Family

Of Babies, Boxwood and Bamboo

August 23, 2023 by Margaret Philbrick 9 Comments

Three weeks ago our first grandchild surprised us by coming into the world a month early, welcome Asher Scott! Countless friends have told us, “Being a grandparent is the most treasured time in life.” So many in fact, that we began to doubt this itty bitty generalization. With almost 34 years of marriage behind us, there have been many treasured times in life. Why or how could this one be even better? To wrap my mind around such a question we turn to one of the most trusted plots of answer, the garden.

While growing up, our family spent many wonderful vacations in Nashville, TN at the home of my cousins. My Aunt was a talented formal gardener. Everything was knotted boxwood, cascading herbs and trickling fountains. The nearby Cheekwood Estate served as her model and “Martin Boxwood,” long established and revered there, provided inspiration. I learned to dislike the acrid, baking in the sun and humidity smell of boxwood. Although its deep green eternal color and lovely leaf flatters a garden the plant smells like cat pee.

When we finally could afford landscaping at our own home we planted a long row of tiny boxwood on either side of the front walkway, several inches apart. Wonder of wonders, you can grow Asian boxwood in the north that does not smell, but gives the same tidy effect. My husband and I babied these plants. It took about a decade for them to finally grow together and form a low hedge. We knocked the snow off them in winter and watered them consistently in summer. Our kids dreaded the “Go out and weed the front walkway” chore, but the boxwood deserved a clean flagstone walk. The plant grows about six inches a year in warm climates and less in cooler ones. It needs lots of trimming to promote filling-in growth. After a couple of decades the desired effect took hold and it looked dreamy in front of our home, providing an established french country welcome. A few months ago I drove by our former home (we moved away five years ago) and saw that several of the boxwoods had yellowed or died. Some were replaced with baby new ones, so the perfected look of our walkway was gone. Asian Boxwood has a life expectancy of 20 to 30 years so this should not have happened. Did it dry out in summer, suffer too much salting in winter? Who knows, but in 20 or 30 years I will be a much older grandma, and our new grandson will be in the prime of his life. God willing, he will not be yellowing, he will not be in decline. The majority of babying and tending will fall to his parents. We get to take in the beautiful view and watch him grow! Less work, more immediate benefits! Maybe that’s one of the reasons grandparenting is treasured.

I occasionally exchange panda videos with our youngest son, now the new dad!!!! (Can’t believe I’m writing this?) Together, we envy and laugh at these bamboo eating bumblers. We can’t get enough of them sitting all day mowing down vast swaths of the brittle canes, roots, shoots and leaves. When our son went to college at Belmont University in Nashville we began to notice that there is bamboo all over the place in that hot and wet town. The climate is perfect for it, but sadly too hot for pandas. A bamboo cane grows for only sixty days and takes three years to get established below ground. During this time it sends out massive amounts of roots which send up new canes. Our new grandchild is growing at a rate of 1 to 2 inches per month, not quite as fast as bamboo, but his growing season is much longer than 60 days! Getting to marvel at his growth without being consumed by laundry, spit-up, spraying SHOUT and non-stop changes and diaper cream and … you know the list, allows grandparents to focus on and appreciate every little thing their grandchild is doing and becoming. We are not thinking about anything else, like when do I go back to work or how am I going to pay the bills? Grandparenting is a time of unique, singular focus. Maybe that’s one of the reasons it’s treasured.

And now a bit about the treasure himself. Despite being born a month early he is doing everything he is supposed to be doing! He looks exactly like his mother. I think our son is handsome but his mother is gorgeous so that’s better. He rarely cries – how can this be? He is eating on an every three hour schedule. Did our kids do this? His hair is starting to lighten and get wavy. He is already looking fuller and chubbier, especially his full tummy, which translates to even more adorable and better sleep for his parents.

Dear God keep me from being one of those grandparents who brags endlessly about how brilliant and supremely gifted our grandchild is. I know this is impossible, because he is already finding his fingers and sucking on them and this usually happens at four months old so he is brilliant and supremely gifted and gorgeous at three weeks. Oh dear, I’m already doing it, but look at him! We are so thankful for this tiny but mighty blessing. To all our friends who told us about how special the grandparent world is, all we can say is Bravo! You are indeed, right.

Our Own Expiration Date

February 8, 2023 by Margaret Philbrick 6 Comments

I think there are two kinds of people, those who watch expiration dates and throw out the ketchup and mustard as soon as the date arrives and those who don’t look at expiration dates or think about them. My dad died on January 24th, 2023 and he did not look at expiration dates or think about them, even when his own date was pending. This lifestyle is akin to lifting the top off a jar of pickles and with one nostril searing sniff you discover that the brine has turned bad and yet you place it back on the fridge door. When we were growing up dad told us that he would live to the ripe old age of 140, then he revised it to 120 and towards the end he revised it to 100. Never did he believe he would die before 100 years old. He was 87 on January 24th, 2023. Pickles shouldn’t expire. Dad believed he shouldn’t expire either.

