I called Gracie around noon on Wednesday to tell her that I would be bringing a picnic lunch for my kids. We needed to get on the road to my parents-in-laws’ by late afternoon, and I was trying to fit in a number of activities in a short amount of time. Multi-tasking as usual, I thought that we could combine lunch with our weekly visit.

When we arrived at Gracie’s half an hour later, her small kitchenette-table was set as if we were sitting down to a formal Thanksgiving dinner.

Small china plates held triangular ham-and-mayonnaise sandwiches. And individually-wrapped servings of Cabot cheese were placed to the upper left of each plate and just above our napkins, which were tucked neatly inside red braided napkin-holders. Set at a perfect angle towards the back of the table, a little china serving dish held several petit fours for our dessert. She had filled ceramic juice glasses with fresh milk for the kids, and the china teapot was steaming with hot water, keeping warm in preparation for the boiling water which would soon be coming off the stove.

I discreetly placed the lunch box filled with my hastily-made pb&js under our coats on a chair by the front door.

After we sat down, Gracie picked up a card that she had pre-deposited next to her place setting. It contained a Thanksgiving wish sent to her by one of her many friends from afar. We always say the blessing at Gracie’s – even if we’re just having tea and cookies. So her friend’s good wishes became our prayer for that day.

Gracie has been trying to teach my children the proper way of asking for and receiving food at the table. Each week, she gently lifts the plate of cookies or brownies from the table, holds it just in front of my daughter, and asks, “Would you care for another cookie?” Then she waits patiently while my rather timid child decides whether she’s brave enough to reach for something.

So on the day before Thanksgiving, we sat and dined like royalty – eating dainty, lovingly-made tea sandwiches and drinking tea from delicate china cups. The table was covered with an elegant, white plastic tablecloth with pink flowers given to her by a 96-year-old neighbor, who is extraordinarily proficient at catalog-shopping via money orders. Everything around us had been placed with intention by a loving hand and a pure heart.

The fact that it was the day before Thanksgiving had little bearing on Gracie’s efforts to create a beautiful, inviting setting for her guests. She does this every week. And I would guess that she has been doing it for friends and family for well over 80 years.

While my life often consists of throwing pb&js together in two-minutes-flat so that we can cram an ice-skating session in before school starts (or any other variation of activities in succession), our time at Gracie’s feels like the calm in the eye of a tropical cyclone. The afternoon is a respite filled with ritual and tradition — the beautifully-dressed table, the pouring of hot tea for one another, and the moment of stillness while we listen to Gracie recite the blessing.

If my kids didn’t start getting antsy, I could sit with Gracie in this soothing, peaceful space for an entire afternoon. But the eye-wall of the storm closes in on me every time. There is dinner to be made, clothes to be washed, kids to be bathed, and work to be done.

Yet there is a lesson to be learned here. If Gracie’s home can provide a comforting haven for the soul, then why can’t my own? Granted, the number-one feature of my house is a couple of kids running laps around the staircase most hours of the day. But I can create rituals and traditions in our household that foster the quiet together-time that we find around Gracie’s table.

It’s just a matter of taking the time to be intentional.

I will begin small – perhaps lighting the candles at dinner, keeping fresh flowers or greenery as a centerpiece, or even sitting down with my children for afternoon tea parties.

Gracie has reminded me that the best way to show our love is through our time and attention … making ordinary together-moments true “occasions”.

“It’s not enough to have lived. We should be determined to live for something. May I suggest that it be creating joy for others, sharing what we have for the betterment of personkind, bringing hope to the lost and love to the lonely.” 

Leo F. Buscaglia
1924-1998

Photo taken by Tia Serre

With Thanksgiving just a couple of days away, I wanted my three- and five-year-old to have a general sense of what the holiday is all about. But for young children, what does it really mean to be thankful? — Besides blurting out a well-scripted “thank you” when they’ve just been given something that they really, really wanted. 

I couldn’t come up with any brilliant ideas, so I pilfered one from The Simple Mom (http://www.thesimplemom.wordpress.com), who creates a Thanksgiving Tree with her family every year. She draws a bare tree on a piece of paper, and then, over the course of a couple of weeks or so, family members write down the things or people that they’re thankful for on multi-colored leaves and tape them to the tree. Although she recommends beginning the project in mid-November, I decided to cram it all in at once. Just my style — fast and furious.

