I love creamy, tangy yogurt. That nutritious food is tasty in so many ways—with fruit or granola, in smoothies, on soups. We have a multitude of foods available to us today, but it is amazing to think about people discovering they can eat something like yogurt. Long ago, someone, or probably more likely multiple people in multiple locations, left some milk for hours in a warm place. When they returned the milk had solidified, but it smelled good. So they tasted it and discovered a new food.

photo by Karin Fisher-Golton

Thank you, dairy animals. Thank you probiotics. Thank you, food pioneers.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers and all who act as mothers.

For this day’s post I’m sharing a few of the memories that came to me when I asked myself what is amazing about mothers and motherhood. I’d love to read some of your stories about mothers and mothering as well. Please share in the “Leave a reply” section below.

I think of one of the first times I saw my friend Debbie as a mother. We were at a friend’s wedding. I was just barely pregnant myself. During the reception, her toddler was napping on her lap while we were talking. The music got loud. Without, a pause in the conversation she put her hands over her son’s ears and held them there while we continued to talk. I was struck by the grace with which she did that and the way caring for her child had so quickly become part of the repertoire of what she does.

I think of my own mother—who is so consistently there for me, long after I’ve grown up. When I was thirty-three, I was driving cross-country. I stopped in a Texas hotel, lay down to rest and found myself feeling increasing panic for no discernible reason. Frightened and not sure what to do, I called my mother in the middle of her work day—something she had instructed me decades ago to do only in an emergency. She quickly made time in her day to get on the phone with me, and calmly and lovingly help me sort through what was going on until we realized I was having an asthmatic reaction to the new carpeting in the hotel.

I think of the photo I have hanging in the kitchen of my great-grandmother cooking in a cast iron pan, much like one I use regularly. The photo, shown below, was taken by her grandson, my father, at about age 11. This image reminds me of the many meals and other tasks that my mother, and mother’s mother, and grandfather’s mother, and all my ancestors have made so that their children and children’s children and I can live.

photo by Stephen A. Fisher

I think of something I wrote as I was preparing for the birth of my son. Many aspects of being a mother surprised me, but this thought continues to hold true: “It is such an honor to become someone’s mother—to be part of a spirit coming into the world as a new person and to get to care for and know that person in such a close way.”

Thank you, mothers. Thank you, children who make it possible us to be mothers.

Last night two American League West rival teams, the Oakland A’s and the Texas Rangers, both played East Coast teams at home. Both American League West teams won with the same score: 8-0. The Rangers starting pitcher was pitching a no hitter until the last out of the ninth inning. The A’s starting pitcher only gave up two hits in eight innings pitched.

Who were these pitchers? On the mound for Texas was their ace, Yu Darvish. Oakland’s pitcher was Tommy Milone, a struggling pitcher who might well have been sent down to the minor leagues yesterday instead of a teammate, if it hadn’t been his turn to pitch last night.

Yu Darvish in 2012 (photo by mjl816 on Flickr, cropped by UCinternational)

Tommy Milone in 2012 (photo by Jrchun)

I love baseball because it is full of amazing stories and the power of possibility every day.

Thank you, baseball.

Periodically I pause and marvel about avocados. How amazing that a fatty fruit exists–and such a tasty one, too. I’ve been particularly grateful for them in the last couple years as I’ve been avoiding dairy (to help with a health issue). Avocado slices or guacamole can fill in for cheese beautifully in many situations. Cut one and half and get a spoon for a satisfying treat. Kids love them, too.

Last year I began a poem about avocados. I finished it this week to post here on this day, which is both during my Amazing May project and a Poetry Friday. Links to more Friday poems from children’s poets can be found at Jama’s Alphabet Soup.

Avocado

Wrapped in
dark green pebbly skin 
covering an unassuming 
oblong shape, 

when cut in half, 
behold, inside 
a perfect spherical pit, 
mirrored 
with a perfect, 
semi-spherical hole, 

both surrounded 
by creamy, bright green 
foodstuff. Oh, that creamy, 
bright green foodstuff! 

A fruit that’s green
and full of fat— 
a monounsaturated fat, 
at that—surely the 
avocado is nature’s 
generous gift. 

© Karin Fisher-Golton, 2014

photograph by JJ Harrison

Thank you, avocados.

