Spring 2010

Getting older and smarter

I would never trade my amazing friends, my  wonderful life, my loving family
for less gray hair or a flatter belly.  As I've aged, I've become kinder to myself,
and less critical of  myself. I've become my own friend. I don't chide myself for eating
that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that
I didn't need, but  looks so avante garde on my patio.. I am entitled to a treat, to be  
messy, to be extravagant.

I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before  they
understood the great freedom that comes with aging.

Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and
sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60 &70's,
and if I, at the same time, wish  to weep over a lost love ... I will.

I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will
dive into the waves with  abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set.

They, too, will get old.
I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten.
And I  eventually remember the important things.

Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not  
break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's
beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken  hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will  never know the joy of being imperfect.

Happy mother's day

If you send this to just one person, it should make it all the
way around by Mother's Day.
This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick
toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer
wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, "It's OK honey, Mommy's here."

Who walk around the house all night with their babies when they
keep crying and won't stop.
This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in
their hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse.

For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew
Halloween costumes.  And all the mothers who DON'T.
This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see.
And the mothers who took those babies and gave them homes.

This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off on metal
bleachers at football or soccer games Friday night instead of watching
from cars, so that when their kids asked, "Did you see me?" they could say,
"Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for the world," and mean it.
This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the
grocery store and swat them in despair when they stomp their feet like a
tired
2-year old who wants ice cream before dinner.

This is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and
explained all about making babies.  And for all the mothers who
wanted to but just couldn't.
For all the mothers who read "Goodnight, Moon" twice a night for
a year.  And then read it again.  "Just one more time."
This is for all the mothers who taught their children to tie
their shoelaces before they started school.  And for all the mothers
who opted for Velcro instead.
This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and
their daughters to sink a jump shot.

This is for all mothers whose heads turn automatically when a
little voice calls "Mom?" in a crowd, even though they know their own
off spring are at home.

This is for all the mothers who sent their kids to school with
stomach aches, assuring them they'd be just FINE once they got
there, only to get calls from the school nurse an hour later
asking them to please pick them up.  Right away.

This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't
find the words to reach them.

For all the mothers who bite their lips sometimes until they
bleed - when their 14 year olds dye their hair green.

What makes a good Mother anyway?
it patience?
Compassion?
Broad hips?
The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a
shirt, all at the same time?
Or is it heart? Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son
or daughter disappear down the street, walking to school alone for
the very first time?

The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M.
to put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby?  The need to
flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a fire,
a car accident, a child dying?

For all the mothers of the victims of all these school shootings, and
the mothers of those who did the shooting.  For the mothers of the
survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror,
hugging their child who just came home from school, safely.

This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears on their
children's graves.

This is for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and
sleep deprivation.  And mature mothers learning to let go.
For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers.
Single mothers and married mothers.
Mothers with money, mothers without.
This is for you all.
So hang in there.

Please pass along to all the Mom's in your life.

Home is what catches you when you fall - and we all fall."

Please pass this to a wonderful mother you know. (I just did)


Elaine Usher
elaine_usher@wrdsb.on.ca

The Sack Lunches

I put my carry-on in the luggage compartment and sat down in my assigned seat.
It was going to be a long flight. 'I'm glad I have a good book to read.
Perhaps I will get a short nap,' I thought.

Just before take-off, a line of soldiers came down the aisle and filled
all the vacant seats, totally surrounding me. I decided to start a conversation.

'Where are you headed?' I asked the soldier seated nearest to me.
'Petawawa. We'll be there for two weeks for special training,
and then we're being deployed to Afghanistan

After flying for about an hour, an announcement was made that
sack lunches were available for five dollars. It would be several hours
before we reached the east, and I quickly decided a lunch would help pass the time...

As I reached for my wallet, I overheard a soldier ask his buddy if he
planned to buy lunch.  'No, that seems like a lot of money for just a sack lunch.
Probably wouldn't be worth five bucks.  I'll wait till we get to base.'

His friend agreed.

I looked around at the other soldiers. None were buying lunch.
I walked to the back of the plane and handed the flight attendant a fifty dollar bill.  
'Take a lunch to all those soldiers.' She grabbed my arms and squeezed tightly.
Her eyes wet with tears, she thanked me.. 'My son was a soldier in Iraq;
it's almost like you are doing it for him.'

Picking up ten sacks, she headed up the aisle to where the soldiers were seated.
She stopped at my seat and asked, 'Which do you like best - beef or chicken?'
'Chicken,' I replied, wondering why she asked.. She turned and went to the front
of plane, returning a minute later with a dinner plate from first class.

'This is your thanks..'

After we finished eating, I went again to the back of the plane, heading for the rest room.
A man stopped me. 'I saw what you did. I want to be part of it.
Here, take this.' He handed me twenty-five dollars.

Soon after I returned to my seat, I saw the Flight Captain coming down the aisle,
looking at the aisle numbers as he walked, I hoped he was not looking
for me, but noticed he was looking at the numbers only on my side of the plane.
When he got to my row he stopped, smiled, held out his hand and said,
'I want to shake your hand.' Quickly unfastening my seatbelt I stood and
took the Captain's hand.. With a booming voice he said, 'I was a soldier and
I was a military pilot.. Once, someone bought me a lunch. It was an act
of kindness I never forgot..' I was embarrassed when applause was
heard from all of the passengers.

Later I walked to the front of the plane so I could stretch my legs.
A man who was seated about six rows in front of me reached out his hand,
wanting to shake mine. He left another twenty-five dollars in my palm.

When we landed I gathered my belongings and started to deplane.
Waiting just inside the airplane door was a man who stopped me,
put something in my shirt pocket, turned, and walked away without
saying a word. Another twenty-five dollars!

Upon entering the terminal, I saw the soldiers gathering for their trip to the base.
I walked over to them and handed them seventy-five dollars.
'It will take you some time to reach the base... It will be about time for a sandwich.
God Bless You.'

Ten young men left that flight feeling the love and respect of their fellow travelers.

As I walked briskly to my car, I whispered a prayer for their safe return.
These soldiers were giving their all for our country.
I could only give them a couple of meals. It seemed so little...

A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life,
wrote a blank check made payable to 'The United States of America
 ' for an amount of 'up to and including my life.'

That is Honor, and there are way too many people
in this country who no longer understand it.'

Let us pray...

'Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they protect us.
Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need.
Amen.'