Gathering the Village

I knew I was in over my head. I was a newly divorced mother of a five-year-old daughter, Katherine. I had a full time job and a house with a very big yard to take care of. With all I had on my plate, I truly worried that I wasn’t going to be able to be a very good mother. Raising a child was a important job and I hadn’t been at it all that long. Of course, my family was very supportive. My parents doted on Katherine, as did my sisters (to this day Katherine calls them “Auntie Karla” and “Auntie Karyl”). There were fun uncles and scores of cousins as well. Unfortunately, however, they all lived in Colorado, 1300 miles away. I knew that if I was going to make it through this transition with any sort of stability for both myself and my daughter, I needed help. Lots of it.

I decided to assemble a group of people who would help me mother my daughter, thinking that if I surrounded Katherine with enough remarkable women, I would not only be able to cover areas where I might be weak, tired or inexperienced, but that there was also strength in numbers. The phrase “it takes a village to raise a child” was widely circulating at the time, especially in the counseling circles where I worked. It’s a notion I whole-heartedly adopted. I literally had the t-shirt.

I deliberately set out to create my own village. In addition to my own mother and sisters, my village had a few early members. One was Katherine’s Aunt Dixie, who stayed just as embedded—maybe more embedded–in my life even after her brother and I divorced. Dixie had a daughter, Casey, and treated Katherine like a second child. Dixie’s mother, Katie Bess’s “Nanny Jo,” was a constant presence, driving to my house from her home on the Oregon coast once a week to give me a night off.

Wendy, my dear friend and college roommate who was also Katherine’s godmother, would take Katherine to her apartment where they’d bake cookies or put together puzzles. Not surprisingly, Katherine’s first favorite letter was “W,” and Wendy hand-crafted an entire book of “W” words, which we still have.

And then there was Jill, or “Jilly Jill” as Katherine dubbed her. Just sixteen when I hired her as my very first babysitter, Jill apparently decided to take me under her wing, a decision for which I am forever grateful.  Jill settled in for the long haul and literally became Katherines’s “Other Mother.” (You can read about it in my  blog post). Because we somewhat resembled each other, Jill and I were often mistaken for sisters. It wasn’t much of a stretch, then, that she was also often mistaken as Katherine’s mom. I was fine with this. Delighted even. To make it an even better deal, Jill’s parents, Barbara and Tom, became another set of grandparents to Katherine, enlarging the village.

Other members came later. There was Katherine’s third-grade teacher, Ms. Reay, who really bonded with her and kept in touch over the years. And Ms. Romine, the TAG coordinator, a woman without whom, I think it’s fair to say, Katherine would have ended up hating school.

When Doug and I married  several years later, I not only  increased Katherine’s circle of parents, but expanded the village again. There was Nana, another grandmother to love her, and Doug’s sisters, Susie and Julie and Jane, all interesting, thoughtful women.

Just when I thought the village was pretty complete, a few more people came along. Katherine’s dad Kelly met a marvelous woman named Sabine. When they decided to get married, I was pleased to know that while Katherine was gaining another mother, I was gaining a friend.

Friends, it turns out, are a rich resource as well. While my friends are so important to me, keeping me grounded and sane, they nourish the lives of my kids as well. I know that my friends Elizabeth and Heidi would jump in in a heartbeat if any of my children needed anything.

Katherine is now 25 years old and is getting married this summer to a terrific man named Ryan. I’m thrilled. Not only are they a strong couple, but it occurs to me that Katherine’s village is exponentially enlarged. She’s gaining yet another mother in Ryan’s mom, Mary, who brings yet another voice, another vision to Katherine’s life. But this addition was Katherine’s own doing. I did my part early on, but she’s fully in charge now.

When I considered what kind of bridal shower I wanted to host for my daughter, my first thought was to have a celebration honoring all of the women who helped Katherine build the life she has now. Which is what we did this past Saturday. It seemed fitting that the date happened to fall on Mother’s Day weekend. Not everyone was able to attend, particularly those who lived out of town, but we had a good turnout, including many of the women I’ve talked about, as well as two of Katherine’s sisters, Kate and Sarah, and her best friend Jordan. The younger generation is now building a village all their own.

