Keeping sight on out of control wildfires and hurricanes and the tragedy of immense loss these bring not only in material things but of precious lives across our country I feel a bit of angst and guilt for the many blessings I have in my life. I try not to take my good fortune for granted yet I lower myself into the rut of doing so more than I like to admit. Its easy to feel that life is unfair. We have so much and yet we want more.
I was raised by parents who grew up during the depression years. Frugality was a necessity then and from the stamp that era of struggle left on my parent’s my childhood was filled with hand me downs, leftovers, fixing what was broken (very little ended up on the landfill) and growing and freezing or canning vegetables and fruit from our garden. The laundry was hung on the line outside without fail…on the porch under the overhang on rainy days… or on wooden drying racks inside on the coldest winter days.
We didn’t freeze, tho on bitter cold days the thermostat didn’t get tweaked, we put on sweaters. My two sisters and I hung out in the kitchen where the oven was baking a cake or an apple crisp and warmed our bodies and souls there. We played cards or fought and drove my mother to crazy distraction.
Summer days we played outside…we did not sit in air conditioned cinemas or cruise the mall. Mall??? What mall??? I age myself here…The windows were open all summer with those horizontal sliding screens that smelled like hot burning metal and occasionally a fan would appear to ease the stifling hot air in the house. My sisters and I were taught the valuable lesson of not sticking our fingers in the moving fan. We were responsible for not doing it. We listened. That one fan was moved from room to room as we moved. It hummed like a hovering helicopter in the distance. Huh…writing this I suddenly have so many memories flooding in…
Just about everyone wanted more. Wished for more. Yet we were so much better of than many. Little did we know how blessed we were. We were not poor by any means.
I remember one Christmas in particular…I was nine tender, impressionable years old. Earlier that year my older sister was given a usable, beat up bicycle…(which she further beat up and worked to its death not long after and I do believe it ended up in the landfill !! ) My father repainted it gold (I’m sure from a can of leftover paint in the basement…). I wanted my own bicycle in the worst way. So, for Christmas that year I asked Santa to bring me one. A blue one. With tassels on the handles. And a bell ringer. And a basket. I didn’t want much.
Christmas morning I woke to find that splendid blue bicycle standing in front of the tree…a glorious dream come true. I didn’t pay any attention to the dented bumper, the pre-used basket on the handlebars or the seat with a tear on one side. What crushed me beyond words was the tag hanging on the bicycle. On it was written in Santa’s special handwriting… To Greta, Sara and Heidi…Merry Christmas. My eyes bulged with disbelief. My heart resembled the one in the Grinch before it grew to feel the love.
WHAT? NO! It can’t be. That Christmas I learned a few things. To my nine year old (middle child) mind life was totally unfair. Sharing was the absolute middle child syndrome torture and Santa was an insensitive fat man who wasn’t getting any more Christmas cookies from me.
Fast forward…many years. I have children of my own. Money is tight but we are not suffering. I know about Santa and that sometimes even he can’t rely on the elves to come through with the goods. My husband and I have three boys and each want something on wheels for Christmas. They want motors with those wheeled somethings. This can get expensive.
Out comes my husbands and my creativity (we are both blessed with overactive imaginative creative minds) and everybody ends up happy with Christmas. Sharing…the go-cart, the re-vamped, re-painted bicycles, the things with motors and wheels that have been made from salvaged parts from various other things with motors and wheels ( my husband has an endless stock pile of these parts) !!! I am certain, had my husband and I not had that depression generation frugal upbringing, our creative minds would not have been unleashed and our appreciation for what we had or created ourselves would not have been nurtured. Our children would not have learned through us the value of sharing and being grateful for what life (or Santa) delivered. The knowledge that we were not entitled but got out of life what we put into it through hard work and caring for one another. Sharing with one another.
From generation to generation we pass these ways of living on. Whether its finding ways to re-make something, to fix what’s broken instead of throwing it away, to be self sufficient and GRATEFUL for what we have. To share, to care. For our ability to do these things and to pass this on to our children and our grandchildren and so on down the years.
That Christmas I was nine I did learn something quite valuable. It took me many years to understand it. I learned there was a secret ingredient in my childhood that really isn’t so secret after all. My parents struggled to give me and my sisters the very best they could in the material sense. Money was always tight. Yet their love was limitless and flowed freely. Their lessons in sharing, being thankful for what we had, finding ways to make something good or GREAT out of nothing, GIVING to someone less fortunate when there really wasn’t much to give but a hug or a kind word were the things money couldn’t buy and one didn’t, doesn’t, need money to buy them today.
Yes. We need money to live. We need to be fed, warm, sheltered, get to work one way or the other in expensive cars, on trains, planes or bicycles … all of this costs money. The devastation from these wildfires and hurricanes and other natural or human caused horrors is going to cost massive amounts of money.
I cannot fathom how we can pull from our souls any form or feeling of gratefulness for such loss. How to share when it feels like we have nothing to begin with. Like a nine year old mind trying to grasp how someone as saintly and splendid as Santa can be so unfair, so disappointing, so unkind. Its unbelievable…we feel nothing but despair…disappointment, disillusionment.
Life IS good. We will find goodness if we look for it. We can and will go forward with hope and with the tools of gratitude for our many blessings and love for our fellow man. By giving what we can when and where we can. Its that simple and its free. If we employ these tools through helping each other, each and every one of us in our own way, we can start a flow like a tsunami over the planet. A grace through giving that can spread as powerfully as a wildfire out of control.
And every nine year old, at that tender, impressionable age, will come to understand that life isn’t about what you receive or what you think you deserve. Its about what you give, how you look at what you have, and how very blessed we all are in so many ways.
So if all you can do is give a prayer DO so. If you don’t pray then at the very least put a dollar (or ten) in the relief fund at your local market. If you can’t afford to part with money a hug is free and your neighbor might need one. It might have been her son and his family that lost their home. All of this means something to someone and like a ripple on the water it has the potential and strength to reach the opposite shore where life seems very unfair. It can make all the difference.
Many Blessings…