My Aunt Janette

Posted on May 19, 2013 | Leave a comment
Janette A. Peterson

Janette A. Peterson

Janette A. Peterson

It’s a bright, beautiful Saturday morning, but suddenly time has lost its grip on the day. I sat down and wrote most of this over the last two weeks, in the present tense, about my Aunt Janette, a remembrance and tribute to her. Last night, just before 9pm (Eastern) God called her home. My Mom called to give me the news that I had been waiting to hear but hoped I would never actually receive. We talked for a moment or two and then I prayed. I prayed for Lloyd and Janette’s family, all of them, in every direction. I prayed and I prayed. I prayed for me and for my family too. So that we can be and will be the strength, support, love, voice, or shoulder to lean on for any who might need it. This certainly includes me too. I prayed for all of us, any of us related to the Peterson family one way or another.

Facebook says that we are friends. The family tree says we are related, she’s my aunt, and I am her nephew. Yes, we are friends, and yes we are related, but that doesn’t begin to sum it up.

My Aunt Janette. She’s my aunt. She married into the Peterson Family as did my father. Blood, or not, she chose to love my brothers, my sister, and I; my whole family. It seems to me that she and my Uncle Lloyd and their family always had a special place in their hearts for our family. We would travel from New Hampshire to New Brunswick for visits in the summer and sometimes over Christmas break as well. The homestead we visited was just a little further down the dirt road, then was my aunt and uncle’s farm. We passed by their farm every time we went to visit the old farmhouse. We were able to see them often when we visited, in part, because we could see their farm from the old homestead.

It seems that Aunt Janette would show up with something cooked, baked, made, prepared, whatever it might be, but always good. She would bring it by, with a smile, a laugh at the ready, and was always lightly armed with her sense of humor.

I very much enjoyed having my aunt, my uncle, and many cousins around when we visited the farm. We created our own excitement, entertainment, and passage of time. Family was the thing to do, the main attraction, and visiting with family was the best way to spend time.

Looking back at growing up, visiting my family in Canada was among the favorite things I ever got to do. Now, grown, with kids of my own, it remains a favorite thing to do.

I love driving out there to the farm lands. I enjoy turning up the dirt drive to my aunt and uncle’s farm. The open views, rolling hills full of fields, and the clean, sweet-smelling air are all pieces that enhance the experience. Amaris and I, and three of the kids have been out to the farm for a visit. In recent years, visits have included riding four-wheelers around on the farm along the old rail bed between Lakeville and the Little Presque Isle. It’s a blast, with or without, the rides. Just visiting, talking, laughing, and catching up are more than enough for an enjoyable visit.

There’s even more to it. I know my Aunt Janette expects a visit from us anytime we are up that way. And if they’re home, then there’s an open invite. Period. We are always welcome, and warmly welcomed when we arrive.

When the twins were just 4 months old, we were in Canada for my cousin’s wedding reception. We visited the farm on an August afternoon, and there was Aunt Janette, willing, offering, and able to watch the twins while the rest of us went for a long ride on the four-wheelers. That’s just her, willing, offering, and able.

When I think of Aunt Janette, for some reason, the color yellow comes to mind. I really don’t know why. Maybe it’s the tall sun flowers that always grew across the dirt drive from the house. Or maybe it’s my aunt’s blonde hair, that also drew references to Marilyn Monroe from my Dad. Maybe it was an outfit, or something yellow that my aunt wore that stuck out in my subconsciousness growing up. Yellow is associated with happiness and maybe that’s the correlation.

Janette means, “gracious”, or “God is gracious”, and I think this name is so fitting. One definition of gracious is this; “Courteous, kind, and pleasant, esp. toward someone of lower social status”. I love the last part because, to me, one of the things I have long associated with my Aunt Janette, is her ability, or willingness to side with the underdog, the less fortunate, or the one whose voice was otherwise muffled among others. From the commoner, to the kid, they always had a friend in my Aunt Janette.

