MWLM Blog

A Love Throughout the Ages by Maureen Locher

May 10, 1941 – A very good day! Because, you see, on that day 67 years ago, a man named Franny and a woman named Ethy became one. At 10:00 in the morning this couple was united before God, family and friends, promising to love and honor “till death us do part.”

Groom’s brother and bride’s sister stood as witnesses for the happy couple. A wedding party of 12 tuxedos and evening gowns did not march down the aisle. But they had love.

After the rice was thrown (not birdseed, bubbles or butterflies), the newlyweds toured the town in a 1939 LaSalle borrowed from groom’s father. They did not rent a freakishly stretched stretch-limo. But they had love.

First stop was Tomei Photography Studio in Akron, Ohio where the local photographer snapped a few photos. They did not immortalize every conceivable moment of the day on video. But they had love.

Second stop: The Canteen for a wedding breakfast for 20 honored guests. Next came some rest (Now isn’t that a unique feature to include in one’s wedding day?) at the bride’s house where an afternoon reception of cake and punch afforded well-wishers the opportunity to convey congratulations to the groom and best wishes to the bride. And then the guests went home.

That evening the mother of the bride prepared an elegant wedding dinner for family. They did not catapult bride’s parents into enormous debt orchestrating a catered extravaganza complete with mind-numbing music blaring from bass-boosted speakers. But they had love.

The honeymooners then drove to Warren, Ohio where they spent their first night as husband and wife, followed by a cozy week of fishing in Canada. They did not sail the seven seas with total strangers. But they had love.

And for the past 67 years they have passed that love down to their children and their children’s children with more than enough left over for their great grandchildren. They did it right all those years ago remembering what mattered most, and they are still doing it right 67 years later.

Still holding hands, still laughing, still waking up next to each other, and still listening to Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy belt out, “Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life,” on those Victor 78s. What is their sweet mystery of life? Simply this: because they were never stingy with love, because they didn’t store it up for themselves, but lavishly broadcast it time after time, decade after decade, to any and all who crossed their paths, they still have love.

Happy Anniversary Mom and Pop!

I love you infinity,

Your darling daughter

Maureen is the very lucky daughter of this happy couple as well as MWLM's copy editor and regular columnist – Just Another Manic Momday. Click over to http://maureenlocher.blogspot.com/ to view a poetic tribute to her parents written for their 65th annniversary. What will she do for their 70th?!

Celebrating Differences & a Mother’s Day Gift

With four decades separating us, I hold little in common with my parents, particularly in terms of their difficult times growing up. Even though I put myself through college, and worked ridiculous jobs during odd hours like many people, I can’t compare my hardships to theirs. They grew up during the Depression, and that nourished their shared tendency to save everything. My parents are the ultimate pack rats. In their fifty five years together, they’ve accumulated more possessions, trinkets, doo-dads, unexplainable broken parts, unused screws and bolts, and probably millions of buttons. The list goes on and on…

Since I’m the only one with children among my siblings, my parents decided to relocate from northern Idaho to my home state, New Mexico, a few years ago. The move had to go my Dad’s way. He’s a great man, and a witty one, too, but not always the most sensible. Although he could afford it (or we for them), he absolutely refused to use a professional mover. From that moment forward, I knew the whole situation would prove beyond frustrating. But whatever my dad wants, I follow through on, and I laugh with him later when the time is right.

I flew with my kids into the cold, snowy north over a Thanksgiving holiday, and I taught them how to pack boxes--hundreds of boxes. We packed a lot of memories which made for great stories. As difficult as the task felt to complete, my kids learned a lot about my parents.

One of my brothers and my soon-to-be ex-husband loaded the longest possible rental truck, attached our old hot rod for towing (that we'd stored on their property for years), and drove it down through a few slick and scary blizzards. Meanwhile, I flew the kids back to our home in time for school. Of course, each of us helped my parents unload, unpack, and settle into their new home a week later.

