth intellectually, emotionally and spiritually,

That means that the best parents are willing to learn, from their offspring, from books, from experience and from others. Good parents need a wonderful sense of humour to laugh at their own blunders, to laugh at their kid’s blunders. Openness to try new tactics helps as does creativity but most of all ( well, after humility) they need to be intuitive, listening to their little ones’ body language and tone of voice and their own gut feelings and instincts. If you are spiritual, listen to the voice of God within because those kids are His and He knew them before they were born. He knows how they tick better than you or I.

The Invisible Becomes Visible

I finally understood why Sandy cut herself.

I was confused as well as repulsed; Sandy, a pretty young woman cut herself. It seemed completely inexplicable to me. Of course I recoiled from her. Interestingly soon after this encounter, one of my daughters broke her foot. Suddenly she attracted people who were eager to help her. I was struck by the contrasting reactions. Two women, both hurting, yet only one garnered sympathy.

Picture these two separate scenes.

In the first vignette, a smiling young woman with a cumbersome backpack, leans with both hands on a walker as she edges towards heavy doors leading to a lecture hall. Before she can even touch the handle, two young men sprint up, open the door and solicitously offer to carry her bag till she is sitting comfortably at her desk. She is an accepted part of the young men’s social group. Her disability, although permanent, does not repulse the other students but elicits empathy.

A diametrically opposed scene focuses on another young, pretty woman but she slouches with her head down. As she struggles weakly with the same heavy doors, an impatient young man sighs, shakes his head at her and roughly yanks the door open . He steps quickly past her after glancing at her sideways because her hands are trembling. She refuses eye contact because she is ill at ease and self-conscious.

The first woman’s physical disability is clearly understood by the male students; they confidently offer the kind of help that she needs. The second woman makes the young guy uncomfortable because it is obvious that she is emotionally or mentally ill but he really does not exactly know why she is ill or how to help her.

Ironically physical illness often has the power to bring people together by calling forth virtues from both the one in pain and those around them. On the other hand, mental pain is harder to bear, even more difficult to help.

I finally understood why a pretty woman like Sandy, in tremendous emotional pain,

cut her arms because those visible wounds

took her mind off her mental pain.

A cut became the visible symbol

not only to herself but to society

of her inner illness that until then

had been invisible.

Life is Fragile

I could have lost a daughter in childbirth on Saturday.

She almost bled out when she lost a litre of blood in seconds. Of course, in a modern hospital, an emergency team of no less than ten people, descended on her, whipped off all sheets, nightgown and the screen in place for her emergency C- section which upset her husband. HE had to be dragged out and told why she was treated like a piece of meat, naked with doors left wide open to the public corridor.

Life comes before propriety

My daughter felt herself slip away
and even thought for a moment that she was dying.

Actually, she was dying.

Years ago she would have died.

In the third world, she would have died as the result of a series of complications that no one could have foreseen.

Life IS precarious.
Life is fragile.
Life is precious.

I treasure my new grandson.
I treasure my daughter.
I treasure life.

How To Survive Teenage Drama Without Loosing Your Sanity

I am living proof that it is possible to actual enjoy those annoying, hormonal, child/adult hybrids who have taken your phone, tv., computer and fridge hostage.

One of my sons, in his early teens, had just announced that he could not stand living under our roof another minute,

"I'm out of here!", he bellowed, "and don't expect me to come back!"

The door slammed and he tore off on his ten speed bike. Of course my father was visiting and witnessed this dramatic episode. After a few minutes, Dad turned to my husband and wondered,

" Aren't you going to go after him?"

Michael calmly kept reading, then looked up and explained,
"Oh, I'm not worried. The only place near enough to bike to is one of his buddy's and they don't feed kids over there. He'll be back when he is hungry enough."

Sure enough, hunger brought my son home late that night. We did not need to pronounce any ultimatums because the recognition that he still needed to live at home and attempt to get along with our rules and his family

was humbling enough. No need to rub his face in the facts.

