Tag: Family

The Shoe Must Go On…The Last Blog

I have decided to end my blog. Not my writing, just my blog. With the kids all grown, I think it’s time the shoe must go on…to other writing projects, other stories and other endeavors.

I want to thank all my subscribers and readers. Thank you for all the comments and encouragement over the past 13 years. I’ve had a lot of fun writing From The Shoe. Thanks to the friends who helped proofread and edit my blog posts. You know who you are. 🙂

It’s funny, I no longer feel like a mom. With the kids grown and living their lives, my role as mother has formally ended. They don’t need me like that anymore.

I know I am still their mom, and will always be, but the work of a mother with minor children is over. And most of my columns were about raising a bunch of wild and crazy kids. I’d like to write different things now. We’ll see where the shoe goes.

I am in uncharted waters. I have never been this old. I haven’t been this alone (not lonely) just alone, on my own, in nearly 40 years. I look at how my folks navigated retirement and pre-old age, and still can find no map. They were well-rooted, grounded people unlike their hapless hare of a daughter. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways, acknowledge Him and He will direct your paths” will have to be my compass, the One Quiet Star. He is definitely trustworthy.

Nearly 40 years ago, I embarked on another unknown journey after I graduated from college. Then, too, I looked to the One Quiet Star. The Star I first saw through a bedroom window in my parents’ house when I was a teenager. I wished upon it. This was before I knew its Maker. I saw it that first semester at St. Mary’s sitting on a cold concrete stair looking at the blue-orange western sky, and it was brilliant. It comforted me as I started my last leg of college work at a new school.

I saw that Star in the San Pablo sun-setting sky amidst the happy chaos of rambunctious little kids, and even through the sad times when the course took an abrupt turn. It hung over the tempestuous Pacific during those difficult years. I see it from the back porch of my house, still guiding me on the journey I set out on in 1979 when I decided to follow Jesus. And even this past week, as I traveled home from the mid-west, the One Quiet Star shone almost as bright as the Strawberry Moon somewhere in the California desert, reminding me again of Who walks with me.

I am not going to worry like I used to about where I’d end up. Now, I am trying to be content in this moment, this day, this place, and with those who are around me now. Because I know, it’s not gonna last. One day, probably soon, the last of the kids will fly. Then the house will be really quiet. So, I want to continue “to be a pilgrim on the right journey, never to lose sight of the One Quiet Star on the horizon” wherever It may lead.

Heli-Texting: A Helluva Habit

One of the Helicopter Mom’s greatest tools is texting. I know many would say the Life 360 App is the best, but, I confess, I have never used it. I’m still old school. I still remember the days when my parents had no idea where I was and what I was doing. And, primarily, for that reason, and the fact that if I used that app, I would be a wreck, I have refused to use it. But my kids use it for each other, so when I am tempted to know where someone is, I tread the unpredictable waters and inquire from one of the kids. But I was a habitual heli-texter. Yes, you heard me right…”was”. I am proud to announce most of my heli-texting days are probably over.

Heli-texting, what the…heck is that? Well, I made up the word last night. Backstory… I live with three nocturnal creatures…my daughters. They go out every night, even after a long day at work or at school. And one of them is like a four o’clocker…almost always a very late night. Horrible conditions in which to quit heli-texting. I don’t know where they are. I have been long exiled into the “need-to-know basis” territory. Much to my chagrin.

Anyway, last night, I was home all alone, all the creatures, even the ones next door, were out. I didn’t know where most of them were. I had been working on ditching heli-texting for almost a month, but I did panic a little last night before I went to bed because one of the kids said they were coming home before going out again. Didn’t come home, didn’t text. So general anxiety panic disorder (GAPD) set in. (I made that up too.) And I fell off the wagon, and began to type out a text, copy it and sent to each of my offspring. To which I got two answers. Then I finally heard noises downstairs from one of those nocturnal creatures who had returned home. I went to check it out. I asked, “Where is everyone?” One of the persons present told me of a potentially harried tale while the other person present tried to throttle him. And all I said, “If they’re home safe, I don’t care.” And I added, “Hey, haven’t you even noticed I haven’t’ been “heli-texting” anymore?” To which, my daughter replied, “Hella texting?” “No, heli-texting…helicopter texting. Hey, I just made up that word.” She wasn’t too impressed. I went back to bed and went to sleep.