During the last week of his life I was able to spend a good bit of time in the hospital by his side and it was clear that he’d given up. He refused to eat his meatloaf. He didn’t want to try to get up and walk around. He fell asleep during the Dallas Cowboys game right after getting worked up over the kicker missing three extra points, “Can you believe that! This doesn’t happen in professional football,” and then out like a light. He stopped showing an interest in taking care of his health and begged me to go get him a hot fudge sundae which he knew would send his blood sugar to the sky. Yet, he still talked about the last oil well he hoped to drill once he got out of bed.

Watching dad’s health decline over the last three years coupled with his blind hope in continuing to live like a 40 year old has caused me to rethink my view of expiration dates and how I live with mine approaching. The conversation in our house has routinely gone like this:

“Honey do you think this taco meat is still good?” (Husband is dying to eat it)

“Off course it’s still good, it’s been sitting in the refrigerator.” (Albeit for three weeks)

”I’m not sure, it smells funny. Come here and smell it.” (I go and smell it.)

“Smells okay to me, just heat it up well before you eat it.” (Husband heats and eats meat, he survives).

This shows a belief in how our world and American culture in particular provides us with something we can do to mitigate anything going bad: the refrigerator, the microwave, high heat. In dad’s case it was his devotion to taking vitamins and minerals and exercising with religious devotion. The last time we walked around the high school track together he was 86 and needed to sit down on the football bench at the halfway point of each lap to catch his breath. There comes a point when high heat, refrigeration, vitamins and minerals and exercise just don’t do it anymore. We recognize this and adjust or we stick it back in the fridge and it just sits there until someone else has to deal with it. How many times have you come home from a vacation and there is moldy food in your fridge which you leave alone hoping that someone else will take on the smell and pour the gross glop down the garbage disposal?

My husband and I have been the ones dealing with my dad’s denial. This involves lying to the person, “You will be able to drive again when you recover from these injuries you sustained in the car accident that totaled your car,” dealing with their household goods which they refused to believe they would no longer need (including 5 bottles of KING cologne), buying slippers because they can’t put on their shoes, negotiating with the healthcare world because they forgot to pay their Medicare overlay premiums… it is a long and arduous list, but someone’s gotta do it.

“All flesh that moved on the earth expired,” Genesis 7:21. This refers to Noah’s time when literally everything “expired.” We are guaranteed an expiration date. Abraham, Isaac, Moses, Jacob, Ishmael and the people of Israel are mentioned in the Bible alongside the word, “expired.” My dad’s refusal to submit to an expiration date has taught me to throw out the bad stuff before it goes bad and not leave it to our heirs to clean up the mess.

An important aside, I loved my dad dearly. He was like a mighty tree that refused to fall. His trunk bending long before the limbs started breaking. Counter to our cultural obsession with wrinkle free beauty, his face was gorgeous in the hospital just days before he died. Everything else looked long past it’s due date but his smiling, laughing face still twinkled with the best of his character. The last thing I saw him do as I left the hospital room was blow me a kiss and say, “I love you too.” This happened after I brushed and hairsprayed his still brown hair because the physical therapy girls were coming to evaluate him that afternoon and he said, “They’re cute young girls.” Gosh…really?

When a person whom you love dies you can’t help but wonder about your own mortality and how you will age — will you age gracefully or grudgingly? Realistically or in total denial? So go ahead, throw out that old ketchup, mustard and mayo and call your estate planner. When your kids come home from their restful vacation, they don’t want to throw out your moldy bread.

Grandma’s Painting is Finished!

November 11, 2022 by Margaret Philbrick Leave a Comment

Like Emma Toft before her, my Grandma Lehwald was one of Door County, Wisconsin’s early women entrepreneurs. In the 1960’s she told her husband she wanted to open a “hot dog stand” as a small hobby. We all know how “small hobbies” go. Today, almost 60 years later this humble hot dog stand is the the full service Summer Kitchen restaurant on highway 42 in Ephraim, WI.

My parents came to Door County on their honeymoon in 1961 and they stayed in some pretty swanky spots like Gordon Lodge and the White Gull Inn. When they returned home they raved about the gorgeous landscape and the magical beauty they experienced. In less than a year, grandma and grandpa were buying land and building their retirement project, originally called the Red Barn Restaurant because it stood right across the street from the big red barns, today the Island Lavender Company. This little hot dog stand served hamburgers, shakes and hot dogs through the window where you placed your order, but over the years it grew into a full service restaurant and cottages. Grandma ran the kitchen and cottages and Grandpa loved tending the driving range, especially riding his big mower to pick up golf balls.