Where’s that woman who used to embody farm?
She would work and still pull off that striking charm
 
There’s an empty spot in the garden over there
A place vacated by the mother with golden hair
 
Can I walk for a while where she would tread?
O’er the grounds many visitors she had led 
 
That child’s hand isn’t held walking next to us
It would’ve been by the girl who grew up in Texas
 
May I enter her home and just sit for a while?
I can smell the bread and still see the smile
 
The room is full but something’s out-of-place
There’s a smile missing, absent, a friendly face
 
Can I say a little something to remember her by?
How she’d reach for the frail and let them fly
 
There are stories shared, each must be told
Recalling the wife that never did look old
 
Is it just me or is there happiness found here?
“…there am I in the midst…”; He is near
 
Gathered there is strength, and even more love
Missing here, we need only smile and look above
 

My Aunt Janette resides in heaven this morning. She is much better off than she was 24 hours ago. I understand her family was there when she drew her last breath here on earth. She wouldn’t have wanted that any other way. I don’t want to get to know cancer any better than I already have through the battles and sufferings I have seen in my own family. But I am glad that it touched not her mind, her spirit or her heart, for those are the things that made her so beautiful.

I have written too many of these tributes for my own liking. It means that friends and loved ones have left us. But, I cannot get through this without sharing thoughts I have shared before because it’s too important to miss.

I have often thought that God has a unique way of allowing things to happen, or at least to be noticeable to us, at the right time so we can create our own way of coping with events bigger than us. For example, I remember when my grandfather died. He was a great man of God, a preacher, a teacher, a reciter of the scriptures, he had a Christian book store, he had preached on the radio, and lived his life for God. I remember the morning of his service, the day he was to be buried, a light, pure, white snow fell, just enough to cover everything in a beautiful untouched blanket of white. I remember saying to my parents that God had given the ground a purifying coat of clean for my grandfather’s body to be put to rest one final time. I don’t know how this relates or if it does at all but I know I won’t soon forget that my attention was so-called to the heavens yesterday as God’s power was evident in the parting of the evening clouds, allowing the reds and pinks to provide a most beautiful backdrop.

There’s a plan for all of this. God’s plan. Two words that make many want to turn and run the other way, God’s plan, because it usually means something that us imperfect humans don’t understand, or don’t want to deal with. Whatever the reaction is, it doesn’t change the plan. When I was younger I fought the plan, I am sure I did. I also didn’t always understand how or why things so painful could happen to people as part of God’s plan. I am certainly not going to pretend to know or understand all these things now either. I do know that almost always, we are a part of a plan that is much bigger than it appears on the surface.

I know it’s hard to look at this situation and see the positive. It’s all part of the plan. God’s plan. Time will tell how the plan unfolds. Even though it’s God’s plan, we are to be present and participating in His plan. I am in no way trying to down play any of this; this is a serious matter. There’s a message in most everything and I am willing to bet there’s even more of a wonderful message here as well. Think of the things you have heard, the things you have read, the things you have seen yourself, the life you may have been a part of first hand, all those things are a message of Janette’s life. While many stood and watched, or waited to be led, Janette was digging in and getting things done. I am so glad I got to visit her and the family last month. It’s been my pleasure to be a part of their family and to cherish the interactions we have shared over the years. The members of her family, their family, are strong, they are versed in the Word, and they have the prayers of thousands in their favor, they will endure. Often times through the most unthinkable loss or sacrifice comes the greatest gift or the most amazing victory.

Please don’t think that this is over when the news stops running or the stories stop circulating. You and I may be a part of the plan. Anyone of us could be instrumental. The Peterson family is, and will be feeling like there’s a void in a place where there once was a rock. So, our words, our actions, our prayers, just might be the right thing at the right time for the one who needs that spoken word or the example they were looking for. Foundations are paramount for a sound structure as the scriptures tell us. This family just lost a major portion of their foundation and we might need to help hold up the structure for a time. Really it’s always supposed to be that way. We are human, and our best moments aren’t all of our moments. Yet the more we think our moments are our best, the more they will be. And the moment we decide that we need to be our best might just be the moment that God’s plan includes us to be the message for someone needing to see that something that helps them cope and overcome.

I, we, are here for you all. I am going to miss my Aunt Janette and the life she brought to every day. I am so very thankful that my wife and kids had the chance to meet her, and interact with her in her element, out on the farm. It was our treat to be out there with her.

