What I learned this week: Phenomenal women rock my world

This week, courtesy of my ever-phenomenal friend Ruth from Cranium Crunches, I was introduced to another phenomenal Ruth — Ruthie Foster. Specifically, Ruth shared with me Ruthie's version of Maya Angelou's poem Phenomenal Woman. Ruthie Foster has the most, yes, phenomenal voice. Take a listen:

That rendition of Maya Angelou's poem — a musical arrangement by Amy Sky (surely another phenomenal woman) so powerfully and soulfully belted out by Ruthie Foster — piqued my curiosity about the original poem. I, surprisingly, had never read or heard it before. So I searched, found, and share it here, read by Ms. Angelou herself:

That is what I learned this week: A phenomenal poem and phenomenal song that I just had to share with the phenomenal mothers, grandmothers and others in my world.

Cheers to phenomenal women! And an extra special toast to Ruth for sharing this week's lesson that so touched my soul.

Today's question:

What did you learn this week?

Long live Grandma's hoya

I've never been very good at growing houseplants. Because of that, I felt quite nervous and unduly obligated when the care of an elderly houseplant was informally included in the deal when we bought our current house nearly five years ago.

The sellers told us upon our agreement to buy the house that they were leaving the plant they had inherited when they bought the house, a plant started by the original homeowners when the house was built in 1975. Story was, according to the sellers — who had no information on what the plant was, only a stern warning to not let it die — that the plant bloomed only once a year and "thrived on neglect." I'm pretty good at neglecting plants, yet I still worried about my ability to make it thrive.

Soon after we moved into this house, Jim and I hosted an open house for our previous neighbors so they could see why we left them and the street where we thought we'd live forever. While explaining the plant story to one of the former neighbors, an older German woman who always had interesting stories to tell, informed us the plant was a hoya. She seemed rather excited about it, but not being much of a houseplant person — and definitely not knowing a darn thing about hoyas — I smiled, just happy that we finally knew what the plant was.

Our first couple years living here, the hoya never bloomed. It did stay alive, though, growing like mad. (I apparently neglected it correctly.) The darn thing stretched across our dining room window with tendrils offering nothing more than creepy fingers that reached farther and farther toward the far wall. I eventually had to cut back those wild fingers that had overtaken window and wall. I was fairly certain I had done the poor plant in.

Soon after my over-zealous trimming, the elderly wife of the now-deceased builder and original owner of our home arranged a visit with us. She, sensing her mortality, hoped to see one last time the one-of-a-kind home she (a concentration camp survivor) and her former husband had built after immigrating to the U.S. from Poland. When she visited us, she was escorted by a couple of her adult children and her 20-something granddaughter, all of whom had lived in our house for many years, all of whom had cherished memories of the home their family patriarch had built.

Two of the daughters, both older than I am, exclaimed upon seeing the flower-less but still very much loved (by them, not me) hoya in the dining room. They asked to please take clippings of it, and I, of course, encouraged them to. The granddaughter excitedly clipped a bit of her grandmother's hoya for herself, too.

Then, not long after they visited, the hoya bloomed for us for the very first time. It was just one lone bloom that I noticed one day while sitting in the dining room talking to Jim. We couldn't believe it. The flower was lovely, the scent intoxicating. Within a week, the bloom died.

A year later, the plant bloomed again, this time with a few flowers. Again, they soon died.

This year? Well, that photo above is our hoya right now. This year it has bloomed better than ever, bursting forth with not only incredible flowers, but literally dripping with a luscious scent that fills nearly all three levels of our house, especially come evening. (Look closely at the photo in the lower left of the collage and you'll see the sticky liquid scent oozing from the blooms.)

This plant is amazing. I'm now in love with it. I love its story, its blooms, its scent. I love that the previous owners took clippings of it for their homes, for their granddaughter's home, that it's tendrils have stretched far beyond this house.

On Sunday, when Brianna and Andrea will be here for Mother's Day, I plan to give them cuttings of the happy hoya for their home. Eventually Megan will get a piece of it, too.

The abundant blooms this year lead me to believe the hoya will continue to thrive, that one day I'll be able to share cuttings from it with my grandsons, just as the granddaughter of the original plant owner carefully clipped from Grandma's hoya to cherish in her own home.

I hope that granddaughter's hoya clipping has thrived, that it has bloomed and made her smile as she remembered her grandma, who had passed away less than a year after the visit to our house. Perhaps the cuttings I share with my grandsons from Grandma's hoya will one day do the same.

Long live Grandma's hoya!

Today's question:

What memories do you have of your grandmother(s) and plants?

Picture this: Top 10 reasons why grandmas rule (Infographic)

Infographic courtesy MedicalGuardian.com

Today's question:

Which of the 10 is/was your grandma notorious for? And if you're a grandma, which are you notorious for?

Wherein Grandma whines and wails about not getting her way

For one bright, shining moment recently, all was right in my world as a mother and grandmother.

Brianna, my oldest, was happy with herself, happy in her job, happy with her Harley-riding boyfriend.

Andrea, my youngest, was happy with herself, in her job, and with her camera-toting boyfriend, too.

Megan, my middle daughter — mother to my grandsons and a teacher, too — was happy with the prospect of the school year ending, happy with her ever-so-helpful hubby, happy with being Mommy to my grandsons.

And I, mother and grandmother, was happy not only because they all were happy, but also because Megan mentioned she and Preston had accumulated enough Southwest rewards points that Megan and my grandsons could possibly, nay, probably, visit Gramma and PawDad at the end of May.