The right side was the original Red Barn Drive-In, left side dining room added later.

I celebrated my first birthday here and our family gathered for holidays, especially Thanksgiving. There was an abandoned red barn way out back where me and my cousins “made” our own pies by smashing red berries (probably poisonous) into rusty found objects. Grandma let us sneak into the kitchen and dip our fingers into the always heated hot fudge pot. Clara Appel baked the pies and back in the day Grandma managed to always find the reliable help she needed. After several years they sold the business and built their dream house in Sister Bay right next to St. Rosalia’s cemetery. Our memorable holiday gatherings moved over to Maple Lane and we savored walking down the road to bowl at Sister Bay Bowl when we were old enough to go into town without adults.

Grandma Lehwald lived to a wise old 97 years of age. She painted with oils, kept a full candy drawer for her grandkids and great grandkids, attended art classes at The Clearing and became proficient in embroidery, cross stitch and tons of card games. She also cheated (or at least it seemed like it) on her strokes when we played “pee-wee golf” at The Red Putter.

When my father sold his house this year, I found one of Grandma’s unfinished oil paintings in his attic. The painting featured the Red Barn hot dog stand, roughed out on the canvas. My own mother was a proficient oil painter and I saved all her paints when she died. So I bubble wrapped the canvas and shipped it up to Baileys Harbor where I spent last few seasons finishing Grandma’s work.

Grandma’s finished Red Barn painting, her baptism portrait in background (from 1913)

The painting needed life. The colors were muted and she didn’t include any people in her composition. Long ago, I found a post card of her Red Barn restaurant in an antique store so I used that to convey authenticity in the building design. Her restaurant patio was covered in a pink corrugated roof which made all our food look pink no matter what we ordered. As a four year old girl this was a wonder work of beauty. I added my cousins playing hide and seek and grandma walking to the kitchen with her buckets of apples for Clara’s pies. I couldn’t resist painting their Lincoln Continental in the gravel parking lot and the little wooden train at the campground next door which we snuck over to play on when Grandma wasn’t watching.

I adored and respected my grandparents. They worked hard all their lives and how they loved us. They taught us to love and respect the land of Door County and the invaluable bonds of family. I’m so thankful that today their work continues at the Summer Kitchen restaurant in the capable hands of the Jauregui brothers who still serve homemade pies. If you’re up in Door County, stop by and walk into 60 plus years of serving home cooked food to residents and guests in need of a bowl of soup or a cup of coffee and a slice of apple pie on a crisp fall day. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Saying Goodbye to Snuggles

May 11, 2021 by Margaret Philbrick Leave a Comment

We tried to keep her going as indicated in my February post. When we left her for Spring Break in the capable hands of our caregiver she seemed stable, but texts and calls with this gal confirmed that she declined quickly while we were away. In true, valiant Snuggles fashion she waited for our return and died in our arms that night. Losing a beloved dog that has been a family member, defender, protector and my personal transition partner as we moved to an entirely new community two years ago is a gut wrenching experience. It took many reassurances from Charlie to come to terms with the fact that we didn’t kill her by leaving her for Spring Break. “She was diagnosed with kidney failure in December and she’d been declining since.” This is all true, but when we lose anything precious, words don’t ease the pain. Only time can heal. Since it’s been over a month, I needed to tell a few people in person. Friends who faithfully took care of Snuggles while we traveled. I drove to the home of this special family, bearing a pot of blooming ranunculus. Their four children hugged me as I shared the news. They also brought baskets of freshly picked violets “to eat.” I must have looked hungry. Those innocent smiles and bunched up, bent violets proved a healing balm to my frayed soul. I wrote this poem for them as a tribute to Snuggles and to their loving hearts. Thank you Livi, Ivy, Eli, Anna and your parents for always loving Snuggles.

walking in golden sunshine….

Violet – the Color of Morning

You left before white lilacs

before violets

before windows open.

You waited for us,

because you’re that kind of girl.

Eyes brown and deep as

grandma’s, waiting and knowing.

We picked you up off concrete squares

when modest uphill climbs overwhelmed.

We waited.

We denied.

Weeks after,

abandoning our route,

we searched out new pathways,

spying for green.

“April is the cruelest month,

breeding Lilacs out of the dead land,” Eliot tells us.

Emergent life traversing the edge

between frost and flourishing.

Particular friends

needed personal telling.

Their care and love

deserved ranunculus in

plastic pots accompanied by hugs.

Not really enough, if one spent time

calculating the cost of love,

of what you gave and what we deserved.

I crossed their lawn

and told the story,

“Of course dogs go to heaven.”

