Month: April 2024

Our memories and our minds so often impact the way we do things. My daughters sometimes insist that I am a bit too fanatical about cleaning my home. They urge me to hire a housekeeper to come do the tasks that I faithfully complete each week. What they do not realize is the joy that I find in doing those things myself, not because I am obsessed with cleanliness, but because they remind me of my childhood and my mother. 

In her later years my mother let things go but when she was an energetic and vital woman she proudly kept her home in order. Since she went to work after my father died her routine changed dramatically. Instead of doing different tasks from Monday through Friday, Saturday mornings were the designated days for getting chores done and my brothers and I all played a part in the process. First, however, she slept in while we watched shows made for children early in the morning. We ate bowls of cereal while still in our pajamas until we heard our mother rising from her bed signalling that work time was about to begin. Once Mama arose from her slumbers she downed a cup of coffee and organized us for the jobs at hand.

My mother had a way of making the process of cleaning our home and yard a fun adventure. She carefully chose 45 rpm records from my father’s collection and mounted them on automatic play on the Victrola that had a prominent place in our living room. The music was always fast paced and stirring. Then she assigned the jobs with the promise that if we did good work we would receive a quarter to spend on our Saturday afternoon shopping excursion. 

We first tidied our bedrooms which meant putting everything in its place, changing the sheets, dusting and vacuuming the floor with the Kirby vacuum cleaner that our father had purchased for her before he died. Of course she inspected our efforts and gently showed us how to do a better job if we had neglected something. Then my brothers went outside to take care of the yard which meant mowing with a push mower in the spring and summer or raking up leaves in the fall. 

Meanwhile I had latrine duty and Mama was like a sergeant when it came to meeting her standards. She taught me early on how to reach under the toilet rim and lather every bit of porcelain surface with disinfecting cleaner. All the while the music continued to play in the background almost like my father’s voice telling me to be happy that my brothers and I had such a wonderful mom teaching us how to be responsible. 

I opened the bathroom window to let in the air and worked away on the sink and the bathtub and the tile. When the surfaces were gleaming and dry I’d set our fresh towels and marvel at my work. Mama would be making the kitchen as inviting as I had done in the bathroom. Then I would dust all of the furniture while she vacuumed the living and dining room. All the while the washing machine would be whirring away in the garage outside. 

I was never envious that my brothers got to work in the yard because their job was backbreaking and hot. Besides Mama and I would sing together and she would tell me stories of her childhood while we completed our tasks. Cleaning the house was like a therapy session for me. It was something that I was able to control and see instant results. It was like putting my life in good order each week. Besides spending that quarter after the chores were done was a highlight of the week.

My mother had a long term schedule of upkeep as well. Since she worked as a teacher she used the summer time for the real heavy duty cleaning. She and I would fill buckets with water and Pine Sol and then wash down all of the walls, baseboards and venetian blinds in the house. It took days to remove the all dust from the surfaces but the finished project was always so nice that it looked as though we had freshly painted the whole house. 

Mama also washed all the quilts that kept us warm in the winter when the sun was shining. I would help her hang then on the clothesline to dry. There was no need of extra products to make them smell fresh and new. The sun and the air did that job and I loved snuggling under them once they had been renewed. Their scent reminded me of my mother and the grandmother who had pieced them together with fabric from the bags of flower that she bought to make biscuits every morning. 

I suppose that it might sound strange to some that I associate so much joy with cleaning my home just as my mother taught me to do. I follow her instructions and routines to this very day. Somehow I am not yet ready to hand over that task to someone else. When I listen to music with my AirPods and put my house back in order on Saturday mornings I feel young and energetic again. I imagine my mother smiling at me and the two of us laughing as we work while my brothers are doing their parts outside. it is such a lovely feeling.   

