Opinion/Musings

To Daughter’s Everywhere: Mother’s Words of Wisdom

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 1 Comment

To every daughter who ever uttered the words, “I’m never going to be like my mother,” I hate to break the news to you.  It will happen, sneaking up on you when you least expect it.  Those famous last words will come rushing back and kick you in the rear.You know what I’m talking about.  Memories of having to cut your own switch, you swore NEVER to use corporal punishment.

So, you bought a cute little time-out chair.  You gloated over your parenting skills until the little angel reached her third birthday and decided she could out last you. Exhausted and patience long gone, the first nugget rolled off your tongue.  “Do you want a spanking?”  After that, the challenge was on. The little darling tested every resolve you ever made and your mother’s words tumbled out faster than water over a damn.

“Because I said so, that’s why.”
“Wait till your father gets home.”
“If you fall and break a leg, don’t come running to me.”
“Don’t you use that tone with me.”
“Don’t get smart with me.”
“If all your friends jumped off of a bridge, would you?”
“You better stop that crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.”
“I don’t care what the other kids parents told them, I said no.”
“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.”
“Don’t put that in your mouth, you don’t know where it’s been.”
“Don’t make me come in there.”
“Go to your room and don’t come out.”
“I pray to God, you grow up and have a houseful just like you.”

But, the clincher happened when your teenager rolled her eyes at you for the first time and the world spun on its axis.“You roll your eyes again at me, and I will smack them into tomorrow.”

With her words reverberating in your ears, you run to the mirror horrified at the “mommy jeans “ and worn tee shirt you’re wearing and notice for the first time, the crow’s feet, and the hint of gray hairs.  “Oh My God!”  The reflection of your mother stares back.

Relax, acting like your mother happens to all of us.  Blame genetics, after all, you’re fifty percent her or imagine she passed on to you her secret words of wisdom.  Children didn’t come with a parent’s manual and although helpful, Dr. Spock and the other how-to- books are nothing more than quick start guides.  After those beginning years, you’re pretty much spitting in the wind and flying by the seat of your pants. You can’t prepare for this wild ride of love between a mother and her child, but words of wisdom tucked away for just the right time are priceless.

So, on Mother’s Day salute your mother, give her a call and thank her for all the words of wisdom she has imparted to you.  If you haven’t used them you will, and while you’re at it, you might want to find out a little bit more about her favorite bush. Do you have any favorite words from mom? I’d love to hear them. Leave me a comment.

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Happy New Year!

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 4 Comments

Happy New Year 2013

It’s here, 2013, time to put away the old and begin anew. I want to thank each and every one of you who has taken a moment to stop by the Cow Pasture Chronicles, in 2012.  May you and your family have a prosperous, healthy and Happy New Year, and I hope you will make Cow Pasture Chronicles and Sheila’s Morning Pages a part of your 2013.

Happy new year

Cursive Anyone?

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 2 Comments

English: I made it myself (Sotakeit)

 

I read an article in the paper today by the Associated Press, stating 45 states are  planning to adopt national curriculum guidelines in English and math that don’t include cursive handwriting. These 2014 guidelines,  will however, require students to be proficient in computer keyboarding by the time they exit elementary school. Thank God, not all states agree. California, Georgia, and Massachusetts, have added cursive to their requirements, some states have left it as an option, while other states are still riding the fence.

 

I can hear the outcry already from some of you reading this post. “It’s outdated, antiquated, everyone prints, we’re a digitalized society, every thing is done on computers,” and, the list goes on. In fact, those are some of the arguments used by the states eliminating cursive from the curriculum, but I want to present my view.

 

Let me first disclose I love my tech gadgets. I have an iPhone, two Mac’s, and a Kindle. I am somewhat addicted, I admit, but I also appreciate and love things from the past. Although, I love the convenience of downloading a book instantly or being able to carry thousands of books in my purse, there is nothing that can replace the feel of turning a page or the smell of a hardback book as I sit entranced, cuddled up reading by the fire.