Heli-texting, or known as hella-texting apparently in the Bay Area, is helicopter parenting via text. That’s it. It’s blowing up their phones. I even googled heli-texting and couldn’t find any match for that word. Therefore, I hereby unofficially patent the word and take ownership. And why not? I am an expert…albeit a retired one.

I wrote a blog, “Hope For The Helicopter Mom”, about an incident when my oldest son tried to check my rampant heli-texting. Heading over to the City back when he was like 17, he told me I only get five texts. I sweated through the evening and he arrived home safe and sound just using five texts. But that was twenty years ago, it’s only recently that I’ve quit heli-texting.

A few weeks ago, I don’t remember exactly what happened, but as I’ve tried to emotionally distance myself from my grown kids and put the mothering to rest, I decided to quit bugging them via text. Just quit bugging entirely. They’re grown, they’re doing their own things (nail biting) and unless they loop me in, I’ve got to find something else to do. In a conversation on a podcast, the interviewer reiterated some of Jordan Peterson’s words to him: “I heard you recently talk about a mother’s ability to let her child go out into the world knowing that they’re still vulnerable and that it’s now down to them and the world to look after them, that’s one of the bravest things…” To which Jordan Peterson finished the thought, “It’s the female crucifixion.” He went on to describe the Pieta and Mary’s grief after the crucifixion.

Yes!! Letting them go, go out into the world – a place you know is dangerous and evil as well as beautiful and glorious – knowing they are so young and inexperienced is likened to something as traumatic as a crucifixion. Letting them go has been that hard. And what keeps me on track to not worry, be anxious or fretful is that, as a Christian, I am called to JOY, PEACE, LOVE and HOPE, things that cannot survive in the hazardous environment of fear.

Lest you think I’ve arrived at total acquiescence and indifference to my kids’ independence and activities, I do still peak out the bathroom window after I wake up and count the cars, and, sigh a heartfelt “Thank You, Lord.” So what am I supposed to do now? Read my last blog post here.






“Trust God” – A Testament to My Mother’s Quiet Faith

“Trust God” was all that was written on a little note my mother sent me in June 2006.

It had been a stressful three weeks. I was in the middle of a divorce and money was scarce. Proceeds from the sale of our little house in San Pablo would alleviate some of this stress. Finally an offer was made and escrow was set to close mid-June. I had to borrow money from my parents and even the realtor to get to COE. (Mind you, I was paying for two houses at the time.)

Over the Memorial Day weekend, me and the kids just hung around the house we had rented near our old house. Maybe some jaunts to the pool in Rodeo were on our schedule, I don’t remember. But, of course, late Friday on a holiday weekend, an abscess on one of my molars began to pain…that and the stress of divorce, caring for ten kids (who were great, by the way, during this sad time), anxious for the sale of the house, and having very little money….the toothache was a bale of straw on the proverbial camel’s back.

I managed by sheer grit to get a hold of a dentist and persuaded her to prescribe some antibiotics without having to go into the office…remember it was late Friday on a holiday weekend. You all remember the stuff that happens with kids on holiday weekends. Relief was 24 hours away. Hallelujah! But the camel’s back was getting to the breaking point.

Fast forward two weeks, tooth was better, school was out…we were waiting for the sale to close. The day before, no lie, the buyer backed out. I was devastated. I had no financial recourse…no way to pay bills or feed these kids. My soon-to-be ex husband barely provided anything. I had to ask my parents for more help. The camel’s back was breaking.

My mother was not a prolific writer like my father. When I was in Belgium many years before, I received a little card from her with about three sentences and a plain salutation, “Mom”. At this difficult time, she likewise sent me a little card…no greetings, no salutation, just two words in her beautiful cursive handwriting. Two words she lived by, two words that helped her through her tough times, two words which elevated my depth of despair to a fledgling faith where I ascended into a cleft of peaceful resignation and confidence.

