My Earliest Blessing

 

By G. E. Shuman

 

I don’t remember mentioning in another column what I’m about to share, but if I did, please forgive me. We’re all friends here, right? Lately, my ‘rememberer’ isn’t what it used to be, and what it used to be wasn’t all that good either.

Anyway, here goes. Almost exactly a year ago Lorna and I made a trip to Florida to celebrate my mom’s birthday. It was to be a very special birthday, and a big party had been planned for her. I happened to mention that this was going to happen to one of my high school English classes at the time and was met with several surprised looks. One girl in the front row, with eyes so wide it looked like she had swallowed her eraser or something, simply blurted out: “YOUR mother is still alive?” Now I know teenagers aren’t often known for their tact, but this seemed a bit rude to me; at least until I had given it more thought. Yes, she’s very much alive, I answered the girl. She actually still flies to Maine each summer to visit, and I continued, she still rides her Harley. (That Harley point was a lie. I just couldn’t resist.) I do have a great pic of her sitting on my brother’s bike not that many years ago, though.

That birthday, last February, was Mom’s one hundredth; yes, one hundredth, and in thinking about that, while looking at me, and in commenting, I guess it’s easy to see why that young girl’s eyes were so wide. What I had said in class that day must have seemed like an impossibility to her. It nearly does to me.

For about the past year, ever since the party, Mom has begun doing something new. Each evening at about seven o’clock, and I mean every single evening at about seven o’clock, she calls me from her Florida home, for just a few minutes. I told our eight-year-old granddaughter Nahla about this, and, with a sheepish look and a slight giggle, she said: “Papa, she’s tucking you in.”   Since telling Mom about Nahla’s comment, each evening when we’re done our chat, Mom says something like “I hope it’s okay to tuck you in this early.” 

An amazing thing to me is how much this small ritual with my elderly mother has blessed my life. After all, how many seventy-year-old men still get ‘tucked in’ by their mom each night? How many seventy-year-old men even still have their mom?

It has been said that a person’s blessings are where they find them. Be on the lookout for yours, or you might miss some of them.  I would add that you don’t always find your blessings, some blessings find you. Our new, handsome, smiley four-month-old grandson is a splendid example. Wow! Talk about getting wrapped around a tiny little finger in a hurry!

Still, one of my greatest and earliest blessings ‘found’ me over 70 years ago. She brought me into this world, she raised me, she took me to church since before I was born, (literally), and she still tucks me in at night.  How cool is that?

Thank you, Mom, and happy one hundred and first birthday.

Goodbye to an Old Friend

 

By G. E. Shuman

 

Over the years I have learned that friends can come, and can go, in all shapes, sizes, ages… and even species of life. We have all had and lost family members and other human friends, and those times are always sad. But who hasn’t also Iost a family pet or even a farm animal that has just become one of the family and is missed exactly as such when they are gone. Sometimes the old saying, “You don’t know what you’ve got, ‘til it’s gone.” is a true jolt of reality. It may seem strange, but I believe that life in any form can be missed, even if it is time for that life to go.

 

For the past one hundred or more years a huge sugar maple tree has stood, strong and silent, on the corner of our front lawn. The house was built a hundred and twenty years ago, and I have always assumed that this big tree was planted at the time of the construction of the house. It was one of three such maples that had been spaced fairly evenly across our front lawn and that of the home next to ours and was the last of the three that were once there.

 

Very unfortunately, the week before last was the tree’s last week on our lawn. We had known for a few years that the tree was dying and had finally come to the decision to have the huge old friend removed. The company that we hired was very professional; the workers were friendly and knowledgeable and knew exactly what to do. They arrived on time with more equipment than I could believe, but with exactly what was needed. Within the next five hours the three- to four-foot-thick tree was completely gone from our property, almost surgically removed from its spot, along with every single twig and branch it had once held high above our large old home.  (We highly recommend this company, Vt Arborists/SavATree.)

 

Since that day I have thought a lot about that old tree, and how it had, truly, been a part of our family’s experience here on Wellington Street. It is very conspicuous in its absence, and that absence has left a big tree-shaped hole in the appearance of our small front lawn. The squirrels and chipmunks can no longer use it as a lofty bridge to safely get from the wooded lot across the street to our side; the birds who once lived in the tree must, obviously, just be somewhere else now.

 

And we have lost a bit more than a beautiful, if dying old tree from the yard. The adage of a tree being ‘shade in the summer and warmth in the winter’ is a very real occurrence. The many thousands of leaves this one tree produced shaded the entire front of our home from the afternoon summer sun; and fell in the fall, just in time to let that sun into the front rooms the entire winter season.

 

Yes, to our family, the old sugar maple was important, appreciated, and will be missed. It is possible that its giant root system will produce another tree. If this happens, we intend to let it grow, although Lorna and I probably won’t be around to see it become what the old one was. That will be saved for the next generation to own this old home. I’m just glad I have the pictures I took last Thursday. Goodbye old friend.