From birth, all the way through to adulthood, that little stretch of road encompassing the Peterson farms was all I ever needed. There was an entire world of adventure, exploration, love, support, and good times within that single mile of country. I long for those days and those places often. Aunt Janette, Uncle Lloyd, and their family have remained as a strong bond to those times and places for me. I hope never to lose them. I hope never to forget them. I hope always to visit and share in them, the greatest days, the greatest people in my life. I love you Aunt Janette and I can’t wait for the day we meet face to face again.

http://1inawesomewonder.com/2013/04/15/generation-jumping/

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My Aunt Janette

Posted on May 18, 2013 | 1 Comment

It’s a bright, beautiful Saturday morning, but suddenly time has lost its grip on the day. I sat down and wrote most of this over the last two weeks, in the present tense, about my Aunt Janette, a remembrance and tribute to her. Last night, just before 9pm (Eastern) God called her home. My Mom called to give me the news that I had been waiting to hear but hoped I would never actually receive. We talked for a moment or two and then I prayed. I prayed for Lloyd and Janette’s family, all of them, in every direction. I prayed and I prayed. I prayed for me and for my family too. So that we can be and will be the strength, support, love, voice, or shoulder to lean on for any who might need it. This certainly includes me too. I prayed for all of us, any of us related to the Peterson family one way or another.

Facebook says that we are friends. The family tree says we are related, she’s my aunt, and I am her nephew. Yes, we are friends, and yes we are related, but that doesn’t begin to sum it up.

My Aunt Janette. She’s my aunt. She married into the Peterson Family as did my father. Blood, or not, she chose to love my brothers, my sister, and I; my whole family. It seems to me that she and my Uncle Lloyd and their family always had a special place in their hearts for our family. We would travel from New Hampshire to New Brunswick for visits in the summer and sometimes over Christmas break as well. The homestead we visited was just a little further down the dirt road, then was my aunt and uncle’s farm. We passed by their farm every time we went to visit the old farmhouse. We were able to see them often when we visited, in part, because we could see their farm from the old homestead.

It seems that Aunt Janette would show up with something cooked, baked, made, prepared, whatever it might be, but always good. She would bring it by, with a smile, a laugh at the ready, and was always lightly armed with her sense of humor.

I very much enjoyed having my aunt, my uncle, and many cousins around when we visited the farm. We created our own excitement, entertainment, and passage of time. Family was the thing to do, the main attraction, and visiting with family was the best way to spend time.

Looking back at growing up, visiting my family in Canada was among the favorite things I ever got to do. Now, grown, with kids of my own, it remains a favorite thing to do.

I love driving out there to the farm lands. I enjoy turning up the dirt drive to my aunt and uncle’s farm. The open views, rolling hills full of fields, and the clean, sweet-smelling air are all pieces that enhance the experience. Amaris and I, and three of the kids have been out to the farm for a visit. In recent years, visits have included riding four-wheelers around on the farm along the old rail bed between Lakeville and the Little Presque Isle. It’s a blast, with or without, the rides. Just visiting, talking, laughing, and catching up are more than enough for an enjoyable visit.

There’s even more to it. I know my Aunt Janette expects a visit from us anytime we are up that way. And if they’re home, then there’s an open invite. Period. We are always welcome, and warmly welcomed when we arrive.

When the twins were just 4 months old, we were in Canada for my cousin’s wedding reception. We visited the farm on an August afternoon, and there was Aunt Janette, willing, offering, and able to watch the twins while the rest of us went for a long ride on the four-wheelers. That’s just her, willing, offering, and able.

When I think of Aunt Janette, for some reason, the color yellow comes to mind. I really don’t know why. Maybe it’s the tall sun flowers that always grew across the dirt drive from the house. Or maybe it’s my aunt’s blonde hair, that also drew references to Marilyn Monroe from my Dad. Maybe it was an outfit, or something yellow that my aunt wore that stuck out in my subconsciousness growing up. Yellow is associated with happiness and maybe that’s the correlation.

Janette means, “gracious”, or “God is gracious”, and I think this name is so fitting. One definition of gracious is this; “Courteous, kind, and pleasant, esp. toward someone of lower social status”. I love the last part because, to me, one of the things I have long associated with my Aunt Janette, is her ability, or willingness to side with the underdog, the less fortunate, or the one whose voice was otherwise muffled among others. From the commoner, to the kid, they always had a friend in my Aunt Janette.

Where’s that woman who used to embody farm?
She would work and still pull off that striking charm
 
There’s an empty spot in the garden over there
A place vacated by the mother with golden hair
 
Can I walk for a while where she would tread?
O’er the grounds many visitors she had led 
 
That child’s hand isn’t held walking next to us
It would’ve been by the girl who grew up in Texas
 
May I enter her home and just sit for a while?
I can smell the bread and still see the smile
 
The room is full but something’s out-of-place
There’s a smile missing, absent, a friendly face
 
Can I say a little something to remember her by?
How she’d reach for the frail and let them fly
 
There are stories shared, each must be told
Recalling the wife that never did look old
 
Is it just me or is there happiness found here?
“…there am I in the midst…”; He is near
 
Gathered there is strength, and even more love
Missing here, we need only smile and look above
 

My Aunt Janette resides in heaven this morning. She is much better off than she was 24 hours ago. I understand her family was there when she drew her last breath here on earth. She wouldn’t have wanted that any other way. I don’t want to get to know cancer any better than I already have through the battles and sufferings I have seen in my own family. But I am glad that it touched not her mind, her spirit or her heart, for those are the things that made her so beautiful.

