When wrapped in the cocoon of a freelance writing career, I often feel and want and need to exit my basement library and head outside and breathe fresh air. The basement window being open during the many hours I work at my desk doesn't suffice. Once outside, I often marvel at what has become of our yard. I don't say the following with disdain, but really with wonder. It appears a forest has overtaken the tiny acreage. I'll not only admire from the short distance, but as well wander over and view (sometimes study) the detail in the many leaves, hold one steady in my hand while the wind rush sets the majority to swinging and "dancing." That activity, both the study and the movement, as well as the green color, is beautiful. And then there's the bush pictured below, its name escaping me. The contrast it brings against the greenery of the growing trees and grass is eye-opening. One look from the deck, one up-close visit, means "peace." Someday, a park bench will find a home below, between the wild growth and the soon-to-be-blooming Crepe Myrtle. Walt Disney Studios in the early 1950s published a book called Nature's Half Acre, which basically educated about the way even our own backyards, no matter the size, could (and can and will) teach us about the life of nature, as long as you know where to look, and are curious and patient enough to "get away" from busyness and spend some time.
Steve
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Tomorrow and every Mother's Day, I honor and love my wife, Lucille, for giving me two of the greatest gifts of my life: her love, and our daughter, Stefanie. I cherish my wife and daughter, and this photo is one of my favorites.
I also honor my late Mom with the post below, which was originally published on 5/10/2009: I've tried to think of even the tiniest kernel, no matter what it may be, to define my relationship between I and my Mom. I've been thinking and thinking and, even though people are different, have different feelings, reactions, personalities and more, I'm trying to think of just one simple thing that unites ALL children to their Mothers. I don't know about you, but my Mom was always there for me. After two miscarriages,she carried me for eight months and delivered me a month early. She always told me I was the best baby; I played in my crib without a peep. She held me when I was sick with bad cases of yearly bronchitis as a youngster, was in the hospital with me when I had an appendectomy and two hernia operations (one at 16 months, another at age 26), answered the phone on one ring when my wife miscarried our first child, enthusiastically answered the phone when my wife gave birth to my truest joy in life, my daughter Stefanie, and she held my hand when I suffered a heart attack at age 34. After that, she always made sure I kept up with my cardiology appointments. She even taught me an all important life lesson that I will always live by: "Your religion is how you treat people." She was all this, and more, to me. I realize it now more than ever. Regardless, I used to whine to my wife that, whenever my Mom called and we talked, she complained constantly, and that I couldn't wait for the phone calls to end. Also, even though we lived in close proximity and we enjoyed occasional lunches together, I rarely visited her. My wife would often say to me, "Remember one thing -- one day you're going to want to talk to her, and she won't be here to talk to you." On February 18, 2007, my Mom passed away. I apologize if the following appears preachy or even hypocritical, but I will say this. I don't have my Mom to visit or talk to today. Like many, my visits and speeches are now limited to peering at and speaking to a stone marker in a graveyard, and via prayers, hoping and believing that she'll hear me. Worthy, bittersweet, good stuff, but certainly not the same as true flesh and blood. Many reading this are lucky enough to have their Moms still with them. Make that phone call, pay a visit, tell them you love them. If you haven't spoken to or seen your Mom for a while for whatever reason, reach out. One day, she won't be here... Steve On July 30, 1996, at the age of 34, I suffered a heart attack. I got sick on a Saturday, it was misdiagnosed, I didn't go go the emergency room until Tuesday, and I was fortunate to survive. I got a new lease on life, was able to remain married to my wife of then-8 1/2 years, and had a further opportunity to watch my only daughter grow. Sometimes you need wake-up calls in life to make you realize how precious each moment really is. This past week, I learned of two friends who were involved in very bad car accidents. Both are lucky to be alive, and I'm very grateful that they are. Blessings to them. While I don't equate my heart attack to their car accidents, the three events placed our lives in peril, and two things matter: all three of us are still here, and we each were given a new lease on life.
Reading of their plights and survival this week made me think that, maybe, I should more often think about how I'm living my life currently, and where I'm headed, in addition to loving what and who is really important. Steve |
Steve Sears is a New Jersey based freelance writer
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