With all of these possessions in mind, I always need a lot of time to discover a new and special gift for Mother’s Day. She loves puzzles, so she’ll get one. But that’s a gift to keep her busy and away from boredom. The answer I wanted came to me from something in one of my own boxes that I’ve toted around for my lifetime. I thought of a special gift she’d given me over twenty years ago.

I moved away to college one fall when I was seventeen, and the following Christmas I took the train home to visit. The best gift came from my mom that year, and it wasn’t an electronic gadget or clothes or money (though I needed that desperately, too). My mom made a little paper board box that she wrapped like a package with green paper and a red ribbon. On the top, she taped a miniature card from plain white paper. On it she’d typed a poem that might sound familiar (I’ve seen it on many cards over the years):

This is a very special gift
That you can never see.
The reason it’s so special is
It’s just for you from me.
Whenever you are lonely
Or ever feeling blue,
You only have to hold this gift
To know I think of you.
You never can unwrap it,
Please keep the ribbon tied.
Just hold it close to your heart,
It’s filled with love inside.

My Mom thought I might consider it to be hokey at the time; but I consider that ornament one of my most special possessions.

For Mother’s Day this year, I will give Mom a similar present with my own poem on the outside, like the one she gave me. First she’ll cry, but then I’ll tease her about the several hundred boxes of doo-dads we packed that now sit in their shed and RV building, unpacked because they don’t care to open them! We always end on a laugh.

We may not have hardships in common, like being pack rats (I’m not one at all); but we share other valuable treasures.

~Sue Donckels, Managing Editor

Roadtrip!

Today I'm getting ready for a roadtrip. Oh, I'm not going anywhere, but my daughter, Vanessa, is.  She is going on a school trip to Boston for two nights and three days.  So I have to make sure all the clothes she wants to bring is clean.  I have to go to the bank and get some US money out for her.  I also have to make sure that her passport is in her bags so that they don't give her a hassel at the border.

She leaves tomorrow morning, so tonight we will pack and hopefully get her to bed early.  She has to be at school by 6:30 tomorrow morning, so I have to get up at 5:30 to get her up and get some breakfast in her before we leave at 6:00.  Of course, she won't be getting any sleep over the next few days since she is sharing a room with her three closest friends.  I guess she will sleep on the bus on the way back home. 

She's excited.  This is her first trip out of Canada with the school and her first time to Boston.  Her sister had the same trip three years ago, and she said it was a blast. I'm sure I'll hear all about it late Friday night when I go pick her up at school.  The scheduled pick-up time is 11:00 pm, but if I base it on the trip Sabrina took three years ago, we'll be heading home only around 2:00 am Saturday morning.  Her blabbering about the trip will keep me awake on the drive!

Lucie Bouchard Antoniazzi, Regular Columnist, All in a Mom-day's Work, www.luciebouchardantoniazzi.com

Relentlessly Live for Others by Maureen Locher

I sat down to blog a few minutes ago and, as is customary, I read the previous blog. And now that blog is all I can think about. All other thoughts are gone. If you haven’t yet read “Greatness Is about Others” by Dionna Sanchez please do and then come back.

Are you back? What’d you think? Did it strike you as it struck me? Right now as I write it is a most beautiful day in my part of the world. My family shall host our last (yay!) high school graduation party in one short month and there is an endless list of work to do before the grand day arrives. But where are my five men right now? Two are sleep, one is playing the dreaded video game with “bullets” whizzing through the living room, one is at his girlfriend’s house and one is at his job.

This morning we all awoke and most attended church which is also customary around here every Sunday morning. One rebelled and stayed home. Didn’t make mom too happy but this mom has learned to pick her battles. The rest of us go to church, come home and I begin lunch while all others relax. (Relaxing would have been nice.) I head to the kitchen to fry the burgers and attempt to throw some side dishes on the table. Lunch is ready. We eat.

