The River Called Life

Camped next to a river for two weeks brings about many reflective thoughts and a collection of metaphors as well.  Sitting in my armchair on the bank of the Battenkill River in Vermont it occurred to me that a river is a lot like life. 

The river never stops moving, like life. You can stand in the middle and work like crazy to stop the river, but it will just knock you down. You can’t stop it or change its direction. If you try to go upstream you can, but it sure is a lot more work.

It’s often better to go with the flow. As in life.

This river has many deep spots and shallow spots. You don’t really know ahead of time where they are so you have to be ready for anything. As I continue to sit on the bank of the river, various people float by. Some are in kayaks with helmets, vests and paddles steering carefully through the small rapids. And then there are those in tubes letting the current take them where it wants. As in life there are people who proceed with caution and accuracy and those who let life take them wherever it goes. They both got to the end point ok but this river is a gentle one. The tubers would most likely have trouble in a much more active river.

The risks are there. You can evaluate and choose how to proceed.  As in life.

A few days it rained and all the mountain streams dumped into the river causing the river to rise and look murky. As in life, sometimes we get dumped on and stress and issues cause our lives to be murky. A few days passed and the level returned to normal and the water was clear again.

As in life, we learn to hang on and be patient for the waters to clear again.

More reflecting took place as I thought about the water that passed by me. This same water will never pass by again.

As in life each day spent is gone forever, never to be repeated.

The day finally came when I decided to get off the chair and the bank and go in the water. It was cold but refreshing. As in life, many of us sit on the bank and watch life pass by us without ever dipping our feet in to feel the water. Yes there were dangers but the view was worth the risk. There were fish and beautiful glimmering rocks and sand in the water that could not be seen from the bank. Only in the water did I see the beauty of the entire river. From the bank I could see only my small area.

As in life, we must get off the bank and jump into the river of life to see it in its entirety.

The vacation on the river was not without other metaphors.  A mother duck and 10 ducklings enjoyed the water and to my surprise actually went upstream, against the flow. I had read once that a duck looks so calm on the surface but if you looked under the water its feet are going like crazy.

As in life, many of us look calm but underneath are paddling like crazy to stay on course.

I also noticed the many kinds of trees along the banks of the river that co-existed. There were birch and pine and maple all living together, sharing the air and sun and the river.

As in life, we must learn to live together and get along, and share the world.

I learned a lot from this river. It is a good teacher and provided me with many lessons.

I was reminded to appreciate each day because once it is gone, it cannot be brought back.

I will sometimes use a paddle to steer though life but sometimes it is good to be in a tube and see where life takes me.

I need to get off the bank more and get into the water of life and when the water rises and becomes murky, I will hang on to a branch and let time clear it.

I will wait for the calm.

I will go with the flow.

Good advice from a river.

The river called life.

Wings to Fly

     If you have kids and have been in touch with the outside world then you no doubt have seen the saying in some form explaining that the two lasting gifts we give our children are roots and wings. A little plaque was given to me almost 25 years ago with that saying on it but honestly I had no idea what it meant. After sitting in a drawer for about half that time, I stumbled onto the plaque and it started to become clearer. The way I saw it was that we give our children the value of family and of home and then when the time is right, they leave that home holding tight to those family roots that we gave them.

     The roots part is pretty self-explanatory, however, the wings part isn’t. Those of us in the "helicopter parenting" age group know that some well meaning experts told us (or that is how we interpreted it) that we needed to live every moment for our children, shield them from every hurt physically and mentally, and hover over them and meet all of their needs. What they should have told us is that from the moment they are born we need to show by example the value of roots. As they grow they need to be trained to be independent and use their wings every day for that one day when they fly the nest. Hovering over them hampers the flight process. This I have learned. 

     The other thing the experts should have told us is instead of hovering, we can use our own wings to fly.

     My mom was not here to guide my roots and wings process. Her death while I was six months pregnant for my first child left me devastated and on my own to “wing” it. Fortunately for me, her roots were deep and solid and held me up while I worked at figuring it all out.  My husband’s roots were deep as well. It worked out but I don’t think I fully understood what the wings meant until my first born graduated from high school and went to college. I dreaded the day. I dreaded the day the next one graduated, and the next and the next. Being home with the children for 20 years, every activity I was involved in concerned them. It was all about them. I felt closer to my mom being a mom myself. My children became my career and I loved parenting them and showing them the value of leadership and integrity through scouts, church, sports and other activities. They have shown us time and time again how much they value what we have taught them.

     The experts didn’t tell us, though, how to live our lives when the children grew up and left.

     A surprising thing happens when our children become adults. We see ourselves. Sometimes the grief we experience when they leave for college and beyond is not so much saying goodbye to them but saying goodbye to our own youth. We must say hello to who we have become. Our mortality stares us in the face and taps us on the shoulders. It makes us stand back and take a long look. Saying goodbye to them allows us to say hello to ourselves.

     After a long look, I said hello.

