Aggie

If we're very lucky, each of us has an Aggie - that special someone who is always there for us. My Aggie was a "wise woman" - one whose advice I always treasured and whose love was unconditional and unending.

She taught me to love gardening and to know my garden as the place where I can think and contemplate and solve the problems of the world - well, my little piece of it anyway. Actually she also taught me that solving the big world's problems is a cooperative effort. If we each take care of our own and contribute a little something to the bigger whole, it will all work out.

Many was the time that I found her on hands and knees pulling the weeds that grew in the sandy soil around her roses, or clearing a little spot to add some small plant she had gathered from the side of a path. Many was the afternoon that we sat together and talked about the future - mostly mine - and how I would grow to be a woman myself. I never aspired to wise in those days - only to make it thru the next crisis. She helped me pull the weeds from my life to see my way more clearly and and dig holes for the small young plants in my character that would grow to healthy perennials of my adulthood. It was from her path that I plucked so many of those little plants to put into my life.

She also taught me that weeds have a place in the garden - and in our lives, too. Even weeds produce flowers and someday you may find they are among your favorites.

Aggie followed me from heart throb to heart break for years and then helped me be sure that I had really found "the one" and celebrated that love with me. She was there when I hit my teenage rebellion against my mother - late in my 20's - and helped me resolve it. She was always the voice of reason for me, and I still find her voice in my garden when I need to hear it the most.

Altho she has long been gone to "that big garden in the sky" she is as alive to me today as ever. Did I mention that she used to stand in the yard with one hand on her hip surveying the world, often peeking from under some ridiculous sun hat or another? Take a look at the photo on the left and you may see her - as I do daily in my garden now.

So, what can I take away. How about: be there for other young women to listen to their problems while they figure out the answers, cherish their dreams as they live them, and maybe one day turn into a wise woman myself.

Sheros and Wise Women

Shero - A woman who, in the face of danger or adversity or from a position of weakness, displays courage and the will for self sacrifice for some greater good - originally martial courage, but later including moral courage.

Dennis Denenburg has created a curriculum about heros for elementary and middle school classrooms. He wants to replace Spiderman and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles with flesh and blood people from American history as heros for our children. [www.heros4us.com] His list of 50 American Heros Every Child Should Know includes the following sheros. Give yourself two points for each of the following you know:

Jane Addams
Susan B. Anthony
Clara Barton
Mary McLeod Bethune
Elizabeth Blackwell
Rachel Carson
Mary Cassatt
Dolores Huerta
Martha Graham
Helen Keller and Anne Sullivan
Jackie Joyner-Kersee
Sacajawea
Sandra Day O'Connor
Rosa Parks
Dale Evans
Eleanor Roosevelt
Harriet Tubman
Ida B. Wells

A perfect score is 36 - I only got 32 so I have some studying to do.

Wise Woman - originally a white witch, one who practices folk magic for benevolent purposes or a folk healer. To me, a Wise Woman [WW] is that woman who gives us counsel, who can help us clarify what's in our hearts and take the next step forward. She heals the spirit, instead of the body.

March is Women's History Month. My commitment is to learn about the two sheros that I did not know from Dennis's list and to learn more about one of them who is a bare acquaintance. And, to write about the Wise Women in my life.

I'm Following, not Stalking!

Ms. Caroline Bender is a very, very casual acquaintance of mine who has an interesting blog [www.DrawingIn.blogspot.com] that I have read off and on for a year or more. She has a knack with language and I enjoy her view of life. In November 2008 she published a blog a day for the entire month - I was very impressed with that accomplishment. When I started thinking about writing and publishing my own blog some months ago, I went back to hers and it gave me courage and ideas of how to start. You might even say that she is my unknowing mentor in this cyber world. So, a couple of days ago I signed up to "follow" her blog. It seemed easier than having to type in the URL every time.

Being new to this blog-thing, I did not realize that she would get notification that she has a new follower, and I certainly did not expect her to notice me (or the the other newbies that she has gotten this week). Not only did she notice, but she also wrote about me - well, us. And now I feel like a stalker.

The very anonimity of the web that makes it comfortable for me to pour my thoughts onto the electronic page, made it possible for me to click to her thoughts without her knowing I was there. I could see what she was thinking, or perhaps where she went last weekend, or what she did today. I could live vicariously in her posts - except now she knows. And now it's more like I am lurking in some dark cyber doorway across the alley from her factory, waiting for her to come out at the end of the shift, and follow her home. Or, actually waiting for her to write something.

And, isn't that one of the reasons we like the web so much, and simultaneously one of the problems? Ms. Bender and I can say anything we want - interesting or not. We can post any photo we want or push any idea we have, and as long as we remain anonymous there is no apparent danger, or harm. But behind every Ms. Bender and every webb there is a real person, who might not want her name or face "out there" for the world to judge. I heard this morning of a teen girl who committed suicide recently when a "sort of" boyfriend circulated a nude photo of her to all his friends at school and she became the butt [couldn't resist that - I apologize] of ridicule. She had sent him the photo, but it did not occur to her that he would circulate it. She lacked the anonimity that Ms. Bender and I enjoy, and which I do not wish to take away from Ms. Bender by following her.

That's a long way to say, "Ms. Bender, I admire your work and enjoy reading your posts. Knowing a bit about you gave me courage to try my hand at stringing words together to form a whole that might be interesting, if only to me. I am only following you, not stalking."

And, Ms. Bender, I'll say "hi" to Marn when I see her next Wednesday for breakfast!

Little House in the Snow Storm

I HATE snow, but this is the most gorgeous morning I have ever seen. It's only the third largest snow I can remember, but by far the prettiest.

The biggest was 1979 in DC when we got more than twenty inches, but I was too worried about missing a day of work to enjoy it. I shoveled for hours to get my car cleared, before realizing that work was out of the question - we were off three days, but I had wasted the best one. The second largest happened in 1983, but we were in Charleston and drove home to it, so we missed the first day ah ha experience. And the most fun was 1966 in Williamsburg. We got about eight inches over spring break. As one of fewer than 50 "women" who had stayed at school, I spent two days wandering all over town with my "day student" friends - played on the golf course, learned to play pool, and had a wonderful time.

But this is Laura Ingalls Wilder snow. At least eight inches on the back deck. It's still coming down and blowing and almost a white out. Huge cardinals in the trees all hunkered down and puffed to the max. The bird feeders are covered with finches and the occasional woodpecker, and all the small birds taking shelter underneath the table on the deck - with its snow hat.

It brings back a primal memory I have of snow in Lafayette, Indiana, when I was about four and the snow seemed to cover the windows. It's not that deep, really, but has that same heavy blanket feel.

I'll be tired of it by noon and will hate it by noon tomorrow, but for this morning I think I will glory in it for a while - and take some pictures. Later I will worry about the shrubs, but for right now they can just be lovely lumps of cream.

Wishing all of you good conditions, altho I know some of you are also getting a bit of this frosting. For now, I'm going back to my fire and watch the birds out the window.