All It Takes Is A Little Love

Some people wait for life to become beautiful. Others pick up a brush and paint it that way. ——Unknown

Life can be beyond challenging at times. Social Media often makes such moments even more difficult when those who are suffering see others seeming to be blissfully happy. Loss of a loved one is one of the most difficult moments in life but so is struggling financially or enduring a debilitating illness. There are no promises that our worlds will be as wonderful as we all hope they will be and most of us realize that but when the unthinkable happens to us it can be devastating and made worse when it appears that everyone else is doing fine. 

It is perfectly normal and maybe even preferable for each of us to allow ourselves to grieve for a time in certain circumstances. It would be abnormal not to react with great emotion when the unthinkable happens. Losing a loved one is devastating and to expect the person who is enduring such a moment to be filled with sunshine and devoid of sorrow would actually be abnormal. The loss of a person who has been an intricate part of life is a shattering experience that takes months to move beyond. It is only when the individual stays in the valley of sorrow for too long that we expect him or her to find a way out of the depths. In truth, the amount of time that we each need to return to a vibrant life varies from one person to another. 

It’s important to remember that there will be certain situations that may eventually begin to improve but the feelings of horror that come when we are first hit with the unbelievable often fester in our hearts only to come to the forefront of our thoughts at moments when we least expect them. This is especially so when we endure a violent or shocking event. Insisting that any of us should always be able to pull ourselves out of a valley of despair to paint a beautiful life before we have sufficiently grieved is not just unrealistic but actually rather cruel. We would all do well to be aware of the people who may be triggered by our boasts about the happiness in our own lives. I see this to be especially true at certain celebratory times of year. 

This past Mother’s Day I was reminded of how our posts of fun with our families and gifts of flowers and cards can tear at the hearts of women for whom such an occasion is only a reminder of great loss. There will be those who have only recently lost their own mothers or maybe someone who has lost a child or even been unable to bear children. When we fill the atmosphere with our joy, their losses or lacks suddenly seem to be even more difficult to endure. 

So I would like to suggest a change to the quote above. I think we each would do well to notice people who are struggling to see the beauty of life because of horrific circumstances in their lives. These are the moments when those of us who know them and love them should be considerate enough pick up a brush and paint a bit of happiness for them. Sometimes just allowing them to express their sorrow without suggesting that they get a grip may be the kind of thoughtfulness that they need. Being a shoulder to cry on or a safe place to complain is a gift that allows the despondent to feel normal. We all suffer at one time or another and none of us want our very legitimate feelings to be ignored or, even worse, to be judged. Nobody wants to be told to fein happiness but realizing that someone understands why we are blue is a priceless gift. 

We will all face horrific situations at one time or another. How wonderful it would be to have kind and generous people just hugging us when we cry or listening when we roar at the universe. Sadly being with someone who is emoting can feel uncomfortable and all too often we avoid such people just when they need us the most. Life is always more beautiful when we have individuals who understand that the assignment is to let others know that allowing our emotions to leak out is okay. We don’t have to always be stoic and probably would become ill if we never gave way to the very natural ways that our minds and our bodies react to the horrors that creep into our lives. 

It’s fine to celebrate when life is good but be aware that our beautiful lives may appear to be unattainable for someone in the middle of one of life’s crises. Be ready to hug them, value their feelings, watch for signs that tell us that he or she is experiencing an horrific moment. Be the person with the brush who shows the rest of us how beautiful we can be in our relationships. Be aware and watchful and the world will take on a lovely and hopeful hue. 

I remember a time when walking around someone’s backyard to view the flowers and shrubs they had planted was a part of visits to the homes of friends. Touring the yard was the prequel to my Grandma Minnie’s delicious home cooked meals. If we were lucky she would give us cuttings and seeds for some of her most outstanding flora and my mother would plant them here and there in our own backyard. 

Once I was an adult with a home of my own one of my favorite places to visit was the childhood home of my dear friend, Linda. I always knew that such times would include a tour of Mrs. Daigle’s backyard which was always a delight to see. Just as with those journey’s to my grandmother’s house I would leave with pots of delightful specimens to try out at my home as well. Those plants were quite special because I had always delighted in being with that sweet lady.

My grandmother used to say that shared plants were always better than the ones purchased at a nursery. They were gifts that would remind us of the people who provided them for years to come. I can attest to the fact that gifts of nature are a forever delight because my own backyard is testimony to that idea. 

I have a rose bush from my friend Marita that reminds me of her every time it blooms with its deep red flowers. She also brought Easter lilies to the celebration that I hosted for years and to this very day they bloom each spring. Marita has been gone for many years now but she comes back to life through those gifts that she so graciously brought to festoon my backyard.

