Circle of Life: It’s a GIRL! Linden Edition

 

On the seventh day of August, in the year of our Lord 2021, the Sume Family welcome a GIRL into the mix. Linden Adele Sume--eight pounds, two ounces and 20.5 inches “tall”-- Linden arrived at one minute before midnight and immediately laid claim to the title of Baby Girl and Biggest Sume Baby to date.

Her arrival makes Aiden a Big Brother, and even little Lane is now no longer the Littlest Sume Cousin, but  Linden’s Big Cousin.  I am now Nana Sugar to FOUR SUMES—one of which is a GIRL!! My cup surely runneth over.

A GIRL!!!

We are all smitten.

"Baby out!" says big brother Aiden

Zero Significance

Birthday flowers and The Boom Box 

I recently celebrated a milestone birthday—not 16, or 18, or 21—but one of those birthdays that end in zero. A big, fat, significant zero—and I don’t mean the one with the four in front of it, although God bless you for even thinking that was the birthday in question. (Also, you should probably make an appointment to get your eyes checked, but God bless, all the same.) 

No, I’m talking about an existential zero.

Dinner at a civilized hour, I swear

This birthday is the birthday that makes me eligible for certain discounts, and apparently-- my pockets stuffed with coupons--likely to tip over at any moment. And now, at this advanced age, I will no longer spring back to my feet like a female Willy Wonka, but will be surrounded by anxiously solicitous people, inquiring as to the solidity of my hip bones. Now when I get a bit hungry late in the afternoon, the meal I eat will not be presumed to be a late lunch, but rather the tell-tale “Early Bird Dinner.” Dare I eat a peach? Wear white linen trousers, walk upon the beach? 

Oh sure, I’ve seen the chiropractor twice in two weeks, but that’s not because I’m “older”—it’s because I’m “active.” And my grandkids are HEAVY... 

 They say you’re as young as you feel, and I say I feel like—oh, 37. I feel like a bona fide adult--mostly—unless I gather with my friends from high school. Then we go from bona fide adult, to wanna-be bon vivant, to bonehead--- faster than you can say “I know you are, but what am I?” 

Mark has his doubts

Because this birthday was of such significance, I celebrated early, and often—with multiple cakes. Lemon cake, and Rhubarb Custard—which I suppose isn’t technically a cake, but it was cake adjacent. And also delicious. There was carrot cake, and coconut cake. And a perfectly adorable chocolate cake that wished me a “Happy 21(sic) Birthday.” I seem to be on track to have one cake per decade...And since I’m an adult, I didn’t have to eat my peas first. Which will come in very handy as I still have one cake to go.

Birthday Loot and the interior of The Boom Box

Perfect for the Keeper of Memory. Thanks Cee for organizing 

all the goofballs into action. Like herding cats, I suppose.

As young as you feel, right?

In-laws, Outlaws, Bus, Part Two

 

Once upon a time, I used to describe a painful time in my life as “getting hit by a bus.” Disaster Bus had hit me. My life was busted open, its contents strewn about. All was painful and messy, and it seemed unlikely that all would ever be well again. Eventually, of course, life went on but ever since then “hit by a bus” has been my go-to phrase for emotional disaster.

I was reminded last week of how much things have changed, and how some things are never what you think they might be. Turns out, being hit by a bus isn’t all that bad.

One of my fellow Nanas and I were tag team spoiling our shared grandson last week and we stood in the driveway for a moment, catching up on the latest events in our lives—AFTER we spent 20 minutes agreeing how amazing/perfect/smart/beautiful our Aiden is. Eventually, the conversation turned talk of his sister’s eventual arrival and the preparations for a “baby sprinkle” in her honor. (Side note: if, like me, you thought a Baby Sprinkle was another name for baptism, prepare to be enlightened. In this context “Baby Sprinkle” is what you call a Baby Shower for a second baby. Sort of like “Baby Shower Lite.”)

