Have You Written About Your Mother?

 Mother's Day 2015 is drawing near. We've watched TV commercials reminding us to get that special gift for our mom and noted newspaper ads hyping the same thing. Mother's Day greeting cards sell by the gazillions and the phone lines zing with all the calls to Mom.

How many writers have written stories, essays and poems about their mother? Might be that same gazillion number as the greeting cards. Or maybe not. Is it something you've thought about doing but just haven't gotten around to it yet? Or is it a task you aren't sure how to approach? Are you unsure of her reaction if you do write about her? Is it hard to bare your emotions in print? For some, it would be easier than speaking the same words to Mom. 

Whatever the reasaon that you have not written about your mother, maybe this is the year to begin. There are so many approaches. Write about her as a young woman who nurtured you through your childhood. Or write about her as Mother of the Bride (or Groom). Write about her becoming a grandmother for the first time. Write about her as she ages. Write about her as her health fails. Write about her after she is gone. Do it for yourself, your extended family, your children and for your mother. 

I lost my mother over ten years ago, but she is still with me in so many ways. I've written about finding her in my own home everyday. That story, with audio by me, is at Our Echo. I've written many stories about my mother with several of them being published in Chicken Soup for the Soul books. She was a unique person and led an interesting life. No, she didn't travel the world or work in a major industry. She had little education, having to quit high school after one year. Despite that, she was a person who had a natural instinct for understanding others. She raised four children in a 3rd floor walk-up apartment and she gave all four of us a strong base for our own lives. She had a fiery Irish temper which we witnessed on many an occasion. 

Write about your mother as a person. Write about her as the one who guided you through those growing-up years. Write about her as your anchor in life. But what if you had a mother who was a difficult person to live with? One that was not the stuff fairy tales are made of? All mothers are not worthy of five gold stars. You can still write about her. Write about the troubled times but look for a silver lining if possible, too. Few people are all good or all bad. We are complex individuals so the stories about our moms and ourselves as moms should reflect this. 

To conclude today's post, here is a poem I wrote when my mom was in a nursing home far away from where I lived. That Mother's Day, I could not visit her in person so wrote the poem instead. 

Mother’s Day Visit

By Nancy Julien Kopp


Her step has slowed;
her hands shake.
Age has left its mark.

The sparkle’s gone;
her eyes no longer shine.
Years have taken a toll

Yet, deep inside 
the thin, frail body
lives my mother,

she who nurtured and
created a haven where 
I rested, safe and loved,

a mom who taught me
all about devotion
and how to make a home.

She shared my joys
and wept at the sorrows
sprinkled in my life,

rejoiced at each new birth,
listened to my tales,
counseled and cared.

I hold her trembling hand,
and whisper thanks and love.
Please God, let her know,

before our time is gone,
that her love lives on
within me now and evermore.

© May 2004

A Nurse I've Never Forgotten

My daughter-in-law's dad used this on his facebook posting this morning, so thank you to David Lawson for this super poster recognizing the wonderful community of nurses that do so much for so many. 

I have a niece who is going through cancer treatment, including surgery, chemo and now radiation. She is also a nurse and has missed very few wordays throughout her lengthy treatment time. She is dedicated to her fellow nurses and the patients she serves. My admiration for her is great. Good job Laurie!

When I was only four years old, a nurse set me on the path to serving others. I never knew her name but I also never forgot her. The story, which has been published several times, is below. Do you have a story about a nurse that you might write? 

The Paths We Walk

At age four, I was taken to the hospital to have my enlarged tonsils and adenoids removed. In 1943 people went to the hospital to either to have a baby or maybe get ready to die, but somehow our family doctor convinced my parents that I needed the surgery. They dutifully took me to the Chicago suburban hospital closest to our home.

I remember Mother’s heels clicking on the hospital corridor floor as we made our way, hand in hand, to the lab for a blood test. The blood was drawn from my earlobe, and when the technician jabbed me, I pulled back in fright. Blood spurted everywhere. She scolded me as she wiped the blood away. Still seated on a counter, I started to cry. The lady hurt me, and I didn’t know why, and then she yelled at me. Not a very good beginning to this hospital experience.

Off we went to the three-bed ward which was to be my home for the next three days.  Mother left me soon after she had me settled in the big bed with new crayons and a coloring book. Before long my daddy appeared in the doorway. He told me stories, carried me to the window, and sang nursery rhymes until visiting hours were over. When he told me he had to go home, I cried. I held onto him, begged him not to go. He told me to be quiet so we wouldn’t disturb the boy in the next bed. It wouldn’t have mattered because the boy had what was then termed “sleeping sickness” and his eyes never opened.

A vision of pure loveliness appeared in the doorway as I cried and clung to my father. She wore a nurse’s uniform and cap, and her blonde hair appeared to be a halo around her head. Blue eyes twinkled, and she offered a soothing smile.