There was a time when my brothers and I frequently gathered together for family birthdays and special holidays. Back then the celebrations included the three of us and our spouses and children. Since our numbers were somewhat small and comprised mostly of people who understood our quirks we were able to engage in lively discussions of just about any topic with no holds barred. It was great fun to debate everything from politics to evolution with the kind of fervor and open mindedness that always left us thinking about what we had heard. Often we studied the topics a bit more to ready ourselves for the next round of discourse.

The family has grown so much that it has become more and more difficult to engage everyone all at once in such an exchange of views. Now we are more likely to separate into smaller groups to discuss the hot topics of the moment. Moving around the room attempting to find a good parlay is so much more difficult and not nearly as much fun or as enlightening as our former discourse. 

I suppose that our earlier family tradition lead me to be quite open about my personal views, but also more than happy to respectfully listen to ideas counter to my own. I find it exciting to hear conflicting theories about history and how to live. I enjoy the vibrancy of being with people who don’t mind honestly striving to make sense of the world in which we live. I rarely left those wonderful meetings with rancor. Instead I found it exhilarating to consider possibilities that had never before occurred to me. 

Because of the intellectual integrity of our family discussions and the truths that emerged from them, I have to admit to being dumbfounded by those who find rhetorical battles to be intimidating. I seriously do not understand why hearing ideas that challenge our thinking can be so frightening for some people. I suppose that the most exciting moments of my life have been those when I learned about how things really worked or happened. It has never made me feel angry or guilty to gain deeper knowledge about controversial issues. I am a realist when it comes to human behavior. I understand quite well that we have different temperaments, cultures, backgrounds that influence how we act in the world. I find it fascinating to hear about the differing ways that humans have faced the challenges of existence. Sometimes that has meant that they made grave mistakes. Hiding those things only insures that we will not learn from the horrors of their past tragedies. 

My daughter and her family recently returned from a trip to Europe that included a visit to the site of the Dachau interment camp. She felt that it was important to face the horrors that happened there rather than to look away and just have fun. She was deeply moved by what she saw and impressed by the willingness of Germany to be brutally honest about this egregious stain on its history. The words “never again” resonated through every exhibit that outlined the brutality of a time when all but the Nazi version of reality was quashed. What happened at Dachau demonstrates what happens when truth becomes twisted and propagandized. 

As a long time educator and student I have seen firsthand the relief that comes from learning true stories about our world, not sugar coated ones. I have appreciated teachers who provided difficult lessons that encouraged me to realign my thinking. I have felt freed by honesty and so I have attempted to model that kind of behavior with my children and my students. They tell me that they feel stronger and more confident when they know that I will not lie to them even by omission of the facts. We have engaged in hard conversations and at every turn it has solidified our respect for one another.

Reality does bite at times. Inconvenient and uncomfortable truths force us to open our minds to possibilities that may never have otherwise occurred to us. Learning is sometimes uncomfortable just as real life is challenging. We can take vacations from the day to day stresses but ultimately we always have to return to the hard work and difficulties that follow everyone. If we take the lessons from the past and use them to alter our own behaviors to avoid the same pitfalls we are much more likely to find success and even happiness. Being able to trust that what we are being told has some basis in fact rather than fantasy is a gift to be treasured. 

We humans are often cruel and devious but more times than not we are good and willing to change our ways for the betterment of those around us. We should be wary of those who want to ban us from learning unvarnished versions of reality. Attempting to protect our feelings by hiding the truth or by creating fears with lies is a tactic for controlling us. Ultimately such efforts always fail because it is in our natures to want to be able to trust that what we are hearing and learning is not a fairytale. Beauty is truth and truth is beauty. Beware of anyone attempting to alter facts, even those that are difficult to hear. They are not protecting us. They are dominating us.

Extended family has always meant everything to me. When my family moved to California it was the loss of my aunts, uncles and cousins that made the transition difficult for me. When my father died my relatives were the foundation of the stability that insured me that my little family was going to be okay. My mother made certain that we got a weekly dose of time with our grandparents and the Ulrich clan which included dozens of cousins who were about the same ages as my brothers and I were. I instinctively understood the importance of those people in the course of our new life without a father.