Nana Judy invited me—Nana Sugar—to ride with her to Nana Lisa’s house for the Baby Sprinkle. Of course, I said yes. Then Judy reminded me that the last time we carpooled to a family event, we got hit by a bus.

Yes. A literal bus. And it wasn’t even our fault. Nor was it at all like I had imagined—it was more of a gentle bump, really. Let me explain.

The Bus

Remember the ice/snowstorm of ’17? When Portland got hit really hard with multiple inches of ice and snow on the same weekend we were headed into the city to go wedding dress shopping? You all had that on your calendars, right? Anyway—icy roads, city bus, bridge, stopped traffic, not our fault—use your imagination. Except—bump.

Since the Baby Sprinkle is in June—a month not known for its snowfall, and the Sprinkle will be held to the north, not in Portland, and the fact that Nana Judy is excellent company—I said yes. What could possibly go wrong? Besides—her SUV has enough room to fit the pony I bought...AND the receipt.

In-laws, Outlaws or Help, Help, I’ve been Hit by a Bus

I’ve been thinking a lot about family lately. The Circle of Life adds and subtracts members from our midst. The subtracting part really sucks. Sometimes it’s easy to let my mind linger there, counting my losses.

But counting my losses is not helpful, and eventually, I turn my mind to counting my blessings. I am so thankful to have had those loved ones as long as I did, so thankful for the million and one memories of them.

I’m thankful for the additions Life has brought. I am thankful that my sons have such amazing women in their lives, and that their families are growing. Grandchildren are pretty freaking amazing inventions and I highly recommend acquiring them.

 One of the best things about the Circle of Life has been something I hadn’t even thought about prior to its occurrence. When my sons married, they married into families that then became a part of our family-- and those additions have been a boon. I highly recommend acquiring in-laws as well.

 The other day I was “out town” babysitting my grandson Aiden, and as I was leaving, I met another set of his grandparents in the driveway. Aiden is a very lucky boy, he has three set of Grands that love him beyond measure. Occasionally, we have overlapping shifts when it comes to Spoiling Duty, and when that happens we like to compare notes. During our conversation the topic of his sister’s pending arrival was discussed.

Now, I don’t talk much about Baby Girl Sume’s expected August arrival. Yes, I’ve seen the sonogram and yes, they all tell me “she’s a girl!” But there is some small part of me that doesn’t quite believe it. There is a part of me that expects this is all some sort of long game on my children’s part and the moment I break down and buy something pink, they’re all going to spring out and me and say “GOTCHA! We were just punking you, OF COURSE it’s a boy. What are you, daft? Sumes only come in Boy.” And then they laugh and laugh, and I have to search thru the bottom of my purse for the gift receipt. 

Funny, you might be thinking, but what, pray tell, does that have to do with a bus? I promise to tell you. Next time. 

When the Student is Ready

“When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.” 

The quote has been attributed to Tao Te Ching, to Buddha, and probably Abraham Lincoln—because that’s how the internet works.

I’ve been thinking about teachers a lot lately. I have been blessed by a lifetime full of great teachers—my first and best teacher—my mother-- who, in addition to all the teaching that mothers do, was also in turn my kindergarten teacher, and my fifth-grade teacher. And yes, I called her Mrs. Mullins in class. She used to tell the story that one day in Kindergarten, when she had apparently failed to respond to several of my calls for attention: “Mrs. Mullins. Oh, Mrs. Mullins!” I apparently decided to use the one name guaranteed to get her attention and called her “Mommy.” “She called you Mommy!” my classmates laughed; certain I had just made a Freudian slip. I was so good at referring to her as Mrs. Mullins some of my little classmates didn’t realize she was my mom! To them, I was just one of four Mullins kids in the class.

In addition to my mom, I was fortunate enough to have had both the legendary June Rowland and Kenton Smith as teachers. Both were wise and loving teachers who fed my love of words. Science teachers Randy Sharp and John Mullenix shared their love of the natural world with their students and I still remember taxonomy hierarchy: “Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus, Species” to this day. Good teachers shape our lives and our futures.

