Just One Gift....

The years roll by. Sometimes it's all a blur and then there are memories etched in our mind.
Christmas is full of memories. To the young I say - treasure them - build them.
Once I asked Aunt Dorothy about her childhood memories of Christmas. One that stood out was at her Grandma Flemming's large Victorian home in Pittsburgh. It was 1933/4 - several years before my mother was born. She would have been about 9 years old and my Uncle John was just a few years older.  Despite the difficulties of the depression, the family was doing ok. They lived on the Southside of Oil City where my Grandparents had a little neighborhood grocery store. She and Uncle John walked to the Saturday afternoon show at the Latonia every week. They loved the cartoons and movies!
She described a very formal Christmas gathering at Grandma Flemming's house. While my grandparents were modestly successful, the Flemmings were part of the Steel Dynasty of Pittsburgh at that time. They had a huge Christmas tree, she said, that was nearly 2 stories tall. The children were gathered and each received one gift. Her gift was a Mickey Mouse watch. It was probably one of the first Mickey Mouse watches made.
Somewhere in my readings or watching historic programs I recall a statement that FDR may have influenced the kind of Christmas we now know. He was cited as having encouraged people to purchase one gift for loved ones during the depression as an economic stimulus. Prior to this, the tradition was to give home made Christmas gifts.  When I learned this, Aunt Dorothy's story came to mind. They received just one gift and the time was about right for having been inspired by FDR.
Above that, what is striking is that one gift - just one gift - can have meaning that transcends years and years. More than 60 years had passed when Aunt Dorothy told me that story. I believe, at the time, she was the last soul alive from that day in 1933 or 1934. She loved the cartoons and movies of the time. Now, years later, I hear a story about President Roosevelt and remember the story Aunt Dorothy told me about a Mickey Mouse watch she got for Christmas. So many stories of life are interconnected. A day - a memory - can bring us closer.
Let this day be one memory - one gift. It only takes one gift to transcend decades.

Acts of Kindness

Sometimes I need reminded of the ripple effect of Acts of Kindness.  Small acts of kindness can have great meaning.
Last night I wasn't much in the spirit of rock painting at Christmas past.   With Rock on Oil City, we go to many local events encouraging young and old to paint rocks and sprinkle them around the city to bring a smile to the finder.  After you do something for a while it's easy to become numb to the reason it all started and the meaning it may have to the people participating. 
I must admit that I tried to escape rock painting at Christmas Past.  It's crowded.  Lots of kids excited to see Santa....
Out of the blur of faces and mingling paint, real people with heart felt stories reminded me that the simple opportunity to paint a rock at Christmas Past has greater meaning.  And we may not know how meaningful it is.
A young mother with two little girls came to paint rocks.  They were there last year and their Daddy painted rocks with them.  Through tears the young mom said their daddy died unexpectedly just a few weeks ago.  Through her pain, she brought the girls to Christmas Past to continue a family tradition.  And part of that meant painting rocks like they did with Daddy last year.
Several families expressed that they were looking forward to rock painting again.  One dad said they put their painted rocks on the mantel where they stay all year.  Hopefully, last year's rocks will now be planted out in the community for someone to find and smile.
A new friend helped this year and in the course of the evening expressed how sharing these experiences with us has changed her outlook on life.  It's turned what could have been a bleak Christmas into one filled with renewed joy.
If I had been successful in escaping rock painting at Christmas Past, I would not know how many people would have been disappointed.  How important is painting a rock?
Of course it is not about the rock painting at all.  It's about spreading kindness and creating memories.
Simple kindness has a ripple effect that lifts people up.  No act of kindness is small and inconsequential.   We may not learn about how it is rippling out but it is. 
I'm thankful to be reminded.

