Poetry in Action

It’s NATIONAL POETRY MONTH, but since a picture is often worth a thousand words I think this photo is even better than a poem!  The sweeties are cousins:  not “kissing cousins” because they are 1st cousins rather than 2nd.  But they definitely are “cousins kissing“. 

From left to right we have 2 of our 16 great-grandchildren:  Mia Valentine and Carter Daane, ages 16 months and just 2 years old.  At this moment, Mia and Carter are the 2 youngest members of our family—with another little guy, Deacon Valentine, just a few days older than Carter.  But come June a new cousin will arrive, a little girl whose name is still a mystery to all but her parents.  The new little girl is our 14th grandchild. 

We have a lot of birthdays!  I thank the Lord every day, for my calendar with big squares!  As one friend commented upon seeing a picture of our family at a summer gathering:  “That’s not a family.  That’s a TRIBE. 

So Happy April, from THE TRIBE OF BEEN!

Margaret L. Been, 2013

Of interest:  here are the stats provided by WordPress, for countries and viewers of Northern Reflections in the last 30 days.  What an exciting way to “travel”! 

Country	Views
United States	668
Canada	58
Australia	28
Philippines	24
United Kingdom	15
Sweden	11
India	10
Indonesia	8
Republic of Korea	6
Switzerland	5
Germany	4
Thailand	4
France	4
Taiwan	4
Norway	3
Hungary	3
Spain	2
Ukraine	2
Singapore	2
Viet Nam	2
Saudi Arabia	2
Mexico	2
Pakistan	2
Brazil	2
Jordan	1
Colombia	1
Kenya	1
Mongolia	1
Nigeria	1
Slovenia	1
Serbia	1
Russian Federation	1

 

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North of Highway 8

My above-pictured collage, simply titled “North”, tells a story—an account of eight years when my husband and I lived, year around, north of Highway 8 in the Wisconsin Northwoods.  Included in the collage are photos of our lake and the Big Elk River around the bend, snippets of my cropped art, bits of aluminum foil, Japanese lace paper, some cheesecloth, lots of acrylic paint, and a favorite quote from a beloved American author:  Henry David Thoreau:  “I had three chairs in my house . . . one for solitude, two for friendship, and three for society.”  Walden

People who know me may laugh when I share this favorite quotation.  They know that:  1) I have far more than three chairs in our home, as well as far more than three of most anything else.  I’m a collector of everything! and 2) My idea of “society” is a lot more than three people.  We have a gargantuan family.  All are welcome to come and sit on our multiple chairs—although many are still in the stage of running around rather than just sitting.  (My “up north” friend Sandy commented after viewing a photo of our family, “That’s not a family; that’s a tribe!”)

Meanwhile, aside from Thoreau’s eastern philosophical views, I love most everything that he wrote.  His chair quote, to me, symbolizes an inner peace and unswerving stability.  A true Yankee at heart, Thoreau was never swayed by customs, crowds, human opinion, or even his own precarious health issues.  I have his complete diary spanning 24 years and two huge volumes.  Right up to his last entry, when Thoreau was dying of tuberculosis, his focus remained on the wonders of creation and the intricate details therein.

The wonders of creation predominate around our home in Northern Wisconsin, along with solitude and an undescribable stillness.  Black bears abound. Despite the fact that they tore up a few bird feeders and pulled a screen off our front deck, I loved the bears (but my husband did not!).  Perhaps the most unique thrill of all was seeing timber wolves on the ice in front of our pier.  The wolves brought unforgettable excitement to a minus 25° morning.  (That’s 25 degrees below zero, folks!)  But nature’s wonders notwithstanding, my most precious memories of up north have to do with the friends we made—friends forever.  As always, I was thankful to have more than 3 chairs in my home! 

Now we are back in the Southern part of our state, where much needed medical care is within 13 minutes from our door.  And family!  In recent years, 16 great-grandchildren have appeared on the scene and we live close to 9 of them.  We are watching the little people grow up.  We attend their school concerts and some of the birthday celebrations.  I attend church with children, grandchildren, and 7 of our great-grandchildren.  When out-of-state family members visit, we are all together in one county—so tribal gatherings are easily managed.  Joe and I enjoy our condo home, my little gardens, the good neighbors on our lane, the park and woodlands beyond our door, and quick access to great restaurants and bistros.  A new grandbaby is due in June—within rocking and cuddling distance. 

Yet now and then on hot summer nights—when I lounge outdoors on the patio while viewing the hazy moon and scanty stars over our nearby metro area—I recall those northern night skies, plastered with millions of stars.  I often think of my friends up there, and I’m thankful that we stay in touch. 

