The "Only" Women

I've been thinking about the "only" women in my life - my mom, (my only mother) my sister, (my only female sibling) and my daughter (my only female child). My mom and my sister resemble each other, and my daughter resembles me. We're quite a foursome in my mind - each strong, independent, and probably more stubborn than we're willing to admit.

There are difference as well as similarities: we each married differently, nurture differently,cook differently, and serve differently. Mom raised six kids on one salary (Dad's). She was responsible for the "inside" work - and she had all six kids at her disposal. She and Dad grew up in the same valley, went to the same high school, and had the same values. My sister married a man who grew up in a whole other country - nothing like our small suburb of Brea. I married, divorced, and then really married. My daughter hasn't married - yet.

My mother nurtured by organization - each kid was color-coded into her daybook. My sister nurtured by design - she worked with each child differently, according to their personality. I don't really nurture at all. My daughter nurtures playfully. We have those same kind of divisions in our cuisine: Mom faithfully followed recipes, my sister followed a budget, I follow a whim, and Betsie plays with recipes, on a budget, whimsically.

We each serve - frequently and willingly - but in different ways. Mom served in leadership. She was able to provide a solid example of competent womanhood, piloting women to success. My sister serves by "shouldering" others to their best outcomes - she lets them cry on hers, while she supports theirs. She empathizes, then acts. I act (so as not to say "showboat"). My leadership is shaky at best - I'm far too self-absorbed to be effective. So, my service comes from grass roots - I pay, or play, on a very local level. My daughter serves the greater good. She sees a need a meets it, whether it's cookies or a quilt or a day in the temple each week.

Yet, each of these "only" women in my life are anything but alone. They were/ are each surrounded by people who adore them. Lifelong friends stay in close touch, new friends add texture and variety, and the family just gets bigger and better.

These women are my "only"s, but together we're lots.

Sisters

I have a sister. A real, live, totally mine, sister. Only one - and I was lucky to get her. Mom and Dad went on to have four boys. Consequently, it was her and me against the world - kind of. She was born about a year and a half after me, and I don't remember my life without her. And, she was born on Father's Day. Show off. On a beautiful June day, she made Dad proud, Mom happy, and me ecstatic.

When we were this old, she was Tonto to my Lone Ranger. We were inseparable. We were also different as night and day...

I was rowdy and loud, always bouncing, laughing, kicking something or throwing something - usually a doll. Cindy was restrained and soft, always calm, smiling and cuddling or hugging something - usually a doll. Until the boys got older... then she could beat us all up. Even me.

A friend told me a true story about two sisters, Beth and Phyllis. (Beth was about 10 years older than Phyllis.) When Beth was 8, a wealthy aunt gave her a beautiful porcelain baby doll that had been made in Germany. Beth was in awe of this beautiful doll. She kept it in the box and rarely took it out - she would look at it every day and marvel that she had such a precious gift. When her baby sister Phyllis was about 5, the Great Depression had taken it's toll on the family. There was no money for Christmas. The girls' mother asked Beth to let "Santa" give Phyllis that beautiful doll for Christmas. There was no money for any other gift. Beth struggled with the idea, but finally agreed to relinquish her treasure. The exquisite doll was given to the little sister.

It's a tender story, to that point. But it gets better. About two weeks after Christmas, Phyllis heard her sister crying as she talked to her mom. She began to understand that her beautiful baby doll had really belonged to her big sister. So, little Phyllis took her precious gift and gave it to her gracious sister. Hugs, tears, gratitude and unselfish love.

Sister stuff.

Daylight Savings

Saving daylight.

Congress (apparently) believes that we can save daylight. Maybe we should call it daylight redistribution. Or day down-size. Or, go-to-work-in-the-dark-but-come-home-in-the-light.

I admit I like sunshine at the end of the day. I can go straight from work to the beach.

A perfect way to end the day... watching the sunset on the ocean.

Light is a curious thing... Sometimes beautiful, sometimes harsh, usually useful, occasionally awful (especially when it shines on dark corners of tormented lives). Colored light is festive, low light is calming, bright light is Broadway, flashlight is survival...

Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation, using precise incising, can remove or restore or create or destroy or cook or... many other things. The laser light changes what it touches, whether it's cancer, or cornea, or CD. Laser light has to be carefully controlled by someone who understands it's capabilities. In the wrong hands, it can be powerfully destructive. In the right hands, it can be potently wondrous.

There's other light I'd like to save - the light in a child's face when she gets something delightful, the radiant light of a bride and groom, the glowing light in my grandmother's eyes when she was proud of me... Even photographs can't save that light - I store that in my mind's eye. So in times of personal darkness, I have my own lighted path to the light. And when that fails, I rely on other Light. Let it so shine...

Eureka!

The name on her birth certificate was "Roberta." But, later, her mom decided she was as beautiful as the movie star, Dolores Del Rio. So, she became Dolores Randolyn, the first-born of Vinjennes Delquatro(Jennie, later Jane) and George Randolph (Rand) Sharp, born in Eureka, Nevada. Eureka is not a thriving metropolis - and it wasn't back in 1930 either. But, Rand got a job there - which is a good reason to go someplace - and they called it home for a while.

It's fitting, I think, that Mom was born in Eureka ("I found it!") I think that's what Dad thought when he "met" her. She knew exactly who he was - but he didn't remember her. He defended himself by reminding me that she was only 13 when he used to bring his dates into "Earl's" - the hamburger joint where she worked. A year later he went into the army and served in Korea during WWII. Right after he got home, he went on a mission to Uruguay for two-and-a-half years. In the meantime, Randy grew up and graduated from high school - this is her graduation picture. She wore that same dress when they were married in the Salt Lake Temple on June 12, 1951. And she wore it again on their 30th wedding anniversary - it fit beautifully.

As lovely as the dress and roses are, it's her face I find captivating. I was her first-born, and my dad named me for her - hoping, I think, that I'd be like her. Vain ambition. Mom was long and lean and lovely and I'm.... not. The only way in which I resemble my mom is that I carry -but don't use - her name. Oh yeah - and my mouth. Big. Better to smile at you, my dear...

Mom was a genuine liker of persons. She always had a reason to like someone - even the prickly ones. She rarely denigrated people - although she was very balanced in her evaluation of them. She was a very good read of character - a characteristic I did not appreciate as a kid, but grew to depend on as an adult. She could mine the most mundane mind and find something likeable. You could almost hear her soul whisper... "Eureka!"

Not Invisible

I'm reading a book called The Land of Invisible Women - fascinating. I wonder what it might have been like to have been someone other than my parents' daughter. I've never been the "invisible" type - always out there with a big target on me. But, at least I learned how to take the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.. or of fortune's outrage...

I'm grateful to my parents - especially my mom these days. She was the fortifier of our family. No matter what the issue, we could count on her to help us find a way to prepare for it. She fortified us with practical experience, high expectations, new horizons, and consequences for laziness. Consequently, she raised 6 kids who all have post-graduate degrees (3 attorneys, 1 Columbia MBA, and 2 Masters of Education), all successful in their lives, all happy with their spouse and kids, and all leading productive lives. Dad helped too, of course, but today I'm thinking about Mom. She was not invisible. She, too, was a target. Some women felt threatened by both her beauty and her brains, some felt threatened by her competitive drive, and some just felt that she was "too much." She was an incredible presence.

I remember, after she passed away and I was at the mortuary looking at her body, I was amazed at how small she was. I always thought she was big. Bigger than life, bigger than anything or anybody. But there she was... small. She was 5'7" and 128 lbs. But in death, her leftover body was small. And yet, everything else she left behind was huge. Her impact on people - people still quote her to me, her beautiful image - people still tell me how striking she was, and her magnificent spirit. It's that spirit that is still colossal. She still has that amazing ability to fortify me - and the rest of my family. We still draw on her strength, her smile and her intellect. She could never be invisible. Invincible... perhaps.