The Difference a Year can Make: Front Porch Folk

I look back over the last year with amazement at the great things that developed. Again, I say it's about being positive and being around positive people. I'll name them in the order they happened; Front Porch Folk, Rock On Oil City, CASA and a new organization I'll be talking about soon.
In the next few blogs, I'll take some time to talk about each of them and how I feel about being part of those groups. Each means a lot to me but I'm happy to start with Front Porch Folk - a little hobo band that really started on the Front Porch last year.
By the end of the summer as many as 15 of us crowded the porch singing and playing the old songs I have loved since elementary school music class. We started collecting fun, easy and funky little instruments to get everyone involved. Of course, we have moved inside for the winter AND our singalong has gone on the road.
There is something special happening. It's not tight harmony or amazing instrumental riffs. It's just plain fun. We truly care about each other and want to spread a bit of joy around while sharing memories of songs most everyone knows and loves. It's making a huge difference in our lives because we are lifting one another up while we sing and play. Many in our group are playing instruments they never imagined they could.
It's a bridge that crosses boundaries. We are very diverse in our politics, our religious backgrounds, and family relationships. But we all share a loving spirit and strong sense of community.
The songs are a reflection of our souls. And the funny songs lift our spirits. We see each other and care for each other in new ways. Song has created a bond. If you have not joined us, I hope you will. Be ready to sing and play a funny instrument. Our times together are what I believe heaven is all about.

This Mother's Day

I only knew her less than 8 years. She's been gone nearly 45 and I still grieve.

I imagine sometimes magically stepping back - a time traveler or somehow able to see through a looking glass - and watching her. How I would soak in everything about her - those things that are vague memories - how she walked - how she talked - the sound of her laugh - the kinds of things she found funny.

I've been told that I am much like her. And when I look at this picture, I think it might be true. I've always wanted to be like her and loved that Great Aunt Hazel, in her elder years, thought I was my mummy and called me 'Jeanne'.

I don't remember ever hearing her play the guitar or the bass but I remember that she played the piano. She played the bass in the Cranberry High School Orchestra where she also played basketball - the days of a six woman team. My Aunt Dorothy, her older sister, said she could play any instrument - could do anything she set her mind to - and was smartest in the family. I think Aunt Dorothy idolized her as I still do.

She was a tomboy, I'm told and was a bit of a daredevil. I've tried to look close at her knees in the picture above. I can recall asking her about black spots on one of her knees. Well....she had taken her brothers bike, which she wasn't supposed to do. And she got going too fast down a hill and crashed at the bottom - got cinders in her knee - and was afraid to tell her mother. The cinders healed over in her knee.

Perhaps part of my radical spirit came from her.

I remember her as a strong, quiet, caring woman. We went to the Franklin Library regularly together. I could choose a book from the children's area and she chose books - not just for herself, but to deliver to Grace - an older cousin I remember she often visited who had polio.

She was our Brownie Scout leader, served in the Ladies Auxiliary at the Sandycreek Fire Hall and was active in the Congress Hill Church of God.

Perhaps some of my community spirit came from her.

I had no idea in those days just how ill she was, though I do remember her in the hospital from time to time. Still, I felt her strong and active.

As a child, I simply had no understanding of it. I think that was the way she meant it to be for those around her. She did not see herself as weakened - would not. I remember her coming home from the hospital and in bed once. Dad had taken my brother, little Mikey, and I to the Atlantic station where they gave us really cool new "Super balls". I was so excited to show Mummy and set about bouncing the ball around her in the bedroom. Knowing she should rest, Dad started whisking us out. "No!," she said, "let them stay." And we played around her in the room.

I believe it was not long after that she had a most serious talk with me. We sat alone at the little kitchen table; she in her pink quilted robe. It was probably about this time in 1966. She showed me a picture of a heart and explained what doctors were about to do. Many times I had laid my head on her chest and heard the bumm bump shsssss of her leaking valve. She explained that the doctors were going to fix that. She explained that it was very dangerous.  But that day never came.

Just weeks later, she collapsed while giving little Mikey a bath. Everett, my Dad's cousin, was there and while he and Dad tried to save her, Mikey and I stood holding hands. He was 4. I was not yet 8. Not long before that night, the preacher had given a sermon about faith and praying in Jesus name. And so, with all the understanding and belief of a 7 year old, I held Mikey's hand and said we had to pray. We were children. The preacher said, if we prayed with the faith of a child and in Jesus name... And so we did.

