Strawberry Story: Wild Strawberries

 

Strawberries that in gardens grow
Are plump and juicy fine,
But sweeter far as wise men know
Spring from the woodland vine

select lines from Wild Strawberries by Robert Graves

Wild Women: Princess of Eboli, Part II

Ellie in Halloween parade 2009.

Upon further reflection, do you think Ellie knew this when she picked out her pirate princess costume?

Janet's grandchildren Trever and Ellie on Halloween 2009.

Wild Women: Princess of Eboli

Ana de Mendoza y de la Cerda, b. 1540.

In stumbling around the net looking for my German opera singer (who I'm not convinced exists) I was struck by the stunning portraits of Ana de Mendoza, aka the Princess of Eboli.  The princess lost her eye to a sword tip (I'm sure a "I told you you'd poke your eye out!" was quick to follow) and is painted with her iconic patch throughout the sixteenth century.

I'm amazed by her history, yet also by her following.  She's featured in plays, operas, and novels.  Recently Julia Ormond portrayed her in the film La Conjura de El Escorial and by another actress in a made for TV movie La Princesa de Eboli.

I love this picture of a doll...reminds me of my mom's teddy bear.  Maybe not so huggable.


I'm also not sure how to cite it, but this miniature bust of the Princess by El Greco Miniatures as viewed on Wamp forum.

PS- six months of shopping days left till my birthday...give me these!

Earrings featuring the Princess of Eboli.

References:
http://www.sightseeing-madrid.com/princess-of-eboli.php
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ana_de_Mendoza_y_de_la_Cerda
Doll photo http://www.flickr.com/photos/gesrules/4806098337/
Earrings photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/laboiteamonstres/3689195853/

Strawberry Story: The Land of the Pale Mountains

Poem and art by Jon Leydens.

The Land of the Pale Mountains

Once upon a time, the mountain prince fell in love with the moon princess.  But the dark, gloomy mountains made her so ill that finally she returned to the moon.


Fortunately, the Salvans, the diligent mountain dwarves, knew the answer.  They laboriously spun the bright moonlight into glittering silver threads and wove them into a thick net, covering all the rocks.


Ever since, these rocks have been pale and the moon-princess has lived happily among them.

Jon was a friend of my mom's who was older than me but younger than her.  She saw him first, but we both claimed him as a friend.  The framed construction paper work shows the rocks atop the mountains that inspired Jon when he traveled to Italy one summer.  He met his true love and a wonderful romance ensued.  In High School I wanted to grow up and be Jon.  I think mom did too!

He gave this copy of the poem to my mom with a rock from the Dolomite mountains.  It hangs in my children's room today.

Artistic Adapatations for a One-Eyed Life

I found the glasses!  Here are a few pics of how they look today:

The Eye Patch Quilt: Cloisonne Lenses

The Eye Patch Quilt (note: three cloisonne pieces circled in yellow).

Mom turned to making patches around 1962 and shelved her prosthetic eye.  She continued to research alternatives and by the late nineties a few more options were presented to her.  One option she followed up on was to have an artist make a pair of glasses that could fit a stained glass or cloisonne drop in for the right lens.  The artist made a beautiful side panel out of silver that hung off the frame's temple.  The artist also made six cloisonne lenses that could be switched in or out of the frames depending on her style or mood.

When we talked to Marcia Karlin about making the quilts, it was her idea to bring other objects into her work.  Marcia divided the lenses and incorporated them into both quilts, three lenses each.

Close ups of the lenses:

Close up of lens seen in upper middle left of photo at top of the page.

This one is from my brother's quilt.

Lens from upper right corner in photo at top of post.

Chapter 3 needs a theme song...

Hit play on the screen cap and let's review. 

In 1961 Janet graduates from Arlington Heights High School.  She wears a prosthetic eye and she experiences discrimination for her facial differences at school, and then work. 

In 1962 she transfers from MacMurray in Illinois to Denver University, and the summer between attends beauty school to brush up for her United Airlines job.  She makes a bold decision to abandon the eye and embrace her sewing skills by working up a patch proto-type to fit her face.

The transformation goes beyond her appearance.