And the meanness begins. It all started with one utterance from one mouth and it went from there. Why did the offender do it? The words could not be mistaken for other words; the meaning was clear and the meaning was mean. Why? Because he was living for himself, not for others.

Fuel was added to the fire and before you knew it, in a matter of seconds, we had World War III on our hands. Yelling and more snide comments in retaliation. I banished offender from table who took his own sweet time in leaving, but he left. I followed him and laid into him. Behind me I hear the yelling escalating even though the offender is removed.

This chain of reaction makes me want to throttle said offender, but I do not. I try to look at it from his point of view. He is wrong but “how” wrong is what I need to figure out. I gather data. I try to talk to his brother. But brother sees this as my taking offender’s side and brother walks out of the house. I hate this!

What is so darn hard about living for others? Where does this selfishness come from? I’ve lived for others since the day my first child was born. I suspect most of you readers have too. Why can’t these boys of mine take this example and follow it? When my boys were little we appreciated each other. We spent all our days together until the first went off to school. I’ve often said it was downhill from there. Suddenly all these other influences capture your children. Materialism rears its ugly head, children are given huge trophies for completing any and every sport, parents begin the endless cycle of transporting little ones all over the planet – and family diminishes. “Getting” is emphasized while “giving” is forgotten.

I want to know how to get it back, this feeling of “family first,” which is simply another way of saying “others first.” Why do they all seem to love it when mom puts them first but they cannot return the favor? I had enough and got into my car. Probably not the best example but sometimes when facing brick walls the only prudent action is retreat.

Oh, how I wanted to drive to my parents’ house. But what would that have accomplished? It just would have put me behind tomorrow around here. I reluctantly drove home – to the sleeping giants. Nothing will be accomplished around here today unless I do it. Two pairs of hands are not at all as good as twelve, but they are better than none. So I washed dishes. I did for my others. I will work around here. I will make dinner later, feeding those others. Sometimes I feel as if I am the only one who sees what I do but I know that’s not true. There’s Someone always with me, always with you, and with His strength maybe we moms can fight the good fight, as my dad loves to say, and make our own parts of the world a little more pleasing by relentlessly living for others no matter the obstacles. I will keep trying if you will!Happy Sunday, Moms!

Maureen Locher

MWLM’s copy editor & Just Another Manic Momday columnist

Read more at http://maureenlocher.blogspot.com/.

Spring Cleaning by Maureen Locher

Spring Cleaning. What do those words mean to you? I remember every single spring my mom would clean everything. To me everything already looked clean to begin with. But walls would be washed (?!!!) and baseboards scrubbed and cupboards cleaned out. Who knows what else my mom did? She did it all.

And then there’s me. They say the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. Well, this apple must have experienced a force of some magnitude because I went a-rolling! Housework has never been my forte. When the kids were little I tried…kinda…sorta. We weren’t slobs or anything, and when people visited the house looked decent.

But then we moved out to the country. The country – now doesn’t that evoke thoughts of rolling hills and picket fences? We bought a house which was built in 1823. One remarkable man built this house. It took him three years without benefit of power tools. Contemplating this fact continues to boggle the mind. Every single thing was done by hand. It’s a big federal style house. We all had such high hopes. I remember on moving day my brother jokingly told me I didn’t need any hobbies because this house was a hobby in itself. I responded that if it took 10 years to fix it up it was worth it. It’s been 10 years. It’s nowhere near done. I am less than hopeful for its completion. Can you tell?

How did our moms do it? Dinner on the table every night, dishes washed immediately after, everything had a place and everything was in its place. Different priorities? I realize many moms stayed at home without benefit of a paying job. But they did not have all the modern conveniences we have, so chores took longer for them to do. Why is it that they seemed to accomplish much more? It’s true they were not running here and there ferrying children to sports practices and dance classes but I think our moms had a better work ethic; I really do. I think our moms worked so hard all their lives to make our lives better that we daughters have lost something along the way. And I REALLY worry about this next generation of daughters and sons who are given cell phones after they utter their first words, and video game systems to keep them occupied.

