āIf you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden.ā Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā My mother has descended another level down the steep staircase that is dementia. These days it is uncertain she knows who I am, yet as the person I know fades and I try to come to grips with this, Iām reminded of who she was to me at different times in my life. As chameleon-like as me, she changed along with the context of her life and the way each addition of yet another child shaped and formed hers. She changed with the time she lived in with all of its challenges and yet to be exploited, opportunities for women. She changed with every change in my fatherās financial fortunes and ultimately with his health. Being the oldest I have traveled the longest with her. I sit on the arm of her chair and rub her back or croon nursery rhymes I learned from her as a child. I call her Mommy again rather than Mom or Mother as I have for many years now. Her head rests on my chest and it is hard to discern if I am comforting her or she is comforting me. Everything between us has always been unspoken and indirect. My ability to decode tells me we are comforting each other. She can still remember things, but only from decades ago, farther and farther back to her own childhood. My memory now, along with hers, also remembers with far greater clarity those moments in my long-lived life from decades ago.
When I was in sixth grade, I won a gold medal for writing the best book report and the creation of an accompanying diorama. It was about my favorite book, The Secret Garden, a tale about nature, the power of a girlās imagination, mutual aid, and a return to health. The story held great meaning for me and I identified with the main character, a resilient yet bratty young girl around my age. Filled with beautiful watercolor plates, I spent hours between its pages, sometimes reading and sometimes just looking. The garden in that book became a place for me too, one where I nurtured my imagination and found hope. I still have the same battered, now 60-year-old, copy. Thanks to an intuitive and thoughtful reader of this blog, a second copy came my way; one given as a gift to another young girl on December 25, 1912. The year my new/old house was built.
While feeling confident about my ability to write a quality book report, I was not at all convinced I could be artistic like other classmates whose private art lessons and natural ability ensured they could reproduce paintings and create sculptures like ones in the Met. The person who sat at the desk behind me could draw figures of girls with outfits that looked like she produced them in an advanced fashion illustration class. Her name was Patty, and she made her own paper dolls, filling folders with wardrobes designed especially for them. Enthralled, I would try to replicate both the figures and the clothes and even with practice and her patient instruction, mine always fell short of the desired perfect images shown on the walls of grey matter from the film projector in my brain.
Ā I sat at my narrow desk, similar to the one I sit at as I write this, struggling to create the magic of the garden I loved so much. The one-dimensional flowers I drew provoked neither interesting thought nor strong emotion. Tears welled, began their slow descent past my sparkly cat eyeglasses, down the curve of my cheek and soon there was a slow, spreading blotch on the loose-leaf pages of the book report I just wrote. My perfectly rendered Palmer method blue script, written with the sharp nib of the fountain pen my Catholic school required us to use, became illegible from bearing the weight of my sorrow. My words would need to be painstakingly copied again. Despondent, I believed I could never render the beauty I found in the book. I thought maybe I should choose another one; a book I did not care so much about. I cried in silence, not to be a bother.
My mother, who left me to my own devices with school and most other things, appeared somehow intuitively summoned from her after-dinner chores and without a word, picked up the cardboard box from my desk, beckoned me to follow her back into her domain and plopped what contained my uninspired attempt in the middle of the kitchen table. Patting the empty seat on the bench beside her, I slid in and heads together, we thumbed through the book and landed on a watercolor plate of the garden coming back to life; one of my favorites, as it implied re-birth and re-generation, is possible. The brick wall of the garden was covered in flowering vines. The boy who the main character helped to return to health (and in doing so helped herself) stood in the midst of blooming flowers of every hue, his face suffused with joy. I saw that something was able to be made from what had at one time looked like nothing, something old and thought to have outlived its time if one only had imagination and hope. Even back then, I am attracted to such an idea.
Amid the colored paper, glue, and scissors scattered around the table, my mother showed me how the everyday items that made up her world like Saran Wrap, could turn blue construction paper into a shining pond, toothpicks became stems for Kleenex tissue flowers planted in beds of styrofoam, food colored spaghetti strands made perfect vines. We soon filled the empty box with all the colors, textures and optimism I loved about the story. The diorama had come alive, just like the Secret Garden. We wrapped it in brown paper with care and it stood on the table waiting for me to carry it to school the following day. The gold medal I won later that week, years later came to find its way onto my motherās charm bracelet, as it should have. That night my mother taught me how to make the everyday and the ordinary things in our life, interesting and beautiful.
Accidental Icon was always a low-budget operation. Part of it was because when I first started, I needed to direct my modest professorās salary to play catch up on retirement funds. More so, it was my stubborn insistence on doing everything myself so I could keep learning something new. Not in a position to hire others, spend money on fancy equipment, or finance trips to international fashion weeks or luxurious resorts, I was back in my motherās kitchen with just an empty cardboard box. The header for my blog says, āAccidental Icon: For Women Who Live Interesting but Ordinary Livesā.
Not knowing anyone who would invite me to runway shows, I got press passes to market shows. It was there in the cavernous spaces of convention centers that I met young, undiscovered designers trying to sell their clothes to bored buyers. Lucky if one person stopped by all day, their eyes implored me to have a conversation however brief. They told me of their inspirations and desires, later took me to lofts and workrooms hidden behind doors in the Garment District. There I met pattern makers, learned about tech packs and minimum order quantities. In exchange for a post, they gave me garments that no one else was wearing, making me stand out in a sea of sameness. Wearing these clothes, my Instagram photos come straight from the camera, no re-touching of wrinkles or any other imperfections I possess. Calvin only bought a digital camera (rather than his preferred film) because he loves me and neither of us knows anything about Photoshop. Unlike the exotic locations filmed by my peers, I appeared on the shabbiest of New York City streets. Despite the garbage that may lie near my foot in a shot, somehow these photos still read fashion. Even after I became more successful, this organic, by the seat of our pants, using whatās around method, is still how we operate. It helped me to be creative about producing content amid a pandemic when I turned bath towels into couture. Having to work within the confines of a box, cardboard or otherwise, often conspires to make us even more creative than working āoutside the boxā.
