Stawberry Story: Hope for the Flowers

Ellie and I just finished reading this one, a treasure my mom shared with me when I was young.  Such powerful messages at any age.

Hope for the Flowers by Trina Paulus

The book follows the travels and transformation of two caterpillars, Yellow and Stripe.  Stripe is on a mission to figure out the meaning of life when he stumbles upon a pillar of caterpillars.  There must be something at the top, he figures and starts to climb.  Along the way he steps on Yellow and finds sympathy in his heart.  The descend and travel together until the call of the pillar is too strong and they part ways.

They meet...

....they frolic....

...they part...

....caterpillar bliss!

It's much, much more than a love story.  Anytime I'm waiting in a ridiculous line or fighting to get ahead I wonder: am I just in the middle of a catapillar pillar?

The truth behind the pillar is later revealed... (spoiler altert!)

BAAAAHHHH!!!!!  Caterpillar pillars everywhere!

I should post this on my mirror.

PS...If I ever got a tattoo, it would be Yellow and Stripe as caterpillars on one ankle and then them again as butterflies together on the opposite shoulder. 

Visit the authors website: http://www.hopefortheflowers.org/

Strawberry Story: Freddie the Leaf

Break out the Kleenex- let's talk about The Fall of Freddy the Leaf by Leo Buscalgia

Mom had this book in her "Death and Dying" arsenal for counseling.  It's an an outstanding tool to teach and talk to children about those tough topics.  I actually got to meet Leo Buscalgia as a child and hear him read it.

A few years ago I took a graduate seminar in Curriculum Construction and Design at University of Kentucky.  We incorporated the book into our final presentation answering "What does it mean to be human?"  I completely broke down during the final performance...it's like I had blinders on up until that moment and didn't realize how much the book would affect me.

Here's a short excerpt:

"What's happening?" they asked each other in whispers.
"It's what happens in Fall," Daniel told them. "It's the time for leaves to change their home. Some people call it to die."
"Will we all die?" Freddie asked.
"Yes," Daniel answered. "Everything dies. No matter how big or small, how weak or strong. We first do our job. We experience the sun and the moon, the wind and the rain. We learn to dance and to laugh. Then we die."

You can find a full copy of the text on the Achieving Balance website.

Strawberry Story: The Big Hungry Bear

Our favorite children's book to read together, and the layered strawberry meaning makes it twice as sweet.

The Little Mouse, the Red Ripe Strawberry, and the BIG HUNGRY BEAR
by Don and Audrey Wood, Illustrated by Don Wood

Hello, little Mouse.  What are you doing?

Oh, I see.  Are you going to pick that red, ripe strawberry?

But, little Mouse, haven't you heard about the big, hungry Bear?

Ohhh, how that Bear loves red, ripe strawberries!

The big, hungry Bear can smell a red, ripe strawberry a mile away...

Especially, one that has just been picked.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!  The Bear will tromp through the forest on his big, hungry feet, and SNIFF! SNIFF! SNIFF! find the strawberry...

No matter where it is hidden, or who is guarding it, or how it is disguised.

Quick!  There's only one way in the whole wide world to save a red, ripe strawberry from the big, hungry Bear!

Cut it in two.

Share half with me.

And we'll both eat it all up.  YUM!

Now, that's one red, ripe strawberry the big, hungry Bear will never get!

The End

Credit: Don and Audrey Wood, Child's Play (International) Limited http://www.childs-play.com/

Mom on Death and Dying (Water Weenies and All)

Playing dress up in Loie's dress, her groom to boot!

About halfway through my Hospice counseling after mom died, my counselor Noah began our session asking, "How's your anger?"

"My what?"

"You  know, your anger.  How are you expressing that?"

I was mystified.  He pulled a Kubler-Ross book off the shelf and showed me the five stages of grieving: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. 

Oddly, at this moment I found my anger.  My mom had trained with Kubler-Ross in the 1970s and was a death and dying expert herself.  How had we not had this conversation?  She could have left me a list, bullet points for grieving.  By nightfall I was kicking in grocery carts at the local Jewel.

This morning I read in her book of Grander's passing, a brief glimpse into mom's own grieving process for her dad. 