Childhood innocence climbed trees,

picked violets and told me,

“You can eat these!”

We prayed for what was coming.

We mourned what had been.

Livy and Ivy flounced in prairie dresses,

bearing violets to the end.

Wet Dog Food, Love and Prolonging Life

February 20, 2021 by Margaret Philbrick Leave a Comment

There are many things in life that we say we’ll never do. Serving wet dog food to our dog is definitely one of them. Alas, she is 16 and we are facing those dreadful declining dog years when we carry her down the stairs to go out in the morning. Sometimes we carry her back up, she only weighs ten pounds so this isn’t a big sacrifice, but wet dog food?

The home I grew up in had a “little kitchen” right off of the main kitchen, basically a pantry with a large white ceramic sink. When we skinned our knees, mom attended to our boo-boos in that sink and the blood dripping across the stark whiteness made me a little queasy — not as queasy as feeding the dog in this room. For most of her life “Duker,” our black lab ate dry dog food – simple, no smell, chunk it in the bowl and walk away. As she aged, my mom switched her to wet ALPO. Before the can opener dug into the metal I could smell it, a harsh combination of vomit and leftovers molting in the fridge. I held my breath the entire time I scooped it out and filled her dish. Often I couldn’t hold it long enough so I ran out of the room, took another deep breath and came back in. If the smell graced my nostrils I gagged or threw up. I swore then that if I ever had a dog I would NEVER feed it wet dog food scooped from a can. We all know the quote, “never say never.”

Fast forward to 16 year old Snuggles – roughly 112 in human years. Where do those doggie years go? I adore her, but I did not know that adoring dog owners should brush their dogs’ teeth. The groomer did it four times a year so I thought that I was absolved of this disgusting ritual, i.e. dog breath is always gross no matter how young or healthy the dog is. Now her teeth are in bad shape and it is time for easier to chew wet dog food. I scoured the store and came upon delectable varieties in the Ceaser Home Delights line which looked like something that I might eat for Sunday dinner and the dog on the front looks like ours, although Snuggles is cuter. This switch went well for me. The food does not smell disgusting and she loves it. Problem solved.

Grilled New York Strip flavor – delicious!

Fast forward to 16 and a half years. I decide to invest and I’m talking invest serious money in a professional vet cleaning of her teeth because my groomer tells me it is necessary if she is to “live out her full life.” Isn’t 16 and a half a full dog life? Before this can happen you need to pay for a chest X-ray and blood work to make sure your dog is healthy enough to survive the anesthesia needed for the vet to do the job, i.e. note – don’t neglect your dog’s teeth so that this does not happen to you. Several hundred dollars later I get the email, “I’m so sorry your dog is in stage 3 of kidney failure and she won’t be able to have her teeth cleaned until this is abated.” WHAT? Aside from taking more naps Snuggles does not act sick and she is pooping and popping along on her walks as usual. I am in a state of shock and guilt. Our guinea pig died because we quit feeding her alfalfa (it was already in her pellets), now this! We learn that there is special wet, canned food for kidney failure dogs and now I am flash-backed to the “little kitchen” of my nightmarish, bad smell event.

Friends, I am doing it! I am scooping gross smelling K/D healthy kidney stew out of a can. At this point I could launch into a diatribe about how American culture has gone off the deep end with their dogs because they are truly the only relationship we can handle due to the fact that they love us unconditionally and they don’t talk back to us, but I won’t. The bottom line motivation here is LOVE and my groomer’s “live out her full life” statement. Of course, we want her to live her best life, her full life. Our oldest son thinks that dog ownership is an enormous, inefficient waste of thousands of dollars. We who love dogs know this the farthest perspective from the truth. But the question remains, how far will we go? Should we give her a kidney transplant from the doggie organ donor bank – probably wouldn’t go that far. All this is to say that during this month of reckless love our dogs can teach us new things about the lengths of love. My engagement with wet dog food certainly speaks of the truth that “Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” John 15:13. Obviously, I’m not laying down my life, just my nose for man’s best friend and that change in behavior doesn’t seem like such a big deal in the grand scheme of our world today. What changes for the sake of love are you making this month? Long live Snuggles the dog!