All this to say that thanks to my mother, my creative approach to re-purposing and re-imagining what I already have gives me a way to move forward, resources or not. This is so important to remember as we are crafting our āWhat Nowsā; the lives we envision for ourselves as we get older or even just starting out when young. If we leave the hype, the hustle and bustle of social media which compels us to compare, the expectations of others, we can see that every choice and decision we make throughout the day, regardless of how mundane they may seem, has a creative basis. You can teach yourself to appreciate and re-imagine what you already have in your life rather than say you donāt have the talent or resources to begin a reinvention project or act on a deferred dream.
While writing this essay, I discovered the term āeveryday creativityā. Used to describe the countless ways we are resourceful in our daily lives that are often unrecognized and unrewarded and thus remain underdeveloped, we all have it. Whether itās taking a different route to work, patching a moth hole in a sweater, or improvising that recipe you canāt find, it need not be a traditionally creative activity to count though it could be. Each of us has a unique palette, a personal style, that no one else has, filled with stories, meanings, feelings, and unconscious associations that we bring to whatever we wish to create or to the solution of any problem. Every success in my life comes from the Secret Garden Diorama lessons learned; each one creating a charm for a bracelet of my own. While my mother may not always know who I am right now, I take comfort in remembering those times when she knew me better than anyone else in the world ever could.Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā
Ā
In what everyday ways are you creative and how can you bring them into your What Now?
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā
This is beautiful tribute to your mother and to a book that I also love deeply.
Thank you for letting me know. I’d love to do a book club where we re-read as older persons and see what we may find.
oh yes to that.
Great idea!
Thanks.
Thank you for sharing this beautiful story – it deeply resonated with me in many ways so I keep rereading it to recall more fond memories from my past. A fantastic reminder that there is beauty in the ordinary and resources are plentiful all around us. X
Thank you for your lovely comment.
Somewhere in our last move, from DC to KC, I lost my beloved edition of The Secret Garden, the one given to me in the early ’60s by my grandmother, the one with the slightly worn book cover and the illustrations by Tasha Tudor. I was heartbroken, so my husband bought me a new copy — not the same but still a comfort on my bedside table. I loved that story of a strong young girl, who healed herself, a garden and others around her with determination and imagination. This blog is beautiful. Sending prayers as you go through this chapter with your mother. And yes, a book club, please!
What a lovely gift from your husband. It is a wonderful story and I wonder how many of us are that girl!
Your prose was like sweet poetry to my senses. I could smell the house, the book, feel it pages turn, feel even the tears then as now swell with a sense of sadness. I had 2 mothers. One a birth mother and another who was a Momma and still is but who lacked the intimacy that I feel with my own daughters. It was my grandma that I lived with in my teens who I remember rocking me as a child, or caressing my head upon her lab, who would cuddle close to read, or sit in the floor and talk and laugh. She left in the same way of your mother. Brief moments of eye contact and in that instance I knew she knew me and the very next she was spitting at or slapping at me totally afraid. I miss her dearly. Her daughter, my aunt is 13 years older than I and now is beset with the same illness only 20 years prior to the time the illness stole my grandmother. I weep for her, her spouse, her children, and her grandchildren. Alas, and for myself; as I fear the same fate. So, I have struck out in the world to adventure beyond the ivory towers where I teach to throw caution to the wind. I paint for pleasure and allow others spin my art into cloth. It may never sale but has brought me the greatest joyfulness. My hope is that someone will find joy in those items rich in earthly colors and subtle hues. My prayers for your deep sorrow of today and of days to come. My prayers of comfort bound in loving moments and memories that remain with your consciousness as long as it remains. Love. Love each touch, hug, eye contact,ā¦just love.
Thank you for sharing your story and giving me comfort in mine.
That is a wonderful idea for a bookclub–I’d join!
I love this idea!
Thank you.
One of my all time favorite books. I love the idea of rereading it.
Wonder what you’ll see now.
Yes, please!
That is a wonderful idea.
I am now taking care of my mama. She was diagnosed with dementia this past April.
So many similarities.
God Bless you Lyn.
Reading this post put so much into perspective for me
Thank you from the bottom of my heart
Thank you for sharing your experience. In this time of life these are the challenges we face and mutual support is so very beneficial.
I too share a love for The Secret Garden.
My original copy has survived five moves, six children and house guests. Practically pristine despite its age…
My own Mother passed shortly after her 70th birthday. Unexpected, tragic. Terminal.
I was 36..
To me, she was the most beautiful mother in our small town Catholic church. She wore the most fabulous hats.
As a young woman, she was given three choices for education/ career.
A school teacher. Nurse. Or perhaps a secretary.
Her dream was to attend either art school or perhaps become an opera singer.
She could not really carry a tune. Opera was out.
She did have an incredible amount of creativity and artistic talent.
Her parents, having survived The Great Depression squelched her dream to become an artist. She was told “You will starve.”
She studied in Boston at The Katherine Gibbs School. Had a highly respectable career for ten years.
She couldn’t garden to save her life.
It was with great interest that I read your latest blog. I was unaware that your mother suffers with dementia. I am in a similar situation with my mother and care for her in her own home. It is heartbreaking but I’m happy to be able to do so with much gratitude. Your post was inspiring to me and I thank you. Wishing you and your mother all the best.
Thank you, it gives me comfort to know that others understand the experience.
Thank you for this passionate and brilliant piece. You are a much needed inspiration and Muse
With love
Thank you, I will try to live up to it!
Beautifully written…thank you.