A probable visit meant my entire family (except Preston, who would have to work) would soon be together for the first time since June of last year.

A probable visit meant we'd all get to celebrate Mac's birthday and Bubby's birthday — which are both in June — while they're here.

A probable visit would mean Megan would get to meet her sisters' boyfriends who just might one day be more than that.

And a probable visit meant Bubby and Mac would finally get to dig for treasure in our back yard again, something Bubby had wished and wished and wished for during my visit a few weeks ago. (That and to watch Gramma make popcorn in the popcorn cart again, too.)

All was right and good in my world.

For one bright and shining moment.

Alas, how quickly those bright, shining moments fade.

Megan told me this past weekend that the possible trip to the mountains had become a definite-no-question-about-it no go. With many changes on the horizon for them, she and Preston would be consumed all summer working out important details on the this and that for their family.

Plus, when not working on this and that, they'd be using their Southwest reward points to attend the wedding of Preston's cousin. With no Southwest rewards to spare, a trip to the mountains to see family was simply not going to happen. Not soon. Not in the not-so-soon either.

*Poof!* My bright, shining moment vanished, with no reappearance likely for quite some time. At least when it comes to having my entire family together. At my place, at any place.

Sure, I will likely (I hope) get to see my grandsons before the end of 2013... at their place. But they — and Megan — won't get to visit my place. Worse yet, they won't get to see PawDad, Aunt B or Aunt Andie. And PawDad, Aunt B and Aunt Andie won't get to see them.

I get that other things must take priority at the moment. I sincerely get that. But that doesn't mean I can't be disappointed. Yet the word disappointed doesn't begin to explain how it feels.

Yes, I know it could be worse, that people are dealing with devastation beyond compare to my relatively trivial complaints. And there are innumerable parents and grandparents who have it far worse than I do, parents and grandparents who get to see their loved ones far less often than I do... if at all.

Perhaps I'm being silly. Jim and I have three daughters, and we get to see two of them as often as we — or they — choose. Two out of three ain't bad... or so I'm supposed to believe.

Every once in a while, though, I want more than two out of three. I want the trifecta of daughters all at one time — plus a double dose of grandsons, too. With PawDad. At our house. More for the sake of Jim and my other two daughters than for myself, as I do get to see Megan and the boys far more than the others do. But it's important the others see them, too, for it's hard to create close ties with family if chunks of the family never see one another. I want my grandsons to have close family ties — with all the chunks of our family.

For now, though, it's not going to happen. Definitely not this summer, and for who knows how long after that.

Priorities. I get it. I do. And I don't begrudge Megan doing what she must in figuring out important matters, doing what's right for her family. I really, truly, honestly get it.

But that doesn't mean I — and PawDad, Aunt B and Aunt Andie — can't be disappointed... or whatever the word for mega-super-duper-disappointed might be.

(It also doesn't mean I'll whine and wail forever. Just for today.)

Today's fill-in-the-blank:

The last time my family was all together was _____________.

Grandmother Power, Jared and the GRAND Social

Wow! Lots to share today, so I'll dive right in.

First, there's still time to write a post to share in the Grandmother Power Blogging Campaign, a collaborative effort of hundreds of bloggers — grandmothers, non-grandmothers, folks from all walks of life — writing about the powerful force of grandmothers. Linking your post to the campaign is yet another super way we can all join together to support grandmothers across the globe.

My contribution to the campaign is a second publication of the post I originally wrote after I had the privilege of spending the day with Paola Gianturco, the photojournalist and author of Grandmother Power — the inspiration for the Grandmother Power Blogging Campaign. I hope you'll join us, either by sharing your link there (click on the graphic to the right) or by reading the links of others.

Next, in celebration of Mother's Day, Jared The Galleria of Jewelry is celebrating the stages of motherhood and giving away jewelry. I was chosen to represent the grandma stage (woot!) and would love for Grandma's Briefs readers to win some of the prizes in the Mom Moments sweepstakes. Read all about it — including my grandma tips and a glimpse of the Jared jewelry I had the pleasure of recommending for grandmas — in my post on the Mom Moments sweepstakes.

And finally, the GRAND Social! I appreciate you sharing your links and sharing the visits and comment love with one another. Cheers!

How it works:

• All grandparent bloggers are invited to add a link. You don't have to blog specifically about grandparenting, but you must be a grandparent who blogs.

• To link up, copy the direct URL to the specific post — new or old — that you want to share, not the link to your blog's home page. Then click the blue "Click here to enter" text below and follow the directions to add your post and graphic to the list.

• You can add up to three posts, but no duplicates, please, and none you have promoted on a previous GRAND Social linky. And no contests, giveaways, or Etsy sites, please.

• Adding a mention at the bottom of your linked posts, such as This post has been linked to the GRAND Social linky, is appreciated. Or, you can post the GRAND Social button anywhere on your page using the following code:

<a href="/" target="_blank"><img src="http://grandmasbriefs.squarespace.com/storage/GRANDsocialbutton.jpg " alt="Grandma’sBriefs.com" width="125" height="125" /></a>

• The GRAND Social linky is open for new posts through Wednesday evening, so please come back to see those added after your first visit.

• If you're not a blogger, you have the pleasure of being a reader. Bloggers who link up would be honored to have one and all — bloggers and readers — visit, read and, if so moved, comment, even if just a "Hey, stopping by from the GRAND Social."

• Looking for another grandparent linky? Be sure to visit Connie's Grandparent's Say It Saturday Link Party each Saturday.

Thank you for participating in the GRAND Social!