Defying Gravity  lyrics by Stephen Schwartz

Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by the rules of someone else's game

Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes and leap

It's time to try
Defying gravity
I think I'll try
Defying gravity
And you can't bring me down

I'm through accepting limits
Cause someone says they're so
Some things I cannot change
But till I try, I'll never know
Too long I've been afraid of
Losing love I guess I've lost
Well, if that's love
It comes at much too high a cost
I'd sooner buy
Defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye
I'm defying gravity
I think I'll try defying gravity
And you can't pull me down

Wild Women: Opera gives its right eye (or left, depending)

Chapter 3 has me thinking about the inspirational opera star.  Searching for her on Google has rendered little results.  One hit I got was Katharine Cornell, an opera star who once wore a patch, on Opera News.  She wore the patch for her role in That Lady. 

I take issue with a reviewer of That Lady who wrote that the patch was "unable to obscure her radiance," John Mason Brown The Saturday Review Nov 22, 1949.  Was it supposed to?  Could just a patch do that?  Look at that beautiful, elegant woman.  I would argue the patch adds to her beauty, but then of course I'm  biased and have the benefit of sixty years of tolerance.

Turns out there are a lot of eye patches in opera, only it seems more frequent for men.  Take the role of Wotan in Wagner's The Ring of the Nibelung series, or Odin from Norse mythology. 

Wagner's Wotan found on Intermezzo.

Some Wagner to set the mood.

 

Hopkins as a one-eyed Odin in next summer's Thor.

I did find some interesting information on the "Opera Whiz" blog as I was researching (okay, Googling) why Wotan as the Wanderer has lost his eye:

Brünnhilde herself is the original warrior maiden. In Norse lore, the valkyries were the daughters of Wotan and Erda, the earth goddess. "I'd give my right eye for a one night in the sack," was the line he used on her. (That's why he wears an eye patch in the operas.) It was the valkyries' job to fly down from Valhalla. They would swoop over the battlefield and collect the bodies of the most valiant warriors and take them back to Valhalla, where they would live in celebrated eternity.

Of course Intermezzo makes the point that Wanderer's missing eye seems to wander itself...(see Eye Eye Wotan post)

Last related point for this post: guess what the Valkyries fly down as...SWANS!!!  That's why they have wings and NOT horns.  Read Beth Parker's entire Opera Whiz post  Hey Wagner, thanks for Xena and She-Ra post here.

Remember: swan wings not horns ladies!

We'll save "Soap" operas for another day...

Chapter 3: A Patch is Born

From the cover of Wild Women.

The summer before mom transferred to DU she worked back in Chicago as a Kelly Girl and was placed at United Airlines new executive headquarters.

I went to downtown Chicago on the train on Saturdays to Patricia Stevens' modeling school where our girl scout troop had visited.  I enrolled in many different classes.  During an eyebrow class the instructor looked at me struggling to invent an eye brow on top of the seam of this plastic glob.  She said, "I notice you make all of your clothes.  Did you know there was a famous opera singer who always performed with jewel encrusted eye patches?"  I thought this was a wonderful idea to explore.  When I went home to tell my parents that night,my Mom said, "Great idea, try it!" and my Dad said, "No daughter of mine is going to be a pirate!"  Of course he had no way of knowing how it felt to me, with my face, to be in my adolescence: navigating through the world of fashion, appearance, and the need for acceptance.

The Pirates of Blood River came out in 1962, context for Grander's comment.

So, I waited to try it.  My parents drove me to Denver University in the fall; as they headed down the driveway to go back home, I went in to Pat's sewing machine and came up with my first patch proto-types to wear during rush week.  My thinking was that this was a whole new place, no one had ever seen me before besides Pat, and I could be whoever I wanted to be: they'd think I had always worn a patch.  And if it didn't work out or feel good to me, I could always go back to Illinois and never see any of these people again.  It was a window of opportunity I didn't want to miss.

It's obvious, isn't it? The patch worked.

Chapter 3: I'M A SWAN!