What a magnificent gift from your precious Mother! Although my own Mother never suffered from dementia, she passed away in 2017 after being diagnosed with multiple myeloma a year earlier. I moved in with her to care for her until her death. Blessedly, she didn’t suffer from chemo treatments and was still very mobile and able to get out and about. We had the most precious year that last year of her life. She taught me everything I know that really matters in this life.
I remember first seeing you as The Accidental Icon on TV. I was instantly captivated! Being able to immerse myself in your writings is an added bonus. You are such an encouragement to me.
Thank you for sharing your experience with your mother, I am trying to find some beauty in this decline so I can have that special last time as well.
Beautiful essay! I love you Lynn. My own Mother is also sinking into dementia. She is 94 & legally blind. She hears the radio talking about her all the time – still knows my voice. “Oh, Cynthia- it’s you!”
I loved this particular note of a former life leading you to who you are today. Thanks for giving your mother credit and love where it is due. Prayers for you both at the near end of a season in your lives. Life is short!
Yes, it is and even though these moments are challenging I’m cherishing them.
I absolutely love your ability to pull your reader into the story you are telling. So many of us can relate to your retelling of childhood and love for your Mom. It brings many memories of my own Mom long gone now but not in my heart. Thank you
Thank you, your comments motivate me to keep writing.
My creative outlet over the past 6 years has been sewing. Sewing my own clothes specifically. It’s a joy indescribable to those who have no interest in it like my mother for example. When I discovered sewing in a Home Economics class in 1968 I was instantly hooked. Home Ec only lasted 2 years. Once a week we were picked up by school bus to be taken to another school that was equipped to offer it. My Home Ec teacher was in the midst of a devastating nervous breakdown that sadly the school failed to notice. She would berate and slap girls (for failing to spell “potatoes” correctly for example) and generally terrorize us to such an extent that many girls would find creative methodologies for missing the bus on Thursday mornings. Although unnerved by her mercurial moods too, the prospect of sitting at the sewing machine was an attraction that superseded my fear.
The other barrier I had was my mother. She hated the notion of handmade clothes. Having grown up in a part of Toronto where poor immigrants from Europe settled and witnessing other girls in her age group suffering the humiliation of having to don clothing their poor mothers made for them to go to school, she was appalled that I might end up looking like them and reflecting nerdy poverty back on our family. Undaunted, I welcomed the challenge to create clothes no one would ever guess I had made. There was no more satisfying joy than modelling a jacket my mother was astonished to discover I had made.
I continue to sew now but over the past year I’ve struggled to maintain my “sew jo”. I lost 20 lb due to a shift in an eating routine for health reasons, I’m not going out as much like most these days or seeing clients in person (now all my work is online) and my style has changed. I’m working now on a kimono and will like make a few of them out of a blend of cashmere and silk just because I can š But I then find myself putting it aside for a few days and struggling to return to it with the same level of excitement I used to. Other sewists tell me to be patient, the thrill will return and I’m hopeful.
Thank you for another great post/pondering food for the soul.
Perhaps youāre simply experiencing a period of āsewerās blockā. Hang with it, and I bet youāll get a creative urge that may take you in an entirely different direction.
Thanks for the advice.
Your writing has sparked memories of my Mum.
My Mom was crafty. She could not sew a button on to save her life…however…
Christmas:
Handmade decorations out of hangers.
Properly hang the one strand of lights and place the tinsel, one by one to help light up the tree
Make sure the ornaments were spaced properly
The value of paint:
Change the color of a small hallway,
Change the color of furniture,
Paint one wall a different color
Cleaning:
How the gleam of a well polished end table and sparkly windows helped things look so much better.
I didn’t have a lot of girly things…a house building set (not legos) a race car set, paint by numbers, historical comic books…
It seems being crafty and creative go hand in hand…
I’m finally the Artist “me Mum” always knew I could be.
Thank you for You!!!
Thank you for sharing your mother’s wisdom.
What a beautiful and inspirational story, Lyn. You’ve reminded me that we have everything we could ever need all around us at our fingertips. We need only open our hearts to see what our eyes often miss.
Much heartfelt admiration to you and your resourceful mother.
Yes, it is right here next to us.
That was a beautiful, poetic essay. It filled me with emotion and makes me look forward to having a creative ordinary day today.
I hope you enjoy your day.
So touching. A very beautiful tribute to your mom and to the blank canvas we have been given to paint our lives as we see fit.
Yes, it is a gift we should not take for granted.
Beautiful and beautifully written
Thanks.
Reading this gave me heavy thoughts about my mother, and how she touch my life, thinking about her strengths has help me to deal with everyday pressures. I’m creative in my dress so a road well travel is a life well lived. Adding something different when I dress big or small makes me feel special.
Everyday creativity in action!
How amazing that you still have your mother. I am 66 and have been parentless since 2013. Loved this post!
So sorry for those losses.
I try to be creative every time I get dressed- choosing which self made garments or jewellery pieces to wear together and how.
Thank you for your thought provoking blog posts Lyn, I think they just get better each time you write them, especially since you moved and slowed down somewhat. Please keep them coming!
Thank you so much for these touching words.
Hello from Germany!
Hello! And thank you.
So thoroughly enjoyed this essay Lyn. Just amazing writing. Thank you.
Thank you Sarah
Thank you.
Beautiful….had to reread this as the tears clouded my eyes.
My mother passed away eight years ago with dementia, such a difficult journey…my sympathies to you both. Mom taught me to sew and to this day, in my early 70’s, I continue to sew….not only clothing but now quilts as well. She taught me the value of working with my hands and every day that I touch something that is handmade, I touch it with respect and appreciation for what it took to come into my life.
Thank you so much for your essay….a beautiful start to the day.
Thank you. What a stunningly beautiful inspiration ā„ļø You are very special. Your mother would be very proud
I hope so! I gave her a lot of grief at various rebellious periods lol
Love this…quoted you to my friends on Facebook…you are so inspiring
Thank you, that means a lot.