One of my prizes is a matching set of potted ferns. The originals that I had came to me from my friend Linda on the day of my youngest daughter’s birth. They originated in New Orleans, a place for which Linda and I share a great love. I tended my fern year after year repotting it when it outgrew the original container, then dividing it into two parts when I no longer had a big enough pot for its amazing growth over the years. Sadly we experienced an unusually cold and lengthy freeze one year and even though I had brought the fern into the garage for the winter it was not able to overcome the days of subfreezing temperatures. I was devastated when the pride and joy among my plants refused to come back to life. Of course, Linda is the best kind of friend possible and when she heard of my sorrow she quickly brought me a new specimen trained from the original stand of fern. Now it too has moved from one pot to two and serves as the focal point of the place where I find daily peace and harmony. 

My husband often told my mother that he likes blue flowers and yet we had none in our backyard. She came bearing two Blue Plumbago plants as a gift for him shortly after she had heard him pining for such a shrub. I was wary because I had never been able to grow plumbago anywhere that I lived but my husband was so excited that we plunked it down and forgeo about it until it was flourishing and boasting the kind of lovely blue blooms that he had wanted to see for so long. 

My husband’s Aunt Elsie was quite the gardener as well. She had a stand of maiden’s hair ferno n the side of her home. I loved the fragile and elegant look of it but once again seemed to have a difficult time getting the ones that I purchased from a nursery to grow. It was only after I received a clump from Aunt Elsie’s house that the fern grew like a weed so much so that now I have to thin it out regularly. 

Aunt Elsie also had a lovely growth of lilies on the opposite side of her house. Most of the time nobody ever saw them but they kept blooming and increasing in spite of all sorts of horrific weather. I gathered a few of the bulbs one year and before long I too had a lovely grouping of that reminds me of how lovely and sweet Aunt Elsie always was. 

I have two ivy plants that were gifts when we moved into our present home twenty one years ago. One came from my son-in-law Scott and the other from my long time friend, Adriana. I just keep them trimmed and full from year to year and smile when I think of the love that came with them. They live on beside other plants that were gifts from my daughter, Catherine, who knows how much I enjoy flora of every sort.

I talk to my plants. They are living things that like to be spoiled with water and food and good soil. They are homes to the birds that flock into my backyard building nests, setting up households and dining on the three feeders that I have. I can sit for hours enjoying their antics and thinking of the wonderful people that I have had in my life who understood how much I enjoy the greenery that makes my home and my yard like a haven of nature. My grandmother was so right when she boasted that the best plants are the ones that came from people that we love. I think of all of them often as I gaze on the beauty that they helped me to create. I hope they know how grateful I will always be for their friendship and love. 

We all too often underestimate the strength and wisdom of women. When the men have gone to war, the women have kept the farms providing, the businesses running, the production of necessities continuing. For most of history women were thought to be inferior to men, better designed for bearing and raising children than participating in politics or having the skills to work outside of the home. In many cases women had few rights and were forced to stay in abusive marriages lest they lose their children and their property. With only a few exceptions it  took humankind centuries to finally admit to the intelligence and wisdom of women even as people surely noted those characteristics in their mothers and sisters and wives. 

It was not until nineteen twenty that women in the United States universally received the right to vote and yet they had already proven themselves time and again to be worthy of participating in our democratic republic. Abigail Adams was a well educated and intelligent woman who often provided sound advice to her husband. She wanted women to be included in the rights outlined by the men fashioning our Constitution, but old fashioned beliefs prevented such a thing from happening. For a very long time there was a belief that women were too emotional to have the wisdom needed to make proper choices in political matters. 

Even after women were granted the right to vote they have continued to be underrated by large swaths of the population. Their competence is more likely to be judged by appearance or generalizations about their lack of toughness in difficult situations in spite of mountains of evidence throughout history of the incredible strength of women. 

I find myself thinking of all of the women that I have ever known and of their remarkable resilience and dedication to often quietly keep the world around us moving forward. Even to this very day we all too often underestimate their contributions to the progression of history. We overlook the hurdles that they have had to encounter and overcome. 

Both of my grandmothers were resigned to caring for others from a young age. Their brothers were sent to school while they were kept home to help with the household chores and their younger siblings. As a result they never learned to read or write and yet they both developed a kind of wisdom that was never measured and sometimes never even noticed but I witnessed their knowledge and their ability to nurture and develop the members of their families. They were the heart of wisdom in their homes and the reason that their children were confident and bright. 

My mother lost her husband at the age of thirty. She was left with three children and little income but she managed to purchase and eventually own two houses and then earn a college degree all while providing her children with the love and confidence that they would need to emerge as strong and productive citizens of the world. Nothing was easy about her life. Not a single day was a piece of cake but with her intelligence and survival skills she dedicated herself to guiding us and improving herself at one and the same time. She was the angel who sat in the dark of night at our bedsides when we were sick and then tackled the business of running our home without ever complaining about how tired she must have been. 

