isolated senior

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 21, 2020 by Margaret Philbrick 2 Comments

Dear Mom,

I just finished reading a book about the life and art of one of our favorite contemporary painters, Jim Ingwersen. We’ve often visited his gallery on Old Stage Road and sat beneath the grape arbor talking to he and Phyllis about his alla prima portrait painting technique, a style of painting you never embraced because you can’t go back and fix anything. Instead, you finish as you go with a lot of wet paint on the canvas. I remember you once asked me if you could take one of your paintings down off our wall and change it, not in alla prima.

Your painting of Jessie planting herbs – oil

Your artist’s eye transcends one life. The great grandchildren you may or may not live to see will look at the portraits that you’ve done of our children and say, “Mommy is that you gardening? Look at your short hair!” or to our sons, “Look how red your hair was!” or “Look how blond your hair was!” We will stand in front of the painting of your mother, Mary Jane McGreevy (Goggie) and tell them all about her iron will to survive so many serious illnesses and how Aunt Jessie came to take care of all 5 children during her bout with Landrys Paralysis. We’ll brag about how their great-great grandmother lived to be 93 when so many predicted she wouldn’t even live a “full” life. We’ll tell the story of how the quick thinking nurse splinted her feet upright when the paralysis took hold or she wouldn’t have walked out of the hospital. Your art gives life to stories that otherwise would be long forgotten. Thank you.

Like your gift of teaching, your artist’s eye passes down the line by genetics and by cultivation. You have four grandchildren who are artists, Ben – the photographer, Caleb – the pianist (entrepreneur), Jessie- the dancer and Nathaniel – the drummer. I list their main artistic pursuits but there are many others. So good genes help, but it takes more than that, it takes freedom to raise an artist. You gave us space to explore, to live messy, to get dirty fingerpainting with big thick jars of crayola paint and newsprint pads longer than our legs. If you wanted the “perfect” house your artistic temperament didn’t allow it. We lingered in our childhood. When you took us to see the Thorne Room Miniatures at the Chicago Art Institute we did, but we strayed to the Impressionist galleries until they announced, “Museum is closing in five minutes.” When my pansy garden waned, you let me plant a terrarium for indoor gardening. You drove me to flute lessons and youth symphony several train stops away because “the inconvenience was worth it.” You cheered me on as I sang into my hairbrush, never shaming me as I chased “Star is Born” vocal dreams. Hey, you loved Barbara Streisand too! While the kids in Mrs. Piggle Wiggle stayed up all night playing Parchesi we stayed up late playing “Masterpiece.” Do you remember this board game, the players wheel and deal for great works of art and learn about the painters along the way? Thanks to this game I learned about cubism because you never took me to that gallery:)

When we cleaned out our basement recently, I couldn’t part with the sketch books created by our children. Oh, the wonder of craypas in the hand of an eager child determined to capture the fountain in Adams Park. Aside from Tasha Tudor, I believe you must be the only grandmother who helped her grandchildren paint oil paintings in elementary school. Do you remember helping Caleb paint this one of the ramparts on top of Glenbard West High School?

First oil painting by Caleb – third grade

You taught me not only how to grow flowers, but how to arrange them and how every room must have a touch of black for contrast. Building on light and shadow, bringing the outside in, attending to tiny details, “God is in the details,” how well you’ve lived this Mies Van deRohe quote, even down to the way your front hall stand held a basket of fresh picked roses from your gardens and you let the petals fall to the floor and then you left them because they were beautiful detached.

Thank you for spending your artistic eye on all of us.

We see you, and to see is a great gift.

So much love dear Mama.

I will see you as soon as these Coronavirus restrictions lift,

and I will come with an armful of flowers.