Mom begins chapter 3 saying she always listened carefully when anyone talked about swans.  She loved Hans Christian Anderson's story of the Ugly Duckling, but also references a fairytale of a different sort:

A Hindu story says that swans, as represented in the order of Saraswati, represents the priceless skill of discrimination and discernment.  Supposedly a swan is able to drink in fluid but spit out the water while swallowing the milk that was in the mixture.  It reminds me of Virginia Satir's advice to "taste everything, but swallow only that which fits you."

Chapter 2: Final Notes

My senior year in school went better; I started making friends with the boys I was sitting next to in each of my classes--and it didn't hurt that I was a good student and in the national honor society.  friend Sue and I doubled to the homecoming dance and the senior prom.  My parents had sent me to a Cotillion dance club, and I had learned to hold my own on a dance floor.  My senior picture in the yearbook was very ugly, but by graduation I was happy with my dress, robe, and hair. 

But she wasn't out of the woods yet:

 However, the week after graduation Sue and I drove together to the Sears at a nearby mall that was hiring clerks for summer jobs.  She was hired, I was told they had no openings.

Ouch!

After the summer Sue went on to St. Mary's at Notre Dame.  Mom heads to MacMurray College to pursuit a future as a Director of Christian Education.  Little did she know the "wonderful/terrible" turns her life was about to take.

Chapter 2: Music as Therapy

Growing up, one of the few morning rituals I can remember is mom playing Weston Priory on the record player.  The needle would hit the vinyl and the ancient voices would sing us through the melodic meditations.  The music is a time capsule. 

From their website: One of the Psalms says, "Singing makes you happy!" The community of Benedictine monks at Weston Priory finds that not only does "singing make you happy," but singing also can express a whole way of life and, at the same time, can carry the message of that way of life.

In Chapter 2 mom begins her love affair with music:

From the Archives: The Wounded Healer

Chicago Tribune Northwest Spotlight

Crusader Janet Trever Proudly Bears The Scars Of Cancer Battles That Began Almost 50 Years Ago

August 17, 1997|By Kelly Womer. Special to the Tribune.

Janet Trever calls it her beautiful burden. She wears it prominently on her face, and she faces it nearly every day. Trever has survived three unrelated bouts of cancer that have left her with facial disfigurements, emotional scars and an even stronger will to make the most of each moment.

Chapter 2: The Dreaded Shower Scene

I recently read Stephen King's Carrie and the shower scene reminded me I left out an important part in my Sink or Swim post as to why mom hated P.E.  Yes, it had something of course to do with lacking depth perception.  But the greater part was her fear that her prosthesis would come unglued.  Troubles no teen should have.

Strawberry Story: Yurok Healing Rites

This Friday I thought I wouldn't go as literal with the Strawberry Friday posting.  I wanted to share two cards mom had in her inspiration stash.

The Eye Patch Quilt, Part 1



The Eye Patch Quilt, In memory of Janet E. Trever 1943-1999 by Marcia Karlin

You may have noticed from time to time pictures of mom's patches.  She made thousands throughout her life that matched her outfits.  People always ask where she got the material from--well kids, in the 80s there was a huge fad called "shoulder pads."  Should this dreadful fad be repeated call your one-eyed friends as they made perfect fodder for matching fabric.  She also turned to pockets or hems.  These strategies rendered a perfect match, but of course she shopped at fabric stores to fill in the rest of her collection.

Chapter 2: Sink or Swim

Mom's chapter 2 is similar to Loie's chapter in section one.  It is long and has several themes critical to the rest of her book.  I'd like to break her "Childhood and Adolescence: Not for Sissies" chapter into a few entries, then post an unabridged version later this week (okay, by Christmas for sure).

Strawberry Story: Standing in a Strawberry Patch

Standing in a Strawberry Patch

    by William Killian

We grew strawberries at home
and then I worked on a strawberry farm when I was an early teen.
At the end of a long day, Bob, the owner, called me in
it was a small town, everybody knew everybody
and he said, "Billy, we won't need you anymore." 
I had only picked a few quarts all day,
ate the rest and threw them at the other pickers. 
I was hurt and sad. 

The next morning, Bob showed up at my door on his tractor,
"Come on, Billy, I need you today.  Let's go to work." 
A moment I shall never forget. 
I picked more that day, ate less and threw none. 