In the days, months, even years that followed, I refused to believe my mother was gone. Dad tried to help me understand but even seeing her in the casket, I refused to believe it. 45 years later, it is still difficult to accept. And the day I turned 30 - the age she was when she died - I fell to my knees with the impact of how young she was and how little I had accomplished in comparison.

When I have imagined having a day to see her, I've tried to picture what day I might choose if only allowed one. While I miss my mummy, I also remember the many mothers who were there for me - many of them gone as well - both Grandmothers, Aunt Elaine and Aunt Ruth. So, what if it was a day when they were all together?

I see them all in a field, out on Pone Lane, picking berries together, kids in tow. The women in my extended family were close as girlfriends. They were strong, creative, hard working women. They loved, they laughed and they supported each other. I would want to see them all together and watch them all. If I could, I would stop and talk with them. Would I marvel at their youth or at their wisdom as I watch?

At 50 something, I still see my mother at 30 as being wiser. In the last picture I have of her there is a far away look in her eyes. Was she seeing something more that night in April 1966? Did she know more than I can know now? I like to believe that some day, some how, I will know.

What has carried me to this day is that I had many mothers. There was the first who gave me life and those formulative years of values. But, I had a large extended family. Both Grandmothers were there for me. Aunt Elaine, Aunt Ruth, Aunt Margie, Aunt Flocie, Great Aunt Dorothy, Great Aunt Hazel, Aunt Dorothy.... And I had a step-mother who did the best she could in a deep shadow.

For far too many years I felt sorry for the loss. This mother's day, I am thankful for what I have had.

I am my mother's daughter. Those early formulative years had a significant impact on me. I have hung onto the best of what I remember of my mother and desire to have those same qualities. I see none of her failings – certainly she had some – but they are not mine to own. How lucky I am to remember a perfect mother!

I have had many mothers. These were women who loved and honored my mother and thus cared for me. I probably had more puberty talks than most girls because they were each afraid none would tell me. How lucky I am to have had such strong, caring women that mothered me!

Happy Mothers day with all my heart to each and every one!

Create Joy

I looked around a room of 20 women this morning - all gathered early for a Royal Wedding party - and realized how important it is to create simple joy. We wore hats for our own "royal" picture. Hats have become a humorous symbol of several groups of women I know recently. And perhaps the hats symbolize a simple embracing of fun and the creation of joy - a lifting of spirits for no other reason than to lift spirits.

A group of American women gathered in the wee hours of the morning to watch a Royal Wedding. To me, these were no ordinary women and it wasn't about watching a royal wedding. It's was about a reason to get together for a created special purpose. One with no agenda at all except getting together to comment on hats, the young couple, the pomp and have some coffee and crumpets.

I'm part of a facebook group of women who have been doing these kinds of events for over a year now. No one is in charge. Anyone who wants posts an event and whomever can come will come. Sometimes it's coffee in the morning. Sometimes it's an outing. Sometimes it's a birthday celebration. Sometimes a movie night. Always it is a creation of joy. We are building strong bonds as we get to know each other - with no agenda except to create and share joy.

I am learning from these strong women that joy is mine. But it is sweetest when it is shared with as many as possible. I am also learning that no one can steal our joy without our consent. So, don't consent!

If you are reading this and thinking 'it all sounds like a lot of silliness to me', you are right. And that is what makes it so wonderful. It's art. It's playtime. It's getting together for no other purpose than the fun of it.

Why is play time so important for children? Because they learn how to get along with others. From what I've been seeing in the news, on the internet, and on TV, I think we adults need to find a way to get along with others. Play time might just do it.

Over the past year it sure has helped me to see the human side of people I may never have gotten to know otherwise. If you would have asked me a few years ago if I would see myself getting up in the wee hours of the morning to watch a royal wedding with a group of women - some I barely know - I'd have laughed and said 'think not'.

I did. I loved it. I wore a hat. I've smiled all day about it. Simple joy.

Thank you Sonja - our special royal mayor.

Transformation

I just read about the transformation of Louis J. Marinelli. http://louisjmarinelli.com/politics/i-now-support-full-marriage-equality.

