I am extremely blessed.  I have been the recipient of the selfless love that only good mothers can give.  I don’t deserve this, anymore than any of us do. But, because I have been loved so fully, and so well all of my 67 years, I have been given a gift beyond measure.  I just feel the need to express my love to the extraordinary woman that I know as “Mom.”

When I was born, in the early 50”s, it was kind of like the T.V. show, “Happy Days.”  For many people, after World War II, things were economically better and there was an optimism, borne of having lived through the Depression and war.

I came into into this environment, to two remarkable people that wanted me and cherished me from before I was born.  In many ways, they were just like everybody else. But, to me, they were my world. And my world was truly lovely.

My parents weren’t rich, even though it seemed to me that we were.  But we were very fortunate and they worked hard to make a good life for my brother and me.  And my Mom, as was common then, stayed home and took care of us. She was always there, physically, mentally and emotionally.  And we counted on her to be there for us. She never let us down.

As I grew up, she was still there for me, even when I was not at home.  When I was away at camp she wrote me everyday and sent me my favorite comic strip, “Marmaduke.”  When I went to Europe, while in high school, she wrote me almost everyday, as well as when I went off to college.  We would talk long distance. And in those days, long distance phone calls were expensive!

I could always connect with her.  When my kids were small, we moved to California for work.  My husband’s livelihood was being negatively affected by the economy and he had to find a job elsewhere.  So the letter writing and phone calls continued.

One of the most wonderful things about my mom was her ability to sit and listen to me.  She heard of all my joys and sorrows, all my hopes and dreams, sadness and fears. Her ability to sit without judgement and let me vent all my frustrations, never saying anything but, “Oh honey I wish I could help,”  was an incredible talent that few people possess. And her sense of humor and delicious laughter were precious gifts to me, especially when I was the one who made her laugh.

When the economy was better, we moved back and we saw each other or talked almost everyday.  Now she is 92, and I still depend on her “being there” for me. The love she and my father gave me while growing up, has been responsible for every good thing that has since happened in my life.  I can never repay her. All I can do is treasure her and do whatever I can to be there for her while she is still here with me.

Someday, when she passes on into heaven, I will be at peace, knowing that her spirit is here, still loving me and watching over me.  And I will hold tight to the love between us and look forward to the day when we will meet again.

When the kids were in grade school, we lived in California and we started creating our own Christmas cards.  We made linoleum prints of drawings that Mary and Seth did. We would start in late October, because my goal was always to get them in the mail on, or slightly before December 1st.  That way we would get the most responses. And it really meant a lot to get mail, being so far away from all our family and old friends.

Each of the kids would do several drawings, and then we would make a family decision, choosing one for each of them.  Ollie would do the cuts with their drawings as patterns. Then the process of our card construction would begin.

First we would buy the paper, actually a card stock, since we made postcards.  Postcards were cheaper, and we had a lot of cards to send.  And even though we always bought white, there were many possibilities, with an amazing amount of shades and hues to choose from, as well as lots of different types of textures.  Texture determined the way the ink would adhere to the surface of the paper. And we tried out different ones before making the final decision. Cost was also a factor.

After we bought the paper and ink, we were ready to go.  We had the other things we needed at home: a special roller, a piece of glass, and, of course the linoleum blocks which my husband had made by gluing the linoleum to blocks of wood.

With all our materials in front of us, we began by cutting the paper (card stock) to post card size.  Then we would squeeze the ink onto the glass. We usually only used red and green ink, one or the other on each one, so the drawing would always show up in white.  After that, the roller was used to thin out the ink to the right consistency for applying it to the block.

Rolling the ink on the linoleum was the beginning of a process.  First, the ink was applied. Second, the card was placed on top of the block.  Third, we pressed down on the paper, so that the ink would soak in. And fourth, the paper was removed from the block and laid out to dry, wherever we could find a flat place to lay it.  It then had to dry for several hours before it could be put into a stack. Finally, the cards had to be trimmed with a scissors, and re-stacked, ready to be written on.

My favorite memory of our card making was the sight of thirty or forty cards at a time, sitting on the top of every horizontal surface of our home.  The counters, the kitchen table, the piano and the end tables, even the top of the refrigerator, were all decorated with our drying masterpieces.

We did the process again and again, until all the cards were finished.  Then my work began.  Each entry on my list consisted of choosing a card, addressing it, licking and applying the return address, licking the postage stamp and pounding it on, and finally, penning a short, personal, newsy note, written small enough to get a lot in.  This was our gift, a sharing of our lives, and a sharing of our collective artistic effort. It was worth it, too. Each year as we mailed them out on December 1st, we were full of anticipation, as we went home to wait for the mail.

This year, in memory of Seth, I had wanted to send out postcard prints of two of Seth’s designs.  The ones we found, and the ones I remembered the most were of birds. One was a bird dressed up as Santa.  The other one was a Christmas tree, with bare branches, decorated with birds in Santa Claus hats and a few bulbs hanging on its empty limbs.  We didn’t get to do it. It was too difficult emotionally, and we thought of it too late. But, next year, you look in your mailbox after December 1st.  You watch for those Santa birds to fly in with a few sweet memories from the Wades.

There is one thing I hope I never have to deal with in any significant way.  That something is living with regrets. Even when we aspire to live by a code of ethics, of course we will make mistakes.  But, if we are consciously living our lives in good faith, and trying to be a good person, we are not likely to fall too far from our intended path.

It has to do with practicing what we believe to be fair and equitable.  And, if we are raised by the golden rule of “doing unto others, as you would have them do unto you,” then you will not be too far off the mark.