I often think, Billy, who needs you today
If you're standing in a strawberry patch
Are you willing to pick strawberries and fill those beautiful boxes, those crates,
and work there with your friends and fill that entire wagon to be carried off to market?

What a sweet thrill, what a sweet memory, re-ripe with life, with youth, and opportunity.

Strawberry Story: Und doch...And yet...

And Yet...

                          by Dr. Ronald Miller of Common Ground

Und doch...

Ich weiss von dem Fluss des Heraklit
den man nie zweimal berschreiten kann.
Ich weiss von den Tr%onen alle Dingen
von denen Virgilius so traurig sprach.
Ich weiss vom gebrochenen Brot und
augegossenen Wein des letztes Abendmahls
des Herrn mit seinen angstovollen J,ngern.
Ich weiss von der Zerbrechlichkeit des Daseins
besonders des Herzens das so verwundbar schl%ogt.
Und doch kann das Leben so sch'n sein;
und trotzdem schmecken die wilde Erdbeeren
manchmal so s,ss.


And yet...

I know about Heraclitus' river
that no one can cross over twice.
I know about the tears of all things
about which Virgil spoke so sadly.
I know about the broken bread and the poured out wine of the Last Supper
of the Lord with his fearful disciples.
I know about the fragility of existence,
especially the heart that beats so vulnerable.
And yet life can still be so beautiful
and the wild strawberries taste nonetheless
sometimes so sweet.

Pardon the Interuption

What happened to me?  Am I not a good daughter?  Why on Earth would a memorial blogger, paying homage to a woman who survived cancer for 50 years, decide to take a break during cancer season?  I mean, October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  Don't I want women to be aware?  And now November--did you even know it's Prostate, and Pancreatic, and Lung cancer awareness month? 

I actually thought it was oral, head, and neck cancer awareness month (turns out that only gets a week in May can goes by the acronym OHANCAW).

The point is, somewhere along the way in October I got in a funk.  I dug my heels in, no matter the commemorations going on around me, and didn't want to go any further.  Of course I love my mother, of course I want to honor her.  But to be honest, I have a strange relationship with cancer.  Shouldn't we all?

I remember mom never really being in the clear.  She was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was 6, and by then she was already a 30 year survivor of the neuroblastoma bout.  While I was in high school she had a large tumor identified in her neck that was found to be benign.  Research at the time showed that these benign tumors could turn malignant overnight, but she was not advised by her doctor to remove the tumor then that would later kill her (yes, she did file a malpractice suit and won). 

For over ten years we waited for the other shoe to drop.  It was a maddening cycle of health, calm, fear, confirmed dread, and repeat.  Things taken out, things put back in...all for momentary repreives.  It got to a point I felt more stable when the cancer was back--at least then we knew what we were dealing with!  The cycle of coping would start back up again and we knew how to handle ourselves.  When she was in the "clear," well, we knew it would only be short lived.

I've spent a lot of time over my break thinking about the blog and the directions I want it to go.  I want to finish posting her book, the poetry of friends, and filling it with the content essence of mom.  But sometimes it gets a little too hard.  Sometimes the calendar and I need to fight it out.  Breast Cancer Awareness Month...it's a lot of pressure to keep it together when the whole world is coping, surviving, pulling together to conquer this common obstacle.

Think that's weird?  During the darkest days of denial last month I woke up to find hundreds of runners going past my door.  They were all a part of a breast cancer awareness month 5K run.  What did I do?  I got on my shoes and ran the other way.  I literally ran against the grain, against the rush of all those wonderful people pulling together to do what they could to support their friends, family, or maybe even themselves.

Why would I do that?  Wouldn't I want self identify myself among them?  Aren't they my people?  I felt lost.  And as if that wasn't enough, after the fun run they...[sound of a booming voice] RELEASED THE SPRINTERS.  The most fit and healthy of the runners zoomed past me as I tried to get to the front of the line, working still in the oposite direction.

November is half over, then its on to Thanksgiving, Christmas holidays, and Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.  The first two are probably obvious as to why I'd be thinking of Mom, standard holidays fun running past me.  As to the last, she died on January 15, 1999, MLK's birthday.  After New Years, it's sprinting right at me. 