 “Honey,” she said, “would you like to see the babies in the nursery?”

Her words brought my tears to a rapid halt. I nodded and allowed my daddy to kiss me good-bye.

The blue-eyed nurse picked me up and carried me down a long, dim hallway to the nursery. We spent what seemed a long time looking at all the newborn babies, swaddled and in their little beds. I had a baby brother at home, but these babies were so much more interesting, and so was my companion dressed in starched white. Finally, the nurse carried me back to my bed, tucked me in, and placed a kiss on my forehead.

 

I liked the ride to the operating room the next morning. Once there, someone with a mask over her face told me to count backwards from ten and I would soon be asleep. At four, I could barely count forwards, and I worried that they’d do the operation while I was still awake. They placed a cone over my nose and mouth and dripped ether into it, and before I knew it, I fell asleep.

I woke up in my hospital bed. My throat hurt, and my mother sat beside me. She smiled and brushed my long red curls to the side, then tried to feed me ice chips. The boy in the bed next to mine still slept, and his mother sat close by with a worried look on her broad face.

Before long, strange things started happening. A doctor and nurse hurried to my bed. Fear reigned at that moment. I didn’t know what had occurred, but my mother looked very upset. Years later, I learned that I’d hemorrhaged, and a private duty nurse took care of me that night. Sometime during the night, my blue-eyed, blonde nurse visited. She held my hand and spoke softly about the babies in the nursery. She coaxed me to eat some cold, soothing gelatin and held my hand until I fell asleep

By the next day, all was well with me. No more bleeding. Mother arrived to bring me home. She helped me dress, and we passed quietly by the boy who slept on and his mother who still sat by his bedside.

 I never forgot my special angel, the blue-eyed nurse who worked the early evening shift. The older I got the more determined I became to make nursing my mission in life. I wanted to help other people as the young woman in starched white had done.

In high school, I learned that chemistry played a big part in nurse’s training. Science and math terrified me. I made it through those courses but only barely. Reality hit. Nurse’s training was not for me. My dream of helping children evaporated, until I realized that becoming a teacher would allow me to be of service to others, and I didn’t need to suffer through chemistry. I could still be like the nurse I remembered so clearly.

She more than likely showed the love and kindness she’d given me to others through the years. The special moments she spent with her pediatric patients must have influenced many children. She did her job but added that personal touch as well.

Even long after my teaching career ended, I continued to give service to others in the way of volunteer work at our local hospital, library, and school. Even though she probably never knew it, a young blue-eyed nurse with a cloud of blonde hair and a heart that brimmed with love set me on that path more than seventy years ago. I never knew her name, but she is etched on my heart forever.

Make Use of A Good Storm In Your Stories

Around 3 o'clock yesterday afternoon, it started to rain in our town, and it kept on raining all the rest of the afternoon, into the evening and on through the night. Lighting and thunder kept us on our toes throughout the period. We saw announcements of flooding in some areas of our community. The official rain amount was over 4 inches on this morning's radio broadcast, but that is taken a few miles outside of town in our airport area. And I wonder if it is only til midnight, rather than the duration of the storm. My wondering comes from the fact that when we checked our own raing guage this morning, it totaled 7 inches!

Ken was out three  times last evening to check our window wells which have given us problems on other heavy rain occasions. Happily, all was well but he came in soaked after each check. The newscasts showed flooding in the K-State campus area and farther on downtown in one section that is renowned for flooding. All campus streets were closed at one time last night. Storms like this affect us in various ways. 

This brings me to today's post topic. Weather plays an important part in storytelling. Using a storm, whether rain or snow, hail or ice, can create interest and excitement in what otherwise coudl be a bland story. If a protagonist is already having a tough time, throw him/her into a terrible storm situation and readers interest level moves up a few notches.

Many seafaring stories use at least one good storm to bring a situation with the characters to a head, or an end, perhaps. Nothing like a boat being slammed about by huge waves to make characters reveal all kinds of things. Tornados put the excitement notch up quite a lot, too. Or a blizzard where characters get lost or even frozen to death. Put your character in an ice storm with little or nothing to protect him/her and you've got a nail-biting situation for the reader. 

Even bitter cold can create interest in a story. Recently, I read Louis L'Amour's Last of the Breed which takes place in Siberia. An American pilot spends nearly a full year crossing Siberia, an area of Russia, to make his escape via the Bering Sea. In this story the cold seemed an actual character rather than only a weather phenomenon. I shivered at times as I read about the intense cold the pilot had endured. This was a rereading of a novel I'd enjoyed back in the mid-eighties when it was published.

One of the first lessons in a childrens' wriers correspondence course uses a picture prompt. Two children are running across a barnyard with a tornadoic clous in the distance. The student is asked to write a story using the picture. Obviously, weather will have a big rold in the story.

