Sixty seven years ago a beautiful and extraordinarily strong woman was born, my mother:)
I’m hesitant to write about my mom, not because I don’t have anything to say (I have plenty) but I’m afraid I will not do her justice through my poorly expression of my love and admiration that I have for her. But I’ll try.
When I was young I did not appreciate many things about her but it took me becoming a mother to understand the many sacrifices she endured so we could have a better life. I imagine how hard must’ve been for her raising children during communism era as a christian woman, with meager earnings and little support. Modern women of today, myself including, we have unthinkable possibilities and social support, amenities that help our chore work and most likely (not everyone) supportive husbands.
I’ve learned so much from her, and even though she was tough on us at times, “she did her best to prepare us for a harsh and uneasy world” as she put it in one of our telephone conversations.
My mom worked hard, forgave a lot and always looked at the brighter side of life, despite the many hardships life provided for her. I’m so very proud of her and she gives me strength to push on when I feel otherwise. I thank God for her often:) So Happy B-day Mom! And many more healthy years to come, I pray you’ll have.
I’m sure you have an amazing mom as well. Thank God for her; she’s a priceless gift in this life.
Revised version since last night when I wrote this blog my eyes were sandy from fatigue and my brain only worked on autopilot.
How do you start the new year right? By pranking your kids! Yes! After all, is very important for us parents to teach our children how to act or react sharply and appropriately in all life’s circumstances.
Since Meleah was the only one working on New Year’s first day we decided, maturely of course, to play a prank on her once she got back home which was around 1 pm. So we came up with a ransom note.
From idea to completion we had 40 minutes. The culprits were: my husband, myself, our son Merrill and her boyfriend Jordan. There was a mad rush of hands and ideas flying. Chet was cutting the most brilliant words out of a Martha Steward cooking magazine, I had the privilege of gluing the whole message together while the boys came up with the message:) I haven’t felt so alive and giddy for a long time and I loved every second of the devious plan and from the looks of it so did the boys. The fact that our building had a power issue (can’t really call it outage) and the lights were very dim, some even flickering others not working at all, the TV console moved away from the wall (Chet unplugged the electronics) did help.
We left the note on the floor seconds before she stepped through and hid waiting. Heard the keys, her stepping inside then utter silence for few long seconds. (She was reading the ransom note and listening for any activity inside before committing to come all the way in.) As you can see, in our haste, we never left a contact info so she checked her Instagram messages for more clarification. Nothing. She walked ever so quietly around looking, for us I presume, and eventually found us tucked in a corner of our bedroom. The whole thing was over way too soon but we sure had a nice laugh.
Twisted sense of humor you say? I think not. I’ve come to the conclusion that my daughter handled the situation brilliantly and my job as a parent was done. She’ll do fine in life is the conclusion we drew, which is important:)
I would love to hear some of your fun teachable moments you received or gave away, but until then have a fantastic new year with great beginnings and fun adventures!
The ladies in this picture are sisters and they happen to be my grandmother (Maria) on the right and my great aunt, Ticuta, on the left. In the middle stands uncle Ionel, my aunt’s husband. My grandfather passed away few years back from Alzheimer’s.
Both sisters had strokes within days of each other, couple of months ago. Sunday, 11-10-2019 aunt Ticuta passed away.
I look at life as a wonderful novel and for some their story may have ended their flesh and blood walk on this earth. It’s impossible not to feel sad at its finality. But strong memories continue their story and recollecting them is my way of spending time with the beloved departed ones.
Here’s one of those memories.
Ibanesti village stands quietly in the Bucovina region of Romania situated north of the country.
Head wrapped in a bright scarf and one hand shielding her eyes from the sun above my aunt stands in the middle of a potatoes field searching for me. In addition to her children and her chores I’m her responsibility for the time being as I spend few summer days working the fields along side. We’ve been weeding and picking these nasty bugs off every leaf for the past four hours and although there’s so much left the work is coming to an end for today. Heat waves dance over the land and her small but mighty frame rests a moment and I can’t help but smile towards her. She does not smile much, too engulfed in her never-ending chores life offers to a peasant but when she does my world brightens and I nearly tear up with overwhelming joy. I can smell dust and dried grass lingering in the air for the ground under our feet is cracked from lack of rain. She looks up towards the sun and her lips move, most likely in prayer. We need rain for the crops to grow, so I too begin to pray. As a child I don’t like the rain much but I sense its importance.
