Memorial Day

This year I got a little behind and found myself going to the cemetery on Memorial Day instead of the previous weekend. I was struck by the large number of people there, the rows of flowers and flags. Each kind soul was once someones child, many mothers or fathers, sisters or brothers, neighbors and friends. A field full of memories. When I placed the flowers on the graves of my Uncle Dick, Grand Parents, Mother, Uncle Johnny and Aunt Eddy, tears filled my eyes. Their simple names on those brozen markers brought back floods of memories and I realized how they had all enriched my life and how I still miss their physical presence.

Looking up at the clear blue sky, I remembered how Uncle Dick would joke that I would have to walk up those long stairs to visit him. As I puffed my way to the top I could almost hear his laughter. Uncle Dick is buried right behind the statue of the navy soilder. On this particular day I thought it appropriate to share a photo or two, as we remember not only our family members who have passed but also those who have served our country.

And then there were Four...

Off to Chocolatefornia A.K.A. California
Is California another state or is it another Country?

Well, our oldest is off to live on his own-dare I say again. Wasn’t this the goal? When children are young, we teach them to tie their own shoes, fix their own sandwiches, clean their own room, and eventually how to drive, and do their own laundry. I admit somehow I did a poor job on teaching them how to clean up after themselves-but I am still hopeful they will remember the lessons one day. (fingers crossed).

I think of all those hours spent teaching him to make his own choices, make good decisions and become an independent, productive thinker, an individual not a follower. And wasn’t this the goal? Now I let him go to follow his own path-one I would never have choosen for him-an artist. I experienced conflicting feelings when I saw him loading those big green duffle bags, and endless boxes. Part of me was happy to see him spreading those wings, and another part knows that just because he isn't here, doesn't mean I won't stop worrying about him. When I look at him I see the little boy with blonde hair, blue eyes and the remember theway he squeezed my hand. That was when I teared up a little. Next I opened his closet door and located 6, yep count them 6 of my towels. The image of him in the present day can flooding back into my mind and made saying goodbye a bit easier. And so I bid him goodbye, and look forward to seeing him again as a guest. Here's hoping he does well in San Francisco. Along with all those boxes he takes with him the love of his family, and a cell phone to call home with. Tomorrow Timmy and I will set the clocks downstairs to show Michigan time on one and California time on another. Yesterday there were five us and today---only four. Letting go-isn't this what we are suppossed to do? Then why do I miss him so much?

Springtime

One of the surest signs of spring is the large pile of woodchips that gets delivered in my drive. The yearly ritual or should I say battle, of controling the pine needles has once again begun. While most people are planting pansies and begonias I am busy replanting my backyard lawn-just like I do every spring. First you rake off moss and pine needles, then lime the soil, followed by planting the seeds and praying for sun. I still haven't found a patron saints of lawns yet! If we get too many cloudy days-well that moss just moves right back in, and you get to start all over again. Tending the gardens has become a challenge. Rake, rinse, repeat. Then down goes the lime-rinse, repeat. Next the Preen and Green, and finally the woodchips. The woodchips provide a barrier between the falling pine needles and the ground. So every night after work I use the snow shovel to lay down the last layer of chips to protect my newly sweetened soil. Yes, you heard right-snow shovel. You can fling lots more chips with a snow shovel ,than a regular shovel.

Neighbors pass by and shake their head in wonder as they watch my 2 week adventure in preparing the garden. I am sure I would get their award for the crazy neighbor. However I would like to point out that, these same neighbors will walk by in July and marvel at how nice the yard and gardens look-that is if I can keep the deer away from eatting half of it!

Least you should all think my work complete- every week I have to apply liquid fence to keep Bambi and friends at bay. They seem to think that my garden is their salad bar and delight in the amount of choices they are able to feast upon. When we first bought the house I remarked to my husband how cute the wandering deer were. Now they are enemy # 1 in the quest to have something that resembles a yard and garden. If only they would eat the pine needles!

Why do I bother you ask yourself? There is nothing quite like the feeling of seeing something grow in a place where other's said it couldn't be done. The scent of lilac's, the blanket of impatients...once established such a rare joy.

Happy Spring!!!!

Happy Mother's Day

I enjoy this holiday with a true sense of melancholy as my own mother is not here to share it with me. I still miss her so. I send her today my prayers of thanksgiving .

My own children make it a special day for me. There is nothing quite like the feeling of being awaken by the yell of a 9-year-old and the smell of burnt toast and sausage. I have to admit there is no better way to start a morning . Somehow they all manage to crawl up in bed with me and I am presented with their breakfast. The tradition began with Jamie, who at 2 years old dragged a gallon of milk and raw eggs into the bedroom. I made a real attempt to eat those raw eggs. There is nothing quite like the love of a child, raw egg in all.

The following years Daddy decided to help out a bit, and I have since been treated to cooked food, often burnt-but edible. Now the breakfast is made by all the kids. The gifts from the kids ae the best-Homemade necklaces, flowers, and cards made with gooey fingers-all wrapped in love. These are the moments that you wish you could keep forever. This year the "breakfast" was cooked by our little Timmy who took over the main job for the first time. With Daddy watching over the stove they managed a true delight. Daddy got mommy the gift of her dreams-a new tiller for the garden. I think after being married to him for so many years his love of power tools may be rubbing off.

While many Mom's spent the day in fancy restaurants-I was treated to Spiderman III and salty popcorn-and I wouldn't have traded places with any of them.

The rest of the day was spent in the garden with a tiller, 4 flats of flowers, a dark haired daughter, an environmentally minded 9 year old and a adult son all planting a garden. Tim began his daily battle with the pool but kept his language under control, in the spirit of the day. It has somehow become the one day of the year yard work is not a chore. Sunshine, laughter, dirty finger nails and a family all working together to make our little piece of earth a little bit nicer. I am so blessed...When I look into their eyes I realize that being a mother is a gift.

How is someone with the name DeBoer Irish?

1. I married the man I loved and forgave him the dutch name. I somehow knew he was one for me when he presented me with a pair of wooden shoes with shamrocks painted on the toes! How could I resist such a corny yet lovely gesture. Seriously though, my heart belongs to that Emerald Island so far away ,that I visited all those years ago on my honeymoon. Even though that was over 20 years and 3 children ago, some nights I can still smell her sweet earth and hear the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the rocks on the Cliffs of Moher in County Galway (official Irish name: Gaillimh).
   
   After working on my family history these past two years my yearning for Ireland now seems to make sense. My family line on my mothers side includes Mannings, Dunnings, Truax, Kieft (a bit of dutch) and O'Keefe's. On my father;s side Loew (soen),Tobins, Haley's Hallorans , McGarth's and more. It seems that Galway was indeed in my blood as my family lines are from County Galway, Clare, and Cork.
   
   While the Emerald Isle is many miles and dollars away I celebrate her in thanksgiving for my family who 5 grenerations ago claimed this new land, America as their new home. The Irish sense of family they brought with them, the music, the culture and the love endures from our homeland . So if I wax on a bit and take a few liberties with descriotions-you will know ,"'Tis just a bit aof Irish Blarney-the poor dear cannot help herself".