 Mother love is the fuel that enables a normal human being to do the impossible.--Marion C. Garretty
When mom was a teen, she an her friends used to ride out to Lake Chelan and go skinny dipping. As our boat pulls away from the dock on Saturday evening, I am filled with memories of myself as a teen. I remember what a wild, confusing, carefree time it was in my life, even though I had a head full of worries. Mostly, I couldn't wait to be old enough to get "away" and I wonder, as I stare out at the clear, clean water, if mom felt the same way. Maybe all teens have that angst, that pull of what comes next. I wish now that I'd asked her about it. Too late...it's too late for her to tell me any more of her stories, but I will cling to the ones I did get from her. An hour out and the Captain of the Lady of the Lake comes to tell us it's time. Before that moment, I thought I'd want pictures of her ashes floating free, but now a photo feels vulgar and intrusive. We walk to the back of the boat and my husband opens the bag containing mom's ashes. We are all quietly crying, as each brother takes a handful and releases it out over the water, the rest of us dropping rose petals in to float along side her remains. The sun is setting now and in the quiet of the moment I want to scream, to wail, but I keep silent until all the ashes are gone. My husband remarks, "Well, mom is skinny dipping in the lake again," and we all laugh. The humor of his statement is a welcome hug to abate the pain. I walk to my husband's brother, Randy, and take his hands, ashes clinging to his skin, and rub them against my cheeks, closing my eyes as the tears flow, holding onto her a moment longer. A deep breath, and then another--now the boat is moving again, taking us back to shore. "Dance with me," I whisper to my husband, who has come to put his arms around me. He takes my hand and leads me up to the top deck, puts his arms around me, and gently sways, holding me close. I don't know if what I was feeling in that moment was peace, exactly, but it did feel like closing a chapter and standing on the cusp of writing a new one. Perhaps that feeling is what people refer to as "closure", but I believe that some passings leave behind a hole inside of you that never really heals. You learn to maneuver around it, and things grow over it, but it's always there with you, and it's always "empty". The good news is, usually those who leave a hole in our lives when they're gone, fill us up in so many other ways that we can live with the "empty". It is a delicate, beautiful balance, and in the end it's worth the cost.
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 Downtown Seattle on Our Way to Pike's Market I wanted to take a moment to send a special thanks to the people in Washington State, who welcomed us with open arms, shared our story, and gave us happy memories to soothe the sorrow from the nature of our visit! Southerners are known for their hospitality, but I found the people in Washington to be every bit as friendly and warm. I will miss your exquisite state and am delighted to now feel such a kinship to a place so far away. Also, I have never tasted Salmon so heavenly! You've ruined me! 
The Seattle City Lights From the Ferris Wheel taken by Sarah Schaefer
 Friday morning we drove through the majestic cascades on our way to Wenatchee, Washington. In my mind's eye, I tried to overlay them with our Great Smoky Mountains, but while both mountain ranges are exceptionally beautiful, the feel of them is different. The Smoky Mountains are a soft sea of gentle greens with bursts of wildflower colors that nestle among the pines. The Cascades are sharp points that reach for the sky, cutting the clouds, as if to say, "I will not be ignored!" The greens are darker, deeper, and the feel is wild and free. It is a fitting image as we tote mom's ashes to their final destination. We're hungry and tired when we arrive in Wenatchee in the early afternoon, so we stop at a diner along main street. My youngest daughter remarks, "Mom, this looks like the kind of place where the local kids hang out." It does. There are high school team photos on the walls, signed balls from various sports, and images, old and new, of kids at play. While taking pictures, I discover photos from when mom was a teen and comment to my husband about it. An older gentleman sitting nearby hears our conversation and asks where we're from. In the telling of our tale, his eyes light up when he hears mom's name...he remembers her! I feel closer than ever to her, as we listen to him talk abut what the diner was like "back in the day". We thank him for allowing us to interrupt his lunch, and let free emotions that his story has unleashed. She is here--not her ashes--not her body--but her thriving spirit, in the land, and the people, in the past and the present. She is a part of Wenatchee's past and her legacy spreads out from there, across hundreds of miles, stretching from Washington to North Carolina and many points in between.   The Blog: On Friday 24 July & Monday 28 July I will be in Washington State saying my final goodbye to Mom, so there will be no blog for those two days. My dearest wish is that as you walk through your weekend, you will spend it making memories with those you love. I also want to take this opportunity to thank you for coming to visit me here in this space. In four months, we've grown in regular visitors to an average of 200 per day! I hope my words, my experiences bring you joy, comfort, and make you smile. A very wise professor once told me, "When you make someone smile, you give a gift to their soul." So, shower everyone you meet, everyone you speak to with gifts for their soul! And if you see me on the streets in Seattle, say "Hi"!