From the book:

My mom called me in Colorado the night I was packed to leave to tell me that my Dad had just died.  So I drove alone the next two days, stopping at the halfway mark at cousin Sandi's in Omaha the first night.  I had lots to think about en route.  My dad had had many things wrong with his body at the end: diabetes, a pacemaker put in, on dialysis, etc. so in a way it was a Godsend to have him no longer in a nursing home barely conscious and surviving.  And at the same time I realized that I was now half an orphan and it felt different.  The local minister was very helpful with my Mom and making arrangements until I arrived, but she was delighted to see me again.  We arranged for her to set up a cornea transplant for her failing eyesight.  We were being very efficient with our time, having long talks to make up for all the years apart, learning to make decisions together as a team.

That doesn't give me a lot to go on.  I wonder more deeply how mom handled the passing of her father.  She never had to grieve for her mother.  Maybe because of his age and condition she appears to slip from notification straight to acceptance.  Or maybe the two days of intense driving gave her necessary time to work through the stages.  I took a similar drive after mom's death, so I can relate.  More likely, living a life always so close to death, she managed grieving in a different way.

Flash forward another year or two to a scene during my Cornell years (1991-1995) when I'm "home" in Arlington Heights visiting mom and Loie years after Grander died.  With a four hour drive ahead of me, we sat down on the living room floor to say goodbye, my mom, Loie, and me.  We got a little....distracted. 



Water Squeeze Toy, as Google informs me.



I had what I call a water weenie- one of those plastic cylinders filled with water that slides within itself; the tighter you try and hang on to it the fast it runs between your fingers.  As I fumbled around with the toy, Mom and Loie talked about how comfortable they were with death, how they enjoyed living in the present moment and hoped I would not be afraid for them.  I went from playing with the water weenie as they spoke to tossing it like a hot potato.  We remained in the circle playing water weenie hot potato for two hours!  My mom took a picture of us playing and sent me the photo in a "Strawberry Moments" picture frame.

And that was how we talked of death and losing a parent.

Strawberry Friday: Graceful Exits

I had a special relationship with Sushila Blackman, compiler and editor of Graceful Exits: How Great Beings Die.  We met when I was three, living with my mom in a Siddha Yoga ashram in south Fallsburg, New York.  I once told her I was her mother in a past life.  We also shared a birthday, June 21, though probably 30 years apart.  On our birthday in the darshan line, Sushila gave Baba Muktananda a pink and orange scarf with gold thread.  Since it was also my 3rd birthday, when I got up in the darshan line, Baba re-gifted the scarf to me.  I still have it today.

When I was 24 and living in Taiwan I got a call from my mom that Sushila was dying of cancer.  I was scared to call, it had been so long since I had talked to her.  But I did remember our special bonds- our birthday and our cosmic birth order.  I called her as her mother from a former life, eased her mind about the circle of life, and told her I'd miss her and to come visit me. 

It was hard to be brave and made that call.  It's so easy to shy away from death, and to let hard calls like these pass us by.  But one thing I learned from mom was the worth and value of a loving, truthful goodbye.  I owed Sushila that much, and any other person I've come to know.

Sushila's book is amazing- it recounts the death stories of 108 Tibetan, Hindu, and Zen masters.  In the spirit of mom's cherished Strawberry parable, I share some of the entries for Strawberry Friday.

No. 3


    Senior disciples assembled at his bedside as Zen Master Taji approached death.  One of them, remembering the master was fond of a certain kind of cake, had spent half a day searching the pastry shops of Tokyo for this confection, which he now presented to him.  With a wan smile the dying master accepted a piece of the cake and slowly began munching it.  As he grew weaker, his disciples inquired whether he had any final words for them.
    "Yes," the master replied.
    The disciples leaned forward eagerly so as not to miss a word.
    "Please tell us!"
    "My, but this cake is delicious!"
And with that he slipped away.

Text credit: Graceful Exits: How Great Beings Die compiled and edited by Sushila Blackman, Weatherhill, Inc., p. 28
Photo credit: Sarah Miller and cover of Graceful Exits by Sushila Blackman and D.S. Noble.

Strawberry Friday: Tree

Tree

I am no longer afraid of mirrors where I see the sign of the Amazon,

the one who shoots arrows.

There was a fine line across my chest where a knife entered,

but now a branch winds about the scar and travels from arm to heart.

Green leaves cover the branch, grapes hang there and a bird appears.

What grows in me now is vital and does not cause me harm.

I think the bird is singing.

I have relinquished some of the scars.

I have designed my chest with care given to an illuminated manuscript.

