Blog – Page 2

Seeing With Freedom in 2021

January 5, 2021 by Margaret Philbrick Leave a Comment

As a writer I’m drawn to large projects that are years in the making. Yet, focused work on my current manuscript can feel limited: not all of life is contained in Renaissance Italy (hint, hint the manuscript for my new novel is done:)! For our anniversary, my husband gave me an iPod with the date of our wedding engraved on the back. This little blue baby allows me to take beautiful photographs instantly and capture the grandeur of God’s handiwork with clarity and presence. When I need a break from writing I wander the woods photographing moss or in this season, frozen fog.

Perhaps this might seem unproductive. Inefficient. Indulgent, even.

We so seldom take time to rest in the world around us, a world marked by isolation and fear in 2020. It’s time to fight against those Covid practices and get outside. When was the last time you collapsed and made a snow angel, plucked an icicle and felt it melt away in your exposed hand? This childlike endeavor requires a willingness to stop, sit and see.

STOP, SIT, AND SEE

These three actions may help us live a balanced life, but the Western ideal of success places no value on the virtues of stopping to take in what God may be wanting to show us. Instead, as author Anne Lamott describes it, our culture pursues “forward thrust, going forward, staying one step ahead of the abyss… and if we can’t stay ahead of the abyss then we go to IKEA and buy a throw rug.”

We buy a throw rug to cover up the abyss because we don’t want to see it. Outrunning the abyss of a meaningless, unproductive life drives us onward. After all, in our short few decades on earth we’ve been convinced by our parents, our schools, our families and friends that we’ve got to make a difference in this world. The endless pursuit of difference-making is exhausting. Could taking time to stop, sit and see bear fruit instead? Exploring the lives of poets, artists and prophets tells us unequivocally, “yes.”

I recently led a poetic journaling event with young moms desperately in need of a night away from their kids. Instead of hanging out drinking wine and talking incessantly about their kids, they were longing for a creative and restorative activity. I used the German poet, Rainer Maria Rilke as my subject for leading these women because he knew the value of investing slow and significant time to develop a creative work. He tells us that, “to be an artist means, not to compute or count; it means to ripen as the tree which does not force its sap, but stands unshaken in the storms of spring with no fear that summer might not follow.” Oh, to have the confidence of a tree who does not count its rings. Gathering rings, rendering sap and bearing fruit takes time and God is in no hurry. To access his light we need to cease our hurry and see the small things which are often overlooked, like the cracking open of milkweed pods or the ever-changing color of water.

FINDING GOD IN THE WILDERNESS

On a chilly spring evening I attended a lecture at a local college on the life of artist Lilias Trotter. I’d never heard of this gifted Victorian era artist who gave up a career as the first renowned female painter in England to pursue life as a missionary in Algeria. She devoted her life to loving Muslim people, especially women and their children. Similar to the work of moms today, her work was arduous— hand washing laundry in rivers, feeding numerous children and forging friendships with women in sewing circles while learning Arabic. Her calling could easily have overwhelmed her. Yet, she chose to find daily sacred space by wandering into the desert to capture images of God in highly detailed, painted landscapes in her journal— precise images as small as a matchbook due to the scarcity of art supplies. She learned to “hold back everything that would crowd our souls” in order to access God’s light and, in turn, give that light to others. Her commitment to separating herself from the rigors of work to see God in the wilderness inspired me to do the same. My lens of wonder in all his works needed time to focus and a deliberate attempt to “uncrowd” my soul allowed open spaces for his light to come in.

“The daisies have been talking again—the reason they spread out their leaves flat on the ground is because the flowers stretch out their little hands, as it were, to keep back the blades of grass that would shut out the sunlight. They speak so of the need of deliberately holding back everything that would crowd our souls and stifle the freedom of God’s light and air.” – Lilias Trotter, 1899

Which brings me back to my walks in the woods collecting moments (borrowing from Heinrich Boll here). Some of these images call for a quick poem, a little nugget of carefully crafted words to describe what speaks in creation. This gift forces me to slow down and look for beauty unfolding, then rest and reflect on what I’ve seen and take the next step, create! When we create we become more like God because we are made in the image of the author of all creation, and our grand author is not scrolling social media counting his followers.

