Fifi - Day 10

The third time was the charm. After peeing all over everything twice, her majesty finally slept through Grandma's picture taking session. Already she rules our kingdom.

Life Changing

And just like that, changes come screaming into our life. 


After the 20 year old in me got done screaming "I am too young to be a grandma", the maternal instincts kicked in and all I could think was "look at the most beautiful baby in the world". 


In this single moment our lives have changed, our next generation has arrived and life as we know it will never be the same.

Raising Routleys.

IN MEMORY OF:

Phoebe Ellen Wachter Routley

February 5, 1917

When I think about my grandmother, I am constantly in wonder at her strength and patience in raising ten children. She and my grandfather began their family in 1933, she was barely 17, and the country was in the midst of the Great Depression.

I wish I had known her during this time. Her youth gave her the optimism to face each morning. Her unconditional love for her children nourished their character. Her ability to find joy in the simple things in life taught them what is really important: family.

This photo of her is my favorite because it seems to capture a rare moment, a few seconds really, of alone time. A mental recharge before tackling the next challenge or tending to one of the children.


She was the rock. The foundation our family was built on. I was truly blessed to have her for a grandmother. And 94 years ago this world was blessed with her birth.


Happy birthday grandma. You are loved and missed.

The Mitten Tree.

One of the lasting memories of Christmas with Grandma Phoebe was her mitten tree. Every Christmas you could count on a new pair of mittens hand made by Grandma. There was a special tree of them in her back room, slightly warmed by the old pot belly stove nearby. Sometimes we could pick out the ones we wanted (this sucked if you weren't the first of the 30+ cousins to arrive) and sometimes she would have our names on them. But each year, they were a special gift we looked forward to.

Since, I don't knit, I remember and honor her tradition by adding mittens I crafted from felt, as decorations to my Christmas tree. I also have one pair of her red mittens left from days past, that I use as a tree topper for one of my smaller trees. Each of these trees serve as fond and lasting reminders of this special woman.

Her daughter, Bess, carries on REAL mitten tree tradition in our family. This year she made 85 pairs of them. EIGHTY. FIVE. PAIRS. I asked her how long this takes her. She said she made a some last winter after Christmas, and then finished the remainder up this fall. NO. BIG. DEAL. The picture above is some of those she made. She strung mittens by family for each  great-grandchild of Grandma Phoebe (well each of those great-grand children that are still in grade school K-12 anyway).  I guess even super-knitter Auntie Bess had to draw the line somewhere!

The definition of mother.

Edna P. Newberry

April 25, 1915 -November 13, 1998

Some women are born to be mothers, and yet for many reasons circumstances prevent them from the opportunity to have their own.  I believe fate finds them a role to share the love they have to give.

My Aunt Edna was one of those women. She stepped into the role of mother when her sister died unexpectedly at the age of 20.  She embraced the role of grandmother (or second mother as my sister liked to tease her) to my sisters and I.

We even had a special word for her, Hant. It was reserved only for her "daughter" and her "granddaughters" to use. I've never met anyone else called by that, and that is how it should be, she was THAT SPECIAL.

She has been gone now almost 12 years, but the memories of her still linger. 

The smell of smoke from a fire reminds me of her house warming on a cool morning. 

Add the smell of coffee brewing, and I'm transported back in time to her kitchen on a Sunday morning. I even have a small dog that reminds me of her little chihuahuas Trouble and Shrimp. (Luckily, though, I never picked up the smokin' thing.)

I thank Hant everyday for the lessons about life and love she shared with my mother, my sisters and I. I know she continues her diligent watch over us from Heaven, seated at her comfy kitchen table.

PHOEBE PHOLLOW UP

Back in August I reminisced about my grandmother Phoebe and her love of wildflowers. In that post, I suggested renaming Queen Anne's Lace to something more meaningful like "Grandmother's Lace".

Shortly after writing this post I decided I should put some ACTUAL ACTION behind the words. So I started with a google search, and ended up at a botanical garden and research center, where I posted the question below.

After reading some of the answers, I thought I'd give it a couple more weeks to see who would respond. And then, like everything else, I forgot about it as work, family life, the presidential election and holidays absorbed the remaining functional cells of my brain! 