We all have our particular weaknesses, prejudices, and other flaws that prevent us from having perfect behavior.  But if we live by an ethical standard and try to be honest and kind, the chances of having major regret are minor.

In my opinion, the people to whom admiration is due, are the ones who consciously and deliberately act with integrity.  They are the ones who will readily take responsibility for, and bear the consequences of the mistakes they make. And they will always make amends for their actions when they are wrong.

I find, in my own life, that this all becomes easier as I have grown older, (hopefully, wiser) and more experienced in just living my life.  I know when something doesn’t seem to be right and try to anticipate when something is headed in the wrong direction. After all, isn’t that why we go to our elders for guidance?  Life experiences, as they are manifested in our own individual lives become the chapters of our biography.

If we are authentic and map out our personal journey, we will be able to follow the path that we have chosen for ourselves.  Then, it will be far easier to stay on that path and be the best possible version of ourselves. If we do that, I think our regrets will be few and far between.  And we will have lived the life of a decent human being. That’s the most I could hope for, for me. Perhaps this is a bit of food for thought in the journey you make for yourself.  And maybe, if we do these things, we will have few regrets and many lessons learned in this journey we call life.

Every week, as I think about the topic of my next blog, I look at a list I have accumulated since I started to write them.  I am always amazed at the fact that they keep coming into my mind. And oh boy, am I grateful! It would be difficult to be put on the spot each and every week as I begin to ruminate on a topic before I begin to write.

And so, as the holidays approach, I am reminded of all that I have to be thankful for in my life.  Everywhere in the world, there are people living in poverty. Now I could feel bad about this and not respond, or I could do something.  Obviously, doing something to help a cause that works to alleviate this problem is the best choice.. Giving of oneself is always helpful, whether with gifts of money, food and/or time.

Gratitude is at the heart of happiness.  It is impossible not to be happy, if one is truly grateful.  So, that’s a good place to start.  Just think of what one has, not what one does not have.  Holidays should remind us to always be grateful. Why? Well, first of all, look at the alternative.

How does it feel to be ungrateful?  In my mind, that option is miserable.  It says that for all your possessions you are left with a hole that can never be filled.  There is never enough stuff to make a person happy.

Giving, in contrast, makes a person focus on what can be done to help someone else.  And it doesn’t have to be of material value. It can be showing up to help with physical labor.  It can be visiting the sick or lonely, or ministering to the emotional needs of another person.

Working in a soup kitchen, serving holiday meals, helping the elderly with outside chores that they can no longer do for themselves, are great suggestions.  The list goes on and on. Regardless of anyone’s beliefs, or lack thereof, there is goodness in each person. It may be hidden, or underdeveloped, but I believe that it is there, inside of each one of us.  It may need to be found by another person and nurtured to be exposed. We can never truly understand another person’s journey in life. All we can do is find our own way and be open to the possibilities that present themselves.

Think of ways to make yourself happy, by helping others.  It is good for your inner self. I promise that whatever you give with an open heart will be returned to you in some way.  And the circle of gratitude will be capable of making the holidays happier for everyone we touch.

At least a dozen years ago, the first time I heard the term, “white privilege,” and realized that I was a recipient of it, I felt ashamed.  I was at a workshop that included classes and structured dialogue to build a bridge between people of different faiths and races. We were tackling some pretty deep topics.  I was already involved in several other groups of people within my community, that advocated for race unity and religious collaboration with people of different faiths. However, I was unprepared for my reaction to the term and the fact that I possessed this privilege.

I didn’t want this distinction and felt terrible that I was favored for something I had nothing to do with, namely, being born white.  There was nothing I could do about changing that fact, so I knew I had much to learn about how this manifests itself in our society. Institutional racism had and still does play an enormous role in the fact that I was favored just because of the color of my skin.  This has afforded me many undeserved benefits.

Indeed I am privileged.  Racism is, without a doubt, an evil force that needs to be faced and dealt with, if we ever hope to have true equality in our country and in the world.

In this particular class, we were learning about, and talking about white privilege.  People of color know first-hand what this term means because they live with the effects of it everyday.  However, many white people may not know what it is, or see the benefits they have because of this privilege.  White people simply don’t need to know or acknowledge this reality, because it does not impact their daily life.

That is the reason why I was ashamed and shocked to have been so naive.  I simply had never been presented with this information. This made me feel worse.  My ignorance had made me insensitive to the elevated status I had, just because of my physical appearance.  And, because of this I, most probably, had inadvertently been considered or valued more than another person for a position or other favor.

In the years that followed,I became more involved in situations that would help me learn about what it was like to be a person of color.  I joined a group called “Study Circles” and was shocked to learn of some of the experiences that affected non-whites. Things like being watched while shopping and being stopped by law enforcement to be asked questions like: “Where are you going?”  “What is your business here?” were common occurrences. And there were other personal experiences of which I have no business sharing here.

I decided, then and there, to be more mindful.  No more would I be complacent about my white privilege.  I would be more determined to point this out to people who seemed to be influenced by this in their decision-making. I would not be a crusader. That is not my role.  But, I could make subtle observations and comments whenever possible, to draw attention to the unfair advantage that I and other white people possess. I could speak up when the opportunity presented itself.  And I could just be conscious of, and vigilant of situations when there was something concrete I could do. Today, racism has reared its ugly head much more aggressively and hateful. This is threatening the welfare of us all, especially African Americans and other people of color.

Knowledge is the first step in understanding an injustice.  Only when one has learned about and seen the problem, can the process of correction begin.  Then, awareness can turn into action, and eventually, change. The acknowledgement of this reality must begin to be a more comprehensive occurrence with open discussion and action in our individual lives.  It needs to happen, and it needs to happen now.