My mother-in-law was a brilliant only child who earned a place at Rice University when women were rarely given the opportunity to be there. A mathematics teacher flunked both her and the only other girl in the class with a kind of glee. My mother-in-law left the school feeling broken but not for long. When her father suddenly died she helped her mother run the business that he had built with his brothers. The two women became the heart and soul of the family corporation with my mother-in-law meticulously keeping the books and her mother fielding the growth of the company. They were literally the glue that held the family together and they fulfilled all of their obligations so smoothly that they made their contributions almost seem like nothing of real importance and yet it was the only reason that the business did not die. 

My sister-in-law became an electrical engineer in an era when women were insulted and almost dared to continue with such majors. She pushed through one obstacle after another until she eventually became an often honored icon at NASA. Toward the end of her career she was traveling around the world as the representative of the International Space Station. 

We have seen the excellence of woman after woman in careers and endeavors that take incredible skill to run and yet we still seem unwilling in the United States to vote for a woman to be our president. Twice now the American people have shunned two incredibly brilliant women in favor of a blustering huckster who again and again seems to be ill suited for the job. We blame one of his former opponents for wearing the wrong kind of pantsuits instead of noting her success in virtually every aspect of her life. We run from the other because she laughs too much even though she was a lawyer, a district attorney and the Vice President of the United States who quietly travelled across the globe diplomatically creating incredible relationships to our nation’s advantage. 

As a woman who has followed in the role models of my grandmothers, my mother, my mother-in-law and my sister-in-law and I forged my own success in the world of education I look now to my granddaughter who is certain to have a positive impact on the world. Her aspirations are boundless, her confidence is heroic and her determination is unrelenting. I dream of a day when women like her and so many who have come before her will be recognized without any judgements based on superficial and silly ideas. It is time for the women to rise and not be sent back home to let the men take care of things. It’s time for us to admit just how tough and resilient woman are and have always been. It’s not about taking away from men, but about finally admitting that women are true equals who can be trusted to get the jobs done.    

Many years ago my husband and I decided to visit a Plumeria show near our home. I had seen the lovely plants thriving and blooming in homes near my brother’s beach house. One of my sister-in-laws grew plumeria from Hawaii and from cuttings given to her in the backyards of friends. I thought it might be fun to try my hand at propagating one or two, so off we went to see what was available.

The first thing we realized was that most of the plants were little more than stalks without roots boasting tiny sprouts of green at the tip. The vendors assured us that all we had to do to end up with a lovely plant was to just stick the branch into some dirt and wait for it to grow roots. Given the incredibly high prices for the opportunity to maybe get a lovely specimen if all went well we were loathe to gamble too many of our funds for what might turn out to be a pig in a poke. We carefully chose a couple with a reasonable price tag and enough information to learn how to get them to grow.

That first year we mostly saw growth of the trunk, a few additional branches and green leaves at the end of each protuberance. It was disappointing not to see any flowers but we understood the need for patience. Upon advice from my sister-in-law we stowed our plumeria away in the warmth of the garage for the winter and watched the leaves fall and the branches become barren. We thought that surely they were dying but learned that they were simply dormant for the season.

Happily our plants, also known as frangipani, survived the cold months and by spring were getting leaves once again. During this second season they grew like weeds and greeted us with lovely pink and yellow blooms that kept coming throughout the summer. When the temperature began to drop again in the fall the plants were so tall that they would not go through the garage door without carefully tipping the dolly on which we moved them.

And so it went in yet another cycle with the blooms growing ever more profuse on plants that would no longer fit through a door. When fall came we had to lop off multiple branches with the assurance that the blooms would come again in spite of the trimming. Then we set the branches aside so that they might dry out during the long winter. When spring game we rooted them in small pots and hoped for the best. Our efforts paid wonderful dividends as we now had at least six plants ready to show their magic for the warm season.

As the years went by we made more and more cuttings and gave them to neighbors and family members who were anxious to try their own hand at keeping the plants growing and blooming year after year.

We eventually ended up with eight plumeria that we wanted to keep and gave away the extra stalks that we trimmed from our favorites year after years. As we grew older the massive trees became more and more difficult to move around so we selected the five best and gave away the rest.

Now we pay someone to move the plants back and forth and in and out of the garage. We are too old to lift the giant plants but not ready to give them away. We did not have time to trim them back last fall so we will have to do that task at the end of the growing season or they won’t fit in the garage next time. We should have a bumper crop of cuttings for anyone who wants to try to make them grow.