I have written too many of these tributes for my own liking. It means that friends and loved ones have left us. But, I cannot get through this without sharing thoughts I have shared before because it’s too important to miss.

I have often thought that God has a unique way of allowing things to happen, or at least to be noticeable to us, at the right time so we can create our own way of coping with events bigger than us. For example, I remember when my grandfather died. He was a great man of God, a preacher, a teacher, a reciter of the scriptures, he had a Christian book store, he had preached on the radio, and lived his life for God. I remember the morning of his service, the day he was to be buried, a light, pure, white snow fell, just enough to cover everything in a beautiful untouched blanket of white. I remember saying to my parents that God had given the ground a purifying coat of clean for my grandfather’s body to be put to rest one final time. I don’t know how this relates or if it does at all but I know I won’t soon forget that my attention was so-called to the heavens yesterday as God’s power was evident in the parting of the evening clouds, allowing the reds and pinks to provide a most beautiful backdrop.

There’s a plan for all of this. God’s plan. Two words that make many want to turn and run the other way, God’s plan, because it usually means something that us imperfect humans don’t understand, or don’t want to deal with. Whatever the reaction is, it doesn’t change the plan. When I was younger I fought the plan, I am sure I did. I also didn’t always understand how or why things so painful could happen to people as part of God’s plan. I am certainly not going to pretend to know or understand all these things now either. I do know that almost always, we are a part of a plan that is much bigger than it appears on the surface.

I know it’s hard to look at this situation and see the positive. It’s all part of the plan. God’s plan. Time will tell how the plan unfolds. Even though it’s God’s plan, we are to be present and participating in His plan. I am in no way trying to down play any of this; this is a serious matter. There’s a message in most everything and I am willing to bet there’s even more of a wonderful message here as well. Think of the things you have heard, the things you have read, the things you have seen yourself, the life you may have been a part of first hand, all those things are a message of Janette’s life. While many stood and watched, or waited to be led, Janette was digging in and getting things done. I am so glad I got to visit her and the family last month. It’s been my pleasure to be a part of their family and to cherish the interactions we have shared over the years. The members of her family, their family, are strong, they are versed in the Word, and they have the prayers of thousands in their favor, they will endure. Often times through the most unthinkable loss or sacrifice comes the greatest gift or the most amazing victory.

Please don’t think that this is over when the news stops running or the stories stop circulating. You and I may be a part of the plan. Anyone of us could be instrumental. The Peterson family is, and will be feeling like there’s a void in a place where there once was a rock. So, our words, our actions, our prayers, just might be the right thing at the right time for the one who needs that spoken word or the example they were looking for. Foundations are paramount for a sound structure as the scriptures tell us. This family just lost a major portion of their foundation and we might need to help hold up the structure for a time. Really it’s always supposed to be that way. We are human, and our best moments aren’t all of our moments. Yet the more we think our moments are our best, the more they will be. And the moment we decide that we need to be our best might just be the moment that God’s plan includes us to be the message for someone needing to see that something that helps them cope and overcome.

I, we, are here for you all. I am going to miss my Aunt Janette and the life she brought to every day. I am so very thankful that my wife and kids had the chance to meet her, and interact with her in her element, out on the farm. It was our treat to be out there with her.

From birth, all the way through to adulthood, that little stretch of road encompassing the Peterson farms was all I ever needed. There was an entire world of adventure, exploration, love, support, and good times within that single mile of country. I long for those days and those places often. Aunt Janette, Uncle Lloyd, and their family have remained as a strong bond to those times and places for me. I hope never to lose them. I hope never to forget them. I hope always to visit and share in them, the greatest days, the greatest people in my life. I love you Aunt Janette and I can’t wait for the day we meet face to face again.