I am no longer ashamed to make love.

Love is a battle I can win.

I have a body of a warrior who does not kill or wound.

On the book of my body, I have permanently inscribed a tree.

Mom writes: Someone in AVANTA gave me a great poster picture of a bare breasted woman who had apparently had a mastectomy and then a beautiful vine tattooed all across her scars.  I loved it and hung it in my bedroom.  Sometime, over the years, I would hear my kids explaining my strange collection of art to their friends while they were passing through my room.

[yes, I can confirm the poster was hung prominently and proudly, and took some getting used to]


Photograph by Halla Hammid, words by Deena Metzger, poster design by Shiela Levrant de Bretteville.
Image credit: Deena Metzger, as viewed on http://www.fawi.net/BC/heroines.html
Text viewed at http://www.donnellycolt.com/catalog/humrightposter.html

Strawberry Story: Do not stand at my grave and weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there I do not sleep

Do not stand at my grave and mourn

I am not there I have been born

I am the four strong winds that blow

I am the diamond glint on snow

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there I do not sleep

Do not stand at my grave and mourn

I am not there I have been born

I am the sunlight on ripened grain

I am the gentle autumn rain

When you wake in the morning hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight

I am the soft starlight at night

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there I do not sleep

Do not stand at my grave and mourn

I am not there I have been born

I LOVE this poem.  I first learned it as a song in Silver and Burgundy Singers at Blevins Junior High.  I heard it again at Virginia Satir's memorial in Crested Butte in 1988 (photo above is from her balloon releasing in 1987 one year earlier from http://satirtraining.org/training/general_information).  And of course I think of it every time I see a diamond glint on snow or need my own morning uplifting rush.

Authorship of the poem is an interesting divergent story.  Read website of authorship debated for more information.

Strawberry Story: The Little Prince

Taming of the fox.

It's cheating to use a whole book for Strawberry Friday, but I can't help it.  Mom introduced me to the book, and I have made it required reading of my friends in my twenties. I don't just read the story, I collect it.  I have purchased or been gifted translations from all over the world inclding the original French, Mandarin, Hungarian, Swedish, Spanish, and Hindi.  With Joann Sfar's version, I am now able to share it with my daughter who loves it in her own right. 

Ellie's favorite part, introduction of the rose.

This graphic version of The Little Prince is by Joann Sfar, adapted from the original by Antoine de Saint-Exupery.  Transplated by Sarah Ardizzone and color by Brigette Findakley 2010.
For our wish list- check out this video of a cute pop-up version!

Strawberry Story: Lyrics to an Unknown Song

If I lie inside the covers
With the darkened warm of breathing-only me
And I curl up like a kitten,
Closing all the blankets very carefully,
Perhaps the goblins will not find me,
Will not touch me, maybe even go away

If I climb onto a tree limb
With the shiny leaves in bunches
Hiding me
And I never move to stir them,
Sitting motionless and waiting quietly,
Perhaps the bullies will not find me,
Will not touch me, maybe even go away.

If I watch a funny movie
With lovely couples all surrounding me,
And I eat the salty popcorn
And the candy
Till I'm laughing painfully,
Perhaps the worries will not find me,
Will not touch me, maybe even go away.

If I only talk politely
To the friends who never fair
Inviting me
And I skim the paper lightly,
Glancing at the news reports just casually,
Perhaps the questions will not find me,
Will not touch me, maybe even go away.

If I tumble in the grasses
With another who pretends he's loving me,
And we exchange the little gesture,
Little phrases of the way
Love ought to be,
Perhaps the loneliness won't find me,
Will not touch me, maybe even go away.

If I lie inside the covers with the darkened warm of breathing-only me,
And I curl up like a kitten,
Closing all the blankets very carefully,
Perhaps my life will jnot find me,
Never touch me, Maybe even go away, go a way.

** This is a song mom heard in South Dakota in the late 1970s.  She didn't know who wrote it, but included it in her book as it represented to her the option of hiding from life, in her words "the choice that is always there and that at painful times often looks the most inviting."  Do you recognize it?  Let me know!

Strawberry Story: Wild Strawberries

Wild Strawberry viewed on MamaKopp Etsy account.