The day turned out just the way I’d hoped, giving me and Katherine an opportunity to publicly thank the remarkable women who helped me be a better mother, and who filled in the spaces I couldn’t reach. I looked around my house, filled with some of my favorite people in the world: smart, creative, talented, funny, and altogether beautiful women.

It took a village, and I somehow managed to find a good one. Every once in a while, however, it’s lovely to have a reunion.

What Happens After the Fairy Tale

It promises to be a lovely day. This evening, my family and I will drive out to a beautiful vineyard here in Oregon for the 10th Anniversary celebration of our good friends, Dixie and Bob.  I’m excited. There will be lawn games and wine tasting and dinner and dancing. I even bought a new dress. But I’m excited for other reasons. Dixie and Bob are some of our closest friends, and I’m thrilled to be included in the day, especially since many people would consider our relationship to be improbable.

Let me explain. I used to be married to Dixie’s brother, Kelly. She became my sister-in-law and soul mate over 28 years ago, and even after my marriage to Kelly ended nearly 20 years ago, Dixie stayed on. Our friendship has continued and deepened.

Like most relationships, however, it didn’t happen without effort or commitment. Dixie and I worked to stay in each other’s lives and to spend time together. She was a major source of support and encouragement during my years as a single mother. When I married Doug and we created a blended family with four kids, Dixie welcomed everyone with kindness and enthusiasm. Our friendship continued through the end of Dixie’s own marriage, and Doug and I were both thrilled when she married Bob–about ten years ago. When Dixie’s mother–and my former mother-in-law–died last summer, Doug and I were at the hospital with Dixie and Bob, and I considered it a great privilege. They truly are two of the most important people in our lives.

I’m so grateful for this, especially recognizing that the ending of a marriage is usually the ending of a fairy tale we all grow up believing in, and most of us aren’t sure how to write the next chapter. But an unwritten story is also a great opportunity. We can write it any way we want. And Dixie and I have co-written a story that gives great meaning to my life, and makes me proud. We had help. I appreciate that Kelly was gracious enough to support the friendship not only with Dixie but the rest of her (and his) family, which took courage and confidence. I’m grateful that my husband Doug not only understood the connection I had to my ex-husband’s family, but eagerly joined me in it.

Tonight, Dixie and Bob are having a brief ceremony to honor their marriage, and they’ve asked me to read an excerpt from Gift from the Sea, by Anne Morrow Lindberg. I’ve read the book several times before (at Dixie’s suggestion), but had forgotten this passage.

When you love someone, you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility. It is even a lie to pretend to. And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity.

The only real security is not in owning or possessing, not in demanding or expecting, not in hoping, even. Security in a relationship lies neither in looking back to what was in nostalgia, nor forward to what it might be in dread or anticipation, but living in the present relationship and accepting it as it is now. Relationships must be like islands. One must accept them for what they are here and now, within their limits–islands, surrounded and interrupted by the sea, and continually visited and abandoned by the tides.

It’s a good message for a marriage, for sure, and an apt description of what I love about Dixie and Bob’s relationship. But if you think about it, it’s true for all relationships. Even improbable ones.

Daddy’s Girl

 

For Suzanne, by Bev Allen

[Written for the memorial service of her neice, Suzanne Allen, age 34]

 

I have seen what many may not,

The world from a place atop

With glistening snow and sunshine bright.

Stars that shine so bright at night.

For who could be closer to the face of God

On top of mountains I have trod

The world, my playground, with

Valleys deep and friends abound

I’ve gotten to meet.

My own path allowed to choose

Alone. Myself alone could I amuse.

And now my spirit soars above. My life

I did not live in vain.

I did not  mean to cause your pain.

Perhaps one day they all shall

See those wondrous things

That have been shown to me.

And seeing, see the lovely things of earth

And knowing get beyond the pain,

For my life was lived not in vain.