 

Nova Mullins & Cameron Sume

Teaching runs in my family’s blood. In addition to my mom, my son Cameron is also a teacher. He teaches math--secondary math education, to be precise--at Graham Kapowsin High School in Puyallup. He loves teaching, and the challenges of Covid have him working long hours. Most of his teaching is done “on-line” but he does meet with students who need extra help in-person.

When I asked him the specifics about the differences in lesson planning for on-line vs. in-person education, he said “I have yet to plan a lesson to be given in person and online, but I imagine the two would be very different. The timing of online teaching is a lot slower and transitions take longer.” He also noted that it’s a lot harder to build and maintain relationships with students over distance learning. He shared that he knows of other teachers and classes that are very successful with on-line learning, but that students who struggle academically—specifically in math (and boy, do I relate to that)—are having a hard time.

When I texted him some follow up questions, he begged off, citing the lateness of the hour and asked if we could talk tomorrow instead. 

“Deadline IS tomorrow” I texted back.

He answered another question and then sent “Also you should try to write before the deadline.”

He sent a smiley face emoji and “Sorry, that’s the teacher in me.”

When the student is ready...

Please remember to support our local students by voting YES on our levy. And don’t procrastinate—even I am sending my ballot in early.

 

Survive Grief Again

 In November, Mom passed away at the age of 90 and I’ve been thinking a lot about grief, again. I didn’t get to say goodbye to her, except in my heart. 

It has now been five years since my husband went out to get gas for his truck. I never saw him again. I had casually said goodbye, and it ended up being so.

In the days and weeks and months---and now years---that followed, I was given a crash course in grief.  I was also given a front row seat to seeing love in action. Loving people willingly walked into the darkness with me and held my hand. I learned much during that time and in the years since. 

I don’t think Americans are comfortable with the thought of grief; we don’t want to look at it, we don’t know how to deal with it. And, to be more honest, I don’t think we realize that you don’t “deal” with grief at all---you just experience it. Grief is not really “manageable” ---it just IS.

I can hear you saying “Gee Sue, thanks for the tip! Survive grief by NOT managing it. Awesome. Very helpful.” I know it seems counter intuitive, we want to DO something, FIX it, stop it, control it. Make the pain and the soul numbing sadness GO AWAY.

But you can’t. And it won’t. Eventually, the pain either lessens, or we become more accustomed to it but I don’t know that it ever STOPS.  At five years in I’m still learning as I go. 

Hydrate. Cry. Repeat.

 

But I DO know how to survive the First Worsts, the first awful year following a loss. The best advice I can give you is to go ahead and GRIEVE. Let it in. Weep. Mourn. Find comfort in Ritual, even if you need to invent one for yourself. Don’t shut off your feelings and don’t let others---as well-meaning as they might be—try to shut your grief down. 

Grieving takes time. Lots of it. Everyone is different, don’t let anyone tell you that you need to “move on.” That’s probably just their blissful ignorance talking---they don’t know the hard truth that you know. You are moving through grief, tears and pain and sadness are a part of that process. Stay hydrated. Seriously—when all else fails, go drink a glass of water. It’s one tiny thing you can DO to make things better. And if it’s not “better”? Well, at least it didn’t make things worse. Some days, that itself is a victory.

Thoughts Then, Thoughts Now

 

Compiled from excerpts of past Garden Gate columns, by my friend and co-worker, Haze, during the week I was in no shape to write. Thanks Haze!

Life, like any garden, has seasons.

I often speak of the Circle of Life, of season’s coming and going, of the natural order of things. It seems to me, however, that there are parts of the whole Circle of Life thing that I’d really rather just not think about, except in distant theory.