We never really lose the beloved people or places in our lives.  There’ll always be a part of my heart labeled, “North of Highway 8″.

Margaret L. Been, ©2013

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Abundance

We don’t have to travel far to experience the glory of autumn in Wisconsin—just a few feet from our front door.  ↑  This gorgeous tree creates a stained glass effect when the morning sun beams through the high window over our front door.

I’ll never tire of watching clouds.  ↑  How blessed we are to have (also just outside our front door) a panorama of sky over a grassy field bordered by wild woods.

 

My gardens are still thriving, and it’s October!  ↑   Amazing after our brutally hot, dry summer.  Perhaps this is the fruit of diligently lugging “grey water” (leftover from dish washing and hand washing of clothes) to the gardens so that I wouldn’t over-use our building’s water supply and risk depleting the well which we share with seven other condos.

Moving indoors, you can see that the “cottage industry” of soap making continues around the year.  ↑

And art making, as well.  ↑

 

Recently, Great-Grandson James came for an art day.  ↑  James is just six years old, and he’s a little prince.  After creating four paintings, he said, “My arm is tired”. 

That was my signal to take him to the park (just outside our front door).  I pushed him on the tire swing.  James paused in the middle of a swing, looked very concerned, and asked me:  “Are you too old to be doing this?”

I assured him that I could handle swinging him.  Then we passed and caught his little Packer football.  James showed me how to place my hand under the stitching when passing the ball.  I never knew that.  But it’s not surprising, since I carried a violin throughout my youth—not a football!

Later James told his Dad, “Grandma caught nearly every pass I threw!”  Was I ever puffed up after that!

So you can see why I’m a bit behind on blogging!  There is so much life, beyond a computer screen!   

The snapdragons are still blooming gloriously!  ↓  They have won my “Most Faithful Flower” award!  They bloom from April until the first deep frost!

Margaret L. Been, ©2012

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Children are born artists!

“Every child is an artist.  The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.”  Pablo Picasso

Our four (almost five) year old Great-granddaughter Brynn’s first question upon arriving at our home was, “Can we do a craft project?” 

I never cease to be inspired by the experience of watching a young person who has been turned loose with paint, water, a brush, and some paper.  Brynn knew about the primary colors—and how to get green from blue and yellow, and purple from red and blue.  I gave her a 11″ x 14″ piece of YUPO paper, and explained that if she wanted to start over with her work we could simply rinse the sheet off and begin again with a white surface. 

Brynn began by eagerly combining all her primaries, and of course got brown.  That was interesting to her, but she decided to get rid of the brown and start over.  The concentration, enthusiasm, and confidence of a child with a paintbrush is wonderful to behold.  I simply stood back and marveled. 

Here is the finished painting.  ↓  Brynn created the circles with a trick I showed her:  squeezing drops of rubbing alcohol on spots of wet paint.  She was delighted with the designs created by the alcohol.

I sprayed Brynn’s painting with a fixative so it will be archival, set the piece in a 16″ x 20″ outside dimension mat and matboard, and encased it in a clear plastic sleeve.  Tomorrow Brynn will return, to pick up her masterpiece and present it to her parents.

What a beautiful piece of art!  I plan to print out my computer copy and frame it so that Joe and I can enjoy the painting and remember a very special afternoon. 

After painting, Brynn served “snacks and juice” in play dishes to Joe and me, a couple of dolls, and my big pink Teddy bear.  Then we read.  Brynn did a lot of the reading, as she has her phonics nailed down very well!  Suddenly her Grandma, our daughter Debbie, came to pick Brynn up—and we realized we’d had so much fun that we forgot about ice cream!  Oh well, next time for sure—and I hope the “next time” will be soon! 

Brynn is blessed to have parents and other family members who will encourage her along the way, in whatever she chooses to do.  I fervently pray that she’ll never encounter some misguided teacher who thinks students should always paint skies blue and grass green—or, horror of horrors, that children should “color within the lines”!  Children are free and creative by nature, until someone comes along and makes them feel self conscious!  There are far too many “walking wounded” adults in this world, who were shot down as children by some unimaginative person who failed to appreciate the beauty of a child’s inspiring art!

Margaret L. Been, 2012

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Letting go . . .

When our son, Karl, was five years old he imparted to me a bit of wisdom that will serve me all my days on earth.  We were out walking, and we saw a baby robin hopping on the grass.  Karl commented, “If I ‘ketched’ a little bird, I would not put it in a cage.  I’d hold it for awhile, and then let it go.”