What a beautiful essay. Your mother is a lucky lady to have you, vice versa.
Brought āordinaryā tears to my eyes. X
Thank you.
Lovely tribute, beautiful memories. I smiled when I read that you have reverted back to calling your mom mommy. I started calling my dad daddy when his health rapidly declined and he passed away peacefully last month.
My mother passed away 4 years ago at 94. Although the last 10 years of her life after a stroke we’re difficult and complicated by many health issues I treasured those last years and the time we had together. We went on many adventures in and around the Chicago area until she could no longer muster the strength to go. Our activities were really quite ordinary but I tried to make it fun and activities that she would enjoy. I called them adventures to make them special for her. I got so much back seeing the joy on her face when she saw me arrive. It’s not the big things it’s the little things, just being there, loving her.
Thank you for your tribute.
Thank you for reminding me it’s the little things that matter.
Lovely words and images from your life experiences reminded me of my own journey and relationship with my mother. Each day is so precious. Thank you.
Thanks for the reminder to cherish each one.
Thank you! I am currently trying to figure out the “What Nows”…I appreciate that I am not alone in my struggles, and you are a comfort to another who is very much of like mind.
So many of us here on the same journey and it is indeed wonderful to have company along the way.
Beautiful message from your personal struggles. Thank you for the encouragement your story serves. I’m working on my own project and needed some courage TODAY. I, too, have been deeply touched by The Secret Garden, and oddly, I reread it recently.
So interesting how many of us have been touched by that book.
As a young, creative girl, I had very little with which to express myself, but I found ways to do so by cultivating the whimsy in everyday things. That “cultivated ability” makes my everyday beautiful, even fantastical. It is as if I am forever spinning my material world, my utterly unique diorama, into being.
Another moving essay, Lynn. I love your term āeveryday creativityā. As a retired, fledgling mixed media artist, I am going to anoint myself an āEveryday Creativeā. Which means that I challenge myself to flex my creative muscle in the direction of my mixed media work ā Everyday. False starts and unlovely output included.
Thank you for your thoughts.
Your beautiful article reminded me of my wonderful mother, gone way too young and long ago, and the times we spent together reading The Secret Gatden. Thank you!
My condolences, I’m sure you must. miss her always,
What a lovely post! I would not have guessed that you were a āsister in improvisationā. I come by this honestly; my Nana always preferred remaking something old into something new. She had great flair and her attic remains, to this day, a well-remembered trove of coconut heads, canes, microscopes and wonder! An architect bought her old Craftsman style home quite a few years ago and brought it up to speed. I think Nana would be pleased. My Mom, a more practical sort, was nonetheless my greatest fan and supporter as I stretched my little artist wings and stumbled out of the nest. It was she who stayed up all night sewing me a new outfit so Iād be suitably attired for a University-era ski trip. Her skills as a seamstress weāre considerable and her hand knit Nordic sweaters precise and beautiful. I always found her colour choices bizarre and like so many daughters, my appreciation of her came late. When dementia overcame her many abilities, it didnāt dampen her optimism or laughter! She even acquired a boyfriend who loved her and saw her until the end – and he had all his marbles! I miss her, but her decline allowed me a few years to cherish her in the way she deserved. Thank you for reminding me of how well I was loved!
Thank you for sharing such lovely memories.
I think this is one of the most beautiful posts you have written. What a tribute to your mother! My mother also has dementia, does remember me, so far. I feel like just taking her in my arms and hugging her when I get to see her. How much has she and I missed thanks to Covid.
I know!
How beautiful!
Thank you.
What an exquisite essay. I love the part about being more creative “inside the box.” I remember Rollo May saying that limitation sparks creativity more than “the sky is the limit.” I am about to retire or REWIRE as a member of my congregations terms this transition. I started by rehearsing during a sabbatical in 2020 — and the limitations of the pandemic made that a time of creative discovery of the resources online I could access, including a virtual (creative) writing hour and meditating to art. Now my sister and I are creating a podcast based on the kinds of films and series we love. I’m hoping to renovate to age in place, and have ambitions to reinvent my style for the post-2019 reality of my life. Thank you for the inspiration you continue to spark.
I really appreciate your well-worded reflective texts. Since English is not my mother tongue, but I still write a dissertation text in English, your way of writing is a source of inspiration for me.
Wonderful essay, thank you.
I have followed you for several years and I have to say, this is the most beautiful piece of writing you have ever shared. Thank you for giving us such a lovely gift.
As always Lynn, your grace, honesty and creativity have touched so many of us.
Thank you for this poignant piece of your history that somehow is entwined with ours.
Namaste.
P.S. Dabbling with watercolor/mixed media and tweaking recipes these days.
Thank you for this post. Your words are sweet and comforting. You make a difference.
Thank you for this beautiful post. Mothering is a wonderful thing and though your Mom is confronting this challenge, it’s your gift to her to just be there with all the wonderful memories and the ones you’ll create now.
Yes, there is something that is almost holy going on now.
40 years later, I still recall the Secret Garden story and it’s poignant message to love nature. I have become a landscape architect and surely that book inspired me towards my career. Thank you for reminding me of this story, and of your honest message to see creativity even when it is humble.
I think it has also returned to inspire me because I am working on our garden and how to restore the wonderful property we have that was also untended.
You are such a beautiful, descriptive writer. This essay really moved me. Thank you so much.
This is Blog REAL not overdone fluff…..and REAL is why I am here. I love what you do…keep on keeping on! Yup there are other Blogs so if I have a day where I want fluff and a chuckle I know where to find it š
Thank you, that makes me know I am on the right track.
āEveryday Creativity ” strikes a chord in me! I have been touched by āsecret gardens” my whole life; beginning with my motherās garden in Hubbard, Oregon, which was filled with wildness and peonies and blessings and roses š¹. I am 78 now and have my whole life a garden.
How wonderful!