Upcoming Events: I am currently working on a children's book that I'm hoping will be out in hardback by December! Keep your fingers crossed! The book is based on a story I told my students every year when I was teaching, a family legacy of a tale that began as a secret with a select few that I'm now going to share with the "world"! Stay tuned for The Dragon Egg. I'm also in the editing stages of an erotic novel that I'm hoping to release at the beginning of 2015, and then book #2 of Abby's story, A Fragile Balance is planned to be released next summer. I will be doing some public events during the fall (those are still in the works), and will let you know where and when as I learn more. Thank you for all of your support! 
Vintage Apple Crate Label from thelabelman.com
Wenatchee, Washington is a small town whose claim to fame is apples...orchards full of them! Mom probably knew more than a hundred ways to cook or include apples in a recipe. My office is full of various apple-themed items given to me as gifts by my students over the years while I was teaching, and when I see them now, I think of Mom. I think of saying goodbye to a career I dearly loved and a woman I could not have lived without. I relish this blending--my life with her life, in big and little ways, but it is also bittersweet. It is fitting that apples are representations of teaching, i.e. a fruit of knowledge, and Mom, from the land of apples, was in many ways one of my greatest teachers...not of things found in academic books, but of life and ways to live it. I wouldn't have made it this far without her. And as long as I draw breath, one of the flavors of my own life with always be---apples.
Mom's Washington Apple Sauce From the kitchen of Shirley Schaefer 8 apples, peeled and cut into large chunks 2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice 4 c. water (if you have apple juice or cider, replace one c. of water with one c. of that) 1/2 c. sugar or 6 Tbsp. of honey 1 cinnamon stick or 1 tsp. of cinnamon powder a pinch of brown sugar a dash of ground cloves Mix all ingredients together in a pot with a lid. Bring to a boil (uncovered), then reduce heat to a simmer, cook and cover for 15 min. Uncover and check for softness, cooking up to 5 min. more. Remove from heat & mash if desired. Serve with a  “You can't fly if your wings are holding the baggage of yesterday. Let go. Fly.” ― Steve Maraboli My bag is packed. Seeing it sitting there ready to go reminds me of how much you loved to travel. I think of you moving far away from home after you were married, an experience we shared, and how many new destinations you added to your adventure of a life. I'm pretty sure you never looked back. I'm afraid to fly, Mama. It makes me very uncomfortable putting my life in the hands of a stranger, although tomorrow I promise I will get on that plane fearlessly! I was nervous when you took me on my first cruise, too--all that ocean around and under me, full of unknown things. You said to me, "Sweetheart, it's okay to be afraid of things that are new. Lots of people are. Just don't let your fears get in the way. Use them to be mindful, but not to stop you." We had that conversation many times over the years about a variety of topics, i.e. marriage, love, parenting, military life, going to college, etc. You and I would play the, "What's the worst thing that could happen" game, and almost always came to the conclusion that even if the worst did, in fact, happen, all would not be lost. It was a great strategy and I have conquered many of my fears using it. This is our final trip together. I thought I was ready for it, but I'm not. I don't know how to say goodbye. Your ashes have been here with me, sitting on the piano and I didn't realize how much comfort I felt just having them close. Tomorrow, they will be tucked safely inside Brad's "Go-Bag", while we make our way to your childhood home. I wish we'd made this trip when you were alive and could show me new things in a place I've never been, show them to me through your eyes, so that they could stick in my heart the way they lived in yours. I wish I'd recorded your childhood stories, so I could hear you tell them over and over again, like the one about when you and your friends would put bathing suits on and lay out to tan on top of the pig shed in the summertime. That one still makes me smile, and I can clearly picture teen-you with your girlfriends up there scandalizing the hogs by giving them quite a show. The opportunity to do those things with you, however, has passed. It makes me even more grateful that we took advantage of many other chances to do fun things together and share our stories, weaving them together into a bond between us that will last the rest of my life. I will hold tight to the things we got to do, like a child clinging to a security blanket, and let go of the "shoulda, coulda, woulda" baggage, leaving it behind on some fluffy cloud over southern skies. 