Two weeks later, in a rare moment of taking the bulls by the horn, I approached my realtor, told him to reduce the price and if the house doesn’t sell by September, I’d move back there. There was an offer the next day…and escrow closed successfully in August. Reprieve. The camel’s back didn’t break.

It was my great privilege to accompany my mother to Rome ten years earlier. There I saw her faith fully animated in the ancient cathedral of St. Peter’s, on the cobblestone roads of the Appian Way, in the dark and dusty catacombs of St. Callistus and in the hurried visit to the Sistine Chapel. She was able to see her beloved sculpture, “The Pieta” as well as glimpses of Pope John Paul II. This simple faith, the Christian Faith, has been expressed, by not only my mother, but by billions of believers, over the centuries in magnificent works of art, architecture and adulation to the glory of God, the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. And I enjoyed watching her delight those ten days in Rome.

So, today is her birthday and in her honor, I write this testament to her simple, yet powerful faith, a faith (along with her prayers, no doubt) that bore me up on eagle’s wings when I had been dashed to the ground. And I commend to my children and my grandchildren, that they too, follow my mom’s example and “Trust God” not only at desperate times, but at all times.

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.”

Proverbs 3:5,6

Happy Birthday, Mom…tell Dad hello. We miss you both very much.

She Walks In Beauty – My Mother

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December 9, 2024…four years since you left us. We miss you, especially this time of year. Thank you for the decades of Christmas celebrations you hosted. Footsteps I am unable to fill.

Originally written in 2019…

I looked over my blogs and noticed I hadn’t written a lot about my mom. My dad, yes; but my mom, not so much. As much as my dad was formidable, boisterous and gregarious, my mom was the opposite. She is quiet, hardworking and constant. And funny. But her humor is subtle and understated.

One of the funniest stories I remember I wrote in another blog: My sister and I were at my parents’ house one day. Standing at the kitchen counter, we were engaged in a serious and riveting conversation about what we all discuss in the kitchen: hemorrhoids. Who knows who was the afflicted, but our conversation covered causes, symptoms, side effects and various and sundry methods of treatment. My mother entered the kitchen while we discussed the burning, itching and pain. She listened for a bit. And, in a humph, she pronounced her expert therapeutic remedy: “Just put a little Vaseline on it; and, for Pete’s sake, stop licking it!” No, Mom, we’re not talking about cold sores. Although she didn’t intend that to be funny, it certainly was.

Living with my dad was no picnic. I remember the tumultuous times which she endured with dignity and strength…but there were times when he pushed her across the line. That’s when the plates and pots began to fly. I’m sure that quieted him down. I suspect she regretted those times, but she was human…she is human.

My dad liked to be the center of attention, and I think my mom was content to be in the shadow. As I remember all my dad gave me, all that I attributed to him to the creation of my personality, I realize the things that are the dearest and the most important to me are the qualities and characteristics I received from my mom.

Three biggies I got from my mom – faith, family and literature – continue to dominate my world. Her faith in her church is such a stronghold that it even kept me grounded, well as grounded as I could be (as a restless and reckless hare) until I found my own faith. Only God knows how much I owe to her prayers. My mom is so Catholic…not the devout zealot who prays and penances painfully, but the one who echoes and reflects the beauty and joy of the old denomination though aware of its shortcomings. A sensible saint.

My mom taught us “Ohana”. Family…like what little Lilo said, “Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.” My mom taught me Ohana generosity. When a neighbor girl would come over hungry, I thought my mom may shoo her away, but she didn’t, she invited her in and fed her. That one act of kindness taught me to always keep my door open. Even when there were times when I didn’t have enough, I tried to exhibit her Ohana generosity.

