To My Mom...

I've been a bit quiet lately. I had a blogpost all set to go, but it was simply me, standing on my soapbox, wondering where the fuck respect had gone. So, I left it to sit because I don't think anyone else gives a shit like I do. And I can only write so many posts about respect.

So, I'm back and this is more than a bit premature, but after the past few days, I need to make this blogpost. I realize not everyone is as lucky as I am, but I don't feel like it is up to someone else to teach our children how to be good human beings.

Here it goes: 

To my mom:

I don't often take the time to say "thank you" for the small stuff. You know, the stuff like leading by example, teaching me to cook, bake, sew, file taxes, balance a budget, live on a budget, respect (like how I slipped that in there?), compassion, understanding, and love. I realized the other day (after watching a video on FB about how the schools should be teaching our children this stuff) that I learned how to be a woman from you. From putting on my make up and picking an outfit suitable for "going to town" to showing people respect even when they don't deserve it, I learned it all from you. Now, if you saw me today you may doubt you taught me anything (I arrived at work set to clean. I am sporting pigtails, sweats, an old ratty hoodie, and no make up. Then, I was informed I had to make a run to the bank...as in go inside and interact with people...sigh).

I was 11 days old here. Those boys would grow up to be the only big brothers I ever knew, even though we were cousins.

You gave me a love of books. Maybe it was by accident because you wanted to have 30 minutes to get ready without a baby crawling up your leg. Maybe it was intentional. However, it was meant, I appreciate it. My love of books led me down the rabbit hole with Alice and stumbling into Wonderland, into the Swiss Alps with Heidi, into Yorkshire with Dr. Herriott, and down the banks of Plum Creek with Laura Ingalls. That love led me to create my own worlds and share them with people around the world! It gave me a dream! While I've stepped back so I don't overwhelm myself, I get to live that dream every time I sit down to my computer.

Your love of cooking and baking has led me down some different culinary paths. I've become quite proficient at Asian cooking. I'm not afraid to try different things because you gave me the basics. I've become more daring in my flavor combinations and am not afraid to combine my savory with my sweets (on occasion you may get a taste of heat from chiles in my chocolate cake or cocoa in my pot of chili, salt in my caramel, black pepper in my pumpkin recipes...). I can make a meal for one or 40. I can make it as fancy or rustic as is proper. You taught me fractions! Oh gods, I thought those things would be the death of me! Now, I do it in my head!

As we've discussed recently, I wasn't an easy child. I had a will of my own and seldom wanted to heed the advice of others. I am impatient and frustrate easily. There are times when I don't follow through on something because I simply get so overwhelmed. I always have more irons in the fire than I can deal with. Finishing one task before starting another is something I never learned. It would be nice to focus on one thing at a time. Unfortunately, my mind doesn't allow it. My teen years were fraught with arguments, but we always worked it out in the end. Mistakes were made on both sides, but by your example, I learned to say the words "I'm sorry!"

You taught me to keep a clean house, though my anal retentivness goes beyond most. You taught me to sew a button at such a young age. I even take the extra buttons and tuck them in a button box for my "just in case" days. You taught me to mend holes in clothing instead of simply tossing the clothes in a rag pile. I remember my first job at the truck stop and having to file taxes. I sat at the dining room table and filled out that 1040EZ asking you about every single line. I was so proud of myself. I now let a company do them, but I fill in the blanks :) You taught me how to grocery shop. There are very few name brand products I purchase. You taught me how to live on a budget and how to save for the important things. Some people in my life (you know who you are) think I'm cheap. I prefer the word "frugal". And on that same topic, you taught me the difference between "I want" and "I need". I will overthink a purchase for months before deciding on making a purchase. (How bad do I need this? If I wait for a bit, will it go on sale? How often will I use it? Will I use this more than once a year? Is it absolutely necessary? Can I use it for more than the one thing it is intended for? Will I be able to find it cheaper somewhere else? Is this something I can find at a discount store/Goodwill/St. Vinny's/Salvation Army/Re-store/ garage sale/ flea market?) In turn, you taught me how to let go of things. You made sure I didn't become a hoarder who holds on to things that she has no use for. I hang onto the things that matter. You taught me how to make a home on the simplest of budgets.

You can't tell where I get my sense of humor, can ya?

For all of these things (plus my goofy sense of humor) and more, Mom, I say "Thank you from the bottom of my heart!" My experiences may have molded me into who I am, but you, YOU, showed me how to handle the shit Life throws at me with grace, faith, and a smile.

Your card is on its way to you. Your gift, I'll save for your visit! However, this is the best gift I can give you for now! HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY, MOM! I love you so very much!

My silly, goofy mom!

The House that Built Me

This song plays and my mind (and heart) go back to my childhood home. In an attempt to gain deeper knowledge about myself, I've been digging into the memories I have from growing up.

The house I was raised in was a family home. My great-grandparents lived there. My grandparents lived there. My parents lived there. There was history there. And not just history...MY history. The rooms I played in, my grandfather played in as well as my mother.

