Self-Portrait from the computer I used during the Photography II class at Palm Beach State, 2009.
I spent a lifetime before I married Brent, watching and learning from my mom. She had MANY talents, but used all of her time and dedicated her life to raising me, my two sisters and two brothers.
She came from a family where the Great Depression was something that they lived with every day of every year. Mom's mother (Grandma Burton) remembers in her youth that you never took a whole piece of bread at dinner because you had to eat everything you put on your plate--and even if you weren't hungry enough to finish that piece of bread you had to eat it anyway. Later on in her life, Grandma went hungry to make it through college. Later on after that, as a mom, she made all the bread her family ate--whole wheat flour she ground and then sesame seeds on the top. When she put the seeds on the top, any that fell to the counter were caught and carefully stored away to be used next time.
In grandma's home, when my mom was growing up, sweets of any kind were very rare. When grandpa would give grandma a box of chocolates as a present, she would hide them. Grandma said--and truly believed--that chocolate was poison. Mom and her brother and sisters would search every nook and cranny of the house to find those sweets, though, and when their search was a success--the chocolates were immediately bolted down. If you didn't get all you could then, there was no hope of having any left to eat later.
By the time we grandchildren arrived, Grandma had mellowed a little, food was in plentiful supply, and there was money for a few extras. For her grandkids, she would bake us one kind of treat: carrot cookies full of walnuts and a lemony glaze drizzled on top. She would make them for us to eat in the car during the long drive home. Grandpa had the only gas station in the valley and sold candy bars that were displayed in a glass case in the small room where people paid for their gas. After hugs good-bye and leaving Grandma's house, we would stop at Grandpa's gas station. We would hug him good-bye--and then he would send us off with a very large box of candy bars. It was one of the ways that Grandpa "got back" at Grandma--very strange relationship.
The biggest honour that you could get from Grandma happened while everyone pitched in to wash the dishes after each meal. There were three "stations": rinse off any food still on the plates, wash the dishes (Glasses first, silverware second, plates next and pots/pans last. The glasses and the silverware were the objects that touched our mouths when we ate--so they had to be the cleanest. Plates held the food. And then the only things left were the pots and pans.) in hot soapy water, rinse them in a tub of scalding hot water (to disinfect them), then wipe them dry and put them away. The greatest honour? Being able to rinse the dishes--this was the most important step to Grandma. In this almost-boiling water, the glasses and silverware, dishes and pots and pans were completely cleaned of any germs or bacteria. If Grandma Burton trusted you to rinse the dishes, you had arrived--almost adult status.
Once a year, before the school year started, Grandma and Grandpa Burton would go into the city and buy new clothes that were on sale. Mom hated that whatever fit you was what you got to wear for that year--even if colours and patterns didn't coordinate. Grandma was so pleased that she was able to provide "store bought" clothes for her family--a luxury she didn't even dream about when she was growing up. Anyway . . . the direction I was going with this was that mom came from a long line of people who were accustomed to asking nothing for themselves. Mom didn't take any classes, take piano lessons (which she would have loved . . . already being an incredible pianist), or a real vacation.
My reflection from the screen of the MacBook Pro Brent bought me--rather, I decided I wanted and then bought.
I have lived life based on a very different, very indulgent, philosophy. From the beginning of our marriage, Brent dedicated his life to giving me everything I asked for. I was welcome to spend as much money as I wanted--as long as we had it. My mania drove me to exceed that generosity--forcing us to the brink of bankruptcy. Depression drove me into dark, cold places where Brent continued to search for a way to rescue me.
It was only a few years ago that Brent began to correct me when I made up facts or exaggerated or lied. These were things that he had held in since we met; he told me that he was afraid that if he had said them, I would have left him.
We have moved often, Brent and me, throughout our married lives. Our children have had to cope with new schools and new peer groups and new homes and new languages and new cultures throughout their lives. Meg, Lauren and Nate have joined Brent in caring for me even as they were forced to adjust to constantly changing situations. They suffered when I was caught up in the tornado winds of mania--and called Brent to come home from work when I curled up in the corner of a depressed, waterless, sunless well. My extremes have been (not only tolerated, but) considered as an external condition that existed outside of who I really was. Brent never lost faith--in me or in the Lord. The storm would pass, I would come back, Brent would be still carrying me in his arms . . . shoes and socks never having been removed during the countless days and years that he nurtured me and kept me safe.
Above the emotional trauma that Brent and my family endured, was added the constant of physical danger I craved: jumping horses. The adrenaline rush supplemented the plethora of meds that worked and then didn't work. How did Brent endure all of this?
Like my parents (and grandparents before them), he denied themselves anything beyond the essentials so that I {first as a daughter and now as a wife} might be tenderly cosseted and spoiled--and protected from the cruelty and hatred of the world.
I sound so offishly over-dramatic. That is my take on things, though.
I have but had to ask, and it was given to me.