 

 And while my iPhone maybe attached to my hip, and I love being able to access my emails, documents, calendar or make a call whenever I want to, I hate texting with a passion. I believe it is the number one thing that has changed the way we as human beings interact and communicate with one another, especially forming intimate bonds. People have stopped talking to each other and we’ve lost the art of communication.

 

Every week I receive in my email a letter, usually old and written in cursive. Letters of Note,  are letters, cards and postcards from all over the world, each one with a story to tell. The eloquence of their words make me wish we still wrote letters to one another. The cursive handwriting, itself tells a story. I look at the pictures of the letters and it’s as if I am seeing the person who wrote the letter. I feel their spirit. The letters are touching; they move me. They, make me laugh, cry, cheer me on, and sometimes make me wish I had lived in a different time. 

 

Don’t misunderstand me. I’m all for progress, but we shouldn’t lose who we are in the process. We shouldn’t forget where we came from or who are. We shouldn’t throw away something that reveals so much of who we are. How many times have you watched someone run their hands over the handwritten page of a letter to feel the words written from the soul of their loved one? It’s as if they could feel them. It may sound like a simple thing, but a signature is more than our name. It represents us, our honor, our integrity, our word. Somehow taking that away from our children in the name of progress, just doesn’t feel right. 

 

 Cursive anyone?

Sheila

 

LOST VALUES

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 2 Comments

I’m in Washington DC visiting my daughter. Getting used to her new mode of transportation, the metro has been fascinating, interesting, and scary. The pace at which she and the throngs of people move are taxing on me. I’m not used to moving at lightening speed. My leg muscles and lungs are screaming, but I know if I don’t keep up, I’ll get stepped on, knocked about, left behind, or lost in the mob.

I’m amazed at the strapping young men who ignore the handicap and elderly as they board the crowded trains. Young men sit sprawled out on the seats unconcerned as people less fortunate with canes, crutches, aged or worse fight the crowd to board. Their arms often heavy laden with bags intertwined with devices meant to help them ambulate. Bent with age and disease, yet they do not complain. They s hold on to a pole or overhead bar and struggle to maintain their balance in the speeding train while young, strong, able-bodied, men sit by hog the seats and ignore them.

I had taken the last seat, sitting down beside a young just before the old man hobbled on board behind me. His head was covered in a makeshift white rag cap. He carried a dirty cloth bag draped over a cane aiding a leg so crippled he bent when he walked. He shifted his load and grabbing hold of the nearest bar two inches from a young couple moments before the train lurked into motion. I waited for one of the two young men to jump up and offer the old man, now teetering to maintain his balance, their seats. Surely, they would step forward and do the right thing. But, they didn’t.

I don’t know the old man’s age. Disease ages you, but I could have been those young men’s grandmother. I was tired, but I couldn’t sit there while that poor man struggled. I had two good legs.

I stood up. “Sir,” I pointed to the seat. “Please have a seat.” A look of relief washed over the old man’s face, and he hobbled to the seat.

“Thank you, Miss.” He smiled gratefully and plopped down, far more tired than I. The young man sitting beside him got off at the next stop, he asked me to sit down, and he told me how much he appreciated what I had done.

He shook his head in disappointment. “That young man should have offered his seat,” he said. He went on to explain he’d fixed dinner for his wife who was in the hospital and had gotten on the wrong train earlier. He was tired and flustered but hoped the doctor would let her come home tomorrow. We exited at the same stop, and I wished him and his wife well. I thought about the conversation, and life lesson’s those young men missed out on. I felt bad for them.

All of us are in a rat race these days. Everyone is caught up in either electronics or their own selfish agenda. But, I remember a time when parents taught consideration, compassion, empathy, respect and manners.

One day not too far in the future those young men will be old. They may be visited by ill health or accidents may leave them crippled or hobbled.We do not know what life holds in store for us. I hope for their sake when age or infirmity bends their bodies, someone will remember those lost values. But, from the looks of things, I witnessed I have my doubts.We reap what we sow.