“Carmen! Gicu! Geta! Time to go home!” She waives us over and like separated aunts we happily cluster joking and pushing each other in cheerful teasing. The walk home is shared between gulps of lukewarm water once freshly pulled out of the well and I look forward to dinner.
But dinner in the country does not come quickly. First we must feed and give water to the cows who have just returned from the pastures, brought back by the village boy delegated with such a task. So I help carry the buckets of water after Gicu, one of my cousins, pumps it from the well. I see in the far distance, Geta, another cousin, lifting hay with a fork and bringing it in the stable. Today I must milk the cow, that’s my task, and I take the small wooden stool, I grab the aluminum bucket and set myself underneath the enormous belly hoping she’ll not kick me. The smell of cow manure gags me for a second yet years later this will become my best memory trigger to such times as these. I wash her nipples and began to pull, but its not as easy as it seems and my cousins start to laugh, teasing my clumsiness. I’m a city girl, and I feel it now in every bone of my body. Every day they work hard yet still manage to laugh and tease while I struggle to keep up too proud to admit defeat. So I try again and pull harder with more success.
“Here. Let me show you how it’s done.” Geta offers. She sits down and starts milking with great ease and as the while liquid slushes out quickly the smell of fresh milk teases my nostrils, followed by stomach gurgles. I’m really hungry.
“Lean your head on her belly gently, this helps her relax, then grab hard like this and pull like this. Now you do it.” I nod, ready to prove my worth. I lean my head and start to pull. I’m rewarded with a great sound of liquid hitting the bucket, Geta smiles and the cow moos happy. As I milk her, head agains her belly, my eyes see past the open stable door and into the courtyard, where Mitica, my youngest cousin only about five or six years old helps his mother by bringing the fire wood so she can start supper out in the summer kitchen. It’s too hot to cook inside and during the summer all the meals are cooked outside in the summer kitchen which is a clay oven next to a wooden table situated underneath a lush grape vine. Aunt Ticuta is starting the fire with some matches and soon the soft polenta, the universal bread in these parts of the country, is well on its way. Then she fries pieces of pork meat and my mouth is watering as the fumes reach me, and Geta hurries to help with the salad by picking lettuce from the nearby garden. Fresh made plain yogurt completes the simple meal and I become impatient with my chore.
“Come on girl, help me out here!” But the cow turns and looks at me with her big eyes and I can tell she’s saying “What else do you want me to do?”
Once around the table we bow our heads and pray out loud over the meal then sit down under the shade of the grape vine busy eating. The fire was put out but the smell of aches lingers. We tease each other with mouth-fulls of goodness and settle down only when my aunt advertises us there’ll be whipping coming our way if we don’t. But like a bee hive we slowly start it up again. And life keeps going on in a beautiful continuance of love, hard work, and laughter.
Family members of the dying generation mean the world to me. Despite grave injustice against them some brought on by the socialist/communist party others by life circumstances they always worked hard and looked at life as God’s precious gift. The thankful attitude and their tendency to see the positive side of life taught me to be strong. I love that! I was taught that by them! I will treasure it forever. If only I can do as good of a job, now that’s my turn, and make the world around me better. I’m trying:) These are the people I’m mostly proud of, the older generations, that sit invisible behind this two ladies in this picture. My family back home and some here:)
Everyone of us needs a strong and healthy foundation to stand on and I hope you have such a great foundation. If some of these great people have passed away, remember them well, and be proud to have encountered such wonderful human beings:)
It’s a truth most of us don’t take time to think about it. Who is corrupting who, the adults or the children? Let me clarify.
In a child’s world there is unconditional love, laughter and joy, purity of mind and speech, honesty, and LOADS of forgiveness. When an adult enters a child’s world (-birth-one-two-three-four-five-six year olds) they find all the qualities I mentioned earlier and then some, despite the temporarily expressed frustrations they express from time to time. But you’ll never find a double crossing child, someone who plots your murder, stabs you in the back etc, gossips about you, etc. In their world everyone is welcomed.
Now let’s take a look at the adults world, our world, we who consider ourselves mature, smart, clever, enlightened and so on. Anyone pure who enters our world is hurt and manipulated, destroyed and taken advantage of. We kill (body and soul), manipulate to get our way, hurt, lie, pretend, ignore, cheat, etc, and HARDLY forgive. Our love is conditional and often not genuine. When children enter our world they pay a great price, but when we enter theirs we receive forgiveness and unconditional love. Any damaged child is most likely damaged by an adult. Not one adult is damaged goods because of a child. Why is that?