When a schoolmate asked what I would do if my mother died I did not hesitate with an answer. There would be no orphanage or foster home for me and my brothers. I was certain that one of my aunts or uncles would take us. In fact I supported my belief with concrete proof by noting that my Aunt Valeria had an extra bed in her dining room that I knew had to be there just in case I ever needed a home. The connections that I feel with my extended family continue to this very day. There is little in life than I deem more important than the people who are more than just names on my family tree. 

All of my grandparents and aunts and uncles are gone and I still miss them even with all of their quirks and imperfections. They were loving people who never let me and my brothers down. They were loud at times which I suppose came from trying to be heard in a family of ten. They had to learn how to assert themselves early in life. They all served the country, worked hard and raised good children. In many ways they represented the American dream that my immigrant grandfather urged them to cherish. 

In the first years of my adult life my cousins and I remained very close, even as we married and brought new people into the family. Over time our work, children, and moves across the country made our relationships more complex. We would be lucky to see one another once a year, but when that happened we talked as though it had only been a day or so since our last meeting. That shared closeness has remained unbroken, but now even the cousins are beginning to die or become seriously ill. Our numbers are diminishing and our children do not realize what we have always meant to each other. 

Somehow we have allowed time and responsibilities to overtake our lives. We mostly see each other at funerals now. We promise on such occasions that we will do better, but a year passes and we realize that nobody has taken the initiative to create a gathering. Even when someone does it is almost impossible to find a date when everyone is able to attend. As our individual families have grown the youngest feel shy and uncertain around people that they have rarely seen. The bonds that made us so secure in the past are fraying with the passage of time. 

I suppose that this is what often happens as the generations progress. There are simply too many new people who do not share our familial memories. They cannot possibly understand the glory days of our youth when meeting at our grandmother’s house on Friday nights was the highlight of the week. They cannot remember the eight original siblings who comprised the elders of the family. They are confounded by stories of a smoke filled room with the adults playing a raucous game of poker while we kids roamed outside with total freedom. The joy of those times is inexplicable to anyone but those who experienced it. 

For a young girl without a father my extended family was an anchor in a safe harbor. There was no storm so strong that I would lose the faith that aunts and uncles and cousins would always rally around me. I loved and still love my cousins like they were my brothers and sisters. I can’t think of a single time when they have let me down. 

Last year was tough. I lost my brilliant cousin, Delbert, who quoted long passages from his favorite books and collected art to enhance his home. He had Parkinson’s disease which eventually stole his vigor and his abilities to take care of himself. I miss him and his intellect, but is mostly his example of living life to the fullest that I long to vicariously enjoy once again. His adventures were legendary and he spoke of them with such detail, humility and gratitude. 

My sweet cousin, Paul, also died. If ever there was a saintly human being, it was Paul. I suppose he came by his nature from watching his father, my Uncle William. Both men personified all that is good in the world. Paul was quiet, funny and kind. He was devoted to the people with whom he worked and to his family. He enjoyed walking for miles each day and watching his beloved Houston Cougars play basketball. I never met anyone who had a bad thing to say about Paul. He was a truly beautiful soul who was taken so quickly from us with dementia that we hardly had time to adjust to the reality of what was happening. 

At the moment I mostly “see” my cousins on Facebook or hear from them in a text or a brief phone call. We are all growing older and doing our best to squeeze as much joy of each day as possible. I’d love to have a gathering of all of us for at least one more time but we are living in far flung places that make creating such an event rather difficult. Sadly it will probably be another funeral that brings us together. Nonetheless, I cling to the memories of old and treasure the joy that we all experience together when we were young. Family a link to both the past and the future. I have been lucky enough to have experienced the best.  

