Through the Eyes of a Child

by Neal Lemery

published 2/1/2023 in the Tillamook County Pioneer

“Through the eyes of a child you will see the world as it should be.” –Anonymous

In recent days, I’ve experienced the simple joys of being around several kids who have been fully engaged in simply enjoying life, with simplicity and without condition.

I visited some friends and thought I should bring a present to their two year old. While buying a bouquet of flowers for the parents, I spied a stuffed puppy, its cuddliness capturing my heart and appealing to my desire to bring some joy into the world. The day’s news had been the typical fare for our times, and matched the grayness of the January sky.

I wondered if I was really buying the stuffed animal for the child, or for the child inside of me.

We adults had a good visit, discussing the day’s news as well as our reasons to be optimistic about the unfolding of the new year. Yet, our attention was pleasantly diverted to the antics of their child, whose giggles and smiles filled their home with the simple joy of the toy, and our collective sounds of what we thought a barking puppy might sound like. The child’s laughter was perhaps all about the joy with the toy, but more likely in response to the funny antics of the adults, obviously inept at being accurate puppy talkers.

We adults should practice our animal noises more often, and laugh more, too. We need to take some daily lessons with children, who seem to effortlessly find simply joys in the simple pleasures of life, in the sharing of laughter and funny noises, cuddly stuffed puppies and shiny toy cars.

This morning, while sipping my coffee at the neighborhood coffee shop, I was being serious, trying to concentrate on writing something meaningful in response to today’s deluge of politics, mass shootings, and other ugliness. Again, a child reminded me of the simple joys if one just pays attention to an opportunity.

A toddler squealed with delight, as he repeatedly tossed a toy car on the linoleum, making a noisy clattering. A few times, the toy bounced off my shoes, and I’d slide it back to him. He’d catch it a few times, but mostly, he’d toss it and it skittered along the floor to the delight of the child. I found myself chuckling, joined by others watching the fun.

His parents spoke to me, worried that his antics were bothering me. Yet the simple joy in his eyes and his squeals of laughter brightened the morning. I decided I needed more of childish joy in my day, rather than perusing the day’s news and commentary. Perhaps the real news of the day is that life is fun and there can be instantaneous joy in ordinary things.

These few sweet and precious moments, freely given to me by the youngest generation, was a gentle, yet persistent reminder that life is both precious and beautiful, that we need to pause and be less serious and find laughter in the simplest of things. We need to share those moments with everyone, needing to be kids as much as possible. We should play with our toys and make new friends.

2/1/2023

Recharging

published in the Tillamook County Pioneer

By Neal Lemery

A rainy Sunday has turned into a time of recharging. The cat is in her usual place, snoozing through the afternoon, replenishing herself for the evening forays and gearing up to remind us of her dinner time. She is, perhaps, our resident chaplain, leading us by example to recharge and renew ourselves.

Batteries for several of my electronic devices sit in their chargers. Tomorrow, the electric weedwhacker will be put to use, bringing order to my sister in law’s yard. And, the camera battery will be tasked in photographing this fall’s amazing display of foliage.

The earth itself is recharging, after a hectic summer. The lawn is slowly turning green from the welcome rain. Mushrooms are emerging where only a few weeks ago, the dead grass crunched and the ground was more like oven-fired clay. Even the raspberries have put out a new, unexpected crop, adding yet another layer of winter delights to the freezer. The final round of crops from the garden finish their ripening, spread around the house, as we all prepare for winter.

The garden cycle continues, as I add leaves, grass clippings and the kitchen compost bucket offerings to the compost maker. Its resident earthworms are happily overwhelmed with new-found abundance.

I plant new garlic cloves, knowing that next summer will bring abundant fresh garlic to summer vegetable stir fries and pickles. I enjoy the garlic growing to not only satisfy my love of garlic, but also because garlic is a rebel, wanting to be planted in fall and harvested in early summer, out of kilter with the other crops. A new crop in the garden, filling the spaces left open by harvest, is my celebration of hope for the future, and sparks the making of my new wish list for next year’s garden.

The neighboring farmers are recharging, too. They’ve finished their corn harvests, followed quickly by new harrowing and the planting of their winter grass crops. What was once an experiment in planting has now turned into part of a year-round planting and harvesting cycle. I’m told this variety of grass adds nitrogen, protects the soil from the pounding of the winter rains, and is another food source for cows. I celebrate my neighbors’ curiosity and willingness to be innovative. That spirit of curiosity, boldness, and scientific curiosity serves the community well, and inspires me to live more like a farmer.

The quiet morning stillness, and the first sounds of raindrops from the incoming front, offer me renewal, and space in my life for some gratitude and peace. The natural cycles of this place call us out to pay attention, to take a breath and pause. As the earth recharges, as I recharge, I seek to follow that example, readying myself for new ideas, and new perspectives in this time of challenge and change.

10/17/21

Being Mothered

By Neal Lemery

Mother’s Day is a tough holiday, a maudlin remembrance of Mom, who has passed on, but still figures in my life. With any family relationship, it is a mixed bag, an often-confusing mix of emotions, feelings, and memories. Popular culture tells us to be adoring, grateful, and praising offspring, yet other thoughts and patterns of grief keep the emotions in what I often envision as being a whirlpool as I navigate through life.

This year, I’m feeling the need for nurturance. Perhaps it is my long-term response to the pandemic, and the range of lockdowns, quarantines, and the emotional rollercoaster of coping with this contagion that seems to be a never-ending disruptor. I’m emotionally drained. I find myself seeking emotional sustenance, comfort, and the gratifying tenderness of a mother’s love.

Ever since I’ve had a car, I’ve carried a blanket with me. It goes back to when I was five, traveling with my mom and grandma through the mountains. We ran into a freak snowstorm, and almost slid off the road. Waiting for the snowplow, my elders made sure we were warm, underneath the ever-present blanket in my mom’s car, sipping hot tea from my grandmother’s trusty and well-worn thermos. The disaster turned into an adventure, comforted by the blanket, hot tea and family stories I’d never heard before.

A few years before my mom passed, she gave me a new car blanket. The hand-me-down old Pendleton blanket of my grandmother’s had finally succumbed to several generations of picnics, beach trips, and the occasional unexpected adventure. The new blanket stays behind the driver’s seat in my pickup, ready to wrap around me on a chilly evening, or become a picnic tablecloth or a dry seat on a log at the beach. When I pull it out, I am reminded of my mom, and her continual work to care for the family and keeping us safe and warm. Mom being Mom.

This week, as Mother’s Day looms with all of its swirls of emotions and expectations, and no address for me to send Mom a card, or a phone number to call, I found myself wrapping the blanket around me, feeling its softness and its warmth. That sensual comfort chases away the emptiness, the grief that often haunts these holidays that are hyped as overly joyous events, the Hallmark moments that can easily drag me into a canyon of treacherous emotion.

Feeling the fuzzy blanket around my shoulders is almost as good as a hug from Mom, and I can feel her presence in the room as I share a meal with family, and we tell stories of life’s adventures.

I’m missing those times with her, sharing a pot of tea, telling stories, and planning a fun event with family. Her blanket wrapped around me is a poor substitute for that, but I’m getting through this weekend with some much-needed sustenance and comfort, taking time for some self care and quality blanket time.

5/8/2021