I have definitely jumped into the older generation in my thoughts and concerns. I do not view the word with rose-colored glasses as I once did. I am more of a realist now. This house will probably never ever get done, at least not by the current owners. Perhaps we bit off more than we could chew, but 10 years ago I still exhibited traces of idealism. Watching “The Money Pit” isn’t funny anymore.

So even though my house will never be featured in “House Beautiful,” I shall find solace in the fact that this day I got down and dirty; I spring cleaned my dining room – and company isn’t even coming. Who knows? Today the dining room – tomorrow the kitchen? Stranger things have happened. This little golden delicious is rolling her way a bit closer to mama.

Maureen Locher

MWLM’s copy editor and Just Another Manic Momday columnist

When Maureen’s not scrubbing walls (Ha!) she’s writing here or there, and “there” is at http://maureenlocher.blogspot.com/ ~ To Give God. Maureen is the mom of four boys-to-men aged 19-22 who all live at home juggling their own crazy work and school schedules, yet still they manage to find the energy to drive their mom over the proverbial edge quite often!

   

Ode to Dad

Happy Birthday Dad
You're no passing fad.

He's been around
Since Whit Wyatt took the mound.

Happy Birthday Dad
You're no passing fad.

And what year was it
"Amapola" was a hit?

Happy Birthday Dad
You're no passing fad.

How many candles will his cake bear?
I don't think he wants me to share.

My Dad's birthday is Saturday.  And if you're wise, you will see he's twenty-nine and holding just fine.

;)

Veronica Hosking
Poetry Editor

My Own Little Corner by Maureen Locher

For the past week or so I have pretty much forgotten about dishes and folding laundry until the point at which we began drinking out of little china cups, and the mountain of clothing on the laundry room floor nearly overtook us. My kids are more than familiar with searching through a pile for clean clothes, so what’s one more time? We had food. We had shelter.

I said, “Forget it,” to most mom duties and began thinking “writer” instead. In this houseful of noisy men with noisy toys, Xbox – ugh!, finding quiet time in which to write presents a challenge. So I took a week off being mom, barricading myself in my room, cleaning, sorting, organizing, moving furniture, all with the intent of carving out my own niche of writer’s space. And I did!

Once the grunt work was done, my boys hauled over a beautiful desk and chair from my parents’ house to complete my room’s transformation. The desk had belonged to my aunt who always had pretty feminine things. Pretty and feminine have never been high priorities here. For instance, I have always loved wicker furniture but, early on, I knew it would be futile to ever actually own any as my five men would quickly, yet unintentionally, destroy it. “Sturdy” describes most furniture purchases in the past 20-some years.

So now I have this beautiful desk complete with three shelves on which I shall place books and mementos. I can hardly wait. This week is the fun week. All the treasures I have put aside for literally years now have somewhere to call home. So I’d better get busy. Next time I write it shall be coming to you direct from my own little writer’s world. Happy writing, ladies!

Maureen Locher

Copy editor & columnist ~ MWLM

Click over to http://maureenlocher.blogspot.com/ if you need a lift.

T Minus Five Seconds and Counting...by Maureen Locher

Without the Internet this wide world of women writers would not grace the pages of Mom Writer’s Literary Magazine. Oh, we may have essays and poems published here and there but the Internet is the glue which holds us together as one cohesive unit.

And I am very proud to be a part of that unit.

Yet another issue of MWLM is launched online. “Launched.” Now how cool a word is that? This word has long implied magnificence to me, remembering NASA rocket launches as a child. To launch implies the beginning of something. The launch of this very issue may well be the inspiration for a mom out there in Timbuktu with three wailing kids. Something in that mom just may ignite as she reads our words upon the pages. A spark of hope may launch her into a whole new realm.