Letters to My Mother During Covid19

May 10, 2020 by Margaret Philbrick Leave a Comment

Dear Mom,

Happy Mother’s Day in heaven! I’m not surprised, even in dying you did everything right and God took perfect care of you. Thank you for staying alive until you could see, wave, smile and talk to all our children out the window. Thank you for fulfilling a truth that I’ve often shared with people who say, “Your mother is so beautiful” and yes, you’ve been beautiful your whole life, even on your last day. Thank you to God and to you for dying gracefully, without suffering from the most horrible effects of Covid19 that we’ve all read about. Thank you for driving all around five years ago and looking at retirement homes, when you didn’t think you needed to but you could imagine the future. Thank you for accepting the fact that the day may come when you might need more care than we can give you. Thank you for choosing Wyndemere because everyone there took perfect care of you during these past five declining years. Thank you to all of them, they kept you from dying in a hospital where no one could even see you from outside a window. Thank you for loving all of us so much that you went above and beyond what any normal mother, wife, grandmother, aunt, sister, friend and lover would ever do. Thank you for loving Jesus because you get to be with him today and all the other mothers of history that I’m dying to meet. Thank you for embodying the good, old fashioned true religion and virtue that makes life worth living. Thank you for always wearing lipstick and letting me brush your teeth and hair when you couldn’t do it anymore. Thank you for always being on our side. Thank you asking the hard questions. Thank you for painting roses with me, just two and a half months ago. Thank you for letting me push you at breakneck speed around Lake Ellyn when it was about to rain so we could see all of the emerging springtime. Thank you for laughing with me to the point of actually peeing in our snowpants when we went cross county skiing together for the first time. Thank you for holding on to me to get back up, even though you believed you could get back up yourself. Thank you for humbling yourself. Thank you for buying our children practically every article of clothing that they ever wore. Thank you for taking them shopping when I was working. Thank you for believing in me as a writer. Thank you for reading my books. Thank you for creating a book with me. Thank you believing that art can change the world. Thank you for adoring your extended family. Thank you for loving and accepting our foster daughter, Jessica. Thank you for loving your faithful caregivers, Maria, Margaret and Renee. Thank you for listening to them. Thank you for seldomly answering the phone because you were doing other more cool, important things. Thank you for taking our kids to Oak Brook mall. Thank you for teaching me everything about plants and giving me my first garden. Thank you for loving the color green. Thank you for taking my cousin to Diana Ross in downtown Chicago. Thank you for believing the best in people. Thank you for keeping poetry hidden in the lower desk drawer of your secretary. Thank you for always having stamps in that desk. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for remembering all of us even when your memory was deteriorating. Thank you for keeping journals. Thank you for learning the Bible. Thank you for marching around on rainy days in rain boots and on sunny days in high heeled sandals. Thank you for going to Door County on your honeymoon. Thank you for marrying my dad who I adore. Thank you for loving my husband from the start. Thank you for your precious, astonishinghly strong, wise, adorable, priceless, fearless mother Goggie who still burns a bright light in my heart. Thank you for putting wheat germ in our milkshakes (actually no — that tasted awful) and making us take vitamins. Thank you for caring deeply about health and wellness. Thank you for doing yoga.Thank you reciting this poem, every Mother’s Day we’ve shared together so I give it back to you today. I know you know that you were the best mother and grandmother in the world. For everyone who doubts their mother, mourns their mother or still feels the sting of an absent mother you need to know today that “Somebody’s Mother,” even a difficult mother matters so very much. I love you Mom and I will see you in a blink of your twinkling eye, Happy Mother’s Day.

Somebody’s Mother by Mary Dow Brine

The woman was old and ragged and gray,

And bent with the chill of a winter’s day;

The streets were white with a recent snow,

And the woman’s feet with age were slow.

At the crowded crossing she waited long,

Jostled aside by the careless throng

Of human beings who passed her by,

Unheeding the glance of her anxious eye.

Down the street with laughter and shout,

Glad in the freedom of ‘school let out,’

Come happy boys, like a flock of sheep,

Hailing the snow piled white and deep;

Past the woman, so old and gray,

Hastened the children on their way.

None offered a helping hand to her,

So weak and timid, afraid to stir,

Lest the carriage wheels or the horses’ feet

Should trample her down in the slippery street.

At last came out of the merry troop

The gayest boy of all the group;

He paused beside her and whispered low,

‘I’ll help you across, if you wish to go.’

Her aged hand on his strong young arm

She placed, and so without hurt or harm

he guided the trembling feet along,

Proud that his own were young and strong;

Then back again to his friends he went,

His young heart happy and well content.

‘She’s somebody’s mother, boys, you know,

For all she’s aged, and poor and slow;

And some one, some time, may lend a hand

To help my mother- you understand?-

If ever she’s old and poor and gray,

And her own dear boy so far away.’

Somebody’s mother’ bowed low her head

In her home that night, and the prayer she said

Was: “God be kind to that noble boy,

Who is somebody’s son and pride and joy.”