In the end, I think that my kids got something out of it. The activity at least gave us time to sit down together and talk a little about what we value in our lives — our stuffed animals, our friends, our school. 

But I am now left with a nagging question in my mind. Just how can a kid who has never really wanted for anything, except maybe a box of Spongebob Squarepants cereal, really understand gratitude? The only answer that I can come up with is that, at some point, kids should be exposed to those who have less. They should participate with their parents in some kind of service-related activity. 

Yep – that’s us, parents. We need to be reminded, as well, that we are indeed blessed … and that our blessings bring with them certain responsibilities. Although we can easily (and understandably) become consumed with caring for our own little families, we have to remember that there are others out there who need us too.

There is a story that is circulating around the news this week (http://www.komonews.com/news/problemsolvers/34241094.htmla) about an eleven-year-old boy whose dying wish was to feed the homeless. With only two weeks to live, he inspired thousands to give to others less fortunate than themselves. 

What a lesson we can learn from this little boy. If he was able to accomplish this miracle from the confinement of his bed in less than two weeks, what can each able-bodied person do in his or her lifetime? Or better yet – what are we willing to do? This Thanksgiving, I am asking myself this question … as I reflect back on a rather privileged life. 

Perhaps the most important bi-product of gratitude is the desire to share our good fortune with others. 

Let’s stop and give thanks for each of the leaves on our respective Thanksgiving trees. And then, with our kids in tow — let’s take a cue from a little boy with perspective well beyond his years, and start giving back.

The holiday season has officially arrived. The local radio station is playing 24-hour Christmas music from now until New Years. My kids are becoming at home in the storage room, pulling out their favorite decorations and dispersing them around the house. And the pile of shopping catalogs on the kitchen counter grows exponentially each day. 

These glossy little magazines have become as much a part of the prelude to Christmas as the twinkle lights that we string on the bushes or the wreath hung on the door. If left out in the open, these toy-filled magazines become my kids’ reading material of choice. They sneak them into their rooms, and only a glow from their flashlights can be seen through the bedcovers as they peruse the pages after lights-out. 

The Christmas Wish List is as etched into the holiday experience as Santa, himself. But this year, in particular, families will struggle with the tug between tightening purse strings and the consumer expectations that permeate the holidays. What is a parent to do when the pressure’s on and the pocketbook is lighter than usual?

Here are a few tips for toning down the “gimme” aspect of Christmas, in favor of traditions that will far outlast the latest fad in gadgetry:

Hide the Catalogs (or throw them away) 

Flip through them, perhaps, for that first “Yea! Christmas is here!” rush – and then put them away. In their place, go to the library and check out a few great holiday picture books for the kids and some inspirational reading for yourself. I read Leo Buscaglia’s book, Seven Stories of Christmas Love, every year. Pick up Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol or a holiday craft guide. It doesn’t matter. The point is to fill your home with good, wholesome reading material that helps you focus on the magic of the season.

Turn on the VCR

When you were a kid, you had to patiently wait to see your local television network’s special presentation of Frosty the Snowman. Not anymore! Now, you can just pop in your own copy or grab one at the video store whenever you like. So instead of subjecting the family to the thousands of toy commercials that litter the screen, it’s time to break out the VCR or DVD player. Pop some popcorn. Make it a family movie-night. Or not. Just take advantage of all of the great, pure holiday entertainment out there — without the distracting advertisements.

Make Memories

If you spend less time shopping this holiday season, then you’ll have more time for having experiences together as a family. Get outside, and make some memories. Whether you hit up the local sledding hill or get the neighborhood kids together for a game of touch-football, the point is to shift the household energy away from “things” and towards “people.” What better way to do that than by spending quality time together as a family and a community?

String Popcorn (or do something else crafty)

Turn on the Christmas music, rally the kids together, and make something. Baking Christmas cookies can provide enough entertainment for an entire afternoon. And then you can even pack them up and give them away as gifts. From gingerbread houses to Christmas ornaments to holiday place-mats, the options really are endless. 

Adopt a Family

Just when you thought you really needed that fancy new digital something-or-another, you encounter someone whose child doesn’t have a winter coat. There are a number of holiday outreach programs that help provide Christmas for low-income families. Empower your kids by teaching them the deep satisfaction that only comes from giving to those in need.