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And I write…

Posted on May 17, 2013 | Leave a comment

Sometimes I just want to sit and cry. Sometimes I do. Usually when the feeling strikes me like it has today, I sit and I write. Often, there is not a single, definitive thing I want to write about, but I usually uncover something, almost every time. I just write, and listen to music. Usually the music is mellow or at least passionate if not bluesy. And I write with the sad, bluesy, mellow, if not passionate, flow; dragging the truth from the places where it hides inside. The tears flow with the slightest tie to the emotional drag of the moment. And I write…

There’s just a lonely man sitting at his desk.
He shares in all his honesty, but saves his best.
 
He feels better at times, but still he lacks.
He hasn’t done the things he wishes, just reacts.
 
There’s a world out there, he wishes to see.
But here, alone in moments, he may always be.
 
Night falls, with the evening sky his escape.
Where would he go if it wasn’t too late?
 
Dreams take him to the quiet spaces he loves.
Then reality hits and he can’t, just because.
 
Life is lived in the way it has to go.
He could do so much more if he only did so.
 
Tears fill his eyes remembering err’s he’s made.
And he sits paralyzed, at times still afraid.
 
A small space he runs to now just to write.
It’s always better here, at least for tonight.

 

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The Office, to me

Posted on May 17, 2013 | Leave a comment

I just watched the last 3 episodes of the American TV Show, The Office. And this may be a little odd, but I find myself in a bit of a funk. I feel like a good friend just went away, one that I won’t see again. But, this time, I know I won’t see them again.

Admittedly, I don’t see things the same way a lot of people see things. Nor do I always see those things at the same time everyone else is seeing them. For instance, I never watched Seinfeld while it was running, but loved it later on. Many music bands were not favorites of mine until long after their most successful and popular albums had long since been made. There are great movies I still have not seen, and dozens more that everyone raved about for years before I ever saw them. I didn’t like or appreciate Gretzky for the player he was until late in his career. There’s a lot of things that I have missed, dismissed, or just was not paying attention to.

I often write to empty my mind, or at least allow a train of thought to complete its circuit through my mind. Maybe that’s what this moment is. I have watched  The Office since the beginning. I have recorded it for years. Many episodes I have watched numerous times, although my memory isn’t focused enough to remember as much about them as other people do. This also makes for a better time watching things again because they’re enjoyable again and again, to me. My brother pointed this show out to me from the beginning, and I even watched many episodes of the original version of the show on the BBC.

Now it’s gone. The humor. The looks to the camera. The relationships. The dysfunction. The tears and the laughter alike. The absurdity in the working space they shared. The love story within. It’s all gone.

The show was a place I could go from week to week to be among friends. Friends who made me laugh. Friends who made me wish they had decided differently. Friends who made me cry. I am not afraid to admit that I teared up  watching episodes over the years, especially while watching the last few.

I am not a critic, I am just an average guy who followed a show year after year. I forget more than I remember, which, I guess, allows me to get close to the emotional pulls of themes throughout one season to the next. Nobody asks me for input, or feedback, or whether I like shows or not. I am just writing to share. Maybe it’s pointless or even odd. Maybe it’s just a dumb thing that I spent some time with. I don’t know enough to judge a show, or to critique any of its detail. I’m just a dad with a DVR. People who know a whole lot more about this kind of stuff would rate the show as this or as that. I just really liked it. The show was a destination for me on Thursday nights. Today I feel just a little bit like I lost a friend. But, like reality, friends are friends no matter how long the time and distance has kept them away, and this too, will be that way. When I watch episodes in the future as re-runs, or on DVD, or even my own DVR, it will be good to see them all together again.

 

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Bruins Win! Bruins Win!

Posted on May 14, 2013 | Leave a comment

Maybe I was 12 years old, standing on a small sheet of ice, not much bigger than a couple of puddles strung together. I had boots on my feet because I didn’t own skates, but many days I skated like the wind. Nearby was a completely home-made hockey net. It wasn’t the right size, or even symmetrical. To me though, it was perfect, and the crease was the place where you entered the Hall of Fame. I had an old Sher-Wood hockey stick and a battered puck. If I didn’t have a puck, or had lost one, I used a frozen tennis ball. The play-by-play announcer in my head often could be heard through the words I breathlessly expressed while gliding around on that ice. Time after time, my team, the Bruins, would be in improbable, if not impossible, situations, only to rescue victory from the vicious jaws of defeat. I played them out. All my Bruins heroes would magically turn things around and pull out another amazing victory. These were kids dreams, youthful imagination, while emulating my NHL heroes. These dreams don’t come true? Do they?