Letters to My Mother During Covid19

April 13, 2020 by Margaret Philbrick Leave a Comment

Dear Mom,

Happy Easter! We are so thankful that Mercy and the talented staff at your facility took the time to do your hair for Easter. Look at how you impressed the Easter bunny! In the midst of stay-at-home celebrating today we are reminiscing about one of your favorite places in the world…

Think back to your honeymoon. You and dad were high school sweethearts and managed to keep your relationship going through college in two different states. When you married and began planning your honeymoon, you wanted to go somewhere fresh and not too far away. Fortunately, Goggie read an article in the Chicago Tribune about a destination called, “The Cape Cod of the Midwest,” only five hours up north. After your downtown wedding night in the Palmer House, you packed up the ghost-white station wagon and headed into the unknown. Dad described it as a miserable drive, “Rained the whole way and your mother didn’t feel well. We checked in and wondered what tomorrow would bring. The entire area looked bleak and black.” But when you woke up, you saw the June sunlight tilting through the conifers surrounding your cottage. I imagine you two stepping out and letting the screen door slam behind you— inhaling your first breath of what would become 50 years of Door County pine scented air.

Door County. It is a huge part of the life of all my grandparents, both sides of your family and now our own family. Thanks to your 1950’s trekking up north along that Lake Michigan coast, here’s what happened:

Grandma and Grandpa followed you and built “just a little hot dog stand” on highway 42 between Ephraim and Sister Bay. That little hot dog stand became a full service restaurant known as the Red Barn complete with cottages for rent, a driving range and their summer house. The restaurant is still there and is now known as the Summer Kitchen.

We jammed our massive Lehwald family into their little summer house, heated by a Coleman stove and baseboard heaters for many Thanksgivings. We spent my first birthday eating dad’s favorite strawberry shortcake out on the concrete patio.

Uncle Jay and Janet rented the “big, grey house” on Cottage Row and cousin Leslie and I played with the electrified dollhouse more than we played outside.

Dad and Grandma battled over which fish boil served the best meal. Dad swore allegiance to the White Gull Inn and Grandma and Grandpa loved The Viking. Both of these restaurants still do fish boils. The White Gull Inn won the family contest. Who wants to pay to eat a fancy dinner off an army mess hall, stainless steel tray?

After baking countless apple and cherry pies and picking up legions of golf balls on his riding mower, Grandma and Grandpa sold The Red Barn and built their dream house just up Maple Lane from the Sister Bay Bowl. Erica and I stayed in the guest house and snuck out at night. Me and Uncle Billy and Dad and cut down our most gigantic Christmas tree and we all made the ornaments and chains out of paper. Grandpa taught me how to play cribbage. Grandma cheated at pee-wee golf. We killed each other over slap-jack and Fool Your Neighbor card games.

Our kids spent many Presidents’ Day weekends running down hotel halls and jumping off the sides of the High Point Inn pool. Summers lazily wandering orchards picking cherries, skipping and heaving rocks into the water, hiking in Peninsula State Park. Nathaniel got lost in the woods at the Wilson’s Eagle cottage and Pebble Beach provided hours of rainy day entertainment by painting rocks. Pebble Beach and the surrounding land was recently purchased by the Door County Land Trust so it will forever be enjoyed by generations of rock painters and skippers.

This past Christmas you spent with all of us up at High Pines, sitting beside the second most gigantic Christmas tree, looking fly in your cheesehead hat and sipping cherry bounce. Snoopy the dog ate all the sugar cookie ornaments off the tree and we enjoyed the best hot chocolate in our individual whipped cream topped teapots at the White Gull Inn.

Generations of cherry juice running down the arms of children who jammed more cherries into their mouths than their pails and everything else happened because you listened to your mother who read the newspaper! Thank you for taking us to shuffleboard courts by the bay at the Evergreen Beach Hotel and snowmobiling on New Years Eve from the Hotel DuNord and everywhere else in Door County. As the worlds battles the Coronavirus, the beauty of birches by the lake remains untouched.

Gratefully loving you from a distance this Easter!

Letters to My Mother During Covid19

April 8, 2020 by Margaret Philbrick Leave a Comment

Dear Mom,

All of this Coronavirus calamity started in the U.S. in January so it’s been going on for some months now. I believe I’ve been locked out of Wyndemere and unable to see you since March 11th, hoping that the week after Easter I might be allowed back in, but I doubt it because President Trump has asked that all Americans Stay at Home until April 30th, except for essential visits to the grocery and pharmacy and gas stations. So, if the virus lifts we will be celebrating a BIG Mother’s Day together this year.