Beautiful. I need to go dig out my 60yr old copy as wellā¤ļø
It’s a timeless story it seems.
This is such a wonderful essay. Thank you for sharing it. I am trying to incorporate more everyday creativity into my life. As a full time administrative staff person during the day, I come home with tired eyes and brain. Iāve found that a little exercise and creativity perk me up far more than hours of consuming.
Well said! Less consuming.
What a beautiful story, tribute, and inspiration. Thank you. (I’m creative every day, writing in my journal, and sometimes I bring these entries forth in story form for others.)
I’m sure they appreciate that when you do.
What a beautiful blog in memory of your mother!
You have beautifully described every detail with a very realistic view of the present and the person you are now.
I can only applaud this for how creative you deal with these matters and how you hold on to values and standards that you should definitely cherish! I want to thank you for the beautiful story you share!
I try to express my creativity in my daily life and to organize my days to enjoy it as much as possible with my partner and sometimes in a pleasant impulsive way to experience the things that come our way!
This was far so true Lynn, l recognized the calmness and nurturing of the Secret Garden and having your mother to glide along with you and your vision. You are so on point learning has no age barriers, we are all so unique, Great contentā¤ļøšÆš!
Thank you.
Creative editing! Not just the unwanted clothing and linens but editing medicine cabinets, spices, unread books, tools, your garden, photos and yes, even people. It has made me think twice before purchasing something new and repurposing things instead. Ask your adult children if they want things. Their answers might surprise you! Editing is cathartic and gives one a feeling of control in their own universe even if that’s not possible elsewhere. I, too, love The Secret Garden.
A wonderful suggestion, thank you
Your mother and mine are truely kindred spirits. Perhaps it is the culture of the depression and making do with what was available. I thank you for your wonderful post of love and acceptance. I find it amusing how we share the same profession as well. Life is grand.
Yes in the midst of the loss and the grief there is much to be happy about.
I read your post thinking how alike our stories with our mothers are when we were but girls. Your mother is very much like my mum wasāahead of her time, creative, yet pragmatic. I was with her when she died of dementiaādid she know it was me? I think so, on some levelā¦as Robert Anderson, the playwright, wrote ādeath ends a life, but it does not end a relationshipā. And in a strange way itās trueāyour post reminded me of the strength and creativity mum gave me that has carried on in me every day.
I love that quote, thank you so much I take great comfort from it.
I needed this today; thank you. Iāll be thinking of you and your mother. I think your book club suggestion is a wonderful idea.
Thank you.
So beautiful the story of your mother’s profound influence on your life…
The lesson of creating the ordinary into a creative life of joy seems to be universal; I also learned this during the ten years I cared for my husband who had Early Onset Alzheimer’s, and I was his sole caretaker. My husband was not able to communicate very early on, but he felt and appreciated all the excursions and my attention to his care to make his life as pleasant and interesting as I could. Know that your mother can feel you and does know all your efforts, love, and care.
Thank you for this, it’s important that I be reminded of that.
Thank you for this beautiful piece. I too am one who watched her mother pass through dementia. āThe long goodbyeā (10 years). Iāve recently begun to follow Deepak Chopra to learn to be more in the present and your idea of everyday creativity fits in very well with that.
Great connection.
You’ve clearly graced us with your heart. Blessings for you with the unfolding of this journey you’re on.
Many years back I’d business in LA and flew from San Francisco to see my grandmother in a nursing home. This visit was at my aunt’s request and clearly, at 96, Grandma was in dementia . . . a quite unprepared for state for me after knowing a most vibrant and strong woman . . . always! And yet, I’d been slightly prepared. Someone had suggested I consider her state as a train journey she was on . . . that she was seeing a different scene from her eyes than I could see from mine. And only rarely was she able to look at me with apparent cognition — like “I’m here!” And then she’d slide back to the other scene only she saw. When we left I simply wished her a continuous beautiful journey. And tons of love . . . always.
Blessings
That’s a lovely way to look at it because it is a journey, one for me too.
Hi Lyn
Your essay reminded me of a time when I was in the sixth grade and my mother helped me with a project. We cut Native American doll clothing out of chamois, sewing the seams by hand with black thread. The headdress had little white feathers from a bed pillow. The moccasins were cut and sewn, too. We mounted them for display in a shoe box lid. I donāt remember what subject this was for, possibly history, but it may have been a book report, too. I kept the project for many years and it always brought memories of my momās everyday creativity and ingenuity. She passed away in 2019 right before the pandemic. She was starting to lose her memory to dementia. I miss her. We loved shopping together. She always new what looked good on me. I am now retired and picking out my clothing everyday along with decorating my home and planning meals helps me express my everyday creativity. I also like to read and use my imagination. I think I should reread the Secret Garden.
Thank you for sharing these lovely memories of your mother.
Enjoy trying out new outfit combinations. Some work better than others! Used to feel like I wanted to blend in. Nowadays it’s good to be more creative & different than the “uniform” of my locality. Certain that this liberation is age related as I have found my own “uniform” for life. Both parents are still with us physically & mentally. I grow more aware to cherish them whilst still able. Thank you for your eloquent & deeply emotional essay.
I’m very much relating to the trying new outfit everyday creativity experiment as I am trying not to buy anything new.
I read these beautiful responses and am astonished at the beauty in this world.
Amazing isn’t it. What a rich view of the wisdom and grace of older women that can be found in these comments.
Thank you !