Why are we corrupting their world? If we are as smart as we think we are? Why?
At the age of 18, not longer a child, not yet a complete adult either, Meleah, my daughter entered the work field- a company in Seattle which made social media games.
“I expected the adult world to be full of mature people, and I was intimidated by that. But when I heard them cursing, just to curse, I was deeply let down.”
As we talked about this let down the “mature world of the adults” brought in her life, a few things became clear; cursing is a form of verbal violence and of a lazy vocabulary, adults are frustrated beings with no parent to instruct them, and overall, not at all that smart. If you know my daughter you’ll also know how liberal in thinking she actually is, however, lately she is starting to believe based on her observations that conservative ways, at least some, are less dangerous and destructive than those of a deeply liberal view. Why? How come?
“Although deeply flowed, the christians are searching for truth and life meaning in one direction, a more uniform direction, as they collect and put the puzzle pieces together.
Although deeply flawed, the others search in every direction with a deeply controversial and far less open minded ways than otherwise announced, it gets so utterly confusing and unpleasant that leaves me skeptical of their ways.” -These are not her words just paraphrasing our philosophical conversation we had this morning. They grew up in a conservative background and like all teenagers rebelled, but Chet and I love when I see our children question everything not just accept ideologies because society or mommy and daddy tolled them to do so. Why? Because adults, despite of their belief system, are the ones corrupting everything, not children, and that’s criminal.
What do you think? Do I have a point in my opinion? Are there memories, or incidents you experience that attest to what I wrote? How about experiences which may contradict the above statement?
Have a great weekend and let’s try to be better adults starting with us.
I asked myself today: why the urge, lately, to write about people that made a positive impact in my life?
It’s not a sudden urge. I’ve had these emotions accompanied by fond memories deep within myself for a very long time but I never acted on them. It seems the deeper I care about a person the harder it is for me to express it. Is it a flaw? A weakness? An oddity? Or am I simply a normal human being. Upon reflection, I’ve gathered that is far easier for us humans to express anger, displeasure, and critic of others to their face (even easier behind their backs) than give them an honest compliment. And if any measure of a compliment holds an element of insincerity it shatters something within us, it shatters our trust, and without trust, a real friendship can’t exist.
Only when I became ill, and I myself received encouragements did I realize how valuable spoken support really is to a human mind, soul and spirit and I thought to myself: I may die soon and they’ll never know how much they mean to me! Unless I tell them.
So what was once buried deep within my heart is slowly but surely making its way to the surface. This may be a cheese way to express such gratitude and at times love, but what can I say? Progress and change enter the world one step at the time. The important aspect is that arrives sooner rather than later, right? So, don’t lose heart if your name hasn’t popped up on my blog just yet, it’s coming:)
Cand ma gandesc la familia Macovei (unchi si matusa), automat ma gandesc la satul Ibanesti, la tanti Ticuta si la strabunica mea. Unele dintre cele mai fericite clipe ale vietii mele au fost petrecute la Ibanesti si la Botosani, in copilarie. In Romania, pe timp de vara copii de obicei sunt trimisi la tara, la bunici, si acolo petrec multe ore pe camp, la cules de mere, ajutand bunicii sau facandu-le necazuri. Si eu cad in ambele categorii, am si ajutat am facut si necazuri. Dar trebuie sa revin la povestea de azi. Pe tanti Marcela am intalnit-o ca domnisoara la Ibanesti (eu eram copila), si mai tarziu dupa ce sa casatorit cu unchiu Valer si sa mutat la Certej ne vizita des la Hunedoara unde am locuit in acea perioada. Chet a avut si el ocazia, in 1993 sa-i cunoasca si isi aduce aminte cu drag de acele momente.
Familia Macovei, pentru mine si pentru Chet vor ramane intotdeauna una dintre cele mai indragite familii si rude:) Energia positiva si simtul umorului traieste din plin in aceasta familie, dar si faptul ca sunt oameni muncitori si prietenosi:) Deabea astept, cand ajungem si noi pe viitor inapoi in Europa sa ne revedem:)
P.S. Am multe persoane care le indragesc foarte multe de care inca nu am scris un blog la adresa lor inca:) Va urma:)