Mother’s Day. Charlie calls this the “high holiday of the Midwest,” because his family never celebrated Mother’s Day out in Philadelphia. Isn’t that strange? How could Pinkie Philbrick not care about Mother’s Day, or her family not care about it? I guess that’s possible if her mother was no longer living and I believe Pinkie’s mother died when Charlie was young.

We LOVE Mother’s Day and I cherish my memories of celebrating with you. Last year, our Jessie surprised us by coming home from St. Louis! I brought you a surprise, flowers, raspberries and quiche breakfast in your apartment that morning, took you to Christ Church and over to Uncle Jay’s for brunch. This delighted your Mama heart because one of your New Years resolutions is to see Uncle Jay more, that 90 year old rascal! Kind of hard to do during the Coronavirus, but if the virus quarantine lifts we might try to do the same thing again this year. How about that idea?

I remember some highlights from Mother’s Day celebrations of the past:

Eating homemade chocolate cake and drinking champagne at 21 Highgate Course with Charlie and Goggie and Aunt Jessie, when Charlie and I were dating.

Eating chocolate cake and drinking champagne in Lilac Park in Lombard with all our kids and some friends. Jessie made Goggie’s cake and surprised me.

Eating chocolate cake and wanting to drink champagne at Uncle Jay’s with Jessie last year, but we never opened the bottle of champagne that Jessie brought so Uncle Jay gave it back to her. Jessie again made the chocolate cake surprise. Thank you!

Celebrating with brunch at the Mill Race Inn on the Fox River after church at the Lutheran Church and eating those grainy “Margaret’s Chocolate Sundaes.” Pastor J’s sermons bored me to tears, but I loved Mrs. Margitan’s singing. Sorry, I know you gleaned encouragement from his sermons, I was a little too young for all those Corrie Ten Boom quotes.

Picking almost ALL of our next door neighbor Mrs. Downs’ tulips and giving them to you. I was little then and would not do that today, as an adult. You made me apologize. Now I buy your tulips at Andrew’s Garden or Marianos.

Serving you breakfast in bed when we were little and trying to make the tray look as pretty as the one in one of my favorite childhood books, Bread and Jam for Francis.

This included a vase of violets which Francis somehow managed to have inside her lunch box.

Creating homemade cards with lots of decimated paper doilies pasted and then glued on to make them look fancy.

Chocolate cake, chocolate sundaes, chocolate fudge, chocolate kisses…chocolate.

I want to thank you for corrupting me with chocolate. I remember you making Kappa Alpha Theata’s hot fudge sundae sauce (Prissy’s sauce) and bringing us hot fudge sundaes after we’d gone to bed. This happened in the summer when you put us to bed at 7:00p.m. despite the bright light outside. We hated going to bed so early, thankfully you improved our lives by bringing us those sundaes in bed. Also, dad would make his chocolate fudge at night and bring us pieces of fudge in bed. This is a bit unusual since parents tend to worry about the state of their kids’ teeth and cavities, but this was back in the days of our baby teeth so I guess you figured it didn’t matter— they’d fall out anyway. Thank you for doing us this incredible kindness. It must have made quite an impression since I remember it. The JOY of waking up in the morning with a dried up hot fudge smeared glass bowl on my nightstand or crumbs of chocolate fudge on a small plate. Thank you, thank you!

We can also thank Goggie and Jessie for our love of chocolate. They began the tradition of making the “Brown Beauty” birthday cakes with the melted hot icing poured over them. Goggie used to serve the cake with icing in her dining room at the Valencia, but always with a pitcher of Aunt Jessie’s hot icing on the table so we could pour on more! She also poked the cake with a toothpick before icing it to help the one-of-a-kind chocolate seep inside the cake.This is the recipe we all use today and when our Jessie brings us those surprise cakes she uses it too. Do you remember the secret ingredient in that cake? If not, I’ll tell you when we have it for Mother’s Day this year, and we will have champagne and we will toast ALL the healthcare workers and staff at Wyndemere who are going way beyond the normal reach of their jobs to keep you healthy and safe.