Teenagers are often humiliated by their mistakes in judgment so they relish the opportunity to catch us in the wrong.
For example, Michael's usual response to swearing, disrespect or a poor attitude was,
"Leave that sort of stuff at school!"

One evening at the dinner table on a Sunday, Michael yelled in anger at the dog.

David had just filled his plate and was coming back to the table. He leaned over, looked at his dad and with a twinkle in his eye and a huge grin on his face said ,
"Leave that sort of stuff at church, eh Dad!"

Michael snapped out of his bad mood and had to smile. The kid was right. David's humour diffused the situation and Michael was the one who had to apologize this time.

Teenagers have a deep inner compusion to rile their parents and flaunt rules in a blind attempt to figure out who they are in and of themselves. If I remember this fact, I don't overreact to obnoxious behaviour. I like to compare teenagers to two-year olds because the very same dynamic is unfolding, only this time it is a stressful transition from childhood to adulthood that requires many years to complete. I read somewhere that 25 is the age that young adults finally get an adult brain! In our family, we actually celebrate that birthday and welcome our offspring into full adulthood.

Sometimes teenagers, boys especially like to prove their new-found strength. David loved to come behind me in the kitchen and with a huge grin on his face pick me up and swing me around or even turn me upside down!

"Oh well", I'd think to myself, "This too will pass, this too will pass."

The Opposite of Love is Not Hate

 Sometimes as a parent I think that I am doing what is right

Instead I damage my kids

despite the best of intentions.

Love really has blinded m

 try to protect instead control,

betraying trust.                                                                      

Control, an ugly word,

worse that hate;  

it steals another's sense of self, undermines confidence, 

stunts growth, kills the individual's spirit and creativity

forgive me

A Real Life Joke

.My maiden name is Myers. 

Question: How many Myers Women does it take to drive a car in my mum’s retirement town?

Answer: Three

"Three?", you gasp, "But how is that possible!"

Ah, well, quite possible when all three women either refuse to drive, are reluctant drivers or simply cannot drive a car at all. This is not some anti-female slur. I am simply relaying the facts.

The most important person in this triad was my sister, Elizabeth, the chauffeur by default, driving the intimidatingly large, luxury machine. Incidentally, the car's owner was bed-ridden, suffering more over concern for his beloved vehicle than over any leg pain following major surgery.

Clutching the wheel, Elizabeth drove in circles in the parking lot until she could find a spot where she could drive straight through to the next row because she refused to back out when she left. Also, she could not seem to turn right into a narrow spot, reasoning that it was much simpler when she turned left; she was least able to see directly out her side window without relying on mirrors.

However the situation which caused most anxiety was the fact that Elizabeth was not familiar with my parent's small retirement town in the midst of the Rocky Mountains. She constantly asked,

"But, Mum, I need the street name where I need to turn or at least an idea of how far up this main highway I have to go."

The second most important person was my eighty- one year old mother who was not exactly sure how to answer that crucial question.

"Well, let's see. When I walk there, I cut across the back parking lot, kitty-corner, walk for about thirty minutes, turning right and then left on a side street and there it is!"

"But Mum, is it east or west?"

"Well, I turn right at first, so..um.. the street is east of here, I think. Yes, east, I am sure of it."

"Okay. Now, do you at least remember the first letter of the street name?"

However, my mother was suddenly distracted, since her main concern was watching for on coming traffic or indeed any vehicle within blocks of us,

"Elizabeth, watch out! A car is coming!"

"Mum. Focus. Please. Is it beside any large stores like The Bay?"

" I'm not sure."

"Okay. Try to remember the first letter of the street name."

Now this was where I came into play as I perched on the edge of the back seat with a map, calling out suggestions,

"Perhaps it is Lancaster Avenue. Does that sound familiar, mum?"

Then I started to laugh, long and hard because this really could be a scene in a poorly written situation comedy. However this was real life and that transformed this ludicrous scene into a situation that seemed even more hilarious.

When Elizabeth started to chuckle as well, we pulled over and stopped the car. Swallowing our mirth, the three of us studied the map till my mother's memory seemed to click back into place. We set out once again, a bit more confident of success this time