The Gift of the Lavender Trash Can

I'm a worrier.  I've always been a worrier.  I was the five year old, sobbing uncontrollably, as she stood outside with classmates during that first fire drill. Not concerned about her school, her teachers, or her classmates...those tears were for the classroom bird... left inside the building...doomed  to perish alone in the flames. Luckily, I had a compassionate teacher who whispered in my ear that there really was no fire and later shared this story with my mother. Recognizing early that I was a sensitive kid who over-thought just about everything, my parents eased my worries when they could, and gave me tools to manage my more serious apprehensions, as I aged. The gift of the lavender trash can was a little bit of both.

my mom and me (age 6)

"Can't sleep?", my mother asked as she walked past my bedroom. I shook my head. "I'll be right back," she said. It was early November and we had recently moved from a small suburb on the East Coast to Southern California. My dad had landed a great job in sunny California after retiring from the military and life was good. Their happiness made our home an easy refuge but it couldn't totally erase the anxiety of a thirteen old girl coping with a new school, new friends, and a totally new way of life. I don't remember the specifics of my restlessness, that night, but the image of my mom returning to my room carrying the small lavender trash can and the events that followed are etched forever in my memory.

me - new kid in school  

"We can talk about the things that are worrying you, tomorrow, but tonight you need your sleep," she said as she sat on the edge of my bed, placing the lavender trash can on the floor beside her feet,  "I want you to put all of those worries... out of your head... and into this trash can." I giggled  for the idea seemed absurd but she remained serious. Then one by one, she had me mime the motion of tossing away each care. Silly as it seemed it was quite freeing. She didn't trivialize my young concerns by taking the worry-filled trash can out of my room to dump it. Instead, she reassured me that my worries would be waiting for me in the morning, when I could make a decision about reclaiming them. She gave me a big hug and a kiss and asked if I felt a little better, as she left my room.

I reflect on this story often...and always on Mother's Day. The gift of the lavender trash can wasn't that it allowed me to finally fall asleep that night (which it did) or the fact that it opened my eyes to the possibly that I could have control over my worries (yeah- I'm still working on that). The real gift was the reminder that I wasn't facing my world and all of the scary things in it... alone. My mother was there for me. She had always been there for me. And while she might not be able to eliminate my problems, she'd be there to listen and help me find a way to cope that just might include a touch of her loving wizardry. I knew it then and I believe it still..the power of a mother's love is one of the most magical things of this world.

When the Real Name of the Game is Love

 Chances are, if you ever received a wedding card from my mom, she would have added the personal message..."May you remain sweethearts forever!"  

My parents were sweethearts. Beyond the fact that they loved each other, they simply delighted in being together. Yes, they had their own individual interests and hobbies, but they never tired of each other's company. Simply put, they had the most fun when they were together. I'm sure it was that joy my mother wished for her newlywed friends.

 About a month ago, my husband said to me, "I miss your mom. It's that time of year when she would have been asking me to make her a March Madness Bracket." He was right. My mom loved  basketball...and football...and baseball. In fact, she loved most sports. But that wasn't always the case.

My father was athletic and played a variety of sports as a youth. As an adult, he loved following local sports teams. After retiring from the military and  moving to California, those interests intensified. Even though my dad still held a full-time job, my parents' outlook on life was more relaxed and it was easier to find time to attend local games and follow more sports on the television. Watching those games, on the television, was more fun for my dad if my mom was with him. He knew that  televised sports didn't really hold my mother's attention so he became determined to change that fact.

One of my mother's favorite hobbies was doing puzzles. She loved jigsaw puzzles, crossword puzzles, number and word puzzles. If it challenged her mind....she loved it. My father was well aware of that fact. So, one spring day, in the middle of baseball season, he brought home a baseball scoring card and taught my mother how to keep stats during the game.


She was hooked! And it wasn't long until she kept stats on all the sports they watched. If there wasn't an official scoring form, she made her own. My mother became the unlikely expert on RBIs, pass completions, and points scored. And for the rest of her life, scoring games, was one of my mother's favorite activities. Was it because she truly loved the process of watching the puzzle of the game unfold? Or was it the memory of all the days and nights she spent sharing the games with my dad?

 It has been said that a successful team is made up of unique individuals contributing different strengths towards a common goal. My parents were different in many ways but they were alike in so many more. And that common goal? To make the most of every moment that they had together. They were definitely a team and somewhere in the middle of championing one another's differences and making togetherness a priority, they became sweethearts forever.