When I left a bottle of face lotion in the bins stacked in the hallway outside the front door, because it must sit for 24 hours before they can bring it to you, I had to use a pen from the ziplock bag labeled “clean pens” and then place the pen in the bag labeled “used pens” to avoid any germs getting to you. All of this takes careful management and creativity and your healthcare workers are overseeing every detail so thank them today when you see them! Don’t hug them until the quarantine lifts, but thank them!

All my Mother’s Day love every day,

Letters to My Mother During Covid19

April 3, 2020 by Margaret Philbrick Leave a Comment

Dear Mom,

Just wanting to keep you tuned into the outside world and what’s happening as a result of the Coronavirus. Jessie’s dance company is not able to offer classes, rehearse and perform because people can’t be near each other during this time. Nathaniel’s climbing wall where he works is also shut down because no one can enter an entertainment facility due to the threat of germs spreading. Everything that draws a crowd or entails close contact is closed. You may remember that this time of year we love to come over and watch the N.C.A.A. basketball tournament, “March Madness” on your TV with you but that isn’t happening either. Your oldest grandson, Caleb is holed up in his tenth floor apartment working on his projects from his computer and eating “tomatoe based” foods that he is preparing himself. Lots of time for everyone to work on upping their culinary skills. All schools are closed and The Greenhouse School where I taught for years, has quickly shifted their classes to computer platforms like Zoom, or recording lessons and posting the links on the computer for students to watch. These are new days in education. I just talked to dad on the phone and he said, “I couldn’t be in school today because I don’t know how to work the computer.”

Imagine what it would be like to teach under these circumstances? Nathaniel’s drum set teacher is collaborating their drum lessons on-line and that doesn’t sound pretty because the delay in the transmission makes the music sounds like mashed potatoes whirring in your Kitchen Aid mixer. We listened to Caleb play a Chopin piece on the piano the other night via FaceTime, (on our phones), but the it sounded like Schroeder’s piano from the Charlie Brown comic strip -plink, plink, plink, plunk. Nonetheless, technology is what’s keeping the world running right now and even I, can only be grateful.

Think back to your days teaching first grade at Willard School in River Forest.

You were using a chalkboard, books and workbooks for everything. Your classroom didn’t have a computer. I believe you used the “mimeograph” machine to crank out copies, turning the handle while vinegar smelling purple ink spilled over the pages and you walked down the hall to the main office to use it. Charlie prints these letters to you in his office and walks a few steps to pull them out of the printer. I love the picture in your wedding album of you standing with several of your students. We still laugh at how one of those little boys looks like Caleb’s good friend, Tate.

You loved teaching and that is one of the reasons you are a great mom and grandmother. Before any kids came into your life, you already loved to teach —especially snot-running nosed, crooked teethed, little kids. Mr. Clum (principal of W.C.G.S.) once said to me that, “early childhood teachers are a special breed.” That makes you a special breed and how we benefited!

Without preaching, everything proved an opportunity to learn. Counting the steps up to our first apartment in Oak Park taught me numbers and you stood patiently as I knocked on the doors of residents on each floor for a visit, a flaming extroverted toddler. We traveled to stream-side and country field picnics and you taught us about grass, trees, rainbows, photosynthesis, refraction of light, how things grow – What Shall I Put in This Hole That I Dig?—a favorite Golden Book. You laid the foundation of the Bible in our souls with stories and songs and sat us down to watch Charlton Heston part the waters of the Red Sea, scary!

As in so many families, the gift of teaching passes down the line. I’ve taught writing and literature for many years, Jessie teaches ballet, Nathaniel teaches kids how to play drums and climb steep rocks, Caleb teaches his piano teacher Karol Sue how to use technology because she now must teach her piano students using available technology. Because of the virus they can’t meet in her piano studio until things clear up.

Thank you for being a loving, patient, informed, wise teacher. In your memory care wing you are the only one who knows all the words to the songs. Keep teaching those words to the other residents.

Sing time in Memory Care with our friend Hannah

Keats said, “A thing of beauty is a joy forever.” Your gift of teaching is a joy forever and it’s a part of your legacy that lives on.