Letters to My Mother During Covid19

May 8, 2020 by Margaret Philbrick Leave a Comment

Dear Mom,

I am so proud of you! It’s been a week since the Coronavirus came to your wing of the building and you are hanging in there. The healthcare workers are doing everything they can to get you over this little set-back you’re experiencing. Thank them today! Caleb came by and dropped off Pedialyte so you can get more electrolytes in your system. Please drink lots of that fluid today because you need it and because he walked all the way to Target to get it and then walked over to your place to drop it off. I’ll bet you don’t know that when we drop things off for you they need to sit in a bin for 24 hours to make sure all possible germs die off before they come to you. When we leave a note to direct the package (or hopefully flowers:) we take a pen from the clean pen zip-loc bag to write with and then we put the used pen in the used zip-loc bag when we’re done. So many steps taken to keep you all healthy!

The big news today is that Uncle Jay and Caleb are coming to visit you through the window. Yes, indeed your brother who has never darkened the door of your retirement community is going to do so today. I will email Jennifer to let her know they are coming so that someone can unlock the gate and then they will be able to enter the courtyard and see you and talk to you through the window, so make sure and brush your hair and put on some lipstick for their visit. Mercy can help you with this. Also, just a reminder that no one can come in to see you or see anyone in the building because of the virus. This keeps the virus from spreading further.

I’ve let Reverend Meyer know that you aren’t feeling tip-top and he’s praying for you. So many people are praying for you to get through this little rough patch. It sounds like your worst problem right now is weakness so any food you can get in that power lifter body of yours is helpful, anything — even chocolate pudding! Do you remember how we used to beg you to make us that JELLO dessert called “1-2-3” when we were little? Those three layers of regular, fluffy and whipped jello on top? Lime was my favorite! So eat your Jello today, gelatin is good for strength. Dad drinks Knox gelatin mixed in a glass of water every morning when he takes his vitamins. Dad is praying for you too. If you used Facebook on the computer you could see all the messages people have left who are praying for you.

In that spirit, here’s a prayer for you today from the Book of Common Prayer:

Heavenly Father, giver of life and health: Comfort and relieve thy sick servant Sarah and give thy power of healing to those who minister to her needs today, that mother for whom our prayers are offered may be strengthened in her weakness and have confidence in thy loving care; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

I’ve been working on a project to give to Nink for his college graduation. Can you believe our firery, little drummer boy is graduating from college? The ceremony is supposed to be this month, but they’ve postponed it until August 7th. That is how much time we have to get you in traveling shape to head down to Nashville, two months! So drink your Pedialyte and eat your soft, yummy food today, rest well and then you’ll be coming with us to Nashville, you can see Aunt Myrna too!

We love you so much Mama. Enjoy your visit with those two golfers today. Maybe Uncle Jay is going to play golf after he visits you, but it might be a bit chilly for that today.

You are a McGreevy with Irish blood churning in your veins to help you keep fighting. xoxoxoxoxoxoxo!

Margaret

Jessie’s graduation from Butler University, 2017

Letters to My Mother During Covid 19

May 6, 2020 by Margaret Philbrick Leave a Comment

Dear Mom,

Whenever I say to dad on the phone, “I have good news and bad news, which do you want first?” He always says, “Let’s get the bad news out of the way.” The bad news today is that someone you know on your floor died of the Covid19 virus last night. He sang with us in our Songs By Heart sessions and his kind son would also sing with him. We belted out, “You’re a Grand ol’ Flag” and “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” together. I loved singing next to you in those sessions with Olivia leading and dancing with your hands and swinging in your chairs. She gets you all moving and marching in place to “When the Saints Go Marching In.” I can’t speak more highly of Songs By Heart so I’m recommending them here. http://www.songsbyheart.org

This fine and handsome gentleman who passed always beamed a smile for you at the dinner table, in the hallways or during activities. I’m going to miss him when I get back in there! R.I.P. sweet, smiling singer!

In the spirit of thanking you for the truly AWESOME mother that you are and I mean that in the truest sense of the word, not in the cheapened —apply this word to everything, even getting a parking spot vernacular, I’m thanking you today for loving dogs. Yep, you are a dog lover and in the midst of Coronavirus many people are becoming dog lovers or yearning to own a dog. We just prayed with a sweet man on Sunday who asked God for a dog so he wouldn’t be so lonely in this pandemic. If a person has a parent who is a dog lover, they usually become a dog lover themselves (my scientific research on a sample of about twenty tells me, with Caleb as the outlier.)

