Showing posts with label Motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Motherhood. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

A Story of a Life in Three Quilts


Dear Friend,

I've written another guest post! It's about a legacy that was passed down to me in the form of three quilts. My kind friend Jeannie Prinsen has posted it on her blog, "Little House on the Circle." 

You can read it here.

While you're there take some time to explore other posts by Jeannie. She shares reflections about faith, family life, special needs children, reading, writing, and other fascinating topics. I visit her blog frequently to glean rich insights and be encouraged.

Peace & Joy,
Adriana

Monday, May 13, 2013

A Motherhood of a Different Kind (and a bit about books)

My husband planted this meadow for me a few years ago for Mother's Day.

Yesterday my six year old son made a comment about Mother's Day that I want to remember. He said, 
"Mother's Day is like a birthday all moms share."  

That's true. I love sharing my special day with all mothers -- both biological mothers and those who have a "motherhood of a different kind" like the woman whom C.S. Lewis described in The Great Divorce:

Only partly do I remember the unbearable beauty of her face. "Is it?" I whispered to my guide.
"Not at all," said he, "It's someone ye'll never have heard of. Her name on earth was Sarah Smith and she lived at Golders Green."
"She seems to be . . . well, a person of particular importance?"
"Aye. She is one of the great ones. Ye have heard that fame in this country and fame on Earth are two quite different things." . . .
"And who are all these young men and women on each side?"
"They are her sons and daughters."
"She must have had a very large family, Sir."
"Every young man or boy that met her became her son -- even if it was only the boy that brought the meat to her back door. Every girl that met her was her daughter."
"Isn't that a bit hard on their own parents?"
"No. There are those that steal other people's children. But her motherhood was of a different kind. Those on whom it fell went back to their natural parents loving them more. Few men looked on her without becoming, in a certain fashion, her lovers. But it was the kind of love that made them not less true, but truer, to their own wives . . . It is like when you throw a stone into a pool and the concentric waves spread out further and further. Who knows where it will end? . . . But already there is joy enough in the little finger of a great saint such as yonder lady to waken all the dead things of the universe into life.

It's that lovely and inspiring? We need spiritual mothers in this aching fear-filled world -- mothers to nurture, to calm, to visualize achievement for us, and to love us unconditionally! Such mothers truly are "the great ones."



I mentioned the other day that I finished Gulliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift. What I didn't tell you is that I did a lot of traveling on foot while listened to an audio version. It seems like for each strange place Gulliver traveled to, I now have a real place to associate with it -- a river bank, a wooded path, a road, a meadow, a farm.


I'm starting Oliver Twist today. I'm really looking forward to this one, so I hope it's not a disappointment. I've never read a single piece of Charles Dickens' work. I feel like Mr. Dickens is an acquaintance but not yet a friend. I've seen a few Masterpiece Theatre movies based on his books -- Bleak House, Little Dorrit, Great Expectations, and A Christmas Carol. And I saw a version of Oliver Twist years ago. 


Some of what I know about Mr. Dickens I learned while studying Harriet Beecher Stowe. She sent him a copy of Uncle Tom's Cabin. He read her novel and responded with praise for her "generous feeling", yet he went on to gently criticized her for seeking to "prove too much."


I once stayed in an American hotel that Charles Dickens stayed in. The proprietors tell an amusing story about the historic visit. Maybe I'll tell you about it in my next post.

Until next time then. :)

Friday, April 5, 2013

Friday Quote: A New Delicious Bliss


...alone with [Kitty] he felt, now that the thought of her approaching motherhood was never for a moment absent from his mind, a new and delicious bliss, quite pure from sensuality, in being near the woman he loved. There was no need for speech, yet he longed to hear the sound of her voice, which like her eyes, had changed since she had  been with child. In her voice, as in her eyes, there was that softness and gravity which is found in people continually concentrated on some cherished pursuit. 
Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina (Part VI, Chapter 3)

Monday, June 18, 2012

How Did She Do It?