Growing up there was one book – one book –  that I remember reading, my Mom’s literature book from her Honolulu Catholic high school. In this book, I discovered Shelley and others whose poetry became seeds, seeds which would bear fruit in my own writing and can be seen in my little library that I am creating. One of my favorite poems from that book, She Walks In Beauty, defines my mother:

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
–
-Lord Byron

My beautiful mother’s raven tresses were cut after she got married. But her cheek and brow remain “so soft, so calm, yet eloquent” and her smiles still win and her tints still glow as she embarks into her ’90’s. Now she has some peace, and her love continues in innocence.

Thank you, Mom, for these priceless gifts. Gifts I hope to pass down to my children. Happy Mother’s Day.

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mom at alma 2

My Cup Runneth Over…

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Abundance – My Cup Runneth Over by Sandy Tracey

https://fineartamerica.com/featured/abundance–my-cup-runneth-over-sandy-tracey.html

Well, today is my birthday. Here I am on the cusp of 60. One of my first columns the Pacifica Tribune ran was titled “You’ll Never Be This Young Again”. It was a little reflection upon my imminent fifties. Like that column, this blog is a reflection as I now approach the big 6-0. I woke up early this morning, had a weird dream and couldn’t go back to sleep. Maybe I was excited like when one gets on the night before the first day of school or Christmas Eve or one’s birthday, if you will. 🙂 So with some extra time this morning, I remembered the story of the children of Israel creating a mound of stones as a remembrance of crossing the Jordan River, and I thought I would spend this time remembering and thanking God for the many, many blessings I’ve received these past six decades. Before long, my cup was running over….

The first thing to come to mind was thanking God for my friend, Mary, who invited me to the church where I came to a personal, living knowledge of Jesus Christ.  My whole life’s trajectory changed with that decision. I thanked Him for our church’s drama team, my excursion to Belgium in 1983, my short time at St. Mary’s and my graduation which was a present to my father. I thanked Him for Erma Bombeck whose writing I try to emulate, and my godfather, Phil O’Connor, who inspired and encouraged me to do so. I thanked Him for my ex-husband, and the kids we had together.

I thanked Him for them, and how their lives have enriched, energized and established me. Paul says in 1 Timothy 2:15 that women are saved through childbearing – really, Paul, how medieval – but for me, child rearing has indeed saved me. Saved me from myself and taught me to REALLY love someone else. They have taught me perseverance. I have had to keep at it. And for this dyed-in-the-fur hare, it has been my “salvation” and the means of transforming me into a semi-tortoise, and enabling me to begin to produce something meaningful in my life.

I thanked Him for my job. I’ve never held a job this long. I am amazed. I’ve learned so much, and have had the pleasure to work with some great people.

I thanked Him for my family. For my sister, Linda, who with Mike, got up in the middle of the night many years ago to bring Ricky to the hospital after he and James were jumped. Linda who helped extract me from the dangerous living conditions we were in, and who also listened endlessly as I vented about my problems. I thanked Him for my parents who have always helped me when I needed it. They housed me and my kids for almost ten years. I thanked Him for the sweet Christian school that miraculously took in my six shy little kids and prepared them for a traditional classroom environment, sowing the seeds of their academic success, and for the family member who namelessly, quietly, and generously paid for their first year there.

These are a few of the wonderful things God has done for me. I also thanked Him for the hard times. All the things above have shadows to them. My church was not perfect. My marriage ended. My children are human. My family has its own dynamic. There’s been work drama. There have been many bad times, many hard times. David said in one of his psalms, “It is good that I have been afflicted, that I might learn thy statutes…”. And I agree with him. I’ve learned much from my dark times.

But, God causes all things to work for the good, for those who love Him and are called according to His purpose: the tough times, the tender, the trivial, the triumphant and, yes, even, the tragic times. Death, in all its forms, can give birth to sobriety which gives birth to hope which gives birth to faith which gives birth to…..the impossible.

So, as I look upon another decade, Lord willing, I am excited to finish my extended course in motherhood – (legally, of course, because we all know it NEVER ends) – and to see what new things God has in store for me. And I thank Him for all of you who read my blogs and continue to encourage me in my writing.

“I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.”    – John 10:10

 

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