Drops of Beauty #236
Samhain / Dia De Los Muertos Edition
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“The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.” – Marcus Tullius Cicero
Hello friends! Today is a day for celebrating those whose lives have given rise to our own, and so this morning I honor those closest to me:
My mother, Marty, who made sure I knew how to live in my body because it was something she did not know how to do.
My grandmother, Geraldine, who made sure I knew I was loved without condition.
My grandfather, Tyndale, who showed me that silliness and play were essential to life.
My grandmother, Martha, who showed me the magic of organ music, especially in an empty sanctuary.
My grandfather, Howard, who showed me what magic was available when you loved the earth and all the plant creatures who grew from her soil.
All of the many ancestors I never knew, most of whom were farmers and lived close to the earth. Surely my love of nature springs from all of them.
I could, of course, say so much more about each of them, but I wanted to honor their presence this morning in a simple way. I’d love to hear about your loved ones in the comments! Here are some moments of beauty for this morning:
May the messengers carry messages of love back and forth across the veil. May we remember the great love from which we are born and which is our responsibility to carry through this life.
Karen, thank you for all you shared in today’s post. Both images and words. Your listing of family members you considered “closest to you” took my breath away! What you wrote was both truthful and from your heart, and not what jolted me. Rather, your having this array of important folks and distinct memories of their teachings is quite unlike my own. Virtually none I felt close to! Often when I compare the experiences of another’s to mine, I pause to examine mine. Trying harder to look for parallels. My dip net came up empty today. I sense in myself envy and longing due to your memories that were not mine.
• I never met my father’s parents and don’t remember their first names. And know nothing about their parents or ancestry.
• My father, Ralph, graduated valedictorian of his high school class and wanted to attend college to study forestry. He also was an avid outdoor’s man. His parents, amid the Great Depression, couldn’t provide that financial help. He worked on a “wildcatter” oil rig, learned welding skills, then enlisted to fight in WW II. On his return he used the G.I. Bill to attend a two year trade school in Denver to study gunsmithing as well as making split bamboo fly rods and tying flies. To get full time work in that business would have required moving to a much larger town, with many hunters in the area. Guess what?! Mom would have none of that, yet constantly complained how she hated living where she was. So dad worked for $1 per hour at a farm and feed store. Government surplus food comprised a helpful part of our diet. Three vacant lots on either side of our house were purchased (no idea how), and were cleared by my brother and I at a young age. Major gardening ensued. Mom knew all the measures for food processing and preserving from her own mom. Rachel Carson’s “Silent Spring” set us on a course to garden organically. Dad found work at an Owens-Illinois glass container factory near our home. He worked his way up from tough entry level assignments to finally having a position in the machine shop where his gunsmithing skills with precision machining and fastening came into play. He was on call for any equipment breakdowns that occurred outside of regular 8:00-4:30 hours. If called he had to clock in less than 20 minutes after being called. So much for sleep hygiene. Just after I graduated college, he at age 55 died of a heart attack. Despite estrangement through my high school years and college, I hoped for a reconciliation of those differences. I hadn’t allowed for premature death in my planning.
• Dad had a sister, Ruth, who was impossible to read, like a clock with no hands. She generally tittered no matter what was said. She married and they had one son who I rarely saw. Visits between my family and Dad’s sister’s family occurred about once every two years. At his sister’s home.
• My mother’s parents were both third generation German immigrants. Farming was what they knew, although my grandfather and some of his cousins had other forms of employment. One cousin owned a “Red and White” grocery in the 500 resident town I grew up in. Connections and cooperation focussed on planting and harvesting crops. Very large reunions occurred every year. I knew almost no one.
My mother, Lucille Seigworth, was the oldest of four children. A younger sister whom she envied, and two younger brothers. Mom was head smart, starting grade school in third grade. That age difference and level of emotional development set her apart from her classmates. It seemed to imprint her with a “different than” identity. That became “better than” so my older brother and I were not permitted to have friends come over after school, attend birthday parties, or go to sleep overs. Nor have birthday celebrations at our home! Deep down I think Mom, and maybe Dad, were ashamed by the small size of our home. About 750 sq ft, two bedrooms and a single shared bathroom (tub only), and small kitchen with a dinette tucked into a niche at the end of the kitchen. Bench seating for four (small people) and a chair nearest the kitchen which Mom used. An unconditioned attic, and a partially finished basement where Mom did laundry, our coal furnace sat imposingly, and a pedal organ which her dad had rehabilitated, including the bellows. Mom loved music. She used to sing duets with her sister when young, and later played both piano and organ in her church and sang solos. Her church later in life became her family.
• Older brother Jerry was very obedient and never questioned any stipulations or onerous discipline. Once away from home, married, and with two daughters, he came to read our mother the riot act declaring she was to have no contact with anyone in his family, daughters included. They lived about 2 miles from our childhood home. And she never saw or heard from them again. As a side bar, he majored in Spanish in college and intended to work in foreign service. His program, to qualify him for that goal, required him to live for 6 months in a Spanish speaking country. Mexico City was his choice. When his fiancé heard about that she said that would end their relationship and she’d move on. He cancelled his plans and the fiancé became his wife. He quickly switched to Spanish Education and taught for several years before switching to the insurance industry. So much for riot acts.
• My 8 year younger brother Jeffrey was really the odd man out. Brother Jerry was out of the house by the time Jeff turned 11. I went to college when Jeff was 10. Dad died when Jeff was 14. He tried to attend college but drinking and out of town concerts left him broke. Part time work as a union shelf stocker, nights, allowed him to room with friends from high school until he was broke and they’d kick him out. He’d move back home to sponge off his mother. Usually no discipline then sudden switches to breathing down his back. Arbitrary. I visited him in PA the Christmas before he turned 25. On a drive I asked of his plans. He replied, “If I live till I’m 25 I’ll probably settle down.” He didn’t reach his 25th. As a passenger in his friend’s family’s brand new Buick station wagon, the friend list control sending the car down a mountainside. His friend was mostly okay. Jeff was brain dead and the plug was pulled two days later.
So, Karen, as I said at the outset, our closeness with certain family members differs markedly. My brother still lives with his wife in PA. Mother plus her siblings also long gone. I’ve regained a connection with my niece, Jerry’s younger daughter, who plays violin in the Naples Philharmonic Orchestra, as well as her husband who plays viola. The increasingly dire hurricanes this year and probably worsening with global warming has them ready to sell their home and move to Baltimore where both have connections and opportunities.
You, and some others on Substack, have become my family now. I couldn’t imagine doing much better! All the very best on Dia de La Muerta.
You had great family full of love and I felt enriched by them in my life too..
my father Henry was a music teacher and gave me the love of classical music and taught me to play flute, clarinet and piano
My mother Ruth loved gardening and birds and country music
They both loved nature and the outdoors and gave us the freedom to go exploring in the woods close to our house
My aunts and uncles (on my moms side) lived on farms so when we visited I learned about cows, chickens, pigs, gardens and crops
My aunts and uncles on my Dads side lived far away (1 a career military man and moved a lot)
I only knew one of my grandparents as the other 3 were gone before I was born and my one grandmother only visited a few times as she lived with her military son and family.
I had a wonderful childhood living in a small town. What a good life and I’m always thankful for 2 loving parents and brother and the life they gave us ❤️😍👍🙏