Thank you
Thank you Lynn. Beautifully written. Forever timely – my mother had dementia, died at 96. I lived faraway in Australia a year before she died. I was the last visitor to be recognized, I ma told…
The essay is timely, as we all became more frugal during the long COVID period, reflecting and focusing more what matters. Many tried to write about this: yours is the best I have ever seen! As a recent widow of a still active 72 years old wonderful professor, I was shocked with the fact of a sudden heart attack. But spared any slow mental illness or your beloved. Trying to be positive. You offer a beautiful image for all who had or will have to take care a parent/spouse in phasing out…
So sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing it.
dear lyn – this post is a keeper in my ‘most important’ file. so much of it went straight to my heart. your writing is so beautifully expressive and creative. i try to wake up every morning with a creative goal, whether to make art, cook something that must be as pretty as it is tasty, or dress myself up in whatever bonnie gets out of bed that morning:) i only wish my garden could benefit, as well. ha. not my forte.
thank you so much for sharing this story. bonnie
Thank you!
Sharing is also creative Iāve discovered, When I share my thoughts with others, they change. I live in Melbourne, Australia, and get enormous pleasure from being able to share thoughts and experiences with women who have similar interests despite living on the other side of the world. Thank you.
A wonderful point!
Each day I create what I do with intent and purpose and avail myself of all senses.
a simple maxim, but one that yields riches.
The Countryside with its every day adventures, and the proximity to the wonders of nature, becomes you well, dear Lynn. Your writing is touching and speaks to the bottom of the soul. I was lucky enough that my Mamaās mind was clear until her death, however I wish that I would have talked more with her about her woman hood, and her sentiments living through the war in Europe.
Since my own three daughters asked me to write down my childhood memories, and my womanhood adventures, I try to write for them in a creative way. My creativity is expressed in every day activities, be it in collecting a bouquet of flowers and herbs from my own Secret Garden, painting and drawing the many cards I sent to my daughters, cooking a tasty meal, or arrange and display found objects in a certain way. Even my every day clothes I like to way in a way the colors and textures work in certain ways. Creativity is an everyday event, the pleasure of being alive I feel.
I am looking forward to your next blog and inspirational thoughts.
Your relationship with your daughters sounds like a wonderful gift.
Very inspiring and I forget that with the least of possibilities, we use the best of our gifts. Thank you for reminding me. The best to you and your mother.
So many layers in this. A beautiful tribute to your mother, everyday and original creativity, your ingenuity, imagination, determination and also a glimpse of the ever present Calvin!
Yes, Calvin is always in the frame whether its through the pictures he takes or in the words.
This blog speaks to something in all of us. For some it is very personal, for others it is the memory of childhood, others it is the magic of the garden and some it is the value of recycling with imagination.
What a wonder piece of writing!
Thank you for these lovely words.
I love The Secret Garden. I used to read it every year like clockwork. Somehow it ended up packed away where I couldn’t find it when we moved, so I now have it on Kindle and Audiobook. I still hope sometime to find my battered old copy (stolen from the library when a very young girl, I must confess: I couldn’t bear to give it back).
I was touched by every word in this post. Your writing is beautiful.
Thank you and I love the confession, I probably would have done the same thing if I had not had my own copy.
I returned home (CA) from Portland OR this morning. Inside my luggage were stacks of autumn leaves sandwiched between cardboard pieces. Collecting the leaves, and other items of nature, brings me such joy. I collected with my 2 granddaughters, Edie and Alice, so you can imagine how special the time was. I will be stringing the leaves on wire to form into a wreath, or, whatever. Gifts from nature always sparks creativity. FYI: I would love to be in a book club with you!!
A wonderful example of everyday creativity.
Thank you for sharing your experience. It is so helpful to hear how something we live through stays with us forever. So glad most of it is good and a learning opportunity for life.
Thank you.
A lovely essay, moving and inspiring. The Secret Garden was my favourite book also telling me that a girl could do a great deal just through compassion and resourcefulness.
The pandemic meant I couldn’t travel which freed me to finally take an Olli (Osher Lifelong Learning Institute) class in memoir writing so that I can finally explain to my granddaughter why she is compared to my sister who died long before she was born, a woman of creativity and caring who inspires me still.
Despite the losses so many stories here of gifts bestowed during the pandemic.
Beautiful post. Your emotion and memories are captured as clearly as if I was there with you. Thank you for enriching the moments I spent reading it.
Love your idea of an “older” book club and would happily join it. When do we begin? Maybe we could start with a book called (something like) The Gentle Art of Swedish Death-cleaning, which fits the theme of living sparingly and with intention.
I love that idea and that book suggestion sounds wonderful. I would like to include some women who may be behind us on this journey so we can share some of our discoveries with them as well and they can share their concerns with us.
Love it when your blog pops up – know it is going to be thought provoking, creative and colourful and touch me in a very special way -and of course this one certainly did.
Though it must be hard for you on this journey with your Mom, travelling down HER memory lane must open up some new doors.
As far as everyday ways am I creative? Having a “block” at the moment with my art but picking up knitting and designing my own pattern by mixing together other patterns, I have also picked up Lisa Genova’s book – “remember The Science of Memory and the Art of Forgetting” The relief to know all the things I thought I had forgotten – I just hadn’t paid attention and therefore never made a memory in the first place!!! A great read and lesson to be more attentive and slow down.
Your writing, so descriptive, invites me into your everyday life and the sharing is very precious. I could “see” your SEcret Garden in its box. Thank you Lyn
How beautiful – what a wonderful tribute to your Mother and to a beautiful book. I enjoy your blog posts often but this one tugs at my heart strings.
I was once in a book club where we read something from our past as older adults and what a different perspective one has at different points in our lives. I was also in a book club with members being various ages – now that is a discussion! With everyone’s life experiences being different because of age it was very interesting hearing the point of views from various age and life experience perspectives. Try the book club and you will love it.
Thank you for sharing.
What a wonderful, heartfelt post. Ah, the Secret šŖ“š . We are having to bring a child and his family back into our household, unexpectedly. At first I was not particularly happy about this, but then I noticed that my backyard garden has, in the cooler air of fall, begun to bloom so magnificently, and unexpectedly, that it brought me perspective. What was looking quite sad most of the summer, suddenly turned into something joyful. I took that as my sign to adjust my attitude. Now I am looking for opportunities in this turn of events. And, as Susan Emerson suggested above–it’s given me a chance to do some “creative editing” that will service my husband and I well when the family departs.