Life is an ongoing exercise in holding for awhile, then letting go.  Currently I am letting go of a beloved young family:  our grandson, Joshua, his wife, Kelly, and their precious children—Ethan, Cole, and Ella.  These Valentines (that is their last name!) are moving to California, where Josh has accepted a new job. 

Josh and his family have been our neighbors for the last two plus years, here in the northern reaches of our county.  They are the kind of people who show up and sit quietly by your side when you have been rushed to Emergency.   We’ve stashed away a treasure trove of memories with these young people—pizza outings, birthday celebrations, strolls in the park, and lots of ice cream occasions.  I have shed tears over losing this family, and I’ll undoubtedly shed more tears.  Yet I smile to think of Kelly enjoying San Diego.  Kelly and I are alike; we love warm weather!

I often reflect on how radical it was back in the 1800s when Easterners went West, facing incredible hardships and dangers.  Even more life changing was the uprooting of millions of immigrant families who came to our land from other continents, for a fresh start and the hope of a better life—or, as in the case of most of my ancestors, for religious freedom.  We can concentrate on thinking with all we have, yet we cannot begin to comprehend what those early settlers experienced—let alone the courage they displayed.

So California is not that far away, and it is not inaccessible!  A few hours by air.  Yet it sounds like the other end of the world to me, now that flying is no longer one of my favorite things!  I would relish a long trip on the Amtrak, but sitting on a train is not Joe’s idea of fun.  We’ll see what we can dream up.  Meanwhile our loved ones will be back to visit, with so much family in Wisconsin.

 ↑ Ethan (in front), Joshua holding Cole, Kelly holding Ella 

Letting go!

Margaret L. Been, ©2012

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REJOICE!

Now that turkey leftovers are resting in the freezer, we begin our Christmas celebrations.  With a large family, there is no such thing as “too soon”.  Actually, I normally trim our tree early in November of each year.  When Daylight Saving ends, and that sudden thud of darkness descends, the glowing lights and holiday preparations are welcome!  By mid-January, when we stash our ornaments and tree for another year, the sun will have resumed its faithful return trip North.  Meanwhile, Christmas lights are a panacea for diminishing daylight—and so are the holiday gatherings with loved ones. 

We had our first Christmas celebration last Friday with our Grandson Joshua and his family.  Josh and Kelly have three beautiful young ones—Ethan, Cole, and Baby Ella who just turned 1.  In fact, we celebrated Ella’s birthday along with our early Christmas.  Of course we’ll all be together again over the coming weeks, but Joe and I love to gather with each family individually as well. 

Below, you’ll see a delighted Great-Grandma and three of her treasures (wearing the hats which I knitted for them):  left to right—Cole, Ella, and Ethan.  So many reasons to REJOICE! 

Most of all, I rejoice in the Lord Jesus—The Reason for the Season! 

Margaret L. Been, ©2011

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Wisconsin Late Autumn

Our patio is no longer our “living room”, unless we bundle snugly and clutch a mug of hot coffee.  The dried leaves are poignant reminders of the sunny green months, now stashed away in memory, like potatoes and carrots in a root cellar—waiting to be unearthed for winter nourishment.

This glimpse of garden glory was captured the day before a killer frost ended the reign of the mums.  Now they have drooped, and they are looking earthward—anticipating their long sleep.

The garage is ready for winter.  Vestiges of warmer days are stored here with the accoutrements of fishing and gardening, outdoor decorations, and our wonderful, weathered vintage croquet set.  The Christmas wreath and funny little fake tree—both gleaned at rummage sales for a few cents—will be pressed into service soon. 

On some of the most bitter winter days, Joe and I sit in the sun in the shelter of our south-facing garage and luxuriate in the sight of summer stashed and waiting for a new season of rejoicing outdoors.

I have never been to Africa, but since I’ll soon have a Nigerian son-in-law the great continent of Africa is close to my heart.  A glimpse of sunrise over our Southern Wisconsin park reminds me of pictures I’ve seen of the Serengeti.  Of course a giraffe or two would have to replace that line of trees in the background of the photo.  And in Wisconsin we do not have any lions lurking behind a bush.  I can’t say I regret that!  The domestic cats I know delight my heart, and satisfy my need for feline wildness in my life!

Here are some reasons our sixteen great-grandchildren should enjoy winter.  I recently completed the last one—the wee baby hat on the bottom right.  This little pink chapeau has been presented to the parents-to-be, and quite possibly Baby Mia will wear it home from the hospital in early December.  The remaining hats will be Christmas gifts.

