It's now just over a week since the 8 year anniversary of mother's death. She lived a long and healthy life until the very end, and I will always be thankful for that. Thoughts and memories of her are pressing hard on my mind today and deeply into my heart, I miss her so. As the years go by I have a greater understanding and appreciation for this woman that was born to be my mother, this woman who was opposite me in almost every way it seemed. She was vivacious, talkative, and loved social events, especially if they were family or church related. And that's not surprising as family, church, and community were the hub of her existence growing up on a 160 acre Iowa farm, with nine syblings, and a father who was one of the elders in the Norwegion speaking country church, the same church with the small cemetary where she and my father are buried. The cemetary looks out over the same cornfield my mother saw there as a child. She wanted to be buried there, near her own family, grandparents, and a host of other relatives. In this old photo, my mom is the one in the corner left, sitting next to my grandma. My mom's name was Viola Emma Eiesland although she absolutely hated her middle name and used only the initial. As a matter of fact she wouldn't even tell me what it was until I was older, and I promised not to repeat it to anyone. Yep, that was my mom. Most of our 'important' talks were prefaced with "now this stays within the family, it doesn't leave this house".
The photo was taken at the beginning of the Big Depression, and the stories she told me reflected both the difficult times and the comittment to family and community. Two of the children are missing; Evelyn had died as a baby and one sister had married. Shortly after this was taken, several of the children had to go stay with other relatives in the community as hard times hit their farm and they were forced to sell part of their land. My mom was sent to live with her oldest sister, who was a country school teacher by then. She was married to a farmer and they had two small children and lived about an hour away. Now I can better understand why Rebecca, the oldest sister, always seemed to have a special place in mom's heart, although she was close to all her sisters and adored her brothers. All but the small girl in the center front, my aunt Ione, are gone now. How I miss them and the big Sunday dinners and visits to aunts and uncles who still lived and farmed not far from my city home in South Dakota. So many precious memories I carry in my heart of those times and of my precious mom. I miss her so much
Mom had a large framed plaque of Desiderata in her bedroom, one she read often to herself and tried to live by. This poem was found on the wall of Saint Paul's Church in Baltimore, in 1682. It's one she would read to me on occasion when I was young. I didn't really understand it then, I had so much living to do before I would. How I wish she could read it to me now and that when she was finished reading and looked over at me, we could share an understanding gaze. She would know that I treasure and value it too. I feel so sad she's not here to do that. I must step into her shoes as I'm the one at the front of the line now, and read it to my own girls and my grandchildren too. And I'll share it with you here now, along with the hope that you experience a beautiful day.
Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially, do no feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy.