Mother's Day: Real Gifts or Advertised Suggestions?

I sometimes joke, “I come from a long line of mothers.”  I’ve used it as a punch line when my kids are embarrassed by something I’ve done that is particularly mom-like. 

Amazon Associates just sent me an email with suggestions for Mother’s Day gifts.  I generally love to work with Amazon on my family fun blog -- after all, they helped me self-publish and help me promote my books. 

 

But when it comes to Mother’s Day, they so do not know me.

The ONE thing I am not going to do is link to something you can buy your mother from Amazon.  I’m not saying she wouldn’t love something.  I have a huge wish list and I, a mother, would love to get anything on it.

But the Mother’s Day gifts that belong on my family fun blog are things like

• ·         do-it-yourself plaster cast hand-prints
• ·         poems framed in painted popsicle sticks
• ·         cards that shed glitter all over the rug
• ·         hand-made-and-illustrated coupon books for hugs
• ·         jelly-jar bud vases, filled with dandelions

I sit back and wonder why these seem like REAL Mother’s Day gifts, where all those things on my wish list don’t. 

The answer comes to me:  No one but a child would offer the above gifts, and no one but a mother would cherish them.  (I think it goes without saying that grandmothers fit into the category of mother.)

 

I come from a long line of Mothers.

We Have Met the Enemy...Why Are You Laughing?

I remember laughing out loud when my sixth grade teacher told our class in 1964, that just one hundred years earlier, people had protested coal burning locomotives, because they were afraid the smoke would blacken the sky.

I saw in my mind the wide blue sky of central Oregon, blown by winds that could easily disperse even the blackest cloud puffed out by any quaint train.

 

I don’t think I became aware of the concept of ecology until 1970, my junior year in high school, when the word “environment” suddenly stopped being a word you would apply to interior decorating.  That April, there was a buzz about a national “Earth Day,” mostly from the teachers.

I do remember my dad, a teacher, laughing at a Walt Kelly “Pogo” cartoon:  “We have met the enemy, and he is us.”  I didn’t understand why Dad got such a kick out of that turn of phrase.  I stored it away as something adults would laugh at, something I might be able to throw out sometime when I wanted to impress my elders with my wit.

I’m afraid I burst out with a laugh in a college history class when my professor quoted Admiral Perry in the War of 1812, “We have met the enemy, and he is ours.”  Dr. Huxford, didn’t miss a beat, and said, “So you know the phrase from Pogo!”

By then, my generation was protesting all sorts of things, from the Vietnam War to “Male Chauvinism.”  A few forward-thinking hippies were still harping on the environment, but honestly, I still had only the vast glories of Oregon and Idaho in my experience.  Anything I read or saw on the news seemed as remote as the Iliad or the War of 1812. 

Yes, I conscientiously refused to litter and made sure no one I was with threw trash anywhere but in a trashcan.  But I didn’t give a second thought to where garbage went from there.  It just went out of my sight, to a landfill somewhere, or the city dump.  Why would I care about that? 

Almost 50 years later, I have seen a little more of life, and of the planet I live on.  The things I read and study are more real to me now.

I’ve been to a landfill or two, and water treatment plants. I’ve lived in cities where I’ve seen the air turn brown, and struggled to breathe it.  I’ve paid taxes and voted on measures to try to stop the trashing of the limited space on our planet.  I’ve read the theories, and seen the documentaries about global warming, and joined in the debates.  I’ve researched and written about the toxic mess of plastic floating in our seas. 

So on this Earth Day I look back on my schoolgirl enthusiasms and smile that I celebrated April 22, 1970 by wearing blue, green, brown and white.  And that, at that time, that was about all I could think to do.

 

I shake my head now at the message that we have met the enemy and he is us.  We hate to see ourselves as doing anything really wrong.  But until we face up to it, we won’t be able to go forward.  I’m hopeful that we will use our inventiveness to come up with real solutions -- ways to turn the tide of consumer waste and thoughtless trashing of our planet. 

It’s time to grow up, and start looking at ourselves, so we can start solving the problem.     

Gilbert R Loza

You Can't Stop an Artist

I have a friend in Pelican Bay State Prison.  He is an amazing artist, and an amazing man.  Until very recently, he has not been allowed to have any art supplies, because of security restrictions.

But Gilbert is an artist.  He scraped magazine pictures to get little piles of pigment and then mixed them with peanut butter oil.   "Brushes" he made from rolled up toilet paper.  He created works of art on the soft paper allowed in the security unit where he is confined.

This is the first picture of Gilbert’s I saw.  It was in a letter to my daughter.  They write to each other because he is taking Scientology courses by mail from the church where she is an instructor.

I snapped this photo with my iTouch, and asked my daughter Julia to let Gilbert know how much I admired his art.

A Surprise in the Mail

Soon after I moved to Idaho, Julia forwarded a letter to me.  Gilbert has asked Julia what her mother liked.  Julia answered, “I know she loves Jesus.”

Here is what Gilbert Loza sent me:

I wrote back to Gilbert, and we have exchanged a few letters now.  Something immediately “clicked” between us, and we are able to write to each other like old friends.

I told him I had family and friends who would love to see more of his work, and he gave me permission to share his drawings on the Internet.

To him that hath, more shall be given!

This week he told me that he has just been approved to buy pastels and pens from the prison canteen.  He sent me a new picture, and told me that with my skill as a poet, I could turn it into a Valentine's Card.

I look forward to teaming with Gilbert.  But for this post, I think I will let the card speak for itself.

Please SHARE this post if you admire Gilbert’s talent and would like to see more of his art!

oOo 

Honey, I Volunteered...

The Sign-up Sheet

Last Sunday the sign-up sheets went around in Relief Society.  I happily signed up to make brownies for an upcoming fundraiser.  I passed on donating to the silent auction.

And then I did something a little "out there" for me.  I signed up for the Decorations Committee for the Sweetheart Ball.  I joked to myself that if I were on the committee, my husband would have to take me.  It's been years (and I mean YEARS) since we've been to a church dance.

I grew up in the era of crepe paper streamers and cut-out construction paper hearts.  Maybe some glitter, but that was about it.

The ladies here in Paradise Ward had something a little different in mind.

The Committee

Thank goodness the committee was chaired by someone with a little more experience.  The sweet sister in charge had experience transforming cultural halls into romantic venues.  She bought out all the sparkly tissue paper in the local Dollar Store, and brought it to my home this morning, along with a big spool of curling ribbon.

So from 10:00 a.m. to noon, two neighbor ladies and I sat around a card table and folded layers of pink, white and red tissue into fan shapes, which we will fluff in to giant pompoms and hang from a false ceiling of white lights on the day of the dance.

My Date for the Sweetheart Ball

Not only is my husband taking me to the dance next week, he's offered to transport pompoms and hang the lights.

He told me that when he saw the announcement in the church bulletin, he immediately thought, "I've got to take Sue to that dance."

Seems I didn't need to trick him into helping me with the decorations after all.

oOo