It just never ends.

So I'm applying some simple sports medicine to make it through.  Icing and heating, self-medicating, and positive visualisation.  I WILL make it to the finish line.  Hope to see you there.

Celebrate weirdness!

Laura blowing bubbles at my wedding in Alaska.

From my surrogate mom, Laura Bernstein:

I add my enthusiastic voice to this blog, saluting Janet on what would have been her 67th earthly birthday. She was an inspiring friend and a beautiful human being. Our relationship enriched my life in more ways than I can enumerate. One huge way is the presence of her daughter Sarah in my life as a "surrogate daughter" after Janet's passing. Thank you, Janet, for all your gifts! Now I would like to share a poem I wrote years ago (part of the original book) that Janet enjoyed so much, entitled "To My Children":

TO MY CHILDREN

Celebrate weirdness!
Wine it and dine it.
Design it to fit the occasion.
Rise to it.
Deny those who try to decry it with scornful remarks and limited vision.

Elevate eccentricity!
Beware the constricting, confining, conventional congress of head shakers, heart breakers, nay sayers, soul slayers.
Dare to be different.
Delight in it.
Heighten it.
Make it your home.

Applaud anomalies!
Anchor your ship in the singular sea of uncertainty.
Savor the strangeness.
Arrange bliss in whimsical patterns-- Irregular, quirky, quite murky to those who are closed to outlandish enchantments.

Cultivate non-conformity!
Be weirdly-wise with each enterprise.
Shrink from stale definitions and pale reflections and pallid convictions.
Relish exotic delicacies of expanded views.
Tempt your palate with spicy spaciousness.

Celebrate weirdness!
Walk the wide path of surprises.
Hope rises above the horizon of those who despise it; who narrowly cut down to size every dream-seeking, scheme-speaking lover of mystery.

--Laura Bernstein

Prosthetic Eyes and Foreheads (wait for it, wait for it!)

A few years ago Eric and I were sorting through stuff in the house when he accidentally shocked himself--not with a live wire, but with a box containing two of my mother's prosthetics.  He gave a nervous laugh and handed the box over to me saying, "Look, you have your mother's eyes."

This photo tells me all I need to know about mom's esteem with the prosthesis.

Mom's long relationship with prosthetics began around age 10 and some highlights from Chapter 2 are below.  I'll scan in the 8 page chapter and post it unabridged this week, but for now this will do.

Fourth grade also marked a transition from the gauze bandage taped on my face to an artificial eye prosthesis.  It required another surgery to line the eye orbit with skin from my stomach....I was so excited about not having to wear the gauze anymore and have questions about who hit me or what happened to me.  Over the years I had asked my mom if she couldn't just paint an eye on the gauze or behind a Halloween mask for me.  I really wanted to blend in.

We started trips to downtown Chicago to get the prostheses started.  The clinician was a wonderful artist and the moon shaped part of the eyeball showing was exactly like my left eye....Sometimes it fell out, sometimes [the glue] burned, sometimes it was okay.  They got me a pair of glasses, not that I needed them, but that they helped to camouflage the seam of the circle of plastic surrounding the eye.

It took me a while to realize that although people who didn't know me didn't ask em as many questions [with the prosthetic], they were now asking my friends and family.  They were too embarrassed to ask me because it looked like I thought everything looked okay, which it didn't.




Mom and I saw TMBG in DC years ago at Wolf Trap.  What a great summer day, prosthetic foreheads and all.  The song spoke doubly to me today, "where was I, I forgot the point that I was making," seems to be the theme of the day!

Chapter 1: Extraordinary Teachers

Like the True Grit entry, this section was seredipitous for me in my own life this week as I met with my daughter's teacher (Ellie is six and in first grade like mom is during this chapter).  Mom's introduction to her first grade teacher is in bold, then Juanita's section follows.

Ellie's art, now age six.

Juanita Conrad was the tutor selected by the school system to come to our house each day and teach me First Grade.  We had wonderful times learning together, and she represented to me the quiet, still, knowing a person can achieve.  I don’t think anything could have upset her.  Her calm manner made learning easy.