About two years ago, I stopped buying the tear-free baby shampoo for my kids in favor of the more “natural” products on the market. On numerous occasions, of course, this “natural” shampoo would drip down into my little boy or girl’s eyes, prompting them to burst into tears. 

I always thought they were overreacting and never switched back to the tear-free brand. But the other night, I somehow managed to get shampoo in my own eyes. Yow!!! I couldn’t stick my face in the water fast enough. It really stung. I had no idea.

At that moment, I was struck by the thought, “Wow – you just never know how someone feels until you’re in that situation yourself.” And then I began to think of all the people that I encounter on a regular basis who are struggling with one life challenge or another.  

As the holiday season approaches, we begin to hear pleas from different organizations to give to those who are less fortunate. We hear accounts of people who aren’t able to heat their homes or put food on the table.  These stories seem more plentiful this year, with gas and food prices soaring, the economy in trouble, and lots of us out of jobs ….

When we’re on the outside looking in, it’s all too easy to minimize the gravity of someone else’s experience. Surely the shampoo can’t sting that badly.

May the hair-washing incident be a lesson to me… to show more compassion. And to recognize the difference between what I think I know and what I really know.

Today was Gracie’s son’s birthday. He turned 63. She often refers to him as “the little one,” in comparison to his 70-year-old brother. I don’t know why it should surprise me that a 95-year-old woman should still be so utterly in love with her babies. A mother’s love has no end. In fact, it seems to just keep on growing.

In case her son decided to come by for a visit on his special day, Gracie had taken out five special gifts that he had given her over the years and had placed them on her kitchen counter. One item was a silver bracelet that her youngest had made at Boy Scout Camp over 50 years ago. She said, “This is special to me because it means that my little boy was thinking of me when he was away at camp.” As she told me this, her face lit up like a young girl in love. And that’s the thing — she was still that besotted girl. I’m sure when her eldest’s birthday comes around, her cheeks will blush in just the same way.

As I sat listening to Gracie reminisce about being in the hospital awaiting her second son’s arrival, it was as if I were talking with one of my girlfriends who just gave birth a year or two ago. The memories are as clear for her as they are for any one of the new moms I know. She remembers the other two women in the hospital who had babies on that day. And she recalls exactly how her eldest son reacted when he heard the news. 

Last week, Gracie and I stopped by to visit her 96-year-old neighbor. I’ve met her before. She can’t speak very clearly, so you just have to smile and nod when she talks to you. But there is one story that she tells with perfect clarity. This sweet, quite alone-in-the-world woman looks down at my three-year-old daughter, and she tells me that she had a daughter too, but she died of cancer. As she recounts this difficult story, her eyes are filled with as much grief and sadness as Gracie’s are brimming with love and celebration. 

In the end … the love that we have for our children may be the single greatest love of our lives.

In our youth-centered world, we often only recognize two different mothers – the young mom in the trenches who can barely come up for air and the grandmother with the grown children and their budding families. But what happens when those grandchildren grow up and move out and begin having kids of their own? Then we have something else altogether. I’ve never given much thought to the perspective of a great-grandmother. Watching your kids become grandparents …. while all the while, in your heart, they are still your precious babies, running around your ankles while you’re trying to put dinner on the table.

I was humbled today when I realized how many elderly women I have known, and yet, I have never fully appreciated the mothers that they continue to be … even though so many new titles and roles have been layered upon them. 

This afternoon, Gracie poured white grape juice in wine flutes to celebrate her baby’s birthday. When I left, I could tell that she was still holding out hope that he might stop by to share a birthday toast with her. I sure hope he did.

After giving birth, I became a group person. The more the merrier. The person who had never organized a social gathering in her life (aside from a birthday party or two) was suddenly coordinating a local play-group. And I always showed up. Early.

I used to think that you either came into the world a “group” person, or you didn’t. You were either the sorority-type, or you weren’t. But then after I had my first child, I realized that my days of preferring to ride solo were over. And I don’t just mean that I now had a kid hitched to my hip 24/7. I mean that the “one-on-one- relationship me” had suddenly walked out the door with my 26-inch waist … never  to return.

I have friends who tell a similar story. They simply didn’t enjoy being around large groups of women – until they had a baby. Judging by the proliferation of play-groups in every neighborhood and town and the gazillion online forums out there … I think that it’s rare to find a woman who has a child and then retreats from other mothers. At least I haven’t met one.