Being someone who loves family and stories, I find genealogical research enticing. As a teenager I helped my grandmother organize the materials she’d collected over years of long distance correspondence and visits to institutions. Today I can sit at my desk and view one hundred and twenty year-old records from towns half way across the world, see photographs of boats my ancestors traveled on with all their worldly belongings to start a new lives in distant lands, and find records that reveal relatives we didn’t know about or only suspected existed. Through these resources my family has reconnected with many dear cousins. We recently discovered a whole branch of our family that had been completely lost and were able to tell them about the origins of a grandmother/great-grandmother they knew almost nothing about—other than her good reputation and first name, which two of them share.

Potsdam Steamship

The ease at which I can access documents from distant times and places amazes me.

Thank you, scanners, information collectors, and genealogy web site creators.

A little over a week ago something happened that amazed me, but not in the positive way I usually write about here. More in the horrified way. I learned, that a preschool classmate of my son’s has had a relapse of cancer. Baylor, now a 7-year old second grader, missed months of Kindergarten in the hospital getting chemotherapy. The cancer seemed to be beat, and he went back to his life as a healthy, basketball-playing, sweet boy, brother, son, family member, and friend.

Now he’s had a relapse and needs a bone marrow transplant. His ancestry is Japanese/German, and so a match is most likely to be someone of Asian/Caucasian descent. There are no matches within his family. He’s back in the hospital undergoing chemotherapy and waiting for a match.

Alongside this situation that no one would choose, something of the uplifting sort of amazing stands: the power of community. I saw people respond so quickly to this situation (and I know I’m not seeing it all). Within days people were bringing the family meals and groceries, offering moral support, and setting up bone marrow drives. Getting out the word to find Bay a match has spread person to person, community to community, far and wide. A Match for Bay, a Facebook page that didn’t exist a week ago, has over 1200 likes. A press release posted on Facebook this morning was shared 36 times in its first hour up. When I’ve posted and emailed about the situation, friends and acquaintances who don’t even know Bay share. I hate that this is happening to this dear boy and his family, but am heartened to see how quickly and strongly we can take action for one another.

So let’s celebrate the power of community, and while we’re at it, please help find a match to save this precious boy’s life—all it takes is a test swab in the cheek to find out if someone is a match. The information is in the poster below, plus more Northern California bone marrow drives are listed at the Asian American Donor Program website.

Thank you, communities. Thank you, helpers. Thank you, those who ask for help.

Update 6/21/2014: Baylor still urgently needs a bone marrow match. Volunteers are needed at bone marrow drives as well. Please share and help. Current information is at: A Match for Bay

I went to the El Cerrito Plaza farmer’s market today. I can report that here in the San Francisco Bay Area, the season of abundant variety of fruits and vegetables is here. There were purple and white onions, orange and red beets–all looking shiny-fresh with green leaves attached.  The sugar snap peas and fava beans were big, almost bursting with peas and beans. Nectarines, peaches, and zucchini have arrived.

How amazing that these plants that were little seeds a few months ago are available for us to eat now.

Thank you, farmers. Thank you, plants. Thank you, earth, water, and sun.

photograph by David Silver, detail

by Karin Fisher-Golton

My son’s class trip, which I mentioned in yesterday’s post, is to Yosemite Valley. We parents received a much-appreciated report late last night. Part of the news was that the children were taking in the scenery and that when they arrived in the valley there were gasps and screaming about how beautiful it was.

photograph by Johan Viirok

I could relate. I know the feeling of turning a corner and seeing scenery so awesome that it literally takes my breath away. How amazing that our Earth has such places–and really so many of them.

For me those include Yosemite Valley, Yellowstone Falls, the Grand Canyon, Mt. McLoughlin in southern Oregon, Cannon Beach in Oregon, some coral reefs off the coasts of Hawaii. What are some breathtaking places for you?

Thank you, earth, glaciers, water, and wind.

by Karin Fisher-Golton

This morning my nine-year-old son left on a class trip, his first trip without family. Last year at this time I remember watching the third graders preparing to board their bus with a tight stomach. I couldn’t imagine my son doing such a thing.

One year later, this morning, we said our goodbyes. We were both fine. We’d prepared, we’d talked, but mostly what had happened was that a year passed–he was older, and he was ready.

This reminded me of an earlier time, at his preschool end-of-year camp out. He was standing by the fire, watching it with a friend, and I was sitting with adult friends several yards away. I realized that even six months before I’d have been right next to him by the fire, probably holding on tight–I wouldn’t have trusted he’d stay safe. But at that camp out, I was confident he wouldn’t stick a hand in the fire.

We grow, we get ready. Sometimes through our efforts and sometimes just because of time. It can happen to adults, too. And I think it’s amazing.

Thank you, time. Thank you, we people with the ability to change.