One of my early childhood friends recently told me how jealous she was of my tutor and the little classroom that was set up in the den.  It had a desk, a chalk board, pens, pencils, and books right there.  It was amazing tome that this looked so enticing to someone in the regular public school system.

Our Story by Juanita Conrad

In the early 1940s we moved to Arlington Heights from downstate Illinois, when my husband accepted a teaching and coaching position at Arlington High School.  Soon we were members of the Methodist Meeting House on North Dunton Street.

One Sunday in 1946, we met a new family at church who wanted to join: Art, Lois & Janet Trever.  Janet was a bright-eyed preschooler who was eager to be enrolled in our Sunday School.  It seems that Lois, her mother, had enrolled Janet at the Presbyterian Church the week before (it was just one block down the street) before she discovered that she was in the wrong church.  Everyone had a good laugh over that one.   In a short time Lois was invited to become a teacher in the Primary Department and Art soon became active in the church as well.  He was to eventually become Chairman of the Building Committee when we built a new church one mile on the side of town.  That was quite a project.

When the time came for Janet to begin first grade she had difficulty with an eye problem and could not attend the public school.  Since I had been substitute teaching for District #25, Ralph Calbaugh, the Superintendent, asked whether I would “home teach” Janet and another little girl separately.  The district furnished the books and teaching supplies.  We followed the school curriculum, test, etc.  I first went to Janet’s home.  Trevers turned one room of their home into a classroom with a bulletin board, blackboard, etc  It was such fun teaching and we learned to know each other well.  She learned to read, to “print” the alphabet, to do math and other things that first graders do.  I think Janet’s mother was sometimes around the corner “listening in.”  Janet reminded me of little sponges that were ready to soak up any information that was presented to them.

Since then it has been interesting for me to follow Janet’s life through grade school, high school, living overseas, having Andy (born on my birthday) then Sarah.  I have tried to keep track of their activities as they grew up and then in exciting professions.

Ellie's art, now age six.

We have been so impressed to see how bravely Janet is finding her way through her health problems.  She never gives up and many good things came from her determination.  What she has learned will help other with similar problems.  We take our hats off to you, Janet!

Strawberry Story: Classic Vedanta

Vedanta sculpture- yes, I Wikipedia-ed Vedanta.

Once there was a king who was driven out of his kingdom by five enemies that overpowered him and he had to run for his life.  As he was running through the jungle he fell into a well but he got entangled in a vine and was dangling on the side.  As he looked down he saw alligators waiting to eat him.  As he looked up he saw two mice--one black, one white--chewing away at the vine which supported him.

At that moment of despair a drop of honey fell on his lips from a honey comb above the well.  The man tested the honey, closed his eyes and forgot everything except that sweetness.

The five enemies are the five senses which draw us away from our god-like nature into the material world.  The well is our death which waits for us.  The black and white mice are both the days and nights that use up the minutes of our life, and the yin and yang of our existence.  The honey (or strawberry) is joy and bliss which make use forget our fear and sorrow.

from Ann Dobkins Butler

Smiles: Mark Sloniker

Straight from Mom's intro:

I first laid eye(s) on Mark Sloniker as he played the synthesizer and entertained during an outdoor noontime program for Colorado State University.  As a music fan, I was naturally attracted to the sound, noticed he was a red-head getting way too much direct sunlight.  Between numbers I asked if he would like some sunblock and when he nodded with his dripping face, I headed out for the student union for a tube of goop for him.  We have been friends ever since.  This is a "tune" he wrote that was first an instrumental on his album True Nature, and then done as a vocal on another album where his baby son Myles makes his recording debut of giggles and coos in the background.  It is a wonderful song about the love and joys of a father and his son.

http://www.marksloniker.com/
(also check out his books of the month http://www.marksloniker.com/just-for-fun.html)

Smiles by Mark Sloniker

In your rainbow live life's colors
Reds and yellows, greens, and blues
In those colors I see smiles
Pour from deep in the heart of you

I see smiles in your month of May
There are smiles on every rainy day
Breezy smiles blowing through the air
Makes me smile just to know you care

In your rainbow live life's colors
Painting all the things we see
In each heart are fresh paint brushes
So paint a picture that sets you free

You'll find smiles in the skies of blue
There'll be smiles from every point of view
I'm in love with life when you smile at me
We see smiles when that's what we choose to see

In your rainbow live life's colors
Painting all the things we see
In each heart are fresh paint brushes
So paint the picture that sets you free

For a free download of Mark's song, click the album below to go to his website:

Chapter 1: Round One-Neuroblastoma 1949

Loie with her light and life on her shoulders.

