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Why Marbles My 1st blog attempt Was an answer to a promise I made to my eldest son when I handed him a jar full of marbles. The marbles were from a collection saved by my mother over the years of my childhood, and I must admit that if left to me I would have already lost all of my marbles. My son asked if I could jot down some of the ways these marbles were used I told him I would write down as much as I could remember and send it to him later. I am the supreme procrastinator of all time which resulted in him sending me a reminder at which time he promised not to lose my marbles and I reassured him that I would get busy and tell him and his children how the beautiful round bits of glass and minerals were used for amusement and competition. My Response2 blog arose out of frustration with the attitudes and lack of respect for our country, our traditional ethics, and educational system. Rons Lyrics and Poetry started just because my scribbles needed a place to rest.

Sunday, May 12, 2013

MOM WAS A HERO (mothers day 2013)


Mothers Day, 2013.
I am a bit reflective about Mom today, and a bit disappointed in myself for not being honest about my relationship with her.  I allowed myself to be a bit angry with her over some of her humaness without really looking or admitting who she really was in life.  I was not very kind to my Mom during her last years and I put my own feelings ahead of hers.  I loved her, but neglected to visit, leaving that responsibility to others.  I have multitudes of reasons that I acted that way, one of which was seeing her so frail, but that’s not the subject.  I will try to tell you about the hero I called Mom and I will attempt to put forth some of my memories.  I can’t really start at the beginning because I haven’t had a good memory for most of my life.  That being the case, I will just start writing about her.

Moms’ legal name started out as Dorothy Ann Weiland, daughter of Henry Weiland and Louise Dober Weiland.  She was an only child raised in a somewhat dysfunctional home.  Grandpa had an alcohol problem and an anger with a God that he felt should not have allowed WWI.  Grandma, on the other hand, was very, very, Catholic.  I am quite sure that Mom was ready to escape that situation.  When she and Dad were married, they lived in the City of Portland, Oregon just a few blocks from where she lived as a child.  Dad worked in the shipyards as a welder during WWII until his epilepsy brought an end to that.  He then went to work as a baker, and finally went to work for Mom’s Uncle Joe on his farm in Hillsboro, Oregon.  I don’t really remember too much about Mom during this time and most of what took place next for her are the bits and pieces that have been acquired through hearsay and supposition.

I am quite sure that when Mom agreed to move back to the Condon, Oregon area for Dads’ return to life as a farmer/rancher.  She had no idea of what she was really in for.   I’m not sure that she signed up for the life she was confronted with but the way she handled it I find remarkable.  Mom is memorable to me and I would guess my siblings for the things most moms are thanked for on mother’s day.  She cared for us, fed us, worried over us and protected us the way moms do but what puts her in the hero category for me is how I saw her confront things that I know she feared.  Mom stood up for herself in later years but I can hardly imagine the young girl that married my Dad being personally strong.  Growing up I know that Mom was somewhat insecure and doubtful about her abilities in a lot of areas.   What I saw was quite different….kind of like a scaredy cat confronting the bulldog.  Here are some of the things that define her as a hero (one who acts to resolve issues in spite of the normal fear responses of flight, fight or freeze.):

One of the first things that Mom would have to face was the fact that dad was affected by epilepsy and all that entails.  Not an easy thing to deal with for those who have the condition or for those who have to care them.  I would think that Mom would have to have loved Dad a lot to marry him knowing how epilepsy attacks and the irregular spontaneity of those attacks.  It has always amazed me that I was six years old before learning about Dad’s condition.  One day, he was driving me to meet the school bus and the pickup we were in went through the fence into a pasture before coming to a stop.  I thought Dad was dead but I couldn’t figure out why he was still breathing so heavy.  It terrified me and I’m sure Mom’s reaction to her first experience with it would have been similar.  How she and Dad protected Sally and I from ever seeing this happen and how she took care of Dad and us after one of the attacks without showing any indications of the stress involved is remarkable.  I never heard Mom complain about having to deal with Dad’s epilepsy.  She even handled the situation of my brother Fred’s epilepsy calmly and with apparent caring for Fred.


When Dad decided they should go back to Condon, I imagine that Mom experienced some fears but she still agreed to go in spite of those fears.  I can remember some instances of Mom acting as if all things were normal but I know now how different the farm was from the city she grew up with.  While growing up I never really thought of Mom being anything more than Mom.  I loved Mom and I knew that she loved me and my brother and sisters but this was something that every Mom did and was expected to do.  No big deal.  Even in the last years I never took the time to realize what she did that was so extraordinary.  Like so many things and people in life we take for granted Mom had fallen into that category.  Somewhere, sometime in the last few years in my retrospective quest, it occurred to me that Mom did a lot of things that weren’t normal or to be expected of a young, shy city girl.  She went from a city home life where electric lights, telephones, indoor plumbing busses and trolley cars were common, to a farm outside a small town in Eastern Oregon.  The farm had none of those things but still she made do.  She overcame fear and self-doubt, fitting in to the life and with the people in the small farming community.

Today, on this Mothers Day, I admit being in awe of that lady.  How did she manage to feed our harvest crews the meals she prepared and delivered to the field?  She always delivered food hot and always tasty.  Her cooking was consumed in total by the men who admittedly hired on with Dad because of Mom’s notoriety as a cook.  I can still remember her driving into the field, setting up a picnic table and laying out the spread.  I miss that.  She would cook a full meal for lunch and another for dinner.  We would have baked ham, chicken, roast beef meals with all the side and trim dishes.  No one ever left hungry.  There were pies every day:  apple, cherry, lemon and peach at least two varieties at each of those meals.  How did she accomplish all this on a wood stove? It was amazing and almost miraculous!

Mom, today I pray that you can hear me say
How much I appreciate the things you did
How much I regret not realizing the life you led
And I want to apologize for not telling you
The things I should have said.
                                           To me you are a Hero and I love you.

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