I remember lying in my bed at night and I imagined that I could feel the heartbeat of the house through the walls. Not in a creepy Stephen King way, but a soothing way. So many people talk about a house bursting at the seams. In my mind, our burst at the seams from all the love that had been created in that house.

It wasn't a house that would win awards from HGTV, but to me, it was beautiful. In the front yard stood a HUGE maple tree that, for years, held an old tire swing. One of the roots had grown above the surface and made the perfect step for us kids. There was a lilac hedge that grew the length of the front yard. The breeze would blow through them in the spring and scent the entire house. Tiger lilies grew out by the mailbox. Two large oak trees grew at the end of our driveway and a yellow maple grew in the front yard near the road. The willow in the backyard made an excellent hiding place until Mom trimmed it. *G* I can still see the clothes blowing on the clothesline in the summer breeze. Freshly washed and dried sheets just off the line are always amazing to climb into at night. I miss that feeling.

Inside the house smelled clean and filled with baked goods. It was a rare occurrence that Mom wasn't in the kitchen, baking something. Whether it was pies, cookies, or cake, she always had something in the oven. Then, there were the meals. On the cool fall or cold winter days, ghoulash or chili would simmering away on the stove with homemade bread in the oven. Spring and summer usually brought lighter fare like creamed potatoes with fresh peas.

As much as I cringed over the pink rosebud wallpaper in my room (wasn't quite the girly girl), I loved tracing the pattern as I sat in my bed reading. As I grew up, I added bits and pieces of furniture to make my own living space. I had the perfect little apartment set up. A living area and bedroom plus I used the hallway as a place to set up a desk. I loved having my own space to be alone.

Before we lost the farm, my summer days were filled with all sorts of things. Gardening, picking berries, taking care of the animals, and on those rare days with nothing to do, I'd pack a bag and take off across the pastures to the creek that ran along the back of our property. A couple of hard boiled eggs, a shaker of salt, a glass of lemonade, and a couple of cookies along with a towel and books, I'd set off for the afternoon. Getting lost in my own imagination was the best way for me to while away the hot summer day, dangling my feet in the creek.

I remember Saturday lunches of burgers, homemade fries, and malts while watching television. On occasion, Dad would get out his guitar and play. Summer evenings meant playing ball in the front yard once chores were done. Winter nights meant board games or television. If it were Christmastime, lots of baking. Dad would turn on the music and we would sing and dance while fudge bubbled away on the stovetop and cookies baked in the ovens.

Sure it sounds ideal, right? Let's not forget the arguments...especially when I became a teenager. Mom and I had more than our share of arguments that ended with either one or both of us in tears. Dad would tell me later how he tried hard not to laugh at us because we were often saying the same thing and both were so damned certain we were right. We learned that communication (at least for us) worked better if we wrote out our feelings. Often, I'd come home from school and there would be a note, written on stationary, lying on the stairs to my room. I'd read it, cry, smile and then reply. Then, I'd take my own note and put it on the counter. It's not that we didn't communicate. It was that we expressed our feelings better on paper. (Not a huge surprise that I became a writer after knowing this, right?)

When I left that house, my heart broke. I knew every nook and cranny of that old farmhouse. It was home. I have spent all of my adult life trying to have a home like that and I haven't managed yet. I've lived in many different places in a few different states, but home? Never have achieved that feeling. I'm still trying, but I've learned that it isn't necessarily the actual building, but the people who make a house a home. Of course, after re-reading this for any errors, I can see the truth. The house was just the storage place for all that love. It was the people who made that old farmhouse home. I'm still working on building a home my own to hold all the love that is created.

Roots and Wings

I don't write a lot about where I came from. It isn't a conscious thing. I thought I'd come a long way from that farmer's daughter in southern Michigan. Turns out I haven't.

I was born and raised in rural Michigan. Born to a family of dairy farmers, I was expected to help when I could. Responsibility was a big deal. Everyone had to pitch in where they were able. From shoveling manure and cleaning the barn to feeding calves and baling hay, my hands have been in it all. I remember spending a day or two over one summer caring for a calf that was born and needed some extra attention. I took a bag with snacks and books to the barn to lay with this precious little bundle. It wasn't a hardship. It was something I loved. 

I grew up with a menagerie of animals. Cows, calves, pigs, rabbits, peacocks, a pony, a lamb, chickens, ducks, geese, cats and dogs. And I LOVED it. At the moment, I didn't appreciate it for what it was...a learning experience. I learned that it was my job to take care of these beings if I wanted them to take care of me. Sure we ate the pigs, cows, and rabbits, but it was the cycle of life. I have a deep appreciation for the cycle. Death and birth was a big part of my life. Doesn't mean it's easy for me, it's just an understanding. When I lose one of my dogs, I will go into a deep depression that lasts for days, sometimes months, but I do understand that they don't live forever.

I also had the opportunity to grow up with my original parents. There were no "steps" involved. (That happened later on.) I got to see the love and devotion my parents had for each other. Through the toughest of times, they were there for each other. They fought. They argued. They fussed. But the most important thing: They loved. Each other. Us kids. Life. We were never financially rich, but we were rich in love. My parents laid out an example of love that I have tried to replicate in my life. Unfortunately, not everyone was raised with that sort of love and they don't understand it.