Hot tea has replaced my beloved iced beverage for a few months.  My consolation lies in the hot tea paraphernalia, which in this instance includes most of my ethnic roots:  a Swiss tea kettle, English teapot/cup/and saucer, and Scottish Breakfast Tea ready to sip.  (The cream in the tea is Wisconsin raised.) 

The gorgeous green in the new kettle could reflect my Irish heritage, but alas—that heritage was Orange not Green, although my political sympathies have always been with the Green!  And I don’t see any Alsatian artifacts in the picture.  But I’m sure I could find a bit of German chocolate to go with the tea.

Now we drink our tea beside the (electric) fireplace, rather than outdoors.  Overseen by my collage art, the fireplace mantel collection of dysfunctional clocks and watches reminds me that time is relative.  Each piece tells but one time, correct only twice in twenty-four hours. 

There’s a lot of mellow living to be had when we realize that the aesthetic beauty of a clock far exceeds its worth in practical terms.  Each season in our Wisconsin homeland beckons us to suspend time, savor the moment, and contemplate that which is eternal!

“For a thousand years in Thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night.”  Psalm 90:4

Margaret L. Been, ©2011

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Silly Fun!

This somewhat diluted-by-sunshine teeter totter adventure features our 4 year old great-granddaughter Brynn and me (the old one).  The reason for the photo involves another great-grandchild, 5 year old James.

Earlier in the summer when James was still 4 years old, I took him and his 2 year old sister, Lyla, to our neighborhood playground.  James saw the teeter totter and got very excited.  He ran and sat down on one end of it.  Little Lyla followed, and stood with her hand on the vacant seat—obviously wanting me to put her on it.  I joined the children, so that I could give Lyla “a leg up” as they say in horse racing.

Meanwhile, James thought I was going to get on the teeter totter myself.  His face registered shock, disbelief, and consternation—and his comment was sweet and precious, as well as hilarious.  James said, “Oh no!  You’re too old!”

Joe and I have been chuckling about James’s concern ever since.  So recently, when we went to the playground with Brynn we asked her mom to take a photo of the old grammy teeter tottering—and then to share the picture with James since he and Brynn are cousins.

Kids’ words have got to be among the funniest and/or most touching and wonderful things on earth!  I hope I’ll never be “too old” to enjoy them! 

Margaret L. Been, ©2011

Note:  There’s an addendum to this adventure.  Last week James came to visit again, and we went to the playground.  I decided to really impress him, by swinging on one of the swings.  Back and forth I went, pumping higher and higher—like the child in Robert Louis Stevenson’s A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES.  My it was fun.  But later, I paid the piper with a spine that could scarcely move let alone straighten up.  I was gimped. 

Maybe James was right! 

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Praise God for the “normal” things . . .

. . . waking in the morning to the sound of much-needed rain,

sharing a breakfast at our local “good old boy” restaurant,

stopping at the library and leaving with 2 heavy sacks of books,

celebrating the progression of summertime in our gardens,

sitting in ”our row” in church with 10 great grandchildren—ages 6 and under,

gently stepping back in time at the antique barn up the road,

eating ice cream on the patio, 

sleeping, waking, breathing in and out!

Sweet savor offerings of praise are going up each day!  For five weeks Joe and I have been at home.  This is a record.  Since September, 2010 when I had spinal fusion surgery right up until mid-June, 2011 when Joe had a heart emergency we have not been out of a hospital for more than a month.  The one-month break happened only once.  For the rest of that period we averaged a hospital stay every two to three weeks—with each stay lasting from 2 to 10 days.

I’m not clueless enough to believe this blessed hiatus will last forever.  We live one day at a time, and when a crisis comes we find peace and joy in the midst of whatever God allows in our lives.  But at this moment we are enjoying peace and joy at home, doing “normal” things! 

Margaret L. Been, ©2011

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To Facebook and Back . . . a foray into cyber Kum Ba Ya

I’m not knocking it, Facebook that is.  Of course I like faces, and I’m very fond of friends.  But I’ve just de-activated my account on that great worldwide “hold hands around the campfire” site, because I am totally convinced that Facebook is not for me.

I joined Facebook a few weeks ago, inspired by our son Eric who said:  “Mom, you should do Facebook just to see the precious pictures of your great-grandchildren.  I love photos, and my great-grandchildren are indeed precious as well as highly photogenic—as you can see from the 4 faces (4 of 15!) pictured above. 