Your dad was a dog lover and he owned many hunting dogs that he named after his grandchildren. I remember visiting them in their kennel and loving them from a distance because we weren’t allowed to play with them since they trained as professional dogs. I do remember throwing dummies into the lake and watching them jump into the water and swim out to retrieve the grey, stuffed dummy. They’d swim back coughing and choking on water while keeping that dummy in their jaws. One of those dogs gave birth to a “runt of the litter,” what an awful expression that is, and we came home from Hayward, WI with a black lab pup, McDuke. I think this name is some blend of McGreevy and the nickname you always called your sisters, “Duke.” We called her “Duker.” What a sweet dog! As a child, Chobey was an even greater lover of animals than myself so I always thought of McDuke as Chobey’s dog. Nonetheless, she was a perfect pet for our family, except that I never believed dad loved our dog so that was a bit of a downer. When she ripped all the wallpaper off the wall during a storm I think that did dad in on Duker. The worst thing about her was the smell of her wet Alpo dog food that I scooped into her dish in the “little kitchen” while holding my breath and gagging to the point of near cardiac arrest.

Your love of Duker triumphed and your children now revel in dog love! Here you are with Snoopy who joined us this past Christmas, along with our dog Snuggles and Jessie’s Persian cat, Smushie. Snoopy ate the sugar cookie ornaments off the tree, rascal! Check out these primo photos of our animal planet holiday get together. Thank you for making the trek with us to Missouri to get our precious Snuggles. Sorry I didn’t tell you how far away Snuggles lived when we adopted her, but if I’d told you then you wouldn’t have come along! xoxo to you doglover!

Letters to My Mother During Covid19

May 3, 2020 by Margaret Philbrick 2 Comments

Hi Mom!

Happy Sunday:) What a joy to see you through your window yesterday— Smiling!

Sue from the front desk unlocked the gate into your courtyard so I could stand outside the window and chat with you LIVE for the first time since the middle of March. That’s when the Coronavirus swept across our part of the world and locked me out of your facility. Do you realize we just endured the longest time apart from each other (over 50 days) since I went to college? We’ve been blessed to live in the same town/Chicagoland area since I finished my education.

If you look out your living room window today, you can see the planter that I delivered, a May Day blast of colorful pansies, carnations, cineraria, euonymous all surrounding a mini-spruce tree. Please make sure it gets watered once a week if it doesn’t rain. I noticed the giant crabapple tree in your courtyard is about to bloom and that will bring more living color your way:) I always loved how you would hide a May Day basket of flowers somewhere around my house, either hanging on the front doorknob or resting on a windowsill.

In my last letter I thanked you for your thoughtful care in picking out the toys that you bought for us and our children. That letter contained a big photo of the Show ’n Tell record player that I listened to as a pee-wee. Most of those toys are long gone to landfills, but a few reside in the corners of our adult lives. One of those eternal toys is Ted D. Bear.

Back in December, I published a letter from Ted and the sound of his voice jarred many happy memories for those who knew him, especially my college friends. I think you know that Ted lives up north, at High Pines in Door County. His life up there is solitary, but fulfilling since he serves as caretaker while we’re away. All his stuffer friends live in the loft and honestly, I think they’re a bit resentful of Ted’s leadership over the house. One of our neighbors read the letter from Ted last December and he wrote back expressing a desire to come and meet Ted D. Bear. So on Easter Sunday he came to join us for Easter dinner! Sadly, because of the Coronavirus you could not enjoy Easter with us, but Ted-bear made a new friend that day and he wants to tell you all about it.

Dear Nana,

I hope you’re feeling healthy and strong. Old people tend to get the Coronavirus, but elderly stuffed animals don’t so I’m feeling well up here in the Northwoods. Since my mom (Margaret) could not enjoy her usual Easter celebrations with you and her children this year, I felt a little sorry about that. I organized (with the help of my new friend) a “beary” happy Easter dinner with some other bears. Please don’t think this is strange, these are “unprecedented times” in the world so we bears must unite and bring an even deeper level of happiness to our owners.

My new friend Jerry wrote my mother saying that his bears would like to meet me! Mother decided that since Jerry is a widower, God rest the blessed soul of his dearly beloved wife Karen, who I didn’t know but I know that I would have adored her — she had a large collection of stuffers and other cozy knick-knacks, we invited them all for Easter dinner. Bears do not do social distancing. Jerry came “bearing” a nice bottle of Rhone (I think that’s red wine?) which thrilled the Big Man, (Mr. Philbrick) and his beloved friends Randolph and Patchy Packer (this bear is a Green Bay Packer fan that Jerry irresistibly pulled from the garbage dump still looking fresh in his Green Bay Packer vest.) I delighted in the fact that I’m much bigger than these two, they could be my children — and not even having had children it made the Easter dinner extra special. I felt like their father sitting at the table, they actually sat on the table because they didn’t fit in a chair, poor little feltlings – the Packer vest was made out of green and yellow felt.

As you might expect we all enjoyed ham, potatoes, asparagus and even a few sips of cherry bounce. It’s okay if you don’t remember what that is, I’m happy to remind you that it’s a homemade cocktail that mother and the Big Man make out of summer cherries and it sits in the basement for months while I watch over it and make sure that all the other stuffers in the house stay away from it. They are not of age to drink alcohol unless they are accompanied by moi, that’s french for me!