Last night I wasn’t playing, but sitting on my couch, in my Bruins jersey and hat, cheering for the team I have loved since the first times I can remember watching Hockey Night in Canada as a small boy. I had my three youngest kids around me, in their gear too, cheering for the Bruins. My goal for the night was just to watch Game 7. That’s it, just watch the game.

We had planned it so that the second intermission would be the time I would put our three-year-old twins to bed. I knew this might require more than the 18-20 minutes between periods, but it had to be done. So, off we went, up the stairs and into the twins room. I laid down on the floor between their mattress beds, which are only about two feet apart. We did our usual talking over various events of the day. We sang our songs together, always finishing with “The Twins Song” that I wrote when they were infants. Then we had our prayer time just before ‘close our eyes and mouths quiet time’. The twins were restless and sleep came slowly. I too was restless but silently prayed while putting all stress and frustration from my body and mind so that the twins wouldn’t sense or feel any of it. I wanted them to be at ease, in total comfort, so they could drift off to sleep.

Meanwhile, through my mind, marched the recurring thought, “I just want to watch Game 7.” Finally after dozing off myself, the twins were asleep, and I quietly slipped out of their dark, warm room. I bolted downstairs to hear that the Bruins had lost. My twelve-year-old son told me that the Bruins lost. It was 4-1 in the 3rd period so he had put on a survival show I had recorded, and that we had talked about earlier in the day. I was disappointed. First, I had just wanted to sit and watch the game. Second, my team had lost?!?!? Sensing how disappointed I was, my son exited out of the Alaskan survival show only to see the Bruins and Leafs lined up at center ice to start overtime. What!!!!!! Overtime?!?!? This changes everything!

We rewound the DVR recording and watched the 3rd period. We knew what was coming, kind of. Still we groaned at Leaf goals, and potential goals, but cheered when Rask turned them away. We cheered every Bruins rush and went a little more giddy with each chance, and ultimately three successive Bruins goals. As we were watching, and catching up, my phone sounded the alert. I had received a text from 69985, 98.5 The Sports Hub. This meant that there was a winner, but I wasn’t going to look at that text. We watched the end of regulation. In the middle of all this madness, my wife Amaris, who had worked late, came home. We paused our replay to explain the situation and she sat down with us and watched the end of the game too.

I thought, please don’t let the Bruins lose this game after that amazing comeback, knowing that in reality, the game had already ended. I didn’t check my phone, or touch my iPad, and I wouldn’t have answered the phone had it rung. I was watching this overtime in all of it’s suspense. On the inside I was so happy for Patrice Bergeron, my favorite Bruin player; on the outside I was tense, wondering how overtime would play out. Bergeron had assisted on the third Bruin goal, and scored the game-tying goal, completing the comeback.

We fast-forwarded through the third intermission, stopping long enough to watch the 3rd period goals again. This, after we had watched each of them several times the first time through. Now it was time to watch the overtime, which had already ended, but was unknown to us. We were on the edge of our seats. Then it happened. The little boy on the mini pond stormed the net and put home the game-winning, series-ending goal. An entire city erupted in unison as that battered puck found the back of the net. The beaten warrior laid on the ice, face down, beaten, but respected, no match for the imagination and wonderment of the hero on that day. The Bruins had done the unthinkable, the  unpredictable, the miraculous, the impossible, they pulled victory from the rubble that was essentially their lack of heart and soul since stealing a win in Game 4. Patrice Bergeron scored that goal too, and we jumped up in my family room. We cheered. We yelled. My son went nuts! We high-fived! I asked, yelling loudly, “Are you kidding me?!? Are you kidding me?!? That was my team that just won this way?!?!?!? I can’t believe what I just saw!!!” Wow.

I say it often, NHL Playoff hockey is the best thing going in sports. It’s just plain phenomenal! I am looking forward to the second round for all the teams, especially for my team, the Bruins.

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Cheering for a Bruins win

Posted on May 12, 2013 | Leave a comment

Sebastian, Theodore, Jacqueline, and I were geared up and cheering for the Bruins to win Game 6 in Toronto.

019 (2)

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Mother’s Day 2013

Posted on May 12, 2013 | Leave a comment


It’s that day again. A day when I look in the mirror and search for the greatest things about my mother. I look for those attributes in the reflection I see, knowing that were I to spy any, I’d be a better version of me. I think of where I’ve come from as far back as I can see. And I know that there was mom also, so close, pushing me the best to be. I picture her face now, and the glow that son’s see their mom’s in. And I think how fortunate I was to have her, where my life did begin. It’s a special day today, because it’s about mom, and she’d never have it that way. So, I just hope there’s something I do that honors her more than words can say. For now though, I will go with, Mom, I love you. Happy Mother’s Day.

