22 April 2011: Rememberances

Will the real Birthday Girl please stand up?

I’m a year older and hopefully a year wiser.  It was later in the morning than it was yesterday when I woke up today; but the birds were out there singing their beautiful songs, the sunlight was dappling through the eyelet lace curtains, and you could just tell it was going to be a glorious spring day out there.  After a long while spent luxuriating in bed, I made my way to the kitchen, fixed a bowl of cold cereal and a glass of orange juice and thought about my mom.  As much as our society celebrates the birthday of an individual; it should be a celebration of the person who brought them into the world.  So I thought about my mom for a long time.  About how hard it must have been to be a mother at such a young age.  About all the dreams she gave up because my needs, and later those of my brother, came first.  About all the times she must have wished for different choices, better opportunities.  But mostly I thought about the little things that stick out in my memory.  Like the time when I was ten and I came downstairs in the middle of the night to find her making homemade strawberry jam; instead of sending me straight back to bed, she let me stay up with her so that we could make the jam together.  The time in seventh grade when my brother went to southern California to visit his dad and my mom took me to Mervyn’s to buy a pretty new skirt, blouse and purse; she even let me get some lip gloss (these things were a big deal back then because we didn’t have money for them very often).  The time we went to my Aunt Eileen and Uncle Jim’s house on Christmas morning and my mom played the Bill Cosby cassette that my brother’s dad had given her for Christmas as we drove in heavy snow and I can still remember her laughing and laughing and it felt so good to hear her laugh like that.  The time when I wiped out on my roller skates out on the street, taking a good layer of skin off of my thigh, and how she came running out to mend me up.  The time she filled in for my aunt on delivering newspapers at night while they were on vacation somewhere; which meant that we drove around all night long with Leo Sayer and Kool and The Gang playing on the radio and my mom singing along and sounding so happy while my brother and I were supposed to be asleep in the backseat. The time I got my heart broken but good for the very first time (but not the last, by God) and she popped me into her bed, pulled me close to her and sang me some Irish lullabies to help me to stop crying (I’m a crybaby, I admit it; I’ll cry over anything).  But the most amazing memory was having her by my side when I gave birth to my own daughter.  The room was filled with people; but it felt as if it were just my mom and me there and when that beautiful child was born, I remember my mom turning to me with tears in her eyes and saying, “Oh, Karen, it’s a girl!” (I subscribe to the theory that having a baby should be like eating a box of Cracker Jacks; there should be a surprise at the end…hence, my desire to NOT know the gender of my children before they were born).  The expression on her face the first time she held my little girl in her arms is one that I will never, ever forget.  My mom, among others, has been so incredibly supportive these past two years.  She kept telling me that everything would be okay; that I would survive the separation and subsequent divorce.  She kept picking me up whenever I started to fall down again.  I think of that and I know that I can trust her in it because of the inner strength that she had to rely upon in all those years of being a single mother.  So I want to tell my mom today: thank you.  Thank you for my life.  Thank you for the hugs and kisses and laughter and spankings and yelling and groundings and lectures and understanding and forgiveness and encouragement to follow my own dreams (including this vacation!).  Thank you for it all.  I’m sorry if I’m not always so appreciative or if I sometimes forget the lessons you’ve tried to teach me.  But I always, always love you.  Always.

And she’s off!

After breakfast, Mom-appreciation time, and a quick check for any new wrinkles on my now-43 year old face, I headed out the door; this time remembering my camera.  I took my time walking into the village today; there were lots of photos to be taken along the way.  I visited the grounds of the local church: St. Peter and St. Paul and was gob smacked (Google it if you don’t know the meaning) by the cemetery.  Now, mind you, I’m not a big fan of cemeteries; they give me the willies but good.  However, my queasiness over gravestones disappeared when I started checking some of them out.  Like one that had a single stone for three people: a man (I think his first name was John), predeceased by his first wife (Hannah) and followed in death by his second wife (Emma).  And when John (?) died at the age of 75, Emma was only 30 (she died fifteen years later at the age of 45).  There were gravestones shaped like coffins, etc.  The willies did finally creep through and I bolted the premises; but it was fascinating in retrospect to see such very, very old gravestones.  Next, I walked up and down High Street which was very busy with the Bank Holidays starting today and the crowds out and about.  I located the Crown Hotel and Bar; they have a really nice outdoor seating area.  I also found a woodshop where I can purchase some kindling when I finally run out.  There were some empty shops about here and there; the economy affects people everywhere, it would seem.

Charlotte’s Chocolate Cake

I headed back to the café where I visited yesterday; unfortunately, Jenny had the day off and Yvonne had just left.  So today I met Charlotte.  Charlotte was in the café portion of the village shop cleaning the tables when I came in and we immediately hit it off:

Charlotte: Good afternoon!

Me: Hello!

C: Oh my goodness, are you from America?

M: Yes, I am.  I’m from Oregon.

C: Oregon?

M: Yes, right above California. ßSide note: can anyone tell me why NO ONE ever knows where Oregon is located?  Even other Americans I’ve met in Iraq sometimes don’t know!  I always have to mention California, dang it.