After dinner we sat by the fire and listened to my pal Jerry wax on about his younger days which I actually found somewhat interesting. He asked his beloved, nearly and dearly departed wife Karen to marry him by inviting her to go on a trip to England with him. Isn’t he an brave bear when it comes to the ladies?

I miss you dear Nana. You have not been to High Pines since Christmas when you looked most fetching in your cheesehead hat. I look forward to your return this summer when I will introduce you to Jerry, Randolph and Patchy Packer. Since I’m allowed to sit at the table like a grown up, perhaps Mother will take me to the 4th of July parade?

All my beloved stay well wishes, bear hugs and love,

Ted D. Bear

(transcribed by my mother Margaret since my paws do not allow me to type.)

Letters to my Mother During Covid19

April 28, 2020 by Margaret Philbrick Leave a Comment

Dear Mama,

Today is my college roommate Sally’s birthday! As you know, we were roommates all four years and we are still dearest buddies who share the joys of raising kids, (she has triplets) hard challenges with our parents (not you, of course) and life with our friends from college. We don’t talk on the phone much because when we do it takes hours and nothing gets done. When we do, we gab endlessly while one of us is driving, but since it is Covid19, we aren’t driving much. I do know that her boys bought a meat smoker and they are learning how to use it so she had beef brisket for her birthday dinner and her mom, who is in her 90’s brought her a homemade birthday cake. Sal is doing well down in Tejas despite losing her dad last September. He was in his 90’s, that’s older than you!

I remember when I was growing up how you’d talk about your friend “Dix,” Barbie D. who lives in Florida. What loyal friendships you’ve shared, always meeting up at your DePauw University reunions. One of my distinct memories of you and your girlfriends formed at our lunch with Donna L. and Alice D. a few years ago up in Door County. You forever described Alice as the funniest person ever because she hummed non-stop, even when eating her meals. Donna has a house in Door County and Alice was visiting from California. They drove across the peninsula and we ate lunch in the Harbor Grill and those ladies told some wild stories of your growing up years. I kept listening for the hum, but I guess she’s outgrown it in her 80’s. After lunch, up the bluff we went and they stayed for an afternoon, laughing about the “good ol’ days.” They did NOT talk non-stop about their health which old people tend to do. In fact, I don’t recall any mention of hip or knee replacements, aching joints – nothing. Also, they looked fabulous, but you looked more fabulous. Both of those women were sharp as tacks.

Thank you for modeling for me what it means to live out loyalty in friendship. One of my favorite books growing up – I think I’m saying that too often in these letters – was Joan Walsh Angland’s, A Friend is Someone Who Likes You. Her illustrations intrigued me, the children didn’t have mouths so I always thought they lived silent lives. They also didn’t dialogue, but they indulged in the simple pleasures of girly childhood friendship. Tea parties occurred on a daily basis, the girls pushed each other on swings, sailed handmade boats in the creek and never seemed to interact with their parents or adults — Idyllic! I imagine friendships forged in childhood that continue into adulthood are rare, but you’ve kept many of yours. I wonder why that is? (Caregivers – could you ask her this question and write down her response, please.)

Might it have something to do with the way the Elm trees arched over the streets in River Forest? You all lived beneath a canopy of giant trees, before Dutch Elm disease destroyed the protective, holy covering of the sidewalks where you cruised on your bikes.Their limbs touched at the top and formed an archway atop Jackson Avenue, Augusta, Bonnie Brae, Chicago Avenue, Lathrop Street. You grew up in a living cathedral of trees. I remember roller skating at Goggie and Jessie’s beneath those green towers and feeling like a dwarf child. Perhaps, the trees helped to anchor your own roots in your community of friends? You knew, even subconsciously that life amidst the trees was special and carried its own unique, irreplaceable protection and connection. Their roots touched beneath the ground causing sidewalks to rise and crack open like a granite drawbridge.

When we exited the expressway at Harlem Avenue and zig-zagged our way to Grandma’s house on Chicago Ave., we took the right turn at the Catholic church and you and dad winced out loud at the loss. “Look at all the Elms that are gone!” A foreboding silence penetrated the remaining blocks until we parked and ran up the front steps to Grandma’s front door, kissed her rouge smeared cheeks and went straight for her candy drawer, the loss of the trees forgotten and replaced by Milky Way and Snickers bars.

Great friendships grow like trees, but they need tending and all my life you tended yours. Remember these sweet ladies: Anna, Suzanne, Pat, Mary, Liz. I won’t name them all, but they’ve been a deep rooted part of your tree and I’m thankful to have stood beneath their shade.

Love to you my beloved tree hugger,