The following is a piece I wrote for Mother’s Day 2012. This morning I read through this again, and I have added some more content in doing so.

Sometimes there’s a plan, a grand scheme with the details all but ironed out. Other times there’s a discussion, maybe even a decision made, but no rock solid plan, just see what happens. Then there’s scenarios with no plan, just an ongoing discussion that could just as easily be decided by flipping a coin. Still other times, there may or may not be a plan, but someone imposes their will, removing all choice. The point is this, there’s probably a million different scenarios as to how women end up being mother’s and they’re all vitally important. Plans are great, but life happens, mom’s happen.

Today is Mother’s Day. A day to honor Mother’s everywhere. A day to honor the special women who have taken on the most important job on the planet. That’s my opinion, and to me, it’s not really much of a coincidence that the moral fabric of our society began to unravel at an even more alarming rate as more and more mothers went to work full-time. I understand. I know folks have to make ends meet. I also know that careers aren’t more important than the future. Careers are done when retirement happens, or when our time here on this earth is done. The future is the promise that lies ahead. And the future is our kids.

I know that not all mom’s are the best mom’s, and some probably shouldn’t even be a mom to begin with. That’s not a lot different from the big picture anyways. I mean not everyone is the best at their job, some people shouldn’t be in their jobs, some are just plain lousy, some get fired. But mom’s don’t get fired. Once a mom, always a mom.

It’s May 13, 2012. It’s Mother’s Day. Millions will receive Happy Mother’s Day greetings today. Rightfully so. But not every mother’s day is a happy mother’s day. However, every day from the start of life, a mother is a mother. There’s no timeouts. There’s no breaks. There’s no choice as to whether she feels like being a parent today or not. There’s every day. There’s every hour of every day. Every hour, being a mother. I know there are 60 minutes in most of the hours I come up against, but I know that mother’s often find a way to get more than that out of an hour.

Here’s how I see it. I could be wrong. I am only a man. In my life I have noticed that mother’s show up everyday. They don’t get sick days. When they are sick for even a day, it affects more people than if I was sick for a whole week. Mother’s are the beginning and the end. The first to rise and care for any need or concern and the last to make sure all is well and make sure all are at rest. Mother’s are so versatile. They can dress up, smile, and look oh so pretty. They can do the work of many, getting dirty, getting the jobs done, smiling along the way, all while nurturing someone else, and teaching yet another, this, while preparing a home we all want to come home to.

Mothers:
They stand up for what’s right and defend their young. They love us. They long for the best for us. They hurt when we hurt, sometimes they even hurt more. They see the trouble we skirt around and hope the lessons they’ve taught us spare us from that which we face. They love us some more. They hold us. They make the worst moment or day feel like it was nothing because mom is there for us. They push us to standards we may never have reached, or at least saved us years of figuring it out on our own. They are our biggest cheerleaders. They have no issue showing how much they love us and how much they care for us. They’re not on call, they are the ones who call when their love and care is not enough. They are the structure that keeps a home from becoming just a structure we pass through. They hold the most important job in the world. They are mother’s.

I am certain that there’s no script which tells mom how to be a mom, although the Bible is a good start, and everything in between, until finish. There’s no guide that says, this is what you do in every single situation. Motherhood is hands on. The more you get in there and roll up your sleeves, and just love, the more mom you are. The more you have given of yourself the more mom you are. Mom’s have goals, and honestly I wish I knew more about that. I will make it a point to find out, immediately. I don’t know what my mom’s goals were, or what they are, but I know that one goal had to have been to be the best mom she could ever be.

I am just a man. A father. A son. A husband (twice). I have been blessed beyond my own comprehension to have the people in my life that I have. I have tremendous kids. The best kids I could ever ask for. My three oldest kids have a great mother and she is much more than partially responsible for the excellence that the kids strive for. She’s their mother, and a good mother at that. Happy Mother’s Day Sue.