With gratitude and love,

Letters to My Mother During CoVid19

March 31, 2020 by Margaret Philbrick 2 Comments

March 31, 2020

Dear Mom,

I’m wondering if you realize that all “non-essential” businesses are closed due to the Coronavirus? Even if I could pick you up and take you to Barone’s for dinner on Wednesday evening, it would be closed. Please pray for our favorite businesses which are really suffering right now because they have been forced to close, even The Little Traveler in Geneva. Try to imagine all of Oak Brook Mall closed, including Neiman Marcus, no popovers with strawberry butter, no steaming cups of hot chicken soup.

As I sit here in work-out clothing, my hair in a top-knot and no make-up, I’m thinking about your effortless style. You would never be sitting in these clothes, even in the midst of the Coronavirus. What are you wearing right now? As kids we were truly unaware of your awesome sense of fashion and how you always took great care of yourself. Just like we assumed every backyard bordered a Stations of the Cross walk though the woods, we also assumed that every mother looked as good as you did. One of the blessings of being a child is that you are too busy building forts to pay attention to how people look.

Let’s take a moment to pay tribute to one of our favorite fashion forward providers, The Little Traveler https://www.littletraveler.com which is also closed right now. This business has been incredibly kind to us in numerous ways so we have to brag on them in the midst of shut-down life with the hope that even more people will share our joy in sitting down for lunch in the Little Traveler cafe when the doors re-open.

We just ate lunch there right before the coronavirus BLEW UP! As usual, we had our “petite luncheon” because we can’t get enough of the cheese spread on those sandwiches. As a little girl we’d “get fancy,” i.e. dress up and I’d order three of those pimento and creamy cheddar cheese triangles with my cup of soup. I loved them so much that you asked for the secret recipe from the chef and he gave it to you! I enjoyed these Little Traveler sandwiches in my rainbow lunchbox all through grade school and middle school. I’ve turned your recipe files inside out looking for that recipe and can’t find it — painful! Nick and Victor still work in the cafe and whenever I’m there with out you they always ask me, “How’s your mother? When is she coming in again?” They turned backflips when you walked through the door last time and I tipped Victor ten dollars because he loves you so much.

2/27/’20 Lunch at The Little Traveler before CoVid19 takeover

I always wanted you to be one of the middle-aged models who visited our table telling us all about their chic suits and handbags. I thought they were middle-aged, but now that I’m middle-aged they don’t look nearly as old. You thought it would be more fun if we both modeled together. Instead of modeling we created a Christmas book, Back to the Manger, detailing the journey of their one-of-a-kind Neapolitan nativity scene. It took you a year to complete the oil paintings for this book. Remember, persevering through eye strain from painting using a magnifying glass? All those illustrations of the nativity figures are no bigger than a pinkie fingernail and so much detail, down to Mary’s blue and red robes. I hope you realize that Back to the Manger is still selling, ten years later and The Little Traveler and The Geneva History Museum are strong supporters. Most books don’t last even five years so kudos to you, artist mama. This picture features a darling little boy who stopped by our signing table last December, eager to “read” the book, even though he couldn’t read.

Unlike you, dad never devoted himself to shopping. This proved a boon to The Little Traveler on Christmas Eve as he raced through all 35 rooms of the store, hoping to fulfill his entire Christmas shopping list before they closed at 5:00 p.m. Stressful! Dad bought the precious Santa Claus music box sleigh that we set-up on your secretary desk every year. No one can keep all of the Christmas decks a person packrats in their basement when they move, but this sleigh is so unique and special that we haul it over from storage.

Please know, as an adult who finds it an extra chore to look nice in these days of casual Covid closet living, I respect and admire your commitment to taking care of yourself, taking vitamins, using night creams, and not sunburning your face. All of it resulted in you being the “hot little grandma” strolling the halls of memory care at 85. Just ask Vito, he’ll tell you it’s true!

All my love,

Margaret

photo credits:

boys building forts – Missouri Department of Conservation, med.mo.gov

boy looking at book: Margaret Philbrick

Letters to My Mother During CoVid19

March 28, 2020 by Margaret Philbrick Leave a Comment

March 27th, 2020

Dear Mom,

A poem by Amy Carmichael seems fitting for today. So many of the wonderful nurses down in memory care and in assisted living are working longer shifts and filling in for people who are sick to help you stay healthy. Please be kind to them, always.