So I did.  I signed on—creating yet one more password based on the cuteness of Pembroke Welsh corgis.  What a shock I received when I “arrived” on Facebook and discovered a raft of individuals evidently just floating around, waiting to be my “friend”!  I knew most of these folks, and I’d really thought they already were my friends.  But then there were some I didn’t recognize.  I guess they were friends of my friends.

Over the ensuing weeks, I kept getting emails saying “So and so wants to be your friend.”  Not wishing to be offensive, I accepted these people—again, most of whom already were my friends plus some relatives who are also friends.  Trying to get in the proverbial swim, I even asked some people if they would be my friend! 

A corker was one email I received, containing a long list of unknowns who wanted to be my friend because—like me—they’d attended Colorado U. at Boulder.  I wonder if they had any idea I’d ”been there, done that” way back in 1951-1952!

Then I got an email asking me if I would receive a hug from a young friend.  Now this person is very special to me, and if I were to run into her at the supermarket or anywhere else, I’d certainly give her a huge hug.  But a cyber hug?  I didn’t know how to do that.  Anyway, again being my pleasant (most of the time) self, I agreed to the hug.  I had to access Facebook to do this, and behold—I was confronted with a string of names and the caption, “Would you like to give these people hugs?”  Is that silly, or what?

One day I decided to use the Facebook facility for one purpose which is tremendously useful:  that of locating a long lost friend with whom one has completely lost touch.  I entered the name of a friend from the late 1940s and early ’50s.  This young man had been born in the USA so he was an American citizen.  But he was raised in Switzerland by his Swiss parents, and then returned to the USA during his high school years.  He had a distinctly German Swiss name.  All Joe and I knew, after last seeing him, was that he’d joined the air force during the Korean war and finally settled somewhere over the rainbow in California.

I entered the man’s first name (Hans) along with his last name (___________________) and up came a page of men with that name.  One of them was about the age that our friend Hans would be.  The Facebook Hans was pictured with his smiling wife.  Indeed it was a Germanic type face, but much different from that of the Hans I remembered.  Our Hans was tall and angular with deep set, brooding eyes.  The Facebook Hans had a full, jolly face.  He looked more like a knackwurst and beer-garden Hans.

How much can people change in 60 years?  A lot, I thought.  Maybe the smiling wife had something to do with Hans turning plump and jolly.  So I clicked the box asking Hans if he would be a friend of Margaret Been.  Somehow, I then meandered to a page where this Hans’s activities and other friends were listed.  That page was all in German, and so were all of Hans’s jolly friends. 

Ooops!  Our Hans would have been all in English.  As a young adult he’d refused to return to Switzerland to claim Swiss citizenship.  He’d chosen to be an American!  I have to grin when I think of the Teutonic Facebook Hans wondering who in the world is this American woman who wants to be his friend!  As far as I know, I never did strike up a relationship with him!

Finally, there was a place at the bottom of the page where one could click on info about more people with the name “Hans ____________________.”  I clicked, and alas.  Our Hans came up on the top of a GOOGLE page—or rather his obituary came up. 

The obit ran true down to every detail we’d known of him until we’d lost touch, and the remaining information fit.  Hans died in 2007, of a rare cancer.  The rest of my day was poignant.  I mourned the loss of a person I hadn’t seen in decades.  Circuitously Facebook had made the connection. 

After all of that, and a few more forays to see those darling great-grandchildren’s photos, it dawned on me that I simply don’t have time for Facebook—as efficacious as it may be for many people.  I see the great-grandchildren in person!  I have photos of them, given to me by their parents!  I take snapshots myself! 

Blogging and shopping comprise all the time I want to spend staring at a monitor!  So, late last night, I de-activated my account.  The screen indicated that many hearts would be broken because I was leaving.  “Your friends will miss you,”  Facebook said.  As if that were not enough to germinate a guilt trip for turning my back on all these friends, I then had to give an excuse for leaving. 

All my life I’ve taught children never to make excuses.  “Just say yes or no”, I’ve said to the little people in my life.  But that wasn’t enough for Facebook.  Facebook was so smitten with me that I had to give a reason before it would let me go!

Whew!  Now if any of you Facebook buddies happen to be reading this, PLEASE know that you are still my friend.  Email me.  Snailmail me.  Call on the phone, or just drop in!  I’ll give you a hug!  You know where I live—as well as where I went to college, etc.  Please stay in touch! 

But if you look for me on Facebook, you won’t find me—or my face.  I’m outta there! 

Margaret L. Been ©2011

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