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image credit
In 1851, Harriet Beecher Stowe exposed the ugly truth about human slavery in her book, Uncle Tom’s Cabin. A long list of male, abolitionist orators had been trying to shake the complacent population for years, but it took a mother's voice to finally get the job done. Not only did her book set the stage for vast change in the United States of America, her simple, direct words left readers reeling all over the globe. 

Ever since I finished the book and learned of its world-wide influence, I’ve been in awe of the “frail, overburdened, Yankee woman” who penned it.
People often ask me how I find time for reading through the classics. I suppose it is a valid question -- I have five young children! Many days there is hardly time to think. Often my mind is numb from sleep deprivation. In a large family, if one person is awake for any reason, Mother is awake too.

To be honest though, the reading really isn’t the hard part. No, my biggest challenge is the writing – note-taking, blogging, commenting on other literary blogs, completing the Hebdomadal Review at A Classic Case of Madness. (Christina, will you please forgive me for neglecting this lately!) The somewhat passive skill of reading is restorative. Writing, on the other hand, is work. It demands focus! For starters, you must be fully awake.

Writing a book to change the world is no easy task for anyone, let alone a person in Harriet’s position. When Uncle Tom’s Cabin was published, she was a forty year old mother in the thick of child-rearing. She was not a woman of large means; her husband was a theology professor whom she described as “rich in Greek & Hebrew, Latin & Arabic, & alas! rich in nothing else…”


Though Harriet’s children were similar in age to mine at present, her chore-burden would have been much greater. In the book Never Done, author Susan Strasser describes the workload for a homemaker in the nineteenth century, before labor saving devices brought women relief:
Even some who could afford occasional domestic help had to carry water from wells, streams, and urban hydrants, and haul fuel for their cookstoves. Women who had indoor plumbing still hung laundry up to dry and sewed by lamplight.


Harriet once wrote that after “a dark, sloppy, rainy, muddy, disagreeable day” in the kitchen, she told her husband, “I am sick of the smell of sour milk, and sour meat, and sour everything.” She felt “so loaded and burdened with cares as to drain [her] dry of all capacity of thought, feeling, memory or emotion.”

So, what set Harriet Beecher Stowe apart and enabled her to accomplish her great work for humanity?

First, she had a strong sense of her life-purpose. "The Beechers expected their children to shape their world."  Her father delighted in her, praising her for winning an essay contest at age seven. He sent her to an excellent school  in a time when most girls learned only ornamental arts. He also allowed her to hone her skill in creating a persuasive argument at the family table. Later, as a married woman, she found encouragement from her husband. In 1840, he told her, “My dear, you must be a literary woman. It is so written in the book of fate. Make all your calculations accordingly.”


Second, she wove scenes into her prose which she had been pondering for years. She did not arrive at Uncle Tom’s Cabin out of the blue.  In 1833, three years before her marriage, she took her only trip into slave territory. She traveled with her friend Mary Dutton on a steamboat up the Ohio River from Cincinnati to Maysville, Kentucky and continued six miles by carriage to a home in Washington, Kentucky. Each day they visited surrounding towns and plantations. She was shocked to discover that a beautiful, good, amiable woman she had seen in church was owned by “Mr. So-and-so”. Other material came forth from the memorable Kentucky visit as well. The following is an excerpt from Mightier than the Sword: Uncle Tom’s Cabin and the Battle for America, by David S. Reynolds:
Mary Dutton remembered during the plantation visit Beecher sat quietly, abstractly in thought and seemingly oblivious of everything around her. But when Mary later read Uncle Tom’s Cabin, she recognized “scene after scene of that visit portrayed with the most minute fidelity, “including moments when “the negroes did funny things and cut up capers."

Third, Harriet was aided in her craft by a sense of urgency. As a sensitive reform-minded mother, She was outraged by the wicked Fugitive Slave Act of 1850, which made it illegal to house run-a-way slaves in the North. She firmly believed in the concept of higher law -- the idea that an evil law, contrary to God’s law must be broken. In Uncle Tom’s Cabin, she made this point through the voice of Mary Bird in an appeal to her husband, Senator Bird:
It’s a shameful, wicked abominable law, and I’ll break it, for one, the first time I get a chance; and I hope I shall have  a chance, I do! Things have got to a pretty pass, if a woman can’t give a warm supper and a bed to poor starving creatures, just because they are slaves, and have been abused and oppressed all their lives…Obeying God never brings on public evils. I know it can’t. It’s always safest, all round, to do as He bids us.