As Rilke said, we don’t need to “compute or count” followers, likes on Instagram, page views, or friends. We need to ripen as the tree and wave with the freedom of tall grass. Make time for God, look for him in icy crystals, listen for him in the cracking of milkweed. Stop, sit and see, and if you are so inspired, give him back some of what he’s shown you.

Milkweed

Irresistible winter cracker

temptress for fifty years,

your milky silk

flowing through fingertips,

drifting where?

Unremarkable,

brown seed carried

on snowy thistledown,

to unseen kingdoms

where fairies ride

and race upon your

feathery seats

like charioteers,

monarchs in summer.

Milkweed— magic maker

earth’s clouds,

God’s laughter,

enticing hardened

grown-ups to play

jump, toil

and spin

in open fields again.

MARGARET PHILBRICK

This article has been amended from the original which appeared in Popel Women, 2019.

https://www.propelwomen.org/cmspage.php?intid=39&intversion=500

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,

Letters to My Mother During Covid19

April 24, 2020 by Margaret Philbrick Leave a Comment

Dear Mom,

Greetings smiley, sweet Nana! We received a call last night with the unfortunate news that a Coronavirus case has been confirmed down in your memory care wing. The good news is that it is NOT a resident there, but rather a staff member. These faithful workers have been wearing masks and gloves since early March as a way of protecting you if they contract the virus so we are grateful for these steps. And we are praying that no residents come down with the virus. Thus far there are NO cases among residents in any part of your retirement facility! JOY!

On to happier news. I love you! I’m so thankful that you are healthy and taking care of yourself. I’ve been reflecting on your fascination with orchards, tart cherries and apples. Drinking Montmorency TART cherry juice is a regular Door County treat for you when most of us can only tolerate the sweetened cherry juice. There is a magical quality to orchards, especially Seaquist Orchards where they trim the grass between the trees. What is it about an orchard that captures the human heart? Is it the abundance of fruit, the graceful ordering of trees, the history of cherry picking migrants camping out during July in long frame buildings, sleeping single file on metal cots? The ramshackle remnants of those cherry picker houses still line highway 42. A family transformed one into their colorful summer home.

Growing up, we always went cherry picking and so our children go cherry picking and even now in your 80’s when we head north with your caregiver Maria we revisit those reliable rows of trees at Lautenbachs or Seaquists. The last time we went, your hair stuck to your face as the wind speckled cherry juice on your sticky cheeks. Maria grew up in Poland and she too loves tart cherries so she took home ziplock bags full of them in her little, silver Nissan Versa. You have a friend who wrote a lovely poem about Door County which mentions the cherry trees. Kindly, after reading my letter about our favorite county on my website it came to me in an email. Close your eyes and picture the images in this poem as someone reads it to you.

DOOR TO PARADISE

Pure clear water, vistaed heights,

Glorious dreaming through the nights!

Bright greens and blues, cloudless skies

O’er crystal lakes of paradise!

There we’ll find sweet red cherry trees,

Warm as the sun, soft as the breeze,

Long peaceful trails, secluded bays,

And happiness throughout our days.

This glimpse of heaven is enough reward

For pious patience, for working hard,

For righteous efforts wisely spent

Weaving love’s ephemeral raiment.

Here the best scenes our memory saves

Wash over us gently like silver waves

Lapping repeatedly upon our shore,

Where storms and clouds return no more.

Pure clear water, vistaed heights,

Glorious dreaming through the nights!

Bright greens and blues, cloudless skies

O’er crystal lakes of paradise!

There we’ll find sweet red cherry trees,

Warm as the sun, soft as the breeze,

Long peaceful trails, secluded bays,

And happiness throughout our days.

J. Jennings, 1997

I look forward to picking many cherries with you this coming July!!

Love,

Margaret

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,

« Previous Page