Blog's are curious things- I'm not sure how much one is willing to read.  So in this precious space I need to convince you to read Loie's chapter in full.  Here is why:

• Advocacy has come a LONG way  Loie's account provides the historical context of cancer in 1949 from the diagnosis of neuroblastoma, to surgery, radiation and follow up.  For example, Loie is told she can not tell her daughter she lost the eye FOR A WHOLE YEAR!!!!  They also had to promise they would not tell family or friends that it was removed. 
• Doctor-patient relationship  This critical relationship starts for mom at age 5 and is a reoccuring theme until Dr. Sisson in 1999.  House calls aside, Loie recounts visiting Dr. Stephen's at HIS bedside, he near death with blood poisoning.  He observes mom's own surgery in a wheelchair, and his wife is there. 
• Coping  All her life Loie coped with guilt and grieving.  A lot of early stress was due to hospitals as an institution.  For example, parents then were not allowed because, "[t]he nurses could not deal with the children's tears if they said goodbye to the parents each day." 
• Childhood friends  One of her homecoming presents was a double sized bed so she could have sleepovers.  Overnights must have felt a long way off when they brought their fragile child home with a shaved and bandaged head. 
• Radiation treatment in 1949 (just typing it makes me shudder) The chapter ends with mom's radiation treatment.  Loie is allowed to go in the x-ray room with mom, both with lead aprons on.  She read to mom as she lay on the table.
• The "C" word  Loie describes cancer as "a frightening thing from which almost no one at that time recovered."  The family physicians reaction to mom's terminal label offers Loie hope that sustained over 50 years.
• Cost of care  The surgeon's estimates of $10,000 to remove the cancer cells fill Loie's heart with dread.  The bill arrives for only $250.  "If I could I would have kissed his feet."  Loie sent Christmas cards every year to the surgeon, and unbelievably he would always answer with thanks.
• Proverbial when it rains, it pours  Adding to a year of heartache, both of mom's grandfathers die in 1949 after the surgery.  The whole family must have felt stunned.  Sadly I understand; we lost mom and Loie both to cancer in 1999.

All these themes are set up in Loie's text and re-occur throughout mom's book.  (yes, the scan is sideways but just print it or download and rotate it, a thousand pardons).

Gasing Up on Sweet Honey

It's been a long, long work week and I'm needing to dig down deep to plunge back into the book.  I'm drawing inspiration from  Sweet Honey and Rock's "Wanting Memories."  My souls sister Laurie recommended this song for one of mom's memorial services (she had three), and I only wish I could have shared it with mom before she passed. 

I've never heard this Keali'i Reichel version before...just beautiful beautiful.

 Wanting Memories

(from CROSSINGS by Y.M. Barnwell (c)1992)

I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
to see the beauty in the world through my own eyes.
I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
To see the beauty in the world through my own eyes.

Strawberry Story: Buddha in a Sutra

Buddha Told a Parable in a Sutra

A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger.  He fled, the tiger after him.  Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung himself down over the edge.  The tiger sniffed at him from above.  Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him.  Only the vine sustained him.

Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away the vine.  The man saw a luscious strawberry near him.  Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other.  How sweet it tasted!

Chapter One: The Tale of Teddy

Mom's teddy bear, modified over time.

The next post will dive into mom's first cancer diagnosis at age 5, but in this post--maybe more for myself--I'm so grateful Loie shared early family stories.  We still have mom's teddy bear and I've tried to explain the story of teddy found legs-sticking-up in a snowbank and never got it right.  Here it is from Loie's own pen.

When you were five months old you were given a sturdy brown teddy bear called "Teddy" whom you came to love devotedly over the years, taking him to college and to your home when you married.  He still lies on your bed or a nearby shelf.