Fourth: Her crushing load of housework indirectly served a purpose too. For over a decade before Uncle Tom’s Cabin was published, Harriet wrote feverishly for three hours a day to pay for domestic help. In 1838 when her twins were two years old, she hired a housekeeper in addition to the English governess she employed. That year she wrote a letter to her good friend Mary Dutton:
I have realised enough by my writing one way & another to enable me to add to my establishment a stout German girl who does my housework leaving to Anna full time to attend to the children so that by method in disposing of time I have about three hours per day in writing & if you see my name coming out every where -- you can be sure of one thing, that I do it for the pay -- I have determined not to be a mere domestic slave -- without even the liesure to excel in my duties -- I mean to have money enough to have my house kept in the best manner & yet to have time for reflection & that preparation for the education of my children which every mother needs -- I have every prospect of succeeding with this plan & I am certain as yet that I am not only more comfortable but my house affairs & my children are in better keeping than when I was pressed & worried & teased into trying to do more than I could -- I have now leisure to think -- to plan-- contrive -- see my friends and make visits &c besides superintending all that is done in my house even more minutely than when I was shut up in my nursery. 
In Harriet Beecher Stowe: A Life, Joan D. Hedrick called Harriet a “tiger chasing her own tail”.
Harriet escaped the nursery but she never escaped the circular treadmill: she wrote to get money to hire help to enable her to write (to get money to hire help and so on).
Seeing how writing well is a skill which is honed through many hours of practice, I wouldn’t say she was “a tiger chasing her own tail”. For, in the decade that Harriet appeared to be on her “circular treadmill” she was really moving forward with her craft toward the day when she would crank out Uncle Tom’s Cabin in forty installments for the National Era. 



More facts:  The death of her 18 month old son Charley of cholera in 1849, helped her to understand what a slave-mother would feel when separated on the auction block from her children.

The ages of Harriet's children at the time of the publication of Uncle Tom’s Cabin in 1851 were as follows: 
infant son under age one 
eight year old daughter
eleven year old son
thirteen year old son
twin fifteen year old daughters. 

Her twin daughters never married; they worked as assistants to their mother.

Harriet’s youngest son, Charles Edward wrote Harriet’s biography, The Life of Harriet Beecher Stowe, in 1889.

Friday, March 23, 2012

Into the Deep: Spring Cleaning and Moby-Dick


I really don't like to clean house. It feels like such a waste of time -- like when I was a kid, my grandma used to give me a bucket of water and a paint brush and send me out to "paint" her driveway on a hot summer day. I would work diligently to finish a square of concrete just in time for the water to begin evaporating...

I have the same sensation now as a homemaker: Didn't I just wash these dishes...sweep this floor...sort these socks? Again and again and again like I'm stuck in a time-warp.
Happy Easter!
"For heaven's sake," I say to my kids, "WHERE'S THE MAID?"
"Mommy, you are the maid!" they giggle.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!
A few days ago, I was closing in on the half-way point of Moby-Dick. I had completed chapter 42, which is considered to be the "visionary center" of the novel. It was an unforgettable, amazingly cool chapter. Up to that point, I had been clipping along at a nice pace of seven to nine chapters per day. The problem was, my eldest son suddenly had no clean socks for school (I let him wear a pair of mine.), my daughter couldn't find a t-shirt to match the shorts she wanted to wear (We settled on something that was close enough.), and anytime someone walked through the kitchen, a comment was made that the floor felt sticky.

I took a walk through my house and observed this:
Happy Valentine's Day!
and this:
Merry Christmas!
Time for spring cleaning!

Mom agreed to take my little boys overnight, so this morning after my oldest two left for school, I had the house to myself -- well almost -- my precious new baby girl stayed with me of course!