That is until the theory becomes cruel fact and I must spend time thinking about the reality of Life’s circle. this week, My mom passed away...And I am suddenly a motherless child, in a cold world, weeping on the floor, wondering who will take care of me now?

When the unthinkable happens--- when I am changed in that horrible moment from who I was into who I now must be, when by circumstance I am remade into someone new-- I am full of broken places and sharp edges and I am made suddenly immune to heat or cold, or hunger or sleep. And yet in that awful place of finality, in that place of no second chances, no do-overs, no one more I love you, no last goodbye ---in that dark place there is still a light. 

I know that grief is not simple—that it is not only ONE BIG THING that overwhelms, I know that it will be a million little things that will crack us wide open all over again, time after time. I know that we have a long journey ahead and there is probably a lot left to learn about this process. But in the dark, there is light, and I can see it.

We push back against the darkness with light—Christmas lights, candle lights-- the light shared with those we love; the light commemorating those we have lost.

“...Reach so far in your sharing that you hold the sun in one hand, the stars in the other, and no one between is hungry...” (“In Dark December,” by Ralph Murre)

The simple beauty of those words, the truth and hope in them, are a candle all their own, a reminder to “Be kinder than necessary, because everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle”-JM Barry.

If I am sad at times, then I will be happy in between those times. Even on this journey of grief, of missing someone so dear to me, I will count my blessings and I will call them happiness. I will stitch together happiness out of little pieces of delightful memories until it becomes a whole cloth and I will wear it.

I am starting my happiness collection today. I will number my blessings as the stars are numbered. There are so many signs of kindness from so many people, so much concern and care. The spirit, the traditions, and the memories will live, even though the physical being no longer does.  There is love, all around me….It goes on.

Oh, My Mom...

~ Remembering Nova ~

Nova Elaine Leathers Mullins
April 29, 1930 - November 7, 2020

Nova was born amid the Great Depression, the youngest child of Iola Elenore (Jenkins) and John Carrol Leathers. She transitioned 90 years later during a world-wide pandemic. The thing that matters most about her was not the tale at the end, or even the story of her beginning—but how she lived her “dash.” 

Nova’s zest, her love for life, for learning and teaching, her absolutely unquenchable spirit—these are the things that make us smile when we remember her. The youngest of six Leathers children--brothers Ed Carroll, Robert, Neel, Shirl and her sister, Elizabeth “Sue” (Davis).

Nova spent her childhood in Bird City, Kansas, riding her bike to deliver the newspaper. She often had to pedal faster to keep her dog Sailor from scrapping with the other town dogs. When it was time to do chores, one would have to go find her, because she would be tucked away in some cozy nook quietly lost in a book. 

Nova was a born teacher. She taught in both Kansas and later in Washington. She was drawn to the Randle area because, while she appreciated the beauty of the Kansas prairie, she wanted to live between the mountains and the ocean. One of her second-grade students suggested that Miss Leathers should really meet her “Uncle Woody”, and eventually, Nova and Willis Mullins were married in February of 1960. They had two daughters, Sue Ann (Sume) and Wilma Jean (Smale). 

When Wilma started kindergarten, Nova returned to full-time teaching at the Packwood Elementary School. She taught fifth grade for many years and remains famous for her insistence that her students master their ‘times’ tables. It wasn’t unusual for student after student, class after class, to be able to successfully complete 100 multiplication problems in under a minute. She also taught second and third grade; Nova loved the opportunity to teach her young students the joys of reading. “Seven-year old’s”, she would often say, “are magical.” 

Besides her love for teaching, Nova’s faith was one of her defining attributes. Her faith was deep--- personal, immediate, and abiding. Every Sunday she would fill her car with kids—often making multiple trips insuring that everyone who needed a ride to Sunday School got one. While Nova would never be known for her ability to carry a tune, you would never question her enthusiasm for worship. She rejoiced in the Lord, in all His works, and was certainly a member of the “Make a Joyful Noise” choir if there ever was one.