One day long ago we drove to another suburb were I shut the car door with keys and Teddy inside.  You were still small and set up a terrible howl.  You cried and stamped to see him unreachable in the car, and you didn't let up until Daddy drove up in a borrowed car and handed out the keys.  Teddy had another adventure in our new home a year or so later.  Snow had fallen overnight and was pushed up in great piles by the snow plows.  In the days following you could not find Teddy anywhere and were distraught.  Driving down the block we noticed two brown legs sticking up and pulled on the legs and out popped Teddy.  You couldn't have been happier if I was the one who was lost in a snow pile.

Loie's Chapter Unabridged

Chatper 1: Good Morning Merry Sunshine

Good Morning Merry Sunshine

By Lois Trever

I am convinced that I would never have survived without the immeasurable amounts of love (with no strings attached, not expectations or hidden agendas), joy, and comfort that my mother has lavished on me across my entire life. She is a role model that continues to inspire everyone who has ever known her. (mom's preface to Loie's Chapter)



“Good morning, merry sunshine.
What makes you shine so soon?
You shine away the little stars
And shine away the moon.”
-A German Poem

Detail from Measure Once, Cut Twice blog featuring art by children at the DeGrazia Studio.

Dear Janet,
I know you remember hearing that greeting almost every morning of your childhood. When the grandchildren came along, Andrew and Sarah, they loved it too because you continued the tradition. In face this very morning Andrew, now twenty six years old, came bounding up the stairs of the fifty year old house where you grew up, and meeting me just getting up, sang out that very poem, complete to “and shine away the moon.” I was surprised and touched that he remembered it.

DeGrazia Madonna and Child.

However you, the sunshine of our lives, did not shine so soon on the world and us. As you know you were a wanted child. Oh, were you a wanted child. We had wished on first stars and birthday candles and prayed for a child to protect and love. We didn’t know much about teaching or discipline or any of that tough love business that might be needed years from now. We just wanted a darling baby to call our own so we wouldn’t have to listen silently to all those sometimes obnoxious friends who talked incessantly about shoe sizes and allergies and orange juice. That was really boring, but we wanted to have some of that anyway.



The day finally came, a bight end-of-August morning after the absolutely hottest summer on record. I don’t know about records really, but I knew it as the hottest summer ever. We were driving from our tiny apartment in the Irving Park area of Chicago to West Suburban Hospital where I had been born. Folks were standing at the corners waiting for the Irving Park street car to make them work. I was on a high. I wanted to lean out the car window and shout to all those unknowing people, “Look at me! I’m having a baby! We’re going to the hospital right now to have a baby!” I looked out at them eagerly, hoping they would guess. Art would be really embarrassed if I shouted to them because he was often more proper than I. I would soon have to be more proper for my role as a responsible mother.

Loie before Janet's arrival in the 1940s.

You arrived as promised and for more than four years we led an almost idyllic life. We were a little crowded in our one bedroom apartment and on a warm summer night the folks in the apartment across the way would sometimes awaken us swearing and fighting and smashing dishes so close by that in our sleep we often thought it was happening in our own place. We began thinking of a house of our own.

You were the focus of our lives. Oh, Art had his work that absorbed him weekdays and I did a few things other than be a mother, but not much. We lived on a busy street. You never in your four years played outside alone. The park was nearby, and our weekends were interesting, driving to see family and friends or to parks, zoos, or kiddie-land. During those four years you had shown your personality in many ways. You smiled and laughed a lot. Your dad loved to show you off by taking hundreds of pictures of you, almost every one smiling or laughing. The guys at work began to wonder out loud about how we got a kid that smiled all the time.




Note: Okay people, I actually have a full time job and can't just retype the entire book.  As a compromise I will take out selections but post the entire chapters as PDF if you're into reading the entire original. 

Loie's Good Morning Merry Sunshine

Note 2: play along...how many generations were featured in this blog?  Count 'em, THREE BABY!  For my posts I use Veranda without bold.  For mom's original text I use Arial bold.  I tried using colors but it makes my eyes go ga-ga...