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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Friendship’s Glue

Last week I enjoyed an occasion that has been a frequent event in my life for over 50 years:  lunch with a gathering of special friends.  We’ve known each other since school days in the 1940s and early 1950s, and began getting together as a group when we were young moms.

There were thirteen of us to begin with, a “baker’s dozen”.  (We even published a little cook book in that name!)  Now our numbers have dwindled, but eight of us are still present.  “The girls” supposedly meet monthly, although not every one can always be on hand.  For years we met in our homes, for a gracious three-fork spread.  Now we’re apt to include a restaurant meal here and there.

I’m frequently asked, “How can the same people be friends for all those years?  The answer is what I call “Friendship’s Glue”—and that term actually signifies the lack of gossip.  There isn’t a single backbiter in the group.  We respect each other, we don’t meddle in each other’s business, and we don’t gossip. 

God’s Word comes down hard on backbiting, also called “whispering”—the King James Version term for gossiping and stirring up dissention, which is one of the six things God hates as listed in Proverbs 6:16-19.  All too often we see the devastation of dissension and the decaying fruit of “whispering”, which separates friends.  And families!

It’s no secret that families are floundering in our contemporary society.  Evidence of unfaithfulness, lack of commitment, and self-centered agendas are everywhere.  Yet hidden among the glaring issues in troubled families, is a less publicized poison—a deadly potion that causes an undercurrent of strife and heartache in what often appears on the surface to be “the very best of families”. 

How many families positively shine on the outside, with a shared value of “togetherness” and mutual support, yet are riddled on the inside with scars and dissensions perpetrated by whisperers?  A group may include a number of backbiters, so that it’s impossible to guess where it all began. 

But it only takes one whisperer, one back-biting telephone call (or, as a friend commented, one entry on FACEBOOK) to set a destructive process in motion—resulting in the walking wounded, those individuals who have been misunderstood or torn to shreds by an unkind and unruly mouth.

How precious, how wonderful to have friends and family members mutually bonded by Friendship’s Glue!

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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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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Still Buying Green Bananas!

In two days I will turn 78, and yes Joe and I are still stepping out in faith and buying green bananas.  (Think about that one!) 

Yesterday our daughter, Debbie, had a gala birthday party for this occasion, starting indoors with gifts and cake and ending beside Debbie and Rick’s pool.  Corraling the TRIBE OF BEEN into a corner of a room for a family photo is quite an undertaking, but I did it!  I snapped the above picture.  If my math is correct, 15 family members are missing in the photo—due to work or distance.  After I shot the photo, Joe insisted that someone take another so that I could be in a picture.  So our grandson, Adam, stepped out to do the honors and I sat beside Joe.  ↓

Joe and I like “kissy” photos.  As Joe says, “This all started with a kiss!”

To complete the scenario of yesterday’s memorable celebration, here is a shot of THE DRESS—decorated for me by my artist/niece, Nancy, who lives in Colorado Springs.  Nancy, are you blogging today?  I heard rumors that you will also see photos of your masterpiece on Facebook.  Thanks again for a smashing garment, a certain conversation starter, and a magnificent work of art! 

Meanwhile, we love those bananas!

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Patio Summer

Our east-facing patio which opens directly off our living room is one of the greatest joys that Joe and I have ever experienced in a home.  We are sequestered in a courtyard, sheltered on three sides, and our neighborhood has been mosquito proofed.  Last summer I think I saw three mosquitoes—and so far this year, none.  The daytime and early evening quiet is punctuated by the sounds of trains and happy voices from the nearby park.  In the night we hear trains and wind, all of which we love.* 

The above-pictured fountain is a new feature on our patio.  The water runs constantly, powered by a small pump which is hidden beneath the top pile of surrogate rocks—actually fiber glass.  Knowing that Joe and I currently live in challenged bodies, people have asked me how we set up the fountain.  For me, it was the proverbial piece of cake.  I transported the box of parts from van to patio on my 4-wheeler walker, and assembled the whole bit as instructed by the clerk at the store.  An outdoor electrical outlet is conveniently situated in the brick facing, behind the bench next to the little girl and her ducks.  Voila!  Cascading water!