An entire day stretched out before me! I felt very optimistic about what I would accomplish. My goal was to organize the rooms upstairs until around noon and then clean those rooms until four o'clock or so. Afterwards, I would enjoy a leisurely dinner with (part of) my family and indulge in some uninterrupted reading until bedtime. I figured tomorrow I could handle the downstairs portion.

But it didn't work out that way. 
At all. 
I gutted and sorted five closets all day. It felt like gutting a whale. I just kept pulling stuff out. Pulling and pulling. Each of the beds were heaped with clothes -- winter clothes, summer clothes, stuff too small, stuff too large, a few things were even dirty.
It took more than ten hours to organize the bedrooms and closets of my five children. 
I didn't get to the actual cleaning. That part has been re-scheduled for tomorrow. (Before my little boys return!)

It would have been a perfect day for reading. The house was so quiet, a gentle rain came down for hours. I was tempted, but I did not cave. 


Next week will be better. My house will be orderly and clean. People here will be able to find the clothes they want to wear. Moby-Dick is not going anywhere. No, The Whale awaits me!







Thursday, February 16, 2012

Snobby Bookworm

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bookworm damage

This morning, my eight-year old daughter asked me if she could have a Kindle --

"Like you Mom."

"Well, how about we see if you like using mine first. I'll download a book for you. What would you like?"

"Tinker Bell."

"Excuse me?"

She dug around in her backpack then produced a paper-back chapter book (published by Disney!) about Tinker Bell's adventures - you know - beyond the Peter Pan years. (For those fans who want to know what she's been up to since Neverland.)

"Ahem . . . that's nice dear. How about  A Tale of Despereaux? Caddie Woodlawn? Little House in the Big Woods? Something with a gold sticker on the front cover, OK?"

"Tinker Bell."

I once made a snide remark to my younger sister when we were kids. I had implied that she never read anything and she said that yes, she did too read.
I mumbled under my breath: "Yeah -- Junior Book of the Month!"
This remark it hurt her feelings for a long time. She still brings it up occasionally - half in jest.

As I thought about this, something occurred to me: my sister has hundreds of friends on Facebook. She meets up with these people, they go on cruises and stuff.

I read; I blog; I play Scrabble with my husband.

I can't expect my daughter to be a little clone of me. Although I really want her to plumb the depths of literature the way I like to, she's not a worm. She's a butterfly. A real social butterfly. She makes me get out of the house. She makes me have company over.

My friends are books; her friends are people.





What are you -- bookworm or butterfly?

Friday, February 10, 2012

The First Day of the Rest of My Life



“Do you know what today is?” I asked my husband.
He turned to me, startled.  I knew what he was thinking: what did I forget? 
I assured him with a pat on the hand,
“It’s the first day of the rest of my life.”
“Oh, that’s nice, Babe.”
“No really, it is!”

Since I was a young girl, I dreamed of getting married and having a large family. I gave birth to my fifth child six weeks ago. Yesterday I had my postpartum visit with my doctor. She gave me the green light to return to normal function.

So it feels like dawning of a new era. The course of my life in no longer a vague misty dream. All around me are the precious faces of my present and my future: my handsome husband and my five gorgeous kids.
I took a brisk walk to celebrate and to “think my little thoughts through.” ( My aunt taught me this phrase when I was young. She said "Honey sometimes you just need to find a place to think your little thoughts through." It's true -- my thoughts are little in the grand scheme of things and I do need a place to think them through sometimes.)

Two of my boys came along with me. My oldest son held my little one's hand so I could walk ahead a bit and try to get my heart rate up. I feel so much lighter than six weeks ago! I skipped and twirled  --  which made my boys smile. My oldest has seen me lying prostrate a lot this past year. It's been too long since we've taken our daily walks together. I attempted to click my heels. The boys laughed.

So, for what did I ponder and pray on "the first day"? 

Gratefulness for the past and a vision for the future.
It's time to add some new dreams to my heart. It's time to take new steps and risk new things. Life is full of uncertainties and some things we just can't predict, but for me two things are very clear: I will be spending the next phase of my life raising my little brood and honing my craft as a writer.


I'm grateful you've stopped by Classical Quest. I'd love to know --

What are your goals for the next ten years?