I really enjoyed your essay – thank you. I cannot say I have an understanding of youāre experience with your Mum. My own Mum is 94 with a mind like a steel trap that I am frequently caught in.
Sadly as her body breaks down she becomes distraught and bitter at her need for help from others.
She grew up as the youngest child of three. Her own Mother was born in 1882 having very Victorian values and emotionally detached from her children while having a passionate love for her husband. They were poor and everyone worked including my Mum from the age of 8.
Despite the challenges of her childhood she gained good employment which set her free from the constraints placed on her by the family.
This was the happiest time in her life. The friendships she made during the Second World War. The fun and the music. When she talks about that time she shines and I can see the person she was.
Every part of her life from that point forward is held aloft, compared and found wanting.
Watching someone wait to die, because thatās what she is now doing – and is disappointed on a daily basis, brings its own sadness. It has taught me not to wait for life to happen. Do it now and enjoy what it brings you. Look for the joy.
I made my own secret garden while I was working in a Child & Adolescent Mental Health Service It was beautiful and the kids loved working in it. Even the most distressed amongst them found solace there.
Always use the same perfume, or essential oil when you are with your mama. Leave a cotton with the aroma so she can enjoy it. Rosemary is for the memory. She āll never forget you.
Always use the same perfume, or essential oil when you are with your mama. Leave a cotton with the aroma so she can enjoy it. Rosemary is for the memory. You will always be with her.
Thank you so much for this beautiful suggestion. I will certainly do this.
Your thoughts about such a terrible illness speaks volumes about you and your talent. Our lives sometime intertwine in the most unusual ways. I will keep this writing to refer back to it again and again as it is most powerful. Blessings to you, Calvin, and your dear mommy!
Thank you so much.
Your blogs give me hope for my individuality in these difficult times and keep me creating and looking aheadā¦..thank you
If it does that makes me very happy!
I like to read your blog even though I have no interest in fashion. I do have an interest in learning how we move through second and third acts as we age successfully. Having spent a career in design and museum education I feel that creativity is more about seeing the possibilities of materials and situations. Itās also about stretching out from the known into the unknown. Your mom may not have made a paper garden before, but she knew that she could lay the foundation for your discovery of materials and self-confidence. The educator, John Dewey knew art was problem solving and necessary in any curriculum that developed fully functional adults. I think your mom knew this too.
Yes, she did and I so appreciate you found that in her.
yes..I was also 36 when my Mother died. The first and greatest love of my life. She was one if those people who brought sunshine to everyone she met. She told me there were very few people she could not win over if she put her mind to it and it was true..loved by all because she was so good to everyone. She was a problem solver..filled with solutions and a fuerce determination to be the best mum and her qualities were treasured.
She sounds like a remarkable woman.
I loved your essay, and enjoyed all the comments as well.
Thank you. I find that the comments are such an added bonus to coming to my blog, they are as good as the writing.
Such a beautiful post. Thank you. My mother does not deal with dementia, but with pain management. She is locked in a different prison. she is fiercely independent however and holds us at arm’s length. We shall see how the days unfold. She also knows me well, and as we have both lost children, she knows of my pain. Blessings to you and your sweet mom.
Blessings to you and your mom too.
This is by far my favorite post. Thank you.
Thank you.
At 67, five years since retiring, I have discovered the joys of writing prose, creating collages, and pouring hot wax over them as encaustic pieces. I have yet to merge my poems with my art but feel that brewing as a next option. My most valued commodity is free time and I have afforded that to myself in spades! So I thrive on taking long walks in new places and have discovered a multitude of trails and parks and beautiful areas to meander. I collect trinkets from nature that I find on the walking trails and merge into my art work when I can. And I find that I just can’t tolerate the plastic clothing coming out of China that fill even the most upscale women’s boutiques so I upcycle my classic clothing by changing the necklines, adding embellishments, or mixing items with other clothing that I would never have thought to put together. Everything in my life has become a creative adventure at this phase of my life. I call it preschool for seniors.
I love that because true creativity always has the element of play when you just lose yourself in the moment.
Loved reading this essay. Essay sums it up beautifully. So well constructed and worded, a craft piece.
My mother was a tailor or dressmaker (as it was known then ) and though she didn’t teach me directly I inherited her love of sewing and textiles. We lived in India when I was a child and I have fond memories of going to the āDurseyā and having clothes measured and made, the richness of textiles in the local market and my mother buying lengths of cloth to smock and make dresses for me and my sisters.
Years later my flat mates and I, in the sixties in LonDon, would run up a mini dress in an hour or so to wear that night going out, and I remember my mother being horrified when I showed her some of my efforts, at the lack of care and finesse- fast was what mattered. The slow fashion movement today would have resonated with her.
Similarly, when I made clothes for my daughter , she would take a good look at them and remind me of the things she made, on her old hand turned black Singer- which I later inherited.
My mother died many years ago but she is still with me today as I sew, knit, mend, darn – for me, my daughter, now in her thirties, and my grandaughters.
What legacies our mothers leave us that stay with us for years and through our lifetimes. To this day I am a ā radical creativeā , thanks to my mother and her skills . Your essay was a perfect portrait and resonated so much with me. Thank you.
I love hearing stories like yours, many thanks for sharing them.
Like many others “The Secret Garden” was and is an inspiring story that I loved as a kid. Also the help from your mother to design, with everyday items, such a creative scene is a beautiful memory and the diorama sounds magical.
I know how healing and healthy it is to use our artistic talents whenever and wherever we find them…I am an assemblage artist with many years of art classes and degrees and currently am cleaning out unused art supplies from my dining room which serves as my studio in order to focus on some redecorating projects for the house.
