May 8th, 2010: A New Appproach to Mother’s Day

Is it time to write my book?  Shall I make it an autobiography or science fiction?  No matter, you probably won’t be able to tell the difference.  I’m not kidding!  In my blogs you may just get hints of what ‘life on the third planet from the Sun’ has been like for me.

I was just reading in Michael Newton’s book Journey of Souls that I chose it.  What?  We all, it seems, not only have chosen our parents/ foster parents, path of easy, (Rich, sexy and smart) or hard (Say, I want to even out some karma this time, just give me an annoying  pinch penny mate who wakes me up at 2:30 to tell me he’s having a ‘paranoid moment’.)  And even the musical instruments we intended to learn.  I can just hear my soul trying to convince the outgoing gatekeeper,  “I really want parents who will make me practice and practice the auto-harp.”

I just renewed that book from the library online and noticed others I was trying to renew hit a wall…a limit of renewals.  Oh, well, I guess I’ll have to finish the Dalai Lama’s Universe in an Atom and turn it in with as yet unread Christian Wisdom of the Jedi Masters.  Now you know where in the stacks I have been hovering.

Back to ‘Mother’s Day’ thoughts.  It’s tomorrow in case you forgot.  I had one horrible incident on a Mother’s Day long ago and it put me in fear and trepidation of the day since.  It must have been around 1990 when the kids were small and trying to assert their individuality.  I was wanting to be the ‘good Mom’ on ‘My Special Day’ so I took them outside to pick loquats from trees our landlords said had been there since the 40’s.

Loquats are golden, juicy, thin-skinned, plum-like fruit with four or more large hard brown slippery seeds within.  The seeds took so much room you were lucky to get any meat.  But what pulp you did get was a tang of perfumed heaven!  We were blessed in Burlingame, Ca. to have four of these trees lining the property border fence.

Not having a ladder, I stood on a rickety stool and whacked ripe fruit down with a rake.  One enterprising lad wanted a whack, so I held the stool and asked anonymous “Jones’ if he would so kindly hand his brother the ‘whacker’.  My karma moment descended on me swiftly.  The child refused to honor his mother’s request, his mother got bent out of shape, a knuckle thwack on the noggin, a neighbor reporting ‘child abuse’ and a knock on the door from social services and a squad car bearing all four of my darlings to the hospital to check if the chicken pox marks weren’t really the dazed parents having put out cigarettes on their skin! (We were non smokers, too.)

It all turned out all-right after 5 hours of nail-chewing and lawyer phoning.  It seems when separately interviewed, the kids vouched for me and the doctor said it was ‘chicken pox scars’ . (They legally could have kept them for 48 hrs.!)  Shall I include this in my book under the chapter title of “How a distaff mother was turned into an alien monster on Mother’s Day”?

It seemed an isolated incident, but future Mother’s Days fared me little better.  It seemed my husband would choose that day to get unhappy with his in-laws and take issue with their oft-times unsavory glances.  If it meant driving the other way for two hours when we had loaded the car to have a nice Mother’s Day dinner when Uncle Joe was in town, then why should I argue? Eh?  I imagined all sorts of ploys to get him to simmer down and just show up for a nice Mother’s Day meal.  I remember a quote from the Buddha that if you don’t have desires you won’t suffer from disappointment.

I have since learned a technique to keep my personal alien not only at peace but glad.  It’s making a change in my expectations.  I was tempted to say I don’t expect to ever be happy or honored or celebrate a wonderful Mother’s Day again.  But that is not my solution.  I was blessed to be instructed to realize that past is past and the only moment I have to gladden myself is this very one I am experiencing now.

Those greeting card hucksters had set me up with only one day of being honored.  Now I honor myself every moment, not only for being a wonderful mother, but a top-notch happy human being out to enjoy every last sip of heaven from this loquat tree of life!

Shelley

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3 comments so far

  1. Su-sieee! Mac on

    You go, Shelley! Write and the form will eventually show itself is my madness. The books you’re reading sound interesting. I almost want to go around to that section the next time I’m at the library. lately, I can only handle reading everything but the recipes in cookbooks…You never know. Someone out there may have always wanted to play the auto-harp. Who know what wonders can be done it. Have you ever heard a recording of Jake Shimabukuro play the ukelele. Wow!is all I can say.

    I’m glad to see that you weren’t bitterly scarred from the loquat tree incident. The challenges that suddenly happen to us. Someone once told me to live in the present, otherwise I’d drive myself crazy. Some days, I do.

  2. Cuz Meribel on

    I can so relate to all of this posting. We have three huge loquat trees on the border of our lot in Yokohama (Here they are called Biwa) They have grown up entirely too tall, but the crows are delighted with that. They bring their young ones for feasting every year around this time.

    My bookshelves would be a good library for you. Too bad we are so far away in Buddha land…
    Keeping on here, trying to be in the present, but periodically pushed back to old memories by messages from the kids over there.
    Blessed be,

    • shelcluzo on

      Hi, Meribel. I was trying not to mention names without the kid’s permission. Did you get to my blog via facebook? I joined this blogathon so am writing every day for the month of May. My sis. and son and I are caring for Barbara Fearn here in Bozeman. She turned 88 April 25th! Go ahead and give me some book titles and maybe I can find them here…or on half .com. Shelley Clunie


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