MW????

Just what do those letters mean to you?  I take a homeopathic lettered with MW, standing for Mature Woman.  It is a nice way of describing those of us who are dealing with the hot flashes of later life.

            I was mulling it over this morning and thinking that MW could stand for lots of things connected with this phase of life.  The first thought was Mad Woman.  As the brain started rolling others came up:   Maddening Witch, then to be a little nicer, Magic Witch,  Maniac Witch,  Mad and Weird,  Mutated Wimp, Murky Wiles….well, you can see how things were progressing.

            From there my ideas turned to hot flashes and wonders on why we have to endure these thermal tortures.    Will the comments made at my funeral be influenced by the way I reacted to these intense flashes of heat at inappropriate times?  Perhaps  the epitaph on the marker of my final resting place will be,”  Just couldn’t stand that last hot flash.”

Leftovers....Again?!

When I started writing this entry the thought kept going through my head questioning,  “why are you wanting to write  about such a thing, weirdo?”  But the  doing of it was persisting so I continued.  Then the other day I read an article about how wasteful we Americans are with the food we don’t eat at meals.  Toss it down the disposal, into the garbage, etc.  It also brought out how much it is costing us in terms of dollars wasted.  Maybe that was the reason pushing me to blog such a subject.

Most of us are always thinking of what is coming up on the next meal.  Those who cook are considering meal preparations in this world of staying alive and eating happily.  I like to cook, but cooking for only two has its drawbacks.  For one thing, it seems like there is hardly anything there when you get done with all the fixing.  Another, why start from scratch which, without a doubt, is the best in taste, nutrition, expense, etc. if you end up with too much.  I like making “just a bit more” and have a bit of leftovers to work with a day or two later.  Another big reason is that when your spouse opens the fridge to see what there is for a good nibble, maybe there is something tempting to the palate.  I don’t know about you, but I have heard the lament, “There is nothing in this house to eat.”

Beyond the snack issue, using leftovers takes some creativity.  Most times it is simpler to trot out a recipe, follow it, and produce something marvelous, than it is to figure out how to use that bit of this or that to put an acceptable meal on the table.  I find it fun to figure out just how I can transform that extra into something different, yet still good.  Casserole, salads, desserts, all likely candidates for using that little amount.  Early in my married life one of my husband’s friends, on receiving a sparkling glass of liquid from me, said, “So, what have you got in here, besides the kitchen sink?”  He was smiling as he teased.  I admit, I probably “experiment “ too much and not all of the experiments turn out the way I thought they would.  Sometimes it is worse, but often it is better than I imagined.

We can think of leftovers in things besides food.  Is there someone who needs just a little of your friendship?  Maybe they aren’t on the normal list of who we consider friends yet a kind word from us would have meaning.  When we are just too tired to keep pushing a child on a swing, isn’t there really one or two more pushes there if we really want to?   Sometimes it is as simple as extending a smile to someone who crosses our path in the grocery store, or at a stop light.  Here again we can use our creativity. We have lots of areas in our lives where there is a bit leftover with which to work.

Simplify, Toss Out, Maybe

This is something that takes constant effort.  I am working on it, physically and mentally.  In the process I came upon a paper I had written for a Pych class in college.   I know, what am I doing keeping a paper of that vintage?  I had no idea I had kept it, my life story for the Genealogy 101, yes, but this class?   Well, for some reason I still had it.

 As near as I can tell it was supposed to be a case study of myself, analyzing  my habits, personality, etc., the causes of the same.  I shuddered  as I read  parts of it, wondering if I was really like that at the young age of 20.  Some traits I can see that I did possess, and I still possess---like putting my foot in my mouth now and again when something really gets to me.  "Surely I have improved," I say to myself---haven’t I? 

Actually it was rather an interesting read, seeing myself and my thought processes at that relatively early stage of maturing.  It was worth my keeping if for none other than that I had recorded a sentence or two about an appointment with an optometrist in Salt Lake City, discovering that I did indeed need to wear glasses.  My right eye saw things with a “blurry edge.”