Perhaps what makes motherhood so enriching has almost more to do with how we change in relation to the world than how the world changes in relation to us.

Our environment is different. Absolutely. We now have a baby. BIG change. But up until that baby came into our lives, I think it’s safe to say that most of us (even if we were “group” people) felt that we were somehow charging ahead in our own little personal life-experience. And maybe we were.

The day we became mothers, however, that world opened up. We now took comfort in the feeling that we were definitely not alone in our “life pods.” We were truly part of a greater community of women … some moms, some not yet, some maybe never. That commonality doesn’t seem to matter. It’s more about the shared experience of being a woman — and whatever that brings for each of us.

There is an old Hindu Legend, says Claude Bragdon, that at one time all men on earth were gods, but that men so sinned and abused the Divine that Brahma, the god of all gods, decided that the godhead should be taken away from man and hidden some place where he would never again find it to abuse it.

“We will bury it deep in the earth,” said the other gods.

“No,” said Brahma, “because man will dig down in the earth and find it.”

“Then we will sink it in the deepest ocean,” they said.

“No,” said Brahma, “because man will learn to dive and find it there too.”

“We will hide it on the highest mountain,” they said.

“No,” said Brahma, “because man will some day climb every mountain on the earth and again capture the godhead.”

“Then we do not know where to hide it where he cannot find it,” said the lesser gods.

“I will tell you,” said Brahma, “hide it down in man himself. He will never think to look there.”

And that is what they did. Hidden down in every man is some of the divine. Ever since then he has gone over the earth digging, diving, and climbing, looking for that godlike quality which all the time is hidden down within himself.

It is this spark that I am daring you to turn into a blaze. – “It is this radiance we must recapture.” It is something genuine, something for everyday use. It is the spirit that naturally makes you do the right thing at the right time.

The passage above is an excerpt from William H. Danforth’s book, I Dare You.

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In today’s over-scheduled world, there is little time and few places where we are free to sit still and connect with our spiritual center. That inner voice – perhaps the voice of God – cannot be heard amidst the noise of everyday life.  

As a society, I think that we feel the void. Some say that our obsession with material things is an attempt to fill the spiritual chasm in our world today. Addiction, depression, anxiety – so many of the mental and emotional ailments that we suffer from could be attributed to this disconnect between the body and the spirit.

I often think how much more difficult it must be for us to be faithful than it was for the generations that came before. In a historically Christianity-based society, bedtime prayers, mealtime blessings, and Sunday church services all provided time for our great-grandparents to reflect and explore their faiths. 

Of course, there were skeptics among those who participated in any one of these rituals. Rarely has a person agreed 100% with any particular take on religion. But the point is … spirituality was so much a part of the culture that “the spaces and places” existed – regardless of what you wanted to make of it on a personal level. 

Today, those spaces and places are harder to find. And if they are there, we are not in the habit of seeking them out.

But maybe, as Danforth says, getting back on the road to spiritual exploration begins by simply looking for a hint of the divine within …

Got a light, anyone?

Mary Cassatt - Woman with Baby

I remember attending a play group after my son was born. All of us were toting infants — a roomful of brand-new spanking moms. Although we didn’t know each other then as well as we would in the months to come, someone bravely ended the talk of nap schedules and bottle-feeding when she said, “I’ve been consumed with my mortality lately.”

You could almost hear the collective sigh of relief. “So I’m not the only crazy one!” It seems that we had all begun seeing the world a little differently since the birth of our babes. And not in the way we might have expected. Every woman hears when she’s expecting that “having kids changes you.” Well, no one provided any of the critical details.

Some of the initial morbidity that many of us experienced as new mothers could be attributed to the postpartum hormonal highjacking of our brains. But I know that in my case, anyway, the lenses through which I saw the world became increasingly clouded with fear even as those early days of motherhood faded into the background. What if something horrible happens to my beautiful child? And better yet, what if something happens to me that prevents me from being able to enjoy this magnificent time of life? 

Of course, the media doesn’t help. As a baby shower gift, a friend of mine – with all of the best intentions – gave me a subscription to one of the popular parenting magazines. After a few months, I stopped reading them. They made me a certifiable nervous wreck. One terrifying statistic and horror story after another left me completely paralyzed by fear. 