For a writing exercise, you might makes lists of adjectives that would be useful in describing various weather patterns. Make another list of the types of weather that might be used in writing fiction. Make yet another list of what characters' reactions to various weather situations might be. Bringing them to mind with these lists might be helpful in bringing them back to mind when you are writing a story. 

Storms can be an exciting tool for the writer. Go back through some of your already-written stories and ask yourself where you might insert a storm scene to create some excitement, to illustrate a point, or to show your character in a difficult situation. Does he have true grit? Does he cower and hide? Does he play the hero? Your choice!

An Opportunity To Share Your Memories

My friend, Tom Mach, is looking for some memories. Yours! Tom's website, appropriately titled Memories Are Forever, features a new story every month. He's putting out a call for submissions for all writers and those who aren't writers but have memories to share.

The featured story may very well also end up being published in print in the The Kaw Valley Senior Monthly newspaper which is distributed in the Topeka and Lawrence, KS area. My story Memories of My Chicago Childhood appears in both places this month. There is no pay involved but it is an opportunity to be published, both online and in print. All stories are not accepted. The editor will make the decision as to which stories will be featured.

Go to the home page of the Memories Are Forever website to get an idea of what Tom is looking for. The submission guidelines are found on the home page, as well. Remember to follow the few simple guidelines for the best chance of acceptance. 700 words or less, a photo that might illustrate the memory or show you at the age when the event took place. Include your full name, city and state. It's all pretty simple but always do a checklist before sending any submission. Ask yourself Did I.....? for each point in the guidelines. Tom may edit your story but only to make it more readable. 

You might be wondering who this Tom Mach is. Go to this page to learn more about this fine author. He's written 6 books, 3 of them form a trilogy that has received excellent reviews and some awards. He's also a short story writer and a poet. 

This memory website is relatively new so a general call for submissions is out. Need a few memory triggers to help you come up with a 700 word memory story? Here are just a few:

1. What was the worst day of your grade school years?

2. What kind of person was your favorite teacher?

3. How did you fool someone on April Fool's Day?

4. What was your town known for?

5. What happened in your growing-up years that you are most proud of? Most ashamed of?

6. What Thanksgiving or Christmas celebration stands out in your mind? 

Tom Mach's Historical Trilogy

A Photo Journal of May

As we begin a new month, today's post is a short photo journal of the many things we celebrate this next 31 days. Use these memory triggers to write another family story or two or three to add to your Family Memories Book. Or maybe you don't have one yet. This is the perfect time to begin!

May Basket

Today is May Day. It's not celebrated now as much as it once was. In my grade school days, teachers had us make May baskets of various kinds that we then filled with flowers or candy to present to others. Even when my children were small, the neighborhood kids made constrcution paper cones, stapled a handle on it and filled with candies. Then, they'd run onto a porch and hang their offering on the door handle, ring the bell and run away as fast as they could. What fun they had!

Dancing Around the Maypole

Dancing around a maypole started back in the 14th century as a pagan ritual. It somehow survived but with some adaptations, becoming less pagan and more a celebration of spring. I remember reading about this custom when I was just a young girl and thinking how exciting it would be to hold onto a colorful ribbon and dance my way around the center pole with other girls. The closest I ever got was the High Flyers playground equipment. No ribbons but I thought of the maypole at tiems when I ran fast and grabbed hold of ond of the handles and lifted my feet while I went round and round the pole in the center. I haven't seen a playground with a High Flyer on it for a long time. Must have been deemed too dangerous. Maybe, but it sure was fun!

Mother's Day

We also celebrate Mother's Day in May. Hallmark and other greeting card companies sell a zillion cards in May. Telephone lines are buzzing on the second Sunday in May. Families gather in restaurants to give Mom a break from cooking. Children make gifts in school to bring to Mom. One of my fondest memories is of my son bringing me a small paper cup with a tiny green plant imbedded in soil. He must have been in second or third grade. I think the paper cup had been decorated with crayons. He carried it carefully into the house on the Friday before Mother's Day and handed it to me, his eyes shining. I have no green thumb. Every houseplant I've ever had gasps and dies not too long after coming into my possession. When I saw the plant, I thought it would never survive til Father's Day! But that tiny piece of Swedish Ivy lived and grew in my house for more than 30 years after it was given to me with love from my son. It ranks as #1 in favorite Mother's Day gifts.

May Birthdays

In our extended family, May is a big month for birthdays, my own included. I've always been happy to celebrate my birthday in May. It's a lovely month. Even the northern states have better weather this month. We celebrate birthdays with cake and candles, gaily wrapped gifts and greeting cards along with family gatherings. 

Many graduations take place in May, earlier than those of yesteryear. One more thing to celebrate in this month of May. The recognition of years of work as diplomas and degrees are conferred upon the graduates while their familes and friends watch. Another joyous May occasion.