My three youngest kids also have a tremendous mother. Amaris, my wife, she is mom all hours of the day. She works a full-time job, one that she is a superstar in. She has a bright future in her job/career, but she longs to be where her kids are. She still finds time to always be mom. She works very hard to manage the many aspects of life that seems so much busier now than it was when I grew up. Like mom’s I have described here, she still is mom, 24 hours a day, work or not. She has the loving touch and the words to say that make everything alright. She can transition from career woman, superstar to super mom just as quickly as she can fire off a mood-altering smile. She is mom. I am currently a stay-at-home dad thanks to my wife’s efforts. This experience has only strengthened my already strong feelings for the responsibility of motherhood. Happy Mother’s Day Amaris!

My mom was born during World War II in New Brunswick, Canada. She grew up in a different world than it is today. She lived in rural farmlands with five brothers and four sisters. Ten kids in a small home on a farm. All the kids learned to do everything that was necessary to make the household and small farm run. Along the way she was picking up the nuggets she would apply in motherhood. I have been fortunate enough to spend a lot of time with my mom in the last several years, and I have heard her tell me word-for-word, some of the things that her mother imparted to her while growing up. She was married in 1964, and in 1967 she suddenly transformed from small town girl and wife, to mother. I am sure she had more than a few moments where she wasn’t sure how to proceed. This is where her own mother’s teachings, the things she picked up throughout her upbringing in a church-going family rooted in the Bible, came into play. My dad was a pastor and in political terms, my mom was the First Lady of the church. Little did any of them know just how amazing she was and would be.

I am fortunate enough to visit with my mom and dad almost every single week. I enjoy hearing about their lives today, their lives growing up, and their lives while I was growing up. Somehow my mom remembers more than I will ever recall. I thoroughly enjoy the stories, insights, and lessons that I still learn from my mother each week. Mom is still mom. I am grown with kids of my own, but she will always be my mother. I am eternally grateful for my mother. She is a very special woman.

Happy Mother’s Day Mom! There should be a year full of days to honor mom’s like you. You have been amazing and continue to be amazing. I know you would be the first to deny or downplay such a statement. You would gently deflect such words to a clean corner in the house where they might otherwise be better served. I said amazing and I mean amazing. If we all lived in a day and age where consistency, reliability, and unconditional love were commonplace, you would still measure as amazing in my book. You are still present and participating in the role of wife and mother. It’s been nearly 48 (now 49) years as a wife and almost 45 (going on 46 years now) years as a mother. I don’t know if you, or anyone really knows what they’re getting into, becoming a mother. Selfishly, I am glad that the little girl who grew up in the big family, a family that had to work for everything they had, a girl who learned all those lessons from her mom, dad, and siblings was the one who grew up to be my mother.

I get along with most everyone, thanks to my mother. I love the weather, thanks to my mother. I love wildlife and the outdoors, thanks to my mother. I notice things in nature that others miss, thanks to my mother. I know that fierce competitiveness can be attained while calmly smiling, thanks to my mother. I got to know family, some of the greatest people I have ever known, thanks to my mother.

I marvel at you mom. The speed of life, the immediate gratification of almost every whim pursued, and the access to limitless amounts of thoughtless garbage, have done nothing to change you. Some might say you are stubborn, but if stubborn means being strong, standing for your beliefs, and not backing down to the many forms of adversity, then I hope I am stubborn too. Winds change, weather ravages, misguided youth decide in err, circumstances nearby deteriorate, time wears on the physical being, and there you are, standing strong. Maybe you’re slightly bent now, from huddling over us to protect us from the things that could have hurt us, but still you stand, smiling, reaching for the sun and the light we all wish to see. You are still the hard-working girl from a family that didn’t know any different. You don’t wait and wonder how something can be done, you don’t try, you do. Sometimes you ask me to help, and I am honored to do so, thinking things through so that I can provide the same quality you would. You are good people as they say. You always will be no matter what goes on around you. You are special in many ways, and you have been a blessing to so many people. You are strong, well versed in the Scriptures, and unyielding in your beliefs. You love always. You help others, always. While the disruption of life traveling too fast sweeps many details past the masses, you find the need or the detail that would make someone’s day and you don’t miss that opportunity others would have missed. Your measurement of a good day is based on the comfort and happiness of those around you. You rarely put yourself ahead of anyone else, and if you do, you feel bad about it. You live to love and everyone who knows you feels it too. You love to live even if your living isn’t the definition that those who want to ‘live life’ would use. I know I will never see all the things you have seen Mom, but I certainly hope to have felt the things you have felt. Living, not for the things, but for the joys of time spent doing those things which you love, is what I see in you Mom. I hope to have lived life like you someday Mom. Happy Mother’s Day Mom! I love you.

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