("The advantage of a bad memory, is that one enjoys several times the same good things for the first time" -Friedrich Nietzsche)

So, five months later when I remembered I had a blog, I was also reminded of my lack of follow up. But, of course, by now I couldn't remember what the heck the name of the website was. This resulted in yet another search. I knew I would recognize the site when I saw the name in the search results, seemed so simple, right? Yeah...no. It is amazing what will come up, and how far down the list things can get buried if you don't use the same words IN the same order. After a couple dozen different combinations, I found it. The University of British Columbia Botanical Garden and Centre for Plant Research.

I had 28 responses to my question, mostly from the same 4 or 5 people. As it turns out, even the experts don't agree. I found the comments interesting though, and even enjoyed the "digs" at each other. The recommendations varied from contacting state legislators and writing proposals (complete with credible evidence to substantiate the request) to lobbying naturalists, horticulturalists, authors and publishers.

My favorite part of the entire discussion was the disagreement on which country has "ownership" of the plant. Michael from Britain seemed a bit frustrated with everyone on "our side of the pond". I am sure I should also be insulted about the "least educated in society naming things" remark, but in fact he now inspires me to keep going. Thanks for the motivation Michael.

I thought I would share with you the dialog in the actual thread form. You can read those by clicking on the word ANSWERS below.

FYI, I am looking into the idea from Post#19 TOGATA57 from Columbus, Ohio. He had a good suggestion, an example of a precedent in Michigan, and very similar memories too.

So, stay tuned for more Phoebe Phlower Phollow up.

MY QUESTION: What is the process for renaming a wildflower? I am curious about who you contact or write to in order to petition for a name change of a wildflower? Has anyone ever heard what the process is? Or if it has ever been successfully done?

THE ANSWERS

PHOEBE'S PHLOWER

Queen Anne's Lace needs a new name!
A weed is but an unloved flower -Ella Wheeler Wilcox

For more than half my life, which is a significant amount of time, (I constantly feel compelled to throw this type of stuff in) I always thought this lacy, delicate wildflower was called Grandmother's Lace. More than likely it was planted in my subconscious because my grandmother, Phoebe, introduced it to me when I was young girl.

Grandma Phoebe was a lover of nature, she loved all things wild, and could name every bird species and wildflower in sight. Clearly I transferred that passion into renaming Queen Anne's lace (Daucus Carota, is its scientific name) Grandmother's Lace.

Everything about this flower brings back memories of grandma. It's bloom resembles the hand-embroidered edges to hankies or doilies that she and other family members would spend hours making. The pure volume of Queen Anne's along a ditch reminds me of our family in a way as well. It was a large one, 30 plus, wild, untamed grandchildren. And just like those unkept wildflowers, Grandma Phoebe found the beauty in each one of us. She could make you feel like you were the only child in the room, even when the noise and chaos would suggest otherwise. There even is a great deal of symbolism in this wildflower to the economics of our life back then. We didn't have a lot of money or a lot of possessions, but who needed overpriced roses, when nature had given us a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers free for all of us to enjoy.

As I grow older, her appreciation for these simple things of life seems to take on more meaning. What seemed so boring to me as a pre-teen, now seems like opportunity wasted to better understand the real beauty of life. Grandma Phoebe had it down cold. Beauty in the everyday and love for it, is the real wealth. Grandma mastered that, because as I look back on my childhood and my time with her, I don't remember ever feeling like I went without or that I missed out on anything. Every memory of her is priceless.

So now, I'd like to know who or where to petition for a name change. It seems ironic to me that this wildflower, aka weed, would be named after a queen. These days I know it wouldn't be found in a palace. I know the story behind the name, but, heck, times change, and we live in a world where history is constantly being corrected. This wildflower existed before the time of Queen Anne, her grandmother and her grandmother's grandmother.

Of course, I am willing to compromise on the new name. It doesn't have to be named "Phoebe's Phlower". (I just like to type it this way). I would settle for "Grandmother's Lace" Kind of a tribute for all grandmothers who have taken their grandchildren on nature walks, and gladly gathered bouquets of wildflowers along the way. To me it just seems right it be named for those who understand its true meaning. Queen Anne can still have her furniture, just give us back the flower.

I'm sure I'm not alone in this idea. I'm sure it isn't even an original idea. Being introduced to wildflowers by a grandparent is universal. It is their unofficial job. They've learned to slow down and breathe, to appreciate that beauty isn't in a bottle or on a label. It surrounds us each day in nature if we just take the time to look. When I retire, and am blessed with grandchildren, I plan on taking it up as a second career as well.

Until then, I intend to look into this name change thing.