Holidays were spent in the kitchen with my mom. I've always said I am my father's daughter, but I'm just as much my mother's as well. Side by side in the kitchen, we'd cook dinner, bake cookies, clean up after the meals. Most of what I know I learned at my mom's side. But it was more than just cooking or baking. It was life lessons that I carry with me. I learned fractions by doubling recipes. I learned that the most special ingredient you can put in the things you cook is love. And I learned that how you feel as you bake/cook can translate over to the people who eat  your food, so be careful with your emotions.

I remember wearing farmer hats and my grandpa telling me, "You are gonna get cauliflower ears." I literally thought my ears were going to sprout cauliflower. LOL  I was the only granddaughter and being a tomboy was...well, not what was expected. I've always been a jeans and t-shirt sort of girl, but as I've aged, I gained weight. So, I hide it. Wearing hats fell by the wayside. I left the farm and left all of that behind. I turned my back on who that girl was and forgot a lot of who I was.

I got married and moved into town. Never really made it back to the country. However, I've lived in several different places and have spent the majority of my life searching for who I really am. It is funny that I found her on a back road in rural Wisconsin with the radio turned up and the wind blowing through my hair, the scent of cow manure in the air. 

Do you wanna know who I am? I am that barefoot country girl who loves walking through the grass, catching ladybugs, and feeling a breeze ruffle through my hair. I am the ponytailed girl in a camo ball cap climbing into her 4-wheel drive looking for a little mud. I'm the girl who shoots her whiskey straight, likes her steak medium and on an open pit, and will dress up pretty to sit in a church pew on Sunday morning. I am who I have always been...a farmer's daughter.

One final word before I end this. I remember watching "Designing Women" and Suzanne Sugarbaker said something that has stuck with me all of this time: "To you, my child, I bequeath two things. One is roots. The other is wings." I've learned that after all this time, my wings have led me where I needed to go, but my roots run deeper than I ever dreamed.

Learning To Fly

Unless I'm talking about a specific event, you won't often find me posting random thoughts about my childhood. Why? It was a great childhood and I was basically a happy kid, I just prefer to look forward instead of back.

Today, however, I'm going to tell you a bit about me. I grew up on the family dairy farm in southern Michigan. My dad helped my grandparents run it until Dad and Mom took it over in 1977-78. We lived in the farmhouse. Up the hill from me lived my aunt and uncle plus two cousins. My grandparents were literally a hill and a cornfield away. I was the only girl and everyone was certain I would be a girly-girl...growing up with two older boy cousins? Really? Okay, I love dresses and lace much better than I used to, my hair is colored and my nails are always painted, and pink may be more of a favorite color now than ever before. But you will still find me in jeans and t-shirts most day, my Carhartt jacket is a must have, and there is a camouflage baseball hat hanging on the coat hooks just inside my front door.

Okay, enough reminiscing. I am telling you this to show you how I was never what anyone expected me to be. I have never met anyone's expectations of who I am which made me very sad. It was this last year when I was able to step out of the shadow of everyone's expectations and simply realize who I am. It has taken a lot of help on other people's parts to pull me out, but I feel more alive at 42 than I ever did at 22. I am certainly happier now than ever before.

I wrote this a while ago, but I wanted to share it with you all here:

The Girl Who Dared

Once upon a time, there was a girl who dared.

She dared to dream in bright, vivid colors.

She dared to believe that she could climb mountains and touch the sky.

She dared to try anything and showed no fear.

She dared to soar on the wings of eagles.

She dared to march to her own music.

She dared to dance like no one was watching.

She dared to sing like no one was listening.

She dared to pour her soul into her stories.

She dared to believe in the impossible.

She dared to imagine.

She dared to care so deeply about others that she forgot to care just as deeply about herself.

She dared to live with no regrets.

She dared to fall in love every chance she got.

She dared to dream of possibilities.

She dared to be different.

She dared to believe in a love that would be passionate, romantic, and all consuming.

She dared to be a woman who would LIVE.

Then, one day, something happened…she stopped daring. Instead, she grew up and stopped believing she could do any of the things she wanted to do. She stopped living the life she wanted…she didn’t thrive…she merely survived in a world that was cold and uncaring. The world didn’t believe in her and didn’t care if she dared to live her life. The little girl inside the woman curled into a ball and went into a sleep that was quite like death.

One day, the woman realized that the little girl who lived inside of her had the right idea. The woman attempted with all of her might to wake the little girl up…she tried everything she could. The woman had an idea…she whispered in the little girl’s ear “I dare you to live.” The little girl opened her sleepy green eyes with a wicked grin and said, “I dare you right back.” The woman’s grin matched the sleepy child’s as she said, “Welcome back, baby.” Together, the woman and little girl dared to live.

©GemmaKMurray2014

Tomorrow I will be promoting The Golden Dragon's Treasure all day on my friend's, Virginia Nelson, website. Stop over and say hello! I can't wait to see you there!