Mom & Dad's First Cruise--July 1972
 "Tears are good. What flows is alive. Crying is like a thundershower for the soul. The air feels so wonderful after the rain. Don't think too much. Breathe. Don't be harsh or demanding on yourself. Just experience your feelings and know that your tears are announcing change in your life. Change is coming; like a summer rain--to wash away your pain. Have faith that things are getting better." --Bryant McGill I move around, getting things ready for the trip--last minute laundry, finding travel cases, cleaning, all while pushing through the pain of multiple kidney stones that have decided NOW was a good time to show up. The physical pain, while completely inconvenient, is actually fitting, matching the hurt in my heart from missing you. Strange how my body and soul seem in sync with what is coming. Your son baked me chocolate chip cookies because the pain meds make me extremely queasy and it's the only thing I really want to eat. You raised three fine sons, Mama. They are so very different, but I see bits and pieces of you and Dad in them and the world is better because they are a part of it. On Saturday, when each of your sons take a handful of your ashes, I hope it will feel like a warm hug where you are. And when they scatter those ashes to the wind, it will be your love touching everything, everywhere. I want to remember that moment...the sounds of the night, the way the light looks as it touches the water in tender, glowing kisses, and the smells of a land, a lake that was and always will be a part of you. I know that you are safe, happy, pain-free, and that comforts me. I will wrap myself in that comfort, suck up my own pain, and remember that I, too, am a part of your legacy. Thank you for nurturing me, believing in me, being proud of me and saying so often. Thank you for treating me as if I, too, was your child, remembering my birthdays, counseling me when I was lost or confused, and choosing to be an active part of my life. I'm glad I got to tell you all of those things while you were alive and show you just how special you were, are, and always will be to me. 
Lake Chelan, Washington Image @ scenicusa.net
 Image from elderhunterhull.blogspot.com pil·grim·age noun 1.) a journey, especially a long one, made to some sacred place as an act of religious devotion; 2.) any long journey, especially one undertaken as a quest or for a votive purpose, as to pay homage I've never been to Washington state, so I dig on the internet with gusto and look at places to see, "10 Things You Must Do In Seattle", images of the majestic Cascades, the iconic Space Needle, along with a host of touristy places that sound great from the marketing hype. But what I'm really wondering is how many of these places Mom knew. Did she stand at any of them? What was she thinking when she was there, if she was there? I want to put my footprints into a space where she stood, alive and whole, happy and carefree, and she is no longer here to ask where I should go. My husband is cooking dinner, as I scroll through pictures, restaurant reviews, and other various bits of Washington flotsam. I want an apple. I want her homemade applesauce, and I nearly stop my husband mid-stir to get him to take me to the grocery store so I can pick up what I need to make it the way she did. But I suck back the craving and the words, letting it go. I have a list now, of places we'll see while we're there. I've tucked it into a plain, brown notebook that I'll slip inside my purse before we leave for the airport on Thursday. "We're taking mom home," my husband quietly says to me. I choke on a sob. It's where she wanted to go. Her ashes will nurture the soil, the lake, catch on a breeze and float out into the night. But really, home is where she lives inside of me, inside of all who love her. Home is where her soul resides, in Heaven, with my son and so many other loved ones who have "passed", on Earth, in our hearts, and scattered among the growing things, still vibrant with life on this plane of existence. "I don't live anywhere; I live everywhere", her spirit seems to say, as her fingerprints are left on so many things, places, people. I take a deep breath and gather my courage. We're coming, Mom. Soon, now...very soon.  Wenatchee River Image from Panoramio.com  Souvenir Shopaholic. n. One who is obsessed with gimmicky, tourist-trap gift shops filled with useless items that are must-haves on any good vacation. This may not be a clinical term found in any Psychology or Sociology journal, but it ought to be. It is an affliction I suffer from, along side many other enthusiastic travelers around the world. I can usually tell how good my vacation has been by examining two key indicators: 1.) Lack of photos, because we're having too much fun to stop and take them (although this can be deceptive, if where we went involves long lines or wait-times, as those are perfect photo op moments); 2.) How many t-shirts and trinkets I stuffed my suitcase full of (which includes, but is not limited to bags of