     Immersed for 20 years in being a mother I cast aside any ideas of my own ambitions and dreams. I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but I learned I had credits at Manchester Community College still sitting there ready to be used that I abandoned so long ago. I had gone back to work part time seven years ago for the town so that helped gain some confidence that I still had a brain and writing for a local paper helped as well. But how could I go back to college after 33 years? It was scary but strangely intriguing. Ignoring it didn't work. Something kept tapping me on the shoulder. My youngest was soon to be 18. The nest was thinning out. I was going to turn 55. Life was changing. Time to start something. Time to finish what I started.

     I took the step in the fall of 2012 and haven’t looked back. Three more classes this fall and I will have an Associate’s degree in Communications, the one that took 33 years to complete. The thrill and contentment felt going back to college is hard to explain. It surprised me. Then another surprise happened. An Associate’s Degree isn’t enough. Eastern (ECSU) is the next step on the ladder to reach a life long ambition to earn a Bachelor’s Degree.

     My son has been fairly local but three daughters chose to attend college a distance away and as far as I know do not have plans to return to this area. I couldn’t be more proud of them, and myself. I wondered how I would handle not one of my daughters nearby. Frankly, I don’t think any of us would have grown this much if they were within a short drive. It’s hard to see them go far, yes, but the benefits are truly amazing. They are capable and independent. I worry still, but that's what moms do.

I have accepted they are grown up.

     The nest really is not empty. We have filled it with our dreams and ambitions and the pride for a job well done raising four citizens. My husband was laid off four months ago from his job after 26 years. Instead of wallowing in Eeyore fashion, he is networking and finding out what he is made of. I guess he has some surprises inside of him too.

     Returning to college has renewed me. What seemed almost like the end of the line turned out a beginning with exciting opportunities. I am writing more, creating more and just living more relaxed. My husband and I are getting to know one another all over again and making retirement plans to buy a motor home and travel the country. There is an entire network across the country of retirees in motor homes traveling, sight seeing, performing service and gathering in fellowship. The possibilities are endless. In the meantime, I am using my wings and they are taking me places.

     A funny thing happens when your children use their wings. You find your own wings too. 

     Wings to fly.

   The Wishing Flower

Someone once told me if you were able to blow all the seeds off a dandelion in one breath your wish would come true. I don’t know that I ever succeeded and I am sure our neighbors were happy about that. To them, the less seeds that were spread the better. So much time and money is spent trying to get rid of dandelions. But why?

Growing up in my family  they were not so much something to conquer as something to appreciate. My Italian grandma would love to cook them up with chicken and broth. I thought they tasted bitter but that didn’t keep me from helping her pick them from the yard. That was our time together. They were best picked in the spring before the flowers bloomed. She was an expert at holding a large spoon and digging just deep enough to get the entire plant and roots in one swoop. There was a certain technique to it and I failed at it most of the time. Instead I became her trusty assistant and followed behind with a large paper bag to hold the treasured pickings that some considered a weed. How on earth could anyone consider a dandelion a weed? It is no weed. It is a wishing flower. Sometimes it is a picking flower as well.  When the bright yellow flower has lived its life, then the wishing begins. Kelly, my second oldest daughter, loved those things. If you could not find her, it was because she was in search of wishing flowers so she could blow and blow and wait for her wishes to come true. As she got older the wishing flowers were a bit harder to find in our yard as Kelly’s sister Kristyn found the beauty in the flower itself and made sure she picked bouquets and bouquets for me. How could I ever consider a dandelion a weed? It was clearly a picking flower, and a wishing flower. The girls learned to share and see the beauty in both. So did I.

It’s all about perspective.

Having four children under the age of six was hectic.  We always had places to get to. One day upon our arrival home and as usual running some type of race, I entered the house with no Kelly in tow. I turned back to see Kelly picking a dandelion/wishing flower. Exasperated as I sometimes became, I recall those words even today…those words we all say as parents, “hurry up Kelly, we have to go.” She swiftly picked the wishing flower and then another and began to blow and blow feverishly to get every last seed off before I yelled again, and so her wish would come true. I can still see her puffy cheeks filling up with air and delivering its forceful blows onto those seeds.

That was about 16 years ago.

It was one of those God moments in my life, you know those moments that end up staying etched in your brain forever?

The questions popped into my head or should I say bopped me on the head. What’s your hurry? What is so important? Don’t you know these days will pass like a lightening bolt?

 I stopped, frozen in time for a moment to watch her blow and blow. It all turned to slow motion. The message was clear. Slow down. Smell the flowers. Blow the flowers. Make a wish. I decided I was going to try to be better at slowing down. I don’t know if that wish came true that day for Kelly. Maybe she wished her mommy would not say, “hurry up Kelly” so much.  

Kelly recently turned 21. She attends college in New York City and I don’t imagine she encounters too many wishing flowers there. I asked her recently if she remembered what she wished for those times when she was small. She laughed and said she wasn’t sure but thinks she wished for her wishes to come true. Oh and to be an actress and for her family to be happy. Pretty solid wishes.

Every time since that day whenever I see a wishing flower I think of the day when time froze and I was taught to slow down, by a little girl I loved and of her love for a flower that most see as a weed. Keep those wishes close to your heart Kelly. I know I do. We are all beautiful flowers in God’s eyes. 

There are no weeds.