An Open Letter To My Mother On Mother’s Day

Dear Mom,

Mother’s Day snuck up on me this year.  Spring flew by, and I found myself scrambling to get a package in the mail to reach you in time.  I stood in the card section of Border’s Books looking for an appropriate card, and noticed that they seemed to fit two basic themes:  1) Thanks so much for giving birth to me, and 2) Thanks for putting up with me for all these years.  Neither of these themes really fit what I was trying to say. I am, of course, eternally grateful for the gift of life you gave me, but your job didn’t stop on the day I was born.  Furthermore,  although I’m sure you had your share of difficult moments raising me, I wasn’t a particularly difficult child.  Granted, I was moody, and more than a little intense, but all in all I was a pretty good kid.  I think you would agree.  So none of those cards really captured what I appreciate about you, my mother.  What exactly am I thankful for?  What were the lessons that I learned specifically from you?

So, being who I am, I decided to tell you in a letter.  I hope you don’t mind that in addition to sharing it with you, I also shared it in this forum.

So, in no particular order, here are some of the things I learned from you:

1. A Love For Reading:  I was blessed with two parents who liked to read.  However, some of my earliest memories are of seeing you spend an afternoon with a book.  I grew up reading, with your support.  When I’d finished all the books in the little library at my school, you drove me ten miles into town to the city library to find more.  When I had my own children, I made sure they all grew up with books, and they are all readers themselves.  This seems as normal as breathing to me, but I am occasionally surprised when I meet people for whom this isn’t true.  I think it started with those afternoons I saw you with a book in your hand.
2. Dedication to Family:  I think I have always known that you would walk through walls for the people you love, including me.  No matter what else is going on in your family, there has never been a question that taking care of me or my sisters or (now) your grandchildren is a priority to you.  I inherited that lesson as surely as I got your blue eyes, and it became an essential part of who I am.  As much as I care about my work–and I care about it with a passion–my attention is quickly, intensely drawn back to my family.  There’s that saying that “If Mama’s not happy, ain’t nobody happy,”  and I’ve quoted it a time or two.  But I think a more appropriate one for me, and you, is “If the family ain’t happy, Mama ain’t happy.”
3. A Fascination with Laundry:  I can’t explain it, this love I have for towels warm from the dryer, or the feeling of satisfaction I get from well-folded clothes.  I love laundry.  Strange as that seems, I come by it honestly.  I have never met anyone who gets as much out of ironing as you do. 
4. A Sense of Competence:  I don’t think either of us would be described as loud or outgoing.  Neither of us craves center stage.  Still, I have grown up with a calm, quiet belief as solid as stone that if there were something I really wanted to do, I could do it.  I have always felt competent.  Whenever I’ve told you about an idea I wanted to pursue, you never questioned that I would be able to do it.  Go to college?  Sure.  Start a business? Of course.  Write a book?  Absolutely.  Some of this I credit to your support of our family (see #3 above).  But the more I think about it, I realize that you believe in your own competence.  When I was in high school, you decided you wanted to run your own business.  You went back to college in your 40’s and earned your nursing degree (getting excellent grades while you were at it).  You learned quilting without ever having done it before and developed the artistic talent you must have always had.  And recently, you’ve decided to take up winemaking–chokecherry wine, pinot noir, dessert wines.  I never doubted that you could do it, in part because you never doubted it.  And you were right.  And last but not least….
5. A Love For Coffee:  Ah, of course, there’s coffee.  I remember sneaking sips from your coffee cup from the time I was a little girl.  Back then you drank Taster’s Choice with little pink packets of Sweet and Low.  I started drinking coffee on my own in college and the habit is now well-entrenched.  My drink of choice is a non-fat, extra-foamy latte.  A highlight of my day is a conversation over a good cup of coffee.  This I learned from you.

There are, of course, many other things I appreciate about you, but these are what rose to the top this week as I reflected on what parts of me I can trace back to you.  Not surprisingly, they are some of the things I like best about myself, and some of the things I most admire in you.

Thanks for these gifts, Mom. I love you.

Happy Mother’s Day,

Barbara

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