            Now, fifty years later, having had eye surgery on my left eye to correct a macular hole, my right eye is still seeing things a bit off.  It makes me wonder if the condition  has been with me in a lesser degree all these long years.  My eye surgeon feels it is best to not remove a slowly developing cataract in my right eye in case that would accelerate whatever is going on in there.  This doctor, of course, knows nothing of this finding years ago.  I will have a surprise for him on my next trip to Idaho Falls.

            This is one thing I have been glad I did not toss, along with my life story at age 20, written for Genealogy 101. It is enlightening as well.  I hope that at least my writing style has improved.

Mother-In-Laws Are Still Mothers

Tradition has it that Mother-in-laws are interfering, obnoxious additions to married life.  Women in this role are often pictured as harridans, who feel that no one is good enough for their child, let alone be the parent of grandchildren.  Who would volunteer for that position?  Most women would not want to fill this description.  However, if you are a mother, and your child gets married, what can you do but become “the Mother-In-Law?”

            My choice of mil’s was very fortuitous.  As a newly-wed, she took me under her wing and began the teaching process of how to be a farmer’s wife,  teaching mainly by example.  Being a town-raised female, I needed this instruction badly.  I was her first in-law child and perhaps we learned the art of give and take of this relationship together.  I only know that it worked beautifully and I am forever grateful.  She approved of me, became a best friend, the forever variety.

            The lessons I learned were numerous: cooking, gardening, preservation of foods, getting that meal on the table at the time needed before the hay crew was due to arrive.  She was there in the grandma role as well, willing to give advice when asked, holding back when she felt it was none of her business.  She listened to my woes, my moments of confusion and frustration.  I knew if I had a run-in with her son that the place I would be most welcome was at the home of his parents. 

Our homes within a mile of each other, over the many years we shared our lives.  Pulling weeds from flower beds, side by side, I tried to soak up the wisdom she could impart.  She also let me know that she gained from me in return. She welcomed me into her family, did her best to make me comfortable in new surroundings,  and helped me form friendships in a place where I was totally unknown.

My experience of observing close up women in this position completely goes against the grain of tradition. As near as I could tell my parents, both of them, liked their spouse’s mothers.  My maternal grandmother lived with us for the last years of her life.  My father particularly looked forward to the results of her culinary skills, especially pies of any variety, his favorite dessert.  She took his good-natured teasing and knew he loved her.

            Mothers’ Day is arriving, my first without my own mother-in-law who passed away several months ago.  My own mother has been gone for twelve years.  I miss them both and recognize how fortunate I have been.  Hopefully I have learned from the lessons of the mils in my life.  Mothering, whether it is biological, in-laws, or just random, is a very needed calling.

Come Join the Ranks

I have joined the army of Family History Indexers.  It is so fun.  I was a little hesitant about taking it on, wondering if I had enough computer savvy.  Desire is all well and good, but there are stumbling blocks that one must be able to navigate.  I didn’t want to be sunk before I started.

            I have liked historical stuff all my life, always wanting stories from my parents, grandparents.  Census records are one of my favorite parts of genealogical research.  Through them I have discovered that one of my greats was the captain of a boat, actually a barge I think, and his son was listed as his mate.  Another find was one who had started out learning the cabinet-making trade and 2 census records later (20 years) was in an elevated position in that company, making very good money and of high prestige.  One young lady at age 20 was a polisher of glass plates at a glass blowing establishment.   I keep finding more and more about those who came to chart my path to this earth and they become very real and dear to me.   I am not even counting the relatives I have found that I didn’t know existed.   I could go on, but this gives you who read this a glimpse of some of the fun I have poking around in old records.

            Some of my searching has recently been eased through the results of indexing and it makes me so excited that I want to shout from the housetops.  What I couldn’t find is now accessible!  One of my daughters is also an indexer and she showed me the process a couple of months ago and my first thought was, “I can do that.”  : ) I am not exactly a techie so I need encouragement to get over the mental can’t hurdle.