As I write this blog I am sitting in may daughter’s home watching her two dogs, Luna and Stella. The two pups are yellow labs each of whom might have played the role of “Ole Yeller” in a movie version of that story, save for the fact that they are both girls. They are very sweet and well behaved pets who only require a bit of food and water, time outside, and some snuggling and petting now and then. It’s an easy and rewarding task sitting with them. They express their gratitude in a hundred different ways while allowing me to enjoy the tranquility of the moment. 

I’m a bonafide introvert which means that I get my healing and energy from moments of solitude. It’s not that I want to be alone all of the time. In fact I greatly enjoy gatherings with friends and going to parties. I just need absolute serenity when I become tired from interactions with the world. Being alone with the dogs at my daughter’s home is akin to being in introvert heaven. I can read or write without interruption. The dogs go with the flow of my desires, rarely interrupting my contented bliss. I can eat or not eat, so there is no need to prepare meals at a routine time, no laundry to wash, no chores waiting for me to begin. 

It is winter time as I sit here and the hum of the heater is one of the only continuous sounds. Once in awhile I hear the engine of a train pulling its load which reminds me of my childhood when my house was only blocks away from a major railroad line. At night I would hear the clackety clack of the boxcars and tankers running along the rails. It was like a lullaby to my ears. Hearing that sound again makes me feel safe and reminds me of the gentle love of my mother who provided me and my brothers with a truly wonderful home.

I used to bring the dogs to my house when my daughter left on vacations and short trips, but I found that the change of scenery only made the pups nervous. When I chose to come to their house I forged a calmer and more pleasant relationship with them. They trust me now and know that I will keep them happy while they follow their own quiet and undemanding routines. We are totally in sync with each other. It is almost like a vacation of my own. 

It has been admittedly difficult for me to have another person living in my home now. My father-in-law is a sweet soul who does his best not to upend our lives too much, but his personality and mine are so very different. He awakes full of energy and desires to begin the day with a social gathering at breakfast. He walks into the kitchen fully dressed and begins turning on lights even as I flinch. He greets me with a hearty “Good morning!” while I usually simply nod and weakly smile. He wants to discuss the weather and talk about the schedule of the day at a time when I would normally be sipping on my tea in the semi-darkness listening to the sounds of the children waiting for the school bus and preparing myself for whatever I may decide to do on that day. He and I are two wonderful souls with very different ways of living. 

My father-in-law is a world class extrovert. Unlike me he thrives on interacting with people. He loves parties and likes long conversations on the phone with friends. He tells stories of glorious times with his buddies, all of which sound almost painful to me. He rarely deviates from a carefully planned schedule of eating, exercising and sleeping. He likes to sit down before dinner at five each afternoon sipping on wine and munching on cheese and crackers. He wants a well balanced hot meal following his happy hour that is filled with lively conversation and followed by dessert and an evening of watching television. 

The gypsy spirit in me wants to be free to from routine and the demands of a clock. I have had to change my ways to accommodate my elderly guest’s needs. Sometimes I feel okay about doing something to make him feel at home and other times I want to run away from the new lifestyle that has become my daily drudge. I tell myself that I can adapt even as my nature feels stressed and uneasy. Sitting with my daughter’s dogs is like a godsend to ease me through the changes that are so difficult for me. They will prepare me for many more weeks of acting as though being a full time extrovert is okay.

I know that in the grand scheme of things my father-in-law is more like most people than I am. My guess is that the vast majority of souls would wonder what I might possibly find wrong with his gregariousness. I understand that I am the outlier. We introverts do not run the world. We represent a much smaller population than the group to which my father-in-law belongs. Most people do not fully comprehend why I am so in need of time to my myself without small talk or a clock demanding my attention. It is the way I have always been.

As luck would have it, my husband, Mike, is very much like me. We have been quite compatible for fifty five years. We mixed it up with the extroverts at work and then came home each evening to a haven in which we were able to be ourselves until our next foray into the gaiety of life. We managed quite well, often passing ourselves off as members of the crowd. Only now and again did we find kindred spirits to whom we would admit the “quirks “that much of the population believe our behaviors to be. 