Honor Those Who Served

Finally, we celebrate Memorial Day on the last Monday of May. We pause to remember those who served and lost their lives while doing so. Ceremonies abound in our entire country on that day. It has also become a time when familes visit cemeteries where loved ones are buried. They place flowers on graves, pause and remember. Others fly the American flag on this day as a sign of remembrance. 

How Was Your Writing Life In April?

I used this lovely springtime photo poster at the beginning of this first full month of spring. Was it only 30 days ago? Today, we should be saying Good-bye April. I searched and I did find a poster saying exactly that. You'll find it at the end of today's post.

But what is in-between the Hello and Good-bye to April? It's all about Time. Look how very quickly this past thirty days has gone by. What have you accomplished in your writing life during that period? Are you proud of all that you did regarding writing this month or are you wishing you had some of those days back again so you could plunge headfirst into the project you neglected?

It might be a bit of both for many of us, and I do include myself in that. Sometimes, I feel like I'm preaching this and that to other writers but I should listen to myself, as well. When I ask if you did this or that and wished you'd really done this or that, I definitely include me. There is no perfect person nor is there any perfect writer.

We're flawed in various ways. Use of our time for writing is only one on the list. Using April 2015 as a self-check, ask yourself these questions:

1. Did I take full advantage of time alloted to writing?

2. Did I fritter away time I might have used for writing?

3. Did I place other things and other people higher than my writing time? (not to worry if you did as there are times when we all need to do this!)

4. Did I start a new writing project?

5. Did I make at least one submission this month?

6. Did I update my writing records?

7. Did I feel inspired to write this month?

8. Should I set a higher goal for next month?

May is almost upon us and delivers 31 days for you and me to do our best to write, to submit, to gather in the various rewards that might be due us. Set yourself a goal for these next 31 days but remember to make it attainable, not something that is so high in the sky you'll never reach it.

And now, it is time to say:

A Fitting Finish To National Poetry Month

Tomorrow is National Poem in Your Pocket Day and a fitting finish to National Poetry month it is. I hope that many classroom teachers across our nation will plan for and celebrate the day with their students. If they don't, they are passing up a golden opportunity to teach children that poetry can be fun. 

If you're not familiar with this day, read about it at the Academy of Poets website. The gist of it is that we should each select a poem, copy it, fold and put in your pocket on April 30th. If you have the opportunity to pull it out and read it to someone during the day, so much the better. Not everyone would have the courage to do that. 

Stop and think about it. If I went to the butcher case at my grocery store and, before I ordered the meat, I pulled out my poem and asked the butcher if I might read it to him, he might be polite enough to nod his assent but he might also think What kind of a wacko is she? Or, suppose you stopped to pick up a prescritpion at your pharmacy and you inquired of the pharmicist May I read a poem to you for Poem in your Pocket Day? If there wasn't a line of people waiting, he might agree. Maybe he, too, likes poetry, and it would make his day. Or he might politely tell you that he really didn't have time as others are waiting. So, choose your person, place and time wisely. It could be someone in your own family--a poem over cereal and toast early in the morning perhaps.

Of the millions of poems in our world, what one will you choose to put in your pocket tomorrow? A limerick? A haiku? A sonnet? A lengthy free verse? A poem from a long-ago poet or one who writes today? A nursery rhyme? A narrative tale poem? We all have our favorite poets and favorite poems. No, I retract that--all those who enjoy poetry have their favorites. 

Only people who like poetry will participate in Poem in your Pocket Day. Even if you don't copy a poem and put in your pocket or read it to someone tomorrow, you might think about a favorite poem. Maybe it's even one you've written yourself. 

One point about poetry was brought home to me only last night. A poet friend in my online wrirter's group has a new poem published at a sci-fi website. She had read it to those attending the conference this month that I had to miss. The webiste showed only the Table of Contents so I commented that I'd like to see the poem, too. She kndly sent it to me last evening. I  read it before closing down the computer for the night. I read it twice more this morning. The more I read, the more I saw in the poem and the better I liked it. So, don't read a poem once and move on. Give it a second and third read. I can almost guarantee that you'll enjoy it more with each reading. 

I'm writing about tomorrow's celebration today so that you will have time to prepare.

I read several poems this mornng at a poetry site while considering what to write on the blog today. Here's one I know I first read in high school. I think I appreciate it far more today than way back then. It's a very familiar poem--simple yet visual and thought-provoking and written by a famed poet. 

STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING

Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here 

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer 

To stop without a farmhouse near 

Between the woods and frozen lake 

The darkest evening of the year. 

He gives his harness bells a shake 

To ask if there is some mistake. 

The only other sound’s the sweep 

Of easy wind and downy flake. 

The woods are lovely, dark and deep. 

But I have promises to keep, 

And miles to go before I sleep, 

And miles to go before I sleep.