So enamored am I with this fountain that I get up at least once each night and slide the patio door open, so I can listen and make sure the water is still falling down those fiber glass rocks.

Along with watching and listening to the waterfall, what else do we do on our patio?  All the things that make one’s summer sing.  We drink iced tea, slurp rapidly-melting ice cream sundaes, gaze at our patio garden, read, snooze, watch the clouds, visit with family members and friends, and snooze some more.  Sometimes I bring a spinning wheel outdoors, and spin a yarn. 

And I knit.  A die-hard knitter never breaks due to weather, regardless of 90 degree heat.  Winters are long and often severe, and we knitters realize that warm garments constitute the bulk of our wardrobes.  What better time than summer, for “knitting up” the next winter?  I’m knitting hats—one for each of our great-grandchildren who presently number fifteen.  The hats will be Christmas gifts.  (Maybe the children are wondering why this Great Grammy is always staring at their heads!)  

Below you can see my progress thus far—thirteen completed hats, number fourteen on the needles, and number fifteen about to begin.  The boys’ hats have a plain ribbed edge, while the girls’ hats are embellished with a crocheted ruffle on the ribbing.  Hats are easy and constitute a wonderful summer agenda, in addition to watching the waterfall and all those other summer patio delights! 

 

Margaret L. Been, ©2011

*We’ve added coyotes to our list of thrilling local sounds.  Last week, deep in the night, I heard a pack of yelping youngsters—just like we frequently heard in our northern home.  Coyotes abound in our county, and the wildlife sanctuary on the far side of our park affords good habitat.  Our Dylan slept through the night chorus.  When it’s his sleepy time, he couldn’t care less what his wild cousins are doing.

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Archiving Life

On June 20th, Joe and I will be celebrating our 58th wedding anniversary—God willing.  The above picture was taken at our northern home, at our 50th anniversary gathering.  One granddaughter was missing at the occasion because she was on a mission trip to Mexico.  Since that day, 17 more people have joined our family.  An additional 2 will soon join us—one through birth and one via marriage.

Many Junes, many moons.  The years have catapulted inexorably forward since June 20th, 1953.  Now I look back through albums of photos, documents, and poetry across an immense deja vue—more than one lifetime can hold.  And yet I have held it all and preserved it for posterity. 

I have archived past joys and sorrows in Creative Memory® albums, showing how God’s Grace has prevailed.  As the Psalmist says, “The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places.” 

Photos embrace individual moments in a long life, ardently lived and loved.  Pages of documents preserve objective history—recording people, places, and events.  But my poems record the deeper things that cannot be put into words that all the world can understand—simply because there are things which all the world will never bother to understand. 

Poetry is the place where the life underlying photos and documents is pared to the essence and fearlessly addressed—in a few concise words.  Poetry speaks only to those who desire to read between the lines, those souls who—having experienced much—are still vulnerable and willing to experience more.

Meanwhile current joys and sorrows are accumulating, soon to be arranged in new albums.  The joys of family and friends, my garden, and my Pembroke Welsh corgi will be preserved.  Also archived will be the heart attack which Joe had 2 days ago, and his newly inserted defibrillator/pacemaker which we pray will give him renewed life and energy.  

Joe is now recuperating at Aurora Summit Hospital with me by his side.  Meanwhile we’ve received word that, due to serious illness, a beloved granddaughter has been admitted to another hospital just a few miles away. 

Archiving life!  Photos and documents can skim the surface of these latest events.  But there are times when, like prayer, only a poem will do!

Margaret L. Been ©2011

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Mothers!

My Dad and MOM—Ernst and Ruth Longenecker, 1968  ↑

Our children, with Joe and me—2009:  Karl, Debbie, Laura, Joe, Margaret, Judy, Eric, and Martina  ↑

When I was 9 years old I thought I wanted to be a detective like Nancy Drew (with a yellow roadster) and a singer like Hildegarde* (with a swanky long black dress), when I grew up. 