There are many layers to this story that stand out for me. First, LGBT people and allies kept showing up and kept talking. They were successful in presenting themselves in a way that reached Louis. It took time. I'm sure some contact with the LGBT community was quite confrontational but enough was patient and specifically addressed his position in a way that helped him see that his position was NOT one of compassion or reason.
We are not going to change hearts and minds overnight. But we need to keep patiently talking and showing up. I believe respectfully showing up, patiently questioning and carefully speaking truth will make a difference. It takes time. It's not easy.
Hearts and minds are changing dramatically - seemingly overnight - EVEN in Venango County.
The LGBT community is no longer silent and invisible. Openly gay people are serving in leadership roles all around the community - at the hospital, the university, on boards and in elected political positions. It seemingly happened overnight - right here in Venango County.
Why? Anger, division and lack of compassion get very old after a while. It drives people away. Venango County churches have seen the results in dwindling numbers. It doesn't lift anyone's spirits to be stepping on others.
My friends have recently encouraged me to visit churches with them. THIS was a tall request. I know about the petitions that circulated the Venango County church community that directly attacked me and my friends. One of my friends was forced out of the clergy because she openly declared her love for another woman. I have not felt safe or comfortable in a church for decades.
With great resistance, I have gone. Three churches now - I'm beginning to calm down a bit. There's no doubt that 90% of the church community knows who I am so if they accept or reject me, it is about who they think I am. Most don't really know me, of course. They just know what they have been told.
I am experiencing my own personal transformation. I'll likely have a lot more to say about this excursion into the Venango County church community. I'm told we will be visiting many churches and as this is evolving, I am enjoying the experience more.
Having been far from the traditional church for decades, my spiritual and religious beliefs are VERY far from traditional. However, I have often missed the feeling of a church family. I also love discussing philosophy and hearing messages that make me think about the human condition. Going with friends that I love and trust, who also love to discuss afterwards, is turning into a real joy.
So, how were these church visits? I will say overwhelmingly positive. Now that I am embracing the experience, I need to think about what my criteria are for finding a spiritual home base. And maybe it would be valuable for me to write about the experience. There must be others like me in Venango County desiring a spiritual home. If things are going to change, we need to be there. And I am beginning to believe, there are more welcoming churches here and churches in transition toward becoming more welcoming. If you agree - Say Amen!

Why is Art Important?

Last night the Graffiti Art Gallery in Oil City held an artist reception for the current show listed below.

REFLECTIONS
(Photographs of Nature and Architecture)
by
MARK PANZA
Sufana Chowdhury
Eleanor ter Horst & the
National Transit Studio Artists
MARCH 1-APRIL 8, FRIDAYS AND SATURDAYS 11 - 7

If you missed the reception, don't miss the show! We are so fortunate to have a growing arts movement in our region! It's not only breathing new life into our economy, but more importantly opening hearts and minds to new possibilities.
Art - no matter if it is music, performing art, photography, painting, installations... - can provide a glimpse of someone elses vision of the world. It can open our minds to see our own world in a broader context. It can inspire us to express ourselves in new and interesting ways.
Learning to appreciate a wide variety of expressions helps us to learn to communicate better, to seek broader solutions, to think "outside the box." I believe art appreciation and encouraging artistic expression is the most important investment we can make to lead to a better community.
Why? Because it leads to invention. One must imagine something is possible before that possibility will ever be pursued.
Why? Because it forces us to see. We have to acknowledge that a problem exists before we can be motivated to solve it.
Why? Because we often overlook beauty and sometimes need to have someone put a spotlight on it to remind us that it is all around us.
Why? Because if we are to understand one another, we need first to learn that our point of view is not the only point of view.
Art can be shocking. It can be enlightening. It can be comforting. We need it all. We need to encourage expression. Encourage communication. Encourage understanding. If we can learn to do that in ways that may take us out of our comfort zone, in positive appreciation of varied perspective, we build better community.
I applaud the efforts of the Art Revitalization Movement in Oil City! And I am excited about the positive impact Art is having on the region at large.