shells, rocks, acorns, leaves, pressed flowers, etc.). I don't know what makes me think a tall, curvy glass printed with the Hard Rock Cafe' logo is a good idea. It goes with absolutely no dishware that I own and it's a pain in the butt to fill with ice, but I sat writing this blog and drinking out of one, just the same. Perhaps it is the residual fumes from the sunscreen I put on that fogs my brain and my better judgement. Whatever the reason, when I'm in the moment, I've just "gotta have"...magnets that cover my fridge, t-shirts that take up copious amounts of space in my closet (and mostly go unworn), towels and stuffed toys, key chains, pens and snow-globes. I want them. I need them! And I buy them with great enthusiasm and reckless abandon, much to the delight of shop owners everywhere! I do this "cluttering up" of my life in more ways than just buying bags full of useless trinkets. I clutter up my life with worries that are pointless, grudges that are unhealthy, problems that are out-dated and moot, and barriers that I put in my own way for a myriad of reasons, most of which are rooted in some form of fear. Why do I do this...because there is a "comfort" in the clutter. Without it, I feel naked and exposed. Without it, I feel vulnerable. The absence of that clutter is a lot like opening up a notebook for the first time. You are faced with a book of blank pages and a trepidation about your ability to fill those pages with something of substance. Clutter is the opposite of substance, at least in my world, and I am getting better at keeping mine down to a minimum, in my desire to fill my life with meaningful "everything" (although I still sometimes need a firm "NO" from someone I love). I'm not ready to abandon all of my clutter (...baggage fits here, too), but I'm closer than I've ever been at being able to "keep" only the people and things of real value in my life. And look, I found a use for one of my many trinkets! 
 "You never know who's swimming naked until the tide goes out." --Warren Buffet Having Henry "Bud" Schaefer as the captain on our Redneck Houseboat Vacation was a lot of fun. Bud, or dad to me, drank a little too much, laughed a little too loud, and told inappropriate jokes in such a charming manner it was impossible to actually be offended. He was a very tall, handsome man with clear, mischievous blue eyes and a natural born salesman, who could sell you ocean front property in Wyoming and make you believe you'd gotten a good deal! One sunny day, as we approached the Dam (our halfway point of the cruise), the lake was bustling with activity; boaters flying by us, some with skiers, others just filled with people enjoying the gorgeous day. Dad was at the wheel, me standing by his side pretending to navigate and look important, while the brothers were all on the top deck lazily soaking up some rays. Suddenly, dad calls out, "You boys don't have hair on your balls if you don't jump naked into this water!" My mouth formed a perfect "O", as the oldest brother's swim trunks hit the water in front of us, followed closely by his flawless dive into the water after them, naked as the day he was born (only taller)! Not to be outdone, the middle brother almost immediately joined him. Finally Brad, the youngest, dove neatly in, as well, and they all laughed happily once his head broke the surface. They swam like fish around the boat, as strangers close by, who'd gotten quite a show, whoooped and hollered their approval and encouragement! I looked at dad, my face still registering shock, "I can't believe they just did that!" His grin was huge, proud, as he slowed the boat to a stop and let them swim as long as they wanted. He put his arm around me, hugged me close and said, "So, sweetheart...now that you've seen all three of my sons naked, are you sure Brad's the one you want?" I burst into a fit of giggles! I share this memory with you, my readers, in hopes that it will trigger your own happy memories. Life is not easy, and no matter who you are or what your circumstances, we are all a little broken, a little scarred, and often discouraged, devoid of hope. Fill your days, as best you can, with people you love--do happy things, make more good memories than bad, and when the opportunity arises, swim naked! Maybe you traumatize a fish or two, should you do so in a lake or the ocean, but it will be worth it! And cherish every moment you have with those you love, for it is those moments you will cling to when they are gone. 
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About The Author
I grew up in rural North Carolina. When I was only nineteen, I moved away and became a military wife. My only aspiration at that tender time in my life was to create an adult life that "fixed" all of the "injustices" of my childhood. Secretly, however, I wanted to reach for the sky! I wanted to be a writer and find ways to "save the world" (my mother used to say, "You have Save the World Syndrome".). Mostly, I wanted to matter. Archives
August 2021
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