My idea of a grand vacation is not on a crowded beach or in the swell of Disneyland but sitting on the porch of a mountain cabin watching the sunrise while a rooster crows. I enjoy standing alone on a cliff overlooking the ocean or gazing up at a starry sky in the middle of nowhere. When the world is too much with me, even sitting in a quiet room with two dogs snoring at my feet is heavenly. It’s who I am, the grand introvert recharging her batteries for another day of regular life. I’ve learned to love who I am while accommodating those who need a more raucous version of living. So far the balancing act has worked out well and it’s all good. 

I collect quotes. I suppose it is the teacher in me. I once had a drawer full of witty and inspiring words to use on bulletin boards that I had to create as part of my job. Of course all of those pithy sayings were non-religious ideas about working hard or being observant and such things. Lately I’ve found myself keeping quotes that are more in line with spirituality. I won’t be creating bulletin boards anymore but I do a great deal of meditating about the state of my own perspective, something that can be painful but nonetheless enjoyable. I suppose that my age and the knowledge that the end of my time here gets a bit closer with each day has prompted me to think a bit of what I have done and not done that might make me a better person. 

I won’t be taking any money or possessions with me but I would like to think that somehow I will have made a positive impact on the tiny circle of life that is mine. With Easter just having been celebrated I stole this jewel from a friend named Will that seemed to encapsulate the teachings of Jesus quite well. “Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me, and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’ I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Such a command seems easy enough but it can be a tall order to follow daily. We humans have some wonderful traits but also some that make us fall short of such a daunting command. Our anger, jealousy, greed, and hatefulness sometimes get in the way of fulfilling our intent to be good people. Luckily we have many opportunities to sincerely ask for forgiveness for our transgressions and start over again. At my age, with the clock ticking inside my aging body, such opportunities do not seem to be as bountiful. For that matter given that we never know when the our road here on earth will come to an end, we would all do well to set out with determination each day to simply do our best to love one another. It is a topic that I can’t think or write enough about.

Another quote that caught my eye provided me with an idea of how I might better go about focusing on how to love in an increasingly uncertain world . It showed me how to be aware that “holiness comes wrapped in the ordinary. There are burning bushes all around you. Every tree is full of angels. Hidden beauty is waiting in every crumb.” In other words loving my fellow humans sometimes means adjusting my points of view. The woman cleaning the floor where I work should be as important to me as the CEO of the company. The most meager meal is a great gift that feeds me. I should be immensely grateful that I am not going hungry no matter how humble the food may be. I look for dramatic miracles in burning bushes rather than seeing that little child laughing and playing as the most wonderful miracle I might witness. There are indeed angels all around me willing to help me when I least expect. Life is filled with wonder if only I am willing to open my eyes and my heart.

I have personally had times when I was weary and full of complaints about my lot in life. Sometimes I did not think that I made enough money or was as appreciated as I should have been in my job. Yet another quote that I added to my collection made me think a bit differently about my own good fortune. The words were quite simple, but powerful,”Your job is the dream of the unemployed…” 

This one smacked me in the stomach. I thought of how lucky I had been in always being employed from the time I was fifteen years old. My bosses and coworkers were kind and helpful. I felt that I was doing something important in my work and while I did not make a fortune I was nonetheless remunerated fairly. The same has been true of every aspect of my time on this earth. I have a wonderful house that became a home filled with love. My cars have taken me safely to wherever I have needed to go. I’ve had to struggle now and again but everything always turned out well in the end. I find myself feeling ashamed for ever whining about my status or income or possessions. There are people who would think of my life as a dream.

Easter is the most profound day of the year in my mind. For me it is the holiest of days that reminds me to seriously consider how I should attempt to live my life. The Bible tells me that Jesus died for our sins. There can be no bigger sacrifice than someone laying down his life for others. We are all brothers and sisters with one commandment. Easter opens my eyes again to what I must do. I still have time to do my best to get things right. I still have time to love.