A Nurse’s Prayer

Let not routine make dull my quickened sense

Of Thee, Lord Jesus; give me reverence,

That in each wounded one I may see Thee,

My Lord, my Love, Savior of Calvary.

In dusty foot thorn-pierced, I would see Thine

Pierced by a nail for love of me and mine;

In each sore hand held out so piteously

I would see Thine, Redeemer, bruised for me.

For me be hallowed every common bed

Because Thou hadst not where to lay Thy head;

In common flesh, Lord Jesus, I would see

Thy sacred body laid upon the tree.

Should some I serve, unruly toss and fret,

And tire my patience, then, lest I forget

All that I owe to Thy agony,

Show me once more, my Lord, Thy Calvary.

You gave me the collection of her poems, Mountain Breezes back when our children were young. On the inside cover you wrote, “I hope you enjoy this amazing collection of poems by Amy Carmichael as I did her biography, A Chance to Die.” Love, Mother x Mother’s Day, 2001.

I just cracked open this collection last year, sorry it took me so long. I was leading a creative writing workshop around the theme of RELEASE and her poem, “To Higher Things” has a line, “Oh, lift our souls to higher things.” What is it that you would want to release to God today? (Caregivers, please write down her answer.)

Thank you forever for teaching me to love poetry! My bookshelves are filled with books by poets you taught us to memorize on our endless summer vacation car trips to the Olney, IL Holiday Inn and the ElDorado, AK Holiday Inn. Know that we didn’t care what motel we stayed in as long as it had a pool and if it had a pool with a slide we never wanted to leave.

Many of these poems you called out to us over the front seat while we played “car mountain” with our Hot Wheels. You’d say a line and we’d repeat it back and then you’d add on. I still know them. Once, I recited “Little Orphan Annie” by James Whitcomb Riley to my classes and terrified them to the point of almost tears so I had to apologize! I loved the scary mystery of his poem, “There were two big black things standing by her side.” What did those black things look like? Riley left it to our imagination, I’ve always pictured them as giant black hoods.

We’d sit with Goggie and Jessie and Grandma Lehwald at our fancy Mother’s Day table and you’d recite “Somebody’s Mother” by Mary Dow Brine. This poem still makes me cry. How many little old ladies have I walked by and not helped across the street? Your oldest grandson Caleb, does the sweet things this poem talks about. On his birthday this year (March 15th), he bought breakfast at Suzettes Creperie for a homeless person. Your youngest grandson Nathaniel goes into memory care facilities in Nashville and leads worship and he says some people sing with him from their beds. He can hear them because the piano is in the center and the beds are arranged around it in a circle. Your granddaughter Jessie is part of a program in St. Louis called “Senior Embrace” where her dance company goes into retirement homes and care facilities and dances with the residents. Without knowing it, the legacy of this poem, caring for the elderly, is alive in your grandchildren.

One of my favorites by Emily Dickinson, “There is no frigate like a book to take us lands away, nor any coursers like a page of prancing poetry—This traverse even may the poorest take without oppress of toll—How frugal is the chariot that bears the human soul.”

This little gem demonstrates what you know and value, what you taught us. No matter how poor, our souls are carried, even buoyed by books and lines of poetry. Thank you. Thank you for reading to us, even when you were sad and didn’t want to…

“Caps for sale, 50 cents a cap, who will buy my caps?”

“The woman was old and ragged and grey, bent with the chill of a winters day.”

“We hear of the Easter bunny who comes each Easter Day before sunrise to bring eggs for boys and girls, so we think there is only one.”

“Baby’s boat’s a silver moon, sailing in the sky.”

“There was a crooked man and he went a crooked mile, he found a crooked sixpence against a crooked style.”

“In Dublin’s fair city where the girls are so pretty…cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh.”

I know one line is enough to jog your memory and get you singing that last one. I miss Ireland. I miss you.

Much love to you today,