I’ve given a lot of thought and read a number of books trying to understand what happens to our minds after we have children. It makes sense from a “survival of the fittest” standpoint. As mothers, we must protect our offspring – which means that we also must keep ourselves out of harm’s way. After all, we’re the only ones who are truly capable of safeguarding our little treasures. 

But I think that in addition to our biological makeup is the human mind’s tendency to think, “If something really great is happening right now, then it’s probably about to end. I better get ready.” At least this was the case for me. I was always waiting for the next shoe to drop.

Getting control of my mind has been the singular greatest challenge I’ve faced since giving birth. It far surpasses midnight feedings or grocery-store tantrums. My method for attack in any life crisis has always been research, research, and more research. So I’ve done a lot of reading – from books by psychologists and physicians to spiritual teachers and even mediums. I’ve read them all. 

For my birthday a couple of years ago, a friend of mine gave me the book, Inner Peace for Busy People by Joan Borysenko. In it, Borysenko explains the connection between the mind and body and provides some great anecdotes and practical steps to achieving peace of mind. I would say that her books have been the most helpful in my quest to gain control over my negative thinking — by practicing gratitude, trying not to “catastroph-ize” (or imagine the worst possible outcome to a situation), and by exploring my faith … just to name a few.

Actually, my quest to find mental “balance” is what led me down the road to this blog. Because it’s not just a mind thing — it’s a whole-self thing. I know that I’m not alone in my need to create a stronger “core” self, where every media-induced panic-alarm doesn’t send me into near cardiac-arrest.

But within the global play-group of mothers with a million tasks on their plates, we are often left without a forum for raising our hands and saying, “Hey – am I crazy or …?”

 I bumped into Gracie in the hallway of her apartment building about a year ago. I was delivering a meal for Meals on Wheels to her neighbor, a woman who had just had her 95th birthday bash. When Gracie stopped to talk to me outside her door, I almost fell over when she said, “Yes, my friend in there is 95, and I’m 94 1/2!” She looked not a day over 70.

Gracie invited me and my two kids in for tea, and we stayed for over two hours. She zipped around the apartment preparing tea and cookies — teaching my rather uncultured children the fine art of a proper tea party. Watching her energy and zest for life, I made a mental note to get to know this spirited woman better. When we left that day, I had every intention of returning for a visit shortly. But the best plans of a woman with young children …

This fall we began attending the community church in town on a more regular basis, and it was there that I crossed paths with Gracie once again — she was my son’s Sunday School teacher. The moment I saw her walking around the table cleaning up supplies at the end of the lesson, I knew that I had to make a move. This woman radiated such peace and happiness. “Gracie, would you like to have tea?”

And so it began – Wednesday tea with Gracie. I look forward to it all week. She has the water boiling when I get there, the teapot warming, and the cookies on hand. The table is set with a beautiful floral china set that someone from church mysteriously left at her door. And Gracie is always dressed as if she’s going out for a nice dinner somewhere — makeup on, hair set, and donning two or three necklaces and a different pair of earrings every week.

On our first “date,” I showed up in my ‘around the house’ clothes that I often wear around town, too – but really shouldn’t. My hair was still in the knot I put it in to wash my face in the morning. And I definitely wasn’t wearing any jewelry. But a comment that Gracie made that day stuck with me, and because of it, I arrived in jeans with combed hair the next week.

Over tea, we were talking about her relationship with her mother, who lived with Gracie and her family until she passed away in her mid-80s. When her boys grew up and moved out of the house, Gracie and her mother spent a lot of time at home alone. “But we always made our faces and dressed up for each other,” she said. “My mother didn’t want to look at an ugly face and neither did I, so that’s something we just did for each other.”

I had never thought of it that way. I’ve certainly subjected many a friend and family member to “not-so-good face and hair days.” Not to even mention my husband! Gracie had a few things to say about that too. “My grandmother gave me some good advice,” she said. ” She told me that every day when the children were otherwise occupied, I should lie down for ten minutes before my husband arrived home from work. That way I would greet him with a relaxed, happy face when he walked in the door.” Gracie put on a nice dress and swept her hair into an “up-do,” too — if you’re not smiling that 21st-century-mom smile already.

Things are certainly different today. But Gracie did provide me with some food for thought. I’ve been a little bit more intentional about the way I present myself on a day-to-day basis since then — even if it only means putting a brush through my hair and slapping on a little mascara.