Wild Strawberries
By Shel Silverstein

Are Wild Strawberries really wild?
Will they scratch an adult, will they snap at a child?
Should you pet them, or let them run free where they roam?
Could they ever relax in a steam-heated home?
Can they be trained to not growl at the guests?
Will a litterbox work or would they leave a mess?
Can we make them a Cowberry, herding the cows,
Or maybe a Muleberry pulling the plows,
Or maybe a Huntberry chasing the grouse,
Or maybe a Watchberry guarding the house,
And though they may curl up at your feet oh so sweetly,
Can you ever feel that you trust them completely?
Or should we make a pet out of something less scary,
Like the Domestic Prune or the Imported Cherry,
Anyhow, you’ve been warned and I will not be blamed
If your Wild Strawberry cannot be tamed.

Strawberry Story: Pirate Story

Pirate Story

Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing.

Three of us aboard in the basket on the lea.

Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring,

And waves are on the meadow

like the waves there are at sea.

Where shall we adventure, to-day that we're afloat,

Wary of the weather and steering by a star?

Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat,

To Providence, or Babylon, or off to Malabar?

Hi! but here's a squadron a-rowing on the sea-

Cattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar!

Quickly, and we'll escape them, they're as mad as they can be,

The wicket is the harbor and the garden is the shore.

Illustrated by Myrtle Sheldon

Oh my God...the first ever pirate story that actually resonated with memories of my mother!  From Loie's copy of A Child's Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Strawberry Story: Goals for Me

Look familiar?  This poster has been, and is, a staple of therapists doors since the seventies.  Some people grew up with Peter Rabbit, Winnie the Pooh, or Holly Hobbie on their walls.  I got Virginia Satir.  It worked though, this poster formed the foundation of my relationships during formative years and is still my litmus test for friendship today.

Goals for Me

I want to love you without clutching,
appreciate you without judging, join you without invading,
invite you without demanding, leave you without guilt,
criticize you without blaming, and help you without insulting.
If I can have the same from you,
then we can truly meet and enrich each other.

-Virginia Satir

Strawberry Story: Balancers

In looking for fresh fodder for Strawberry Fridays I thought, well, why not drink the strawberry this week?  Afterall, isn't that the point of the punchline, "Best I ever tasted," to taste?  This recipe comes from the "Balancers: Smoothies for Women" section of Smoothies for Life!

Enjoy!

Strawberry Shake

1 cup skim milk
1 cup frozen strawberries
1 banana
2 tablespoons soy protein
1 teaspoon flaxseed oil
1 teaspoon brewer's yeast

From: Smoothies for Life! Daniella Chace and Maureen B. Keane 1998 p.261

Strawberry Story: St. Francis Prayer

Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace

Where there is hatred, let me sow love

Where there is injury, pardon

Where there is doubt, faith

Where there is despair, hope

Where there is darkness, light

Where there is sadness, joy

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek

To be consoled as to console,

To be understood as to understand,

To be loved as to love,

For it is in giving that we receive,

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

It is in dying to self that we are born to eternal life.

St. Francis remains a family affair:



St. Francis statue at Mission San Luis, Tallahassee
(note: have you EVER seen a St. Francis with a skull before?)

Ellie and St. Francis, Nombre de Dios, St. Augustine

Ellie at final resting place of Janet, Loie, and Arthur Trever. 
First United Methodist Church, St. Francis Garden, Arlington Heights

Mom's St. Francis Garden, Arlington Heights.

St. Francis Garden, Winter 2007.

Trever pays his respects to his namesakes.

Two more Trevers across the way.

PS Today is Arthur Nelson Trever's birthday, born January 21, 1915.

Strawberry Story: All I Ask of You (no, not that one, the other one)

For the Music as Therapy post I wanted to put in music from Weston Priory, but now realize there is a copyright reason none are posted on YouTube.  There is a video that features a group playing on of the songs, which is worth a listen just to hear.  For this Strawberry Friday I thought I'd post the lyrics.  The song was played my my mom's memorial services and is a wonderful message from beyond. 

Today is the eve of the 12th anniversary of her passing.

Strawberry Story: Thérèse de Lisieux



Handout brought by Gongi for mom's memorial with this poem.



May today there be peace within

May you trust your highest power

May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith

May you use those gifts that you have received

And pass on the love that has been given to you

May you be content knowing you are a child of God

Let this presence settle into your bones

And allow your soul the freedom

To sing, to dance, and to bask in the sun

It is there for you~ and every one of you.

~ Thérèse de Lisieux

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

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.

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.

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.