            I always had hoped my husband and I would go on a mission in our later years.  I now know that isn’t going to happen and my yearnings for such have calmed down.  Indexing can be my later years contribution and, in some small measure, help others as I have been helped through this marvelous program. 

Being in Tune

         Throughout my life I have had many occasions when I worked at being in tune.  In my teenage life as a band member of our high school I knew the need of finding just the right pitch for my instrument to be in tune with the rest of the musicians.  As that chapter came near drawing to a close I found myself to be the concert master (mistress?) that played the note for each section, listened, suggested whether they were sharp or flat, worked to get just that right sound.  Since those days there have been many similar moments.  It isn’t always something that can be fixed with a small adjustment.  Listening in choir when someone’s voice if off-key, even just a tad, can make my teeth feel on edge, nerves fraying.  I can’t fix that, but I do need to overlook it.

            Recently I attended a symphony orchestra concert and listened to the tuning procedure prior to the concert, then again after a short intermission.  A change in temperature,  drying of reeds, lubrication insufficient---so many little things can throw off that unified sound.  Those who seem unable to find the right pitch can destroy the overall performance of a wonderful group, regardless of the hours of practice prior.  The effort  to be in tune is repeated over and over, until it meets as closely as possible to the wishes of the conductor.

            I have been reading Emily Freeman’s book 21 Days Closer to Christ.  It reminds me of how often we need to work at staying in tune with our Savior and His teachings.  Hopefully He is the conductor in our lives and has patience as we work to stay on pitch. Small, seemingly insignificant, things in our daily lives throw us off so easily and we cannot seem to find just that “right note.” Sometimes we go into a complete discordant overture!

 We are imperfect beings, everything won’t fix,  we are often most harsh on ourselves, even though we may blame others.  We may wander for lengthy periods without realizing that we are the ones who are out of sync.  Just as in music it takes repeated effort and reflection, a “good ear”to find the tone we are seeking. Then more effort is still required to cling to that soul enhancing feeling that lets us understand we are “in tune.”  For me it is an eternal quest.  I daresay I am not alone.

Where Did I Put It?

Been trying to organize much of my house, throw out, label, throw out, etc.  Orderliness is a state of being we all need. The anti-clutter is a good thing, it simplifies.  I believe this to be true and am aiming to get to that state.  However, I also know from my years of experience that just living in our society brings in much clutter.  Try picking up your daily mail for starters.

Paper coming into a household, even the necessary papers, start to build a paper mountain.  And keeping the info on the computer doesn’t make this vanish, because we all know that the computer fails and ‘poof’, there goes the works!  It isn’t all paper either that wants keeping.   Just “stuff” from living, the ancestor heirlooms of one type or another, the sentimental memory objects from our past,  our collections that are part of the definition of who we are…..and on and on.

  I do think I am making progress.  Some of you are blessed with organization talents.  I think that is not me.  I didn’t bring that talent with me to this earth, I am trying to learn.  Me and my activities, that part I can schedule just fine, the stuff, not so much.  Now I am attempting to remember where I put this or that in this latest organizing process.  My husband asks me where thus and such is, and I can’t remember.  When I had organized chaos I knew where things were. 

That isn’t the way it is supposed to work.  The articles, books, etc. on the need of organizing, simplifying and such, say that doing this will bring peace and contentment.  Frustrations from searching for something should vanish, smiles appear and life turns into smooth sailing.  That is what the organization gurus all claim.  When does this happen?  Will I have to wait until I manage to get every room in the hoped for organized state?

I am  now telling myself that it is just a new learning experience supposedly good for my aging mental capacities, if they do not drive me to the point of escape first.  Perseverance is my theme for this spring cleaning binge.  I know this isn’t temporary, it will be spring, summer, and on into the future---- once “done,” it needs constant vigilance to keep from lapsing back into past habits, etc.