After she retired from teaching, Nova became a passionate gardener, declaring a full-on war on dandelions. Woe be to the yellow weed that dared to show its face in her yard! During retirement she logged many miles walking her dogs, volunteering for the Soup & Bread Brigade, attending exercise classes, donating to her favorite charities, and feeding the birds.

Nova was consistent at successfully spoiling her grandchildren, Jordan, Devin and Cameron Sume. She cheered at every single one of their sporting events. Nova also has three great-grands: John Shane, age two; Aiden Allen, nine months; and coming in February, yet another boy! 

Even as Alzheimer’s began to steal her from us, she never lost her love of family, her passion for song, her flirty nature, and her desire to do things “Right.” Nova flourished under the loving care she received and spent her final weeks recovering from hip surgery at the home of her daughter Wilma in Yakima, Washington. 

We will miss Nova greatly, but we rejoice with glad hearts that she is no longer tethered to an earthly body with its many frailties. We know Heaven is much the better to have her in it. 

“Well done, thy good and faithful servant!”

 

Circle of Life: Aiden

On the third day of February, in the year of our Lord 2020, The Sume Family welcomed its newest member. Aiden Allen Sume, seven pounds, 15 plus ounces—just shy of being the full eight-pounder—and a whopping 19.5 inches “tall.”

Aiden seems to be a perfect unicorn of a baby—born with an impressive head of hair, he smiles all the time and sleeps a LOT—something I am unfamiliar with. In my experience,

Do you think they'll keep him?

Sume babies think sleep is for sissies.

He has the hands of an NBA baller, and the most perfect little baby toes. His parents, and his fur-siblings, are properly smitten. And his arrival now gives us SUME COUSINS—hooray!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a baby to hold—one so fresh he still has that new baby smell of heaven on him.

For Devin

I wrote this a couple of years ago for my middle son...
On Monday, February 3--he became a parent.
I love you, Devin.

Circle of Life: John Shane Edition

On the second day of August, in the year of our Lord 2018, the Sume family experienced the upside of the Circle of Life.

John Shane Sume, six pounds, two whole ounces, made his way from his namesake’s arms to ours.

I have, on my phone, approximately 487 baby pictures, and if I happen to run into anybody I even think looks vaguely familiar, I’m happy to prove it. 

Little John-John—as I like to call him—is a pretty typical newborn. Meaning he’s very beautiful--with all those tiny fingers and toes—and clearly a genius. Seriously, the boy has benevolent-Rocket-Scientist-with-a-great-sense-of-humor-and-a-poet’s-soul written all over him. True, I had to write kind of small, because at 18.5” there wasn’t a lot of surface area to work with. But, I managed to squeeze it all in.

Anyway—that’s what’s new in the Sume Garden of Life, a brand-new, bouncing baby boy. We are counting our blessings.

One Little Word

Once upon a time, in a Life I used to live, I was a Scrapbooker. I was a Taker of Pictures –the real kind, not with a phone; the kind you get printed out and place in an album. I was a Keeper of Memories, writing things down, a Curator of Life.

Funny thing, Life. It often changes. Sometimes when I’m not paying attention, sometimes even when I am. So, for a variety of reasons, both the expected and the unexpected, my life changed and I’m not much of a Scrapbooker anymore. At least not actively.

I’ve mentioned before that I’m great at making New Year’s Resolutions and sticking to them—provided I don’t make them right around New Years. My resolutions seem to have better staying power if I set with them awhile first, think about them, try them on for size. For that reason, I’m nowhere near ready to commit resolutions to paper—or to whatever the internet is made out of-- either.

I am ready to commit to One Little Word however. According to fellow Scrapbooker Ali Edwards, (Ah! THAT’S why she was blathering on about scrapbooking!) One Little Word is a word chosen to “focus on, to live with, to investigate, to write about, to craft with, and to reflect on as (one) goes about...daily life.”