Another thing I love about the Internet is the imaginative language folks have created while navigating. We understand the dual meanings of mouse, cookies and spam, and have embraced Google and blogs. We enjoy the language within a language.

As happens with most good things, bad elements do creep in. Take, for instance, when your cable goes out severing your lifeline to the Internet. My house has been experiencing such problems for over a week. Add to that mix, three of my four young men and one husband who are addicted to cyberspace in their own unique and nerve-wracking ways, jockeying for time on computers and Xbox.

Let me just say that when one guy wants “on” wherever another one is, my men do not politely request, “May I pretty please get on now, dear, sweet, honey brother?” Oh nooo – expletives erupt, a simmering settles, then cool down, followed by apology. This cycle occurs daily like clockwork. The Internet (or lack thereof) does bring out the very worst in my five men. And perhaps, I too, am not the most pleasant when I must share.

So the next time one of my dear darlings holler (and I swear to you on the holy Bible right this very moment two of them are going at it as I write), I will close my eyes and picture that mom in Timbuktu, knowing with my whole heart that the Internet can be one’s saving grace - because it has been mine. Hang on little lady in Timbuktu; we’re all rooting for you.

(Dedicated to my Frank – the bear with the loudest growl. But you don’t scare me!)

Maureen Locher

Copy editor and regular columnist MWLM

Using the Internet click your mouse over to http://maureenlocher.blogspot.com/ ~ To Give God ~ to read more of Maureen’s thoughts.

Check out MotherVerse

MotherVerse is launching an exciting new addition, mother writer workshops. These virtual workshops are designed to help facilitate mother writing by encouraging mother writers to come together to learn and guide one another. MotherVerse will be offering two workshops "Writing Motherhood" and "Publishing a Blog" which will begin at the end of April and early May. If you are interested in joining please sign up as soon as possible as each workshop has a limited enrollment. Visit http://www.motherverse.com/workshops

Blizzard of '08 by Maureen Locher

I risked life and limb to go to Pizza Hut in a snowstorm all the while telling my youngest son what a stupid thing it was that we were doing. Definitely a “do as I say and not as I do” moment. But it was fun. No one was out on the road. I was confident in my four-wheel drive vehicle. We arrived at Pizza Hut to discover that they were closing, sending employees home due to the snow emergency. Uh oh.

But we were still hungry. We drove on down the road settling for drive-thru Taco Bell, but it was closed too. Taco Bell! They are always open. Till 4 a.m.! About this time I was beginning to feel a little bit foolish but we had one more restaurant to try – a little Mom and Pop pizza place. Eureka! They were open and I am happy to say quite full of customers. I was not the only crazy adult out there. This knowledge made me happy.

We ordered and sat there. My 17-year-old said barely a word. I made a little small talk. Stupid stuff. And his cell phone vibrated on the table. He texted his girlfriend back. Now we have had the “it is very rude to text in front of someone” talk several times. He is totally addicted. I do not pay for the cell phone or the minutes. His girlfriend’s parents gave him the phone and pay the bill each month.

I did something very uncharacteristic of me: nothing. Absolutely nothing. I thought, If this kid does not want to talk to me, I don’t want to talk to him either. His loss. And I did not say one word. Just sat there and waited him out. Ate my salad, looked pleasant enough (I think) but said not one word.

“How are Grandma and Grandpa?” he asked. I WON! And we talked all through dinner.

Driving home was scary as heck. I was an idiot to have ventured out. I kept reiterating this point to the boy I’m teaching to drive next week – if the snow ever stops. But we made a memory in this “Blizzard of ’08,” as an eager beaver radio host dubbed it.  And aren’t memories what life’s all about?

Maureen Locher

Copy editor MWLM

Maureen will be MWLM’s newest columnist come the Spring Issue. Check out her column – Just Another Manic Momday. Need a little lift in this blah time of winter? Read Maureen’s blogs at http://maureenlocher.blogspot.com/ ~ To Give God.