Posts Tagged Under Ruth Scott
For the Last Time
At thirty nine I had cancer. The type I had could have been fatal as there was little known at that time compared to current treatments. I found the tumor myself, a lump in the groin, and asked that it be biopsied as the doctors did not think it to be a problem.
When it proved to be cancer, radical surgical procedures were performed. I experienced a very special event during the week before surgery. I was walking down the street in Mill Valley holding the hands of my four-year old daughter, Ann, and my seven-year old daughter, Alison.
In their other hands they each held an ice cream cone. I remember extreme awareness of my surroundings as I thought to myself, “If this is all there is then I am blessed.” At that moment I saw every leaf on the tree before me as individual, unique, and important, yet interconnected to the whole. I’ve never forgotten that moment. I later heard someone describe a similar feeling that they had experienced with psychedelic, acid-type drugs.
By Ruth ScottMistaken Diagnosis
My son seemed depressed, really depressed. He didn’t want to get up in the morning. His energy level was the lowest I had ever seen, even though he was always hungry and ready for something to eat. Time to have a “man to man,” “woman to man,” “mom to son,” — heart to heart talk!
“Is there anything going on that I should know about, Nathaniel?”
“What do you mean, Mom. You know everything,” was his quick, glib reply.
By Ruth ScottBedtime
“Your turn to tell the story, Mom.”
“No, it’s your turn,” I replied, and so he began. No connected thoughts. Lots of giggles and silliness in his four-year old delight until he settled into his pillow.
It is easy to tell a story when the listener believes in you and hangs on every word. The plot thickens or wanes as his breathing softens or excels as your story is interrupted with listener input. I remember one story that began with giggles and joy and ended with tears of release and hopefulness.
I could tell you that story now, but more than the story what I remember from that nighttime reverie of Mom and child is a special lasting reward and joy. That night my son looked up at me and asked, “Mom, what is the biggest number of all?”
By Ruth ScottThanksgiving
A Thanksgiving I’ll always remember:
Ann was born! Scotty had died! What are we thankful for?
The children spoke differently that year. Perhaps for the first time.
They were aware that life and death were givens, were equal, were part of each other.
Grandpa Scotty was gone, but Ann was here, a newborn.
Nature’s Family Traditions
Step back in time? Is it possible? For what reason? What purpose will it serve?
I think it is worthwhile to try and we have done it now for almost forty years.
Each year we spend a week in the Sierra living 1920s style. There is plumbing and electricity,
but no telephones (except one for emergencies), no central heat, water comes from a pure
unpolluted spring, and there are miles of hills, lakes, creeks, waterfalls, and mountain
entertainment that one must be willing to discover and create for herself.
Computers and electronics are left behind.
By Ruth ScottSix Toes
Why is it so hard for some of us to get to know our mothers while they are alive?
Every year I get to know my mom better and better. I always knew Dad. He was so enchanting, a story teller, a romantic, and so in need of our love. He deserved it and he got it. I admire him still.
He loved us, but he really, really loved Mom.
They say girls are attached to fathers, their first love. Perhaps, this is true, but I realize more and more that I am a lot like my Mom and she taught by setting an example. She asked for little more than that we be straight-forward, always honest, and do the best we could.
By Ruth Scott