One little word. That concept really resonates with me. After all, it’s on a single, highly personal word. How hard can it be? That’s the beauty of it. It can be as simple or as complex and you make it. The further you go, the deeper you dive, the more you explore the word you’ve chosen-- the more life changing it can become.

Sit down with a pencil and a piece of paper and make list of words that inspire: Action, Breathe, Connect, Discipline, Engage, Flourish, Gratitude, Heal, Joy, Listen, Mindful, Nest, Pause, Quit, Routine, Soar, Thankful, Whittle, Yes. Find one that resonates with you. In the past, I’ve chosen Attitude, Rise, Savor, and Discover.

This year, the word that is speaking to me is More. I want more; to appreciate more, to give more. To write more love letters, to savor more sunsets, to walk more, dance more, create more---I want MORE. My resolutions—when I get around to making them-- will have “more” in them.

Who knows? Perhaps I’ll even scrapbook more.

The Past in Present Tense

Outside in the porch swing with my first cup of tea. The morning is cool, as it should be in the month of June, and the swing rocks slowly. It seems a day of infinite possibilities—a day when a boy on a motorcycle might kiss a girl on a horse. A long, glorious summer day that will give way to a short summer night, a night of stars and kisses, whispered promises and scraps of poems.

For me, this is a month loaded with events and memories. Events that, even as they are celebrated, are missing some of their zest. My birthday, the first of our sons to graduate college. Father’s Day, a bittersweet day--three beautiful young men a testament to our love’s immortality. Shane’s birthday at the end of this month, a day that has been traditionally celebrated with a huge German chocolate cake—his favorite.

Summer 1978

Memories are, in turn, both blessing and curse.  I remember everything. The anniversary of the first time Shane kissed me--so many years ago I hesitate to number them. I remember a starry summer sky framed by towering fir, looking like a tie-dyed t-shirt, he claims and makes me laugh. The smell of forest duff, of tangy pitch, of sun-warmed skin.

I remember the day we moved into the new home we had built only to find out the very next day at the obstetrician appointment that we were expecting twins and our spacious new abode was now a bedroom short.

June is a month overflowing with memories, a month stuffed with events that Shane will not be here to share. Somehow it will be my job to go forward into all the possibilities of the future while my heart seems to have taken up residence in the past.

Circles

I often speak of the Circle of Life, of season’s coming and going, of the natural order of things. It seems to me, however, that there are parts of the whole Circle of Life thing that I’d really rather just not think about, except in distant theory.

That is until the theory became cruel fact and now I spend a great deal of time thinking about the reality of Life’s circle.

I have struggled with how much of that journey to share here---in a place that promises “a light-hearted look at pleasures and perils of gardening in Lewis County,” Some of this stuff is personal, it is raw and it is the antithesis of lightheartedness. And it has very little to do with gardening-- except in the most esoteric of ways.

The column/blog are called “Over My Garden Gate” because I imagined that it would be as if we are neighbors, casually gossiping over the fence on a fine afternoon. We could share stories and insights ---and complain non-stop about the elk, or at least I would.

Variegated Lilac: pretty to look at.

Fragrance? Not so much.

What to do now? I can’t NOT write what I feel. I can’t sit and force myself to write about the lilacs blooming early this year when the only thing I can think about is that the lilacs were blooming on the day we got married and that was May 10^th, not the middle of April, and that Shane claimed to HATE lilacs and I never believed him and now it’s too late to ask him why he hated them. It is impossible to separate my thoughts into tidy columns; my feelings leak across the page and the sweet and the bitter are all intermingled.

So many of you have been so kind and supportive, encouraging me to continue writing. And some of you have even spoken of your own difficult journey and that my words have helped you in some way. Your words mean more to me than you will ever know, and I thank you for that.

So I will keep on writing “Over My Garden Gate.” Sometimes it will be about gardening, and sometimes it will be lighthearted, and sometimes---just like Life---it won’t be.