For many years I worked planting roses, flowering bushes, and trees in my huge garden. I still find it is very soothing and calming to get outside and deadhead, as well as cut bouquets of roses, to weed and to prune in my own secret garden. However I am limited now with my arthritis and hire a gardener to help keep it from taking over the whole house. We live near the coast below Santa Barbara and everything grows prolifically.
You must be enjoying your own new garden as it progresses and which I look forward to hearing about. Best wishes to you as you keep your mother’s memory and her person close to your heart.
Thank you for the good wishes and the reminder of how healing art can be.
Thank you for a thought provoking and exquisite piece of writing Lyn.
Thank you.
Lynn, I feel for you at this time in your life. My mother tended her garden daily, so I grew up around masses of colorful blooms. She was self- taught about everything since she only had a 7th grade education. She was an excellent cook, as well. She lived to be 99 but was able to stay in her home until age 93. She had some memory problems, but I donāt think it was Alzheimerās. My dad, however, did have Alzheimerās, and died at 84. It was hard to watch his demise as he was an expert craftsman, welder, musician, machinistācould fix anything and built an exquisite china cabinet out of maple wood for my mother; a gun cabinet for my brother, a 14-foot ski boat out of fir and oak, plus water skis for the immediate family. He restored several antique banjos and mandolins. He had only a 5th grade education. I am so humbled to have learned lifeās lessons from these two, especially when it came to values. They were amazing grandparents to my two sons, ogled over the first grandchild, the only one dad got see as we lost him before the other grandkids came along. Iāve written many poems about my parents and when I reread them, I feel their presence. As a writer, Lynn, I am sure you are taking notes and writing about your parents as time marches on. Not sure if I have mentioned this before, by Liz Gilbert wrote an excellent book years ago titled āThe Signature of All Thingsā about a family of botanists, set in the 18th and 19th centuries. Itās a magical read with spectacular illustrations of flowers and plants, many from long ago. Sending love and blessings to you and your mom.
Thanks for sharing how you have handled the loss and caring for your parents. I am writing and it helps. Thank you for the book recommendation, it’s feels like a peaceful read.
Dear Lynn; I say this every time I leave a comment…”I adore your writing.” Thank you for your reflections about your mother. My mother also left me mostly to my own devices, which in many respects formed the independent woman I grew into. I also lost her to Alzheimer’s. It was a long, sad road we traveled for 8 years.
Your words about Accidental Icon and your journey were intimate and enlightening.
It is fascinating to me when writers invite us in for a small glimpse into their lives. Which you do often…
Thank you
Thank you for those encouraging words, I so appreciate them.
Love to read your postā¦. Always inspires me to do something just a little better ā¦ maybe a little differentā¦
Inspiration ā¦. What a wonderful gift to give your readers
Many thanks, you inspire me too.
Beautiful essay and timely. I loved the reflection on your relationship with your mother. I am grateful my mom is healthy and doing well, but I lost my dear dad a few months ago. Your essay has bought tears to my eyes and as I think about moments with my dad.
Your message is timely as I have been putting off the relaunch of my blog because I donāt have this or that, but thankfully you reminded me that I donāt need this and that to get it done.
A special blessing of love and comfort to you and your mommy ā thank you for sharing. And a book club would be welcoming ā¤ļø
Thank you and let s know about your blog.
“A way to move forward, resources or not…” My 95 year-old mother has dementia, and until last year I cared for her in our family home after leaving a corporate marketing job. Now that I have moved her into a lovely care home my role as caregiver has changed, and my role as daughter has returned. My financial resources have changed, but during this time I feel other resources stirring — I’m getting reacquainted with myself (quirks, faults, strengths and all) and a desire to reinvent or resuscitate. Taking care of me in new and familiar ways. My music, crafts, art of landscaping and decorating comfort me during this life transition. I keep telling myself I will be ok, even on days when I have my doubts. I’m no longer in acquisition mode, instead wanting the things that surround me to be of highest and best use without clutter or too much sentiment. Your writing inspires me to keep going and create my own journey.
We are all on a journey of defining what older life can be for our generations and it is wonderful to have such wise company.
My girlfriends and I were just discussing this the other day on a Zoom call. The act of creating something with what we had on hand simply for the joy of creating. The art of play. No need to share it with anyone other than ourselves. How freeing.
The slow and painful loss of your Mother’s memories seems to be refreshing your own. It is a way to find gratitude during what I’m sure is a very difficult time.
Hugs to you.
Suzanne
And it can be the smallest most ordinary thing.
Making something from nothing – it’s sometimes a necessity, often just a joy. Yesterday, I tornado’ed up some clothing from a very worn sheet, which was highly satisfying despite the path of destruction behind me.
I enjoyed the quiet reflection, longing, and rejuvenation in this post. Thank you. I’m glad that you and your mother are finding comfort from each other right now.
I remember thinking after my Mother died that she had been the one person I could call who would celebrate that I had gotten a new coat. She had taught me to sew as a little girl. I made my own clothes from cast-offs from the daughters of her friends. The prom dresses I made were brocade silk at a time all the other girls wore net with sparkles. I fashioned my wedding dress after Jackie Kennedy’s. My four children proudly wore matching outfits to church and proudly wore my specially designed costumes every Halloween. I designed and made thousands of costumes for my husband’s high school and community theatre plays. But my Mom died suddenly and I got a divorce. I put away my sewing machine and haven’t sewn anything since then. But one of my daughters followed in my footsteps, joyfully sewing costumes for her two sons and furnishings for her house. The boys are now accomplished seamsters too. The youngest made perfect stuff sacks for a wilderness mountaineering trek this spring. We bind our lives together … one stitch at a time….
What a beautiful story
Such a beautifully written tribute to your mother. Thank you for sharing, I lost my mother 4 years ago and although I still think of her everyday, your story sparked some sweet memories for me.
Thanks so much, I appreciate all you do.