Then at age 16, I met Joe Been and never looked back.  I wanted to be a wife and MOM!  No regrets!  (I did once have a yellow SUBARU, but I hardly ever wear black!)

Happy Mother’s Day! 

Margaret L. Been, 2011

*Hildegarde the 1940s night club singer, not Hildegard the famous circa 1098-1179 nun. 

The singer Hildegarde was born in New Holstein, Wisconsin, 8 miles from my home town of Chilton.  With my parents, I saw and heard her perform at a conference at the Palmer House in Chicago–and decided I wanted to be such a chic, sophisticated lady someday.  

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Home: there’s no place like it!

My friend Karen and I visit a lot on the phone.  Such a nice old-fashioned means of communication!  In fact, the only communication venues that can compare with a congenial phone chat are:  a face to face visit and a real letter via USPS.  Karen and I enjoy these as well. 

Karen and I catch up on our family events, and we chat about gracious, homey things such as our gardens* and our home decor.  Both of us relish an occasional afternoon spent in antique malls on rainy days, and on the local rummage sale circuits when the weather is fair.  We collect all and everything that catches the eye, warms the heart, and can be obtained at a bargain price—and we love to share the news of our latest finds.

Yesterday Karen and I were talking about how we love to be at home—baking, scrubbing, dusting, rearranging, and creating vignettes of beauty around the home.  We never tire of our homes, and neither of us looks at homemaking as a chore, but rather a supreme privilege. 

Being a keeper at home—along with nurturing a family—is the most creative occupation on earth.  Our loved ones flourish in an environment that is relaxing, delightful, fun, and (in my case) funky.  People love to visit a home where the lady of the house is fulfilled and happy.  Words need not be spoken, as the atmosphere says it all!  Home is an artist’s canvas.  When the artist is contented the home exudes beauty, originality, and joy! 

Nearly forty years ago our son Eric—14 years old at that time—made a classic statement which makes me smile to this day.  Eric said (with the characteristic fondness that mellow sons have for their mothers), “Mom, you are such a homey simpleton!”

I realized that the statement, from Eric’s perspective, was a tremendous compliment.  He knew that I was in euphoria at home:  arranging vignettes of beauty, reading old books, watering houseplants, raising cats and dogs, baking bread, and stirring up huge pots of chili for Eric and our other children to share with their friends.

After I finished laughing about Eric’s loving apprisal all those years ago, I explained to him that a “simpleton” was the classic town idiot of folklore and fairy tales.  I still chuckle today when I think of it!  But maybe it’s no joke!  The “world” does view those of us who love to be at home as “simpletons”.

Homey simpleton indeed!  The best job description on earth!  How could anyone want to be anything else? 

Margaret L. Been, ©2011

*Karen is a master gardener whose gardens, in the city of Waukesha, are unlike any I’ve ever seen anywhere.  Walking through her paths is like a trip to England. 

If all goes as planned, photos of Karen’s gardens will be featured on Northern Reflections in a few weeks.  Things are just beginning to get revved up around here, gardenwise.

And finally, below you will see some of the main reasons why HOME is so wonderful!  This photo was taken at a family member’s home—but these treasures visit us a lot.  We are all at HOME at each other’s homes! 

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Treasures!

Words can’t say enough.  Only a photo will do.  These treasures (yes, those are real infants, not dolls) are 10 of our 15 great-grandchildren.  They are the grandchildren of our daughter, Debbie. 

They are, from left to right:  James holding Deacon, Lyla, Olivia holding Carter, Brynn, Ethan holding Ella, Cole, and Lucas.  The cousins live within minutes of each other—and from Joe and me, and their grandparents.  The young ones keep life shiny and bright for all of us!

One friend, when viewing a group photo of our family, said, “That’s not a family.  That’s a tribe!”  I thank God for our “tribe”—45 family members at last count. 

Margaret L. Been

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