I’ve never been to Hawaii but I am told that the plumeria there live in the ground all year long. I suppose that I would have many more if I did not have to face the task of trimming them and moving them back and forth each year. I would be able to let them grow into massive clumps that spread out to show the gorgeous and aromatic blooms that make them so precious.

I have to visit Hawaii one day so that I might see them growing in the wild. Who knows maybe I will purchase some interesting breeds that I have never before seen and bring a sample back to my yard. I can tell you for certain that they are joyful plants with hints of the exotic that nothing else matches. I always have cuttings in the fall. Let me know if you would like a sample to grow or give away. You will no doubt be enchanted the first time one of the lovely blossoms smiles at you from across the lawn. There are few hobbies more rewarding than stopping and smelling the aromatic topical scents of plumeria which can be a mix of gardenia, jasmine, peach, coconut or cinnamon. It’s like having the tropics without leaving home.

I don’t do well at the end of May. My father died on May 31, sixty nine years ago and I have thought about him every single year on the date of his death. It recently occurred to me that over time there have been fewer and fewer people who actually remember him. Even my younger brothers often have to ask me what he was like because they were so very young when he died. Because I was eight years old I am officially the keeper of stories about him when it comes to my siblings. Fortunately he was such an incredibly interesting man that I have many vivid memories of him but there are times when I wonder if my thoughts of him are totally accurate or just the adoration of a child. I speak of him because I do not want him to simply fade into the anonymity of history.  

I try to describe my father to my daughters and my grandchildren who are very close to my father-in-law. I have to admit that sometimes I feel quite sad that he has been able to be so much a part of their lives while my own incredible father is only a kind of mythical figure who never fully takes shape in their minds. When I see them showering my father-in-law with love and kisses I imagine them feeling the same with the grandfather that they never knew. Because I witnessed how people enjoyed being around my father I am certain that he would have impressed his grandchildren and great grandchildren as well. He was a most interesting person who had barely make a mark on the world when his life ended so suddenly. 

My aunts and uncles and older cousins often shared stories of their interactions with my father. I appreciated the information that they gave me. Their comments convinced me that my memories of him are not just snippets of adoration blown out of proportion from reality. He was indeed a Renaissance man who was so multidimensional that it is difficult to define his essence. He was an artist and a scientist, a poet and a builder, a scholar and a sports fan, an historian and an engineer, a beloved son, husband, father and friend. 

Life is such a mystery. We humans never know why some people only live for a short time on this earth while others stay with us for decades. None of us know how long our own existence on this earth will last. Eventually we all have a date with destiny. Leaving this earth is inevitable and most of us hope that we will have made a positive impact before we go. My father had already been an overachiever in all that he attempted to do but I know that he had so much more to give this world and its people. I often imagine talking with him as an adult even as I remember how much he respected me as a child.

I suppose that my grandmother summed up his life better than anyone. She always boasted that he was a very good boy, a loving soul. There was a sweetness about him that permeated everything that he did. He celebrated life and people and had a way of making everyone feel important. Now I am among the last of the keepers of his memory and I fear that he will eventually be only an old time photo and a name on the family tree. 

I always laughed that he had such a simple name, Jack Little, with no middle name, no pretentiousness, just an all American guy. He grew up in Oklahoma and Texas in whichever town his father landed work. He adjusted to the frequent moves and in fact became an inveterate traveller. Moving and seeing new people and places was a way of life ingrained in his soul. He surrounded himself with art and music and books and knew how to talk about all of those things. When the guys came around he was just as good at conversing about hunting, fishing and every kind of sporting event. He was thoughtful and loving in extraordinary ways. He was also still trying to decide exactly who and what he wanted to be at beyond age of thirty three. 

My mother never remarried even though she was beautiful and had many would be suitors. My father was a difficult act to follow and she often boasted that it would have been difficult to accept a lesser person as a replacement for him. She remained devoted to him unto the day that she died. 

So it is the end of May and once again I will endure that sick feeling of an eight year old who lost one of the most incredible persons who was part of my life. I will recall the trauma of that event knowing that I found ways to move on but never to forget. I will be grateful that I had such an incredible man as a mentor if only for a short time. My father’s wisdom and love has lived on in my heart. He gave me courage and showed me how to never settle for being less than I am. His spirit is so much a part of who I am. 

I think of people that I know who lost their fathers as a child or lost a child as an adult. I feel a kinship with my mother and my grandmother.  Between us was a deep bond of love for a remarkable man who was gone far too soon. I’ll keep telling the world who Jack Little was because I think it is quite important to keep his memory alive. Still, I wish that so many more would have enjoyed the pure bliss of knowing him. 

Rest in peace, Jack Little. You were truly the best of us. I will always love you.