Mama's Place: A day of new beginnings
Today’s column marks the beginning of its sixth year. I have written since I could hold a pencil and begin to scribble the words Mother Melba spelled for me from the kitchen as I sat at Mama’s chrome table across from the colonnade. Of course, in classical architecture a colonnade is a row of columns; however, Mama called the elevated narrow bar separating the kitchen from the dining area a “colonnade,” and I cannot refer to it by any other name. The colonnade remains today, freshly repainted white with its original red-speckled linoleum top. My first writings were letters to Aunt Hattie Lee and Uncle Milton, beginning, “Dear Aunt Hattie Lee and Uncle Milton. How are you? Fine I hope.” Every one began the same.
Today is New Year’s Eve 2021. As I sit in daughter Lee Anna’s Chicagoland basement at a narrow rectangular wooden table in front of my MacBook Air, my thoughts are coming from many directions. Indeed, 2021 picked me up, threw me around, and left me spinning. As I do at the end of every year, I am reflecting over the events and experiences of the past 12 months, facing, floating, accepting, and letting time pass. Having become aware of unfinished business denied deep within, I have worked hard to unpack and release it. I’ve come to terms with my inability to fix others’ problems and my own approval – my right – to stop trying, smiling as I see Daddy’s mischievous eyes as he repeats, “If the horse is dead, dismount.”
Throughout 2021 I like to think that I have dismounted many dead horses. In spite of constant reports of COVID numbers and vaccination recommendations; devastating fires, floods and senseless mass shootings; and personal, family, and friends’ health concerns, a spirit of Christmas joy and hope sparked within. Looking back, I first recognized this renewed awareness of the miraculous beauty of life while sitting between two dear Sisters of Circle Naomi at our annual United Methodist Women’s Christmas luncheon at Hardscrabble Country Club, overlooking the manicured green golf course and admiring the vintage and current holiday sweaters around the table. Smiles and laughter from a dozen faces radiated more joyfully. Stories shared between nearby diners brought louder raucous laughter, causing those seated farther away to demand, “You girls share that story with us. You are having too much fun down there.”
A 35-year speech teacher, I gladly repeated in my loud, clear voice this story that I found perfectly delightful. I must confess that upon hearing my trademark laughter, Mama would surely have leaned over, pinched my knee and whispered in my ear, “Now, Sister, that laughter is not lady-like and is inappropriate at the table. Remember your manners.” (Remember that this laughter is always followed by a slap on someone’s shoulder. Beware.) It seems that the friend on my left downsized and relocated soon after her late husband’s death. In preparing for her new residence, a bathroom plunger was at the top of her list of new basic household necessities. Visiting her friendly Ace Hardware, she located a large section of plungers. Reporting that her husband always performed such unpleasant tasks, she had no idea how to use a plunger; therefore, she decided to try one to be sure it worked properly. She selected a plunger, looked it over, and promptly thrust it down hard on the cement floor. Being unable to remove it from the floor, she picked out a second plunger, looked it over, and promptly thrust it down hard on the floor next to the first. The second was also stuck fast to the floor. Not one to be outdone, our new household manager lined up five plungers stuck fast to the floor at her friendly neighborhood Ace Hardware before looking around to be sure no one was watching, ducked her head, and slithered out of the store to her car, red-faced and humiliated. Reaching home, she immediately phoned her son for reassurance. After relating the horror tale, she wailed, “Oh, dear! I looked around and don’t think anyone saw me. Do you think someone saw me?” The son quickly replied, “Of course, someone saw you, Mother. Security cameras show everything that goes on in the store.” My Sister of Circle Naomi was not reassured.
Another marker of renewed pleasure was my childlike anticipation while viewing the Christmas lights in the Kansas City Plaza. Finally, for the first time since I was five and lived with my family in a dungy basement apartment in Kansas City, while Daddy worked at General Motors and Mother took summer classes toward a degree, I returned to Kansas City en route to Chicagoland for Christmas with daughter Lee Anna’s family. Many times throughout my adult life, friends have marveled after seeing the Plaza Christmas lights. Somehow, memories of those few months in the apartment invariably resurfaced, and only this year did I see for myself some of the 80 miles of lights outlining the distinguishing architectural features of the buildings modeled after the Spanish city of Seville. Cruising the streets above the Plaza, the Mission-style features drawn out by lights hinted at the Fandango and Rumba being danced in streets below. As it turned out, dancing occurred only in my mind; however, the long-awaited experience took me to new levels of Christmas joy and hope.
Without fail, reflections bring truths Mama shared during my childhood that have positively impacted every day of my life. These include: A cheerful heart doth a body good; do unto others as you would have them do unto you; waste not; want not; holding a grudge hurts you, not the other; cleanliness is next to godliness; let not the sun go down upon your wrath.
During my present visit with Lee Anna’s family, I have done my end-of-year reflecting, and as I considered Mama’s invaluable insights, I took the opportunity to share my own with my first grandchild, 12-year-old Evan. While organizing his room, I shared Daddy’s returning from World War II, traumatized by months at sea in a minesweeper, struggling the rest of his life to transcend depression and anxiety. I explained how his condition colored our entire family’s reality and how each of us learned to accept and cope with its fallout, emphasizing the importance of acknowledging and expressing feelings, both good and bad. Reaching out for help in recognizing and accepting our real selves enables us to empathize with others needing our hand up.
As New Year’s Eve closes in on a new year, I’m ready for a new beginning. Are you? Let’s dismount the dead horse, rekindle the spark of Christmas joy and hope, share stories, laugh raucously (do remember your manners), and share wisdom with the youth. A favorite hymn begins with a perfect start for 2022: “This is a day of new beginnings, time to remember, and move on, time to believe what love is bringing.” I couldn’t say that better myself.
Now, let’s cinch our saddles to a new, gentle horse and ride, ride, ride.
Louise Owens Finney is a retired secondary teacher and part-time minister in Fort Smith. She can be reached at louiseofinney@gmail.com.
This article originally appeared on Fort Smith Times Record: Mama's Place: A day of new beginnings