C: Oh, please take me with you!

M: Well, I’m not actually going back there until next autumn.

C: That’s okay, I’ll wait.

Charlotte is totally charming and funny.  The café was closing early due to the Bank Holiday; so we didn’t get to spend a great deal of time chatting; but I’m sure we’ll get the opportunity to talk again soon.  In the meantime, she cut me off a slice of a very delicious-looking piece of chocolate cake to take to the cottage with me for my after-dinner birthday dessert.  Unfortunately, I forgot to buy a bottle of wine as originally planned.  Well, there’s always tomorrow!  I uploaded last night’s writings to this blog, checked my email accounts and Facebook (and was so overwhelmed by all the unexpected birthday wishes!), waved goodbye to Charlotte and headed off to wander around some more.

Footpaths

In the upper village green, there is a big sign that shows the various public footpaths in Blockley Parish.  The wonderful thing about the Cotswolds is that you can walk anywhere and everywhere.  I wasn’t sure that I was up for a pre-determined walk; so I decided to head back up High Street to investigate the beginning of a footpath that I’d seen there earlier.  Having found it, I ventured off.  The path started off winding between buildings in the village and at one point, it went in two different directions: one going uphill and one going downhill.  Being the lazy chit that I am, I went downhill.  Ah, but dear friend, there is a price to pay for laziness and I soon found that the downhill path ended at the river.  So now not only did I have to go uphill to get back to where I made the fateful decision; I would have to go uphill again after that to follow the path I should have chosen in the first place.  Having left the village behind me in climbing the hill, I soon found myself crossing a wide-open field and a feeling of being transported back to childhood engulfed me.  When I was a child, we often visited my Aunt Eileen and Uncle Jim at their house out in the country.  My cousin Greg and I, with only five months difference in our ages, were inseparable and we combed the countryside as children do.  As I walked and smelled the scents and heard the sounds of the English countryside, I felt as if I were a young girl again.  What a wonderful feeling it was.  And suddenly I was sure that I could walk for miles and miles and never tire.  So many good memories, things I had forgotten over the years, came flooding back: Greg and I sleeping outside in the camper and my mom waking us so that we could see their cow Molly give birth to her calf; the whole family working together out in the garden to plant the vegetables; my Aunt Eileen and I picking grapes and then canning grape juice together; and how quiet it was at night after everyone was in bed and no city noises could be heard outside.  Wonderful memories indeed.  After crossing several more fields, I walked another footpath alongside a road; I could hear farm animals calling to one another over the high hedges, bees were buzzing around the flowers, and the sunlight filtered down through the leafy trees.  As I neared the village again, I saw the beginnings of another footpath to the right; it was called “The Heart of England”.  I am definitely taking that one tomorrow!

It’s My Party and I’ll Smile if I Want To

I arrived back at the cottage, put everything away and busied myself making dinner.  As I’d forgotten to have dinner the night before, I still had the chicken and ham pie in the fridge.  I had a bit of a time with the oven; I burned the top of the pie but the inside of it was still cold to the touch.  So I turned the pie upside-down on a plate, removed the tin pie plate and tossed the works into the microwave (I haven’t screwed up anything in the microwave since I was eleven and blew up a whole egg in a neighbor’s microwave).  Having heated up the pie, I paired it with some sliced white cheddar cheese and green grapes.   It was a nice birthday dinner, burned pie crust and all.  I was mindful of how lucky I was to be spending my birthday in the one place I’ve always wanted to visit.  Afterwards, I took my slice of birthday cake upstairs to the parlor and watched the news for a little while.  However, I soon grew tired of that and went back down to the kitchen to tidy everything up and then take a hot bath before bed.  Following that, I closed up the house and headed upstairs to the bedroom.  I did a little reading and here I am now, thinking about past birthdays.  Like everyone else, I’m sure, I’ve had good ones and bad ones and some in the middle.  This one, today, is definitely in the top three alongside my 16^th birthday on an Easter Sunday and my 21^st birthday in NYC.  My worst birthday was two years ago when my ex-husband announced that he wanted a divorce (seriously…on my 41^st birthday!); though in retrospect, it was probably the best present ever considering how my life has changed since then.  If we were still together, would I be spending THIS birthday in England?  I can honestly and unequivocally answer “no” that that question.  Over the past two years, but particularly the last year, I have gained a better idea of who I am and what I want out of my own life.  I’ve become more open to new experiences and have begun to think about what the future might entail.  And I’m learning to fight my natural shyness and reach out to meet new people.  When I was young, I was always afraid of being alone.  But now, I relish solitude.  I’m comfortable with being alone; it doesn’t frighten me anymore and I find that when there’s a healthy balance between being with others and being by myself, I’m happy.  I’m truly, honestly happy for the first time in a very long time.  I think about my blessings in life and I’m grateful for all of them: my children, my mother, my brother, my extended family, my friends, my job, my home, etc.  I’m thankful to God for all of these things in my life and I’m looking forward to all the years in front of me.  And on that note, dear ones, I’m signing off and going to sleep.

Tomorrow: Into the Heart of England