"Consumerism of Mother's Day a far cry from its orgins" by Anne Gibbons in the News & Advance

[Apologies to Anne Gibbons - please send a link because I could not find your article online anywhere, even on the News & Advance site, so typed it out until I can link it to the original source.  Anne Gibbons is a chaplain at Lynchburg College and her article on Mother's Day I felt should be shared in the interwebz:]

"Like so many other holidays, Mother's Day has become an opportunity for card makers, department stores, florists and restaurant owners to turn a profit. And I admit that I am one who appreciates the special attention given to this day. However, I'm also a little sorry and disappointed that the actual origin for the holiday has been greatly overshadowed by the consumerism with which Mother's Day is now associated.

The impetus for the holiday originated with Julia Ward Howe, known primarily as the poet who penned the words for 'The Battle Hymn of the Republic.'

In 1870, Howe became outraged by the ravages of the Civil and Franco-Prussian Wars. Believing that women had a particular sensitivity and understanding of the human costs of conflict, Julia called upon women everywhere to stand up for peaceful resolution and negotiations rather than violence and bloodshed.  In an effort to draw attention to the movement to end all wars, Howe issued a proclamation which said in part:

'Arise, then, women of this day! Arise all women who have hearts, whether our baptism be that of water or of tears!'

'Say firmly: 'We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies. Our husbands shall not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience'...

'In the name of woman-hood and of humanity, I earnestly ask that a general congress of women without limit of nationality may be appointed... to promote the alliance of the different nationalities, the great and general interests of peace.'

Although Howe did not live to see her dream of a Mother's Day for Peace fully realized, other women took on her cause such as Anna Jarvis, an Appalachian woman whose own mother was involved in reconciliation efforts between Confederate and Union neighbors.  In 1907, the first Mother's Day was celebrated in West Virginia and finally declared as an official national holiday by President Woodrow Wilson in 1914.

No doubt both Howe and Jarvis would be turning in their graves to see how little we have learned in the ensuing years about resolving conflicts peacefully. As mothers in the Civil War grieved the loss of their husbands and sons, so do mothers in our own time ache as now both daughters and sons die as a result of war, whether as soldiers on the battle fields or innocent civilians caught in the cross fire.

This Mother's Day, I honor those who stand up for peace, often at great personal cost to themselves.  One such hero is Steve Baggerly, one of the finest and most gentle human beings I know. Steve is a war resister and peace activist, even to the point of serving several terms in jail for his nonviolent resistance to international conflict. Recently he came before a judge to defend his leafleting in front of the Pentagon.

Steve reminded the judge that in Iraq, upwards of 1 million people have been killed, more millions made refugees, maimed, orphaned, tortued, or driven mad by the war.  Every war becomes a war on children. For the past half century, 90 percent of casualties in war have been civilians, with children much more likely than soldiers to die in war.

The statistics are staggering, even to the point of numbing the mind and hardening the heart. But the numbers represent real men, women, and especially children, all whom have mothers.  What better way to honor motherhood this day than to commit ourselves to working for a more peaceful world in nonviolent ways."

[Copeland's note: I do not support breaking the law... and anyone that knows me knows I believe in speaking softly... but will not tolerate infringement on my rights and property. Which, of course, is how many wars begin. However, the big picture of this article is worth all of us to reflect upon, to think about, and, no thanks to Hallmark, to now know the true meaning behind Mother's Day.]

Birthday Salutations From A Writer

Um, I just got the COOLEST birthday wishes EVER, of course from Harry Kollatz Jr., a Richmond treasure:

"Felicitous greetings, and salutations to you, Copeland, on the advent of the anniversary of your nativity. Partake of the commemorative rites in a manner appropriate, or inappropriate, as the situation warrants and your conscience dictates. In any case, may there be abundant fine wine.

Should be excellent weather for the Casati Day Parade. How you get Broad Street closed off for that event, I can't fathom. Thankfully, you don't need to concern yourself with the logistics on your very own day. You have people to do that.

I do so enjoy the high-stepping, go-go booted, mini-skirted, twirlers of flaming batons, who while never batting a lash or their smiles dimming a watt, toss up those fiery sticks, and as the airborne batons turn lazily end over end , the girls execute precision spins and kicks and somehow manage to catch the plummeting, fire-spurting symbol. Every time, the demonstration fascinates me. That, and the guys in fezzes who drive the funny little cars in antic choreography.

And remember, though this may be presumptuous for me to bring up, from your float/throne to wave to both sides of the street, "Elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist." -- "

Honeychile, I am slipping my hands deep down into my opera gloves, painting my lips, and securing my tiara carefully to my hairdo now.

Mr. O's Story

I read this story about a guard reuniting with his ex-inmates and immediately thought of the O's.

I became fast friends with Katja when we were in college at NYU.
She was so exotic, yet so down to earth. She always wore wool sweaters, scarves, and cool hats, giving her an air of someone having just blown in from an Alpine hike about her, which was a hard air to give off in lower Manhattan. She was down to earth but sooooooo much more sophisticated than my "raised in Richmond" ways- by the time we met, she had been raised as An American Abroad- living in Helsinki, Munich, and Paris before landing in New York.

My parents always wanted to come up to visit... I discouraged them. I had no desire to attend silly ceremonial things with my parents, like... I don't know... college graduation.

But Katja wanted to attend graduation, and her family was abroad.
So I handed her my parents and gamely followed to watch graduation unfold.

Little did I know how much her family would soon become such a part of my heart, forever.

But how I came to live with Katja's family is another story, and those many tales, for another day.

Living with the O's... I never felt such love.  All the things that were frowned upon prior in my own life were instead embraced with laughter. Mr. & Mrs. O and her brother Karl made me feel loved, accepted, and better about myself than I had felt in years.  Now, raising children of my own, I want to do what I saw the O's did for other people, I want to be That Family that lonely children flock to.
The O's became my family, and even though distance separates us, my love for them will never diminish.

Living in Paris in the staid 8ieme, at 66 boulevard Malesherbes, Katja & I would dress to go out, then walk into the kitchen to say our goodbyes. Mr. O would look me up and down in my thrift store clothes and... blatantly laugh, in my face,
"You're going out in that?!? Hahahahaha!"
I never felt so loved.

Living in Paris, going with the O's to visit his family in Linz Am Rhein, Mr. O would share tales of his growing up in a little town in Germany and how he came to America.  And this is what I tell you.

He remembers being a little boy, high on a hill outside the village, watching the first American tanks cross into sight.

Because he spoke English, his dad was made a guard in the local German POW camp.  After awhile, he started speaking with his prisoners about the chess they were playing.  A relationship was formed over chess...

The war ended, and life continued on.  Mr. O grew into a teen.  And then, a letter: a former prisoner and his dad began correspondance.

Back then, you just couldn't come into the United States from Germany.
You had to have an American vouch for you, and be under their supervision.
That former prisoner stood up and vouched for young Mr. O.  And the guard's son left his homeland to live with the former prisoner and his family in Chicago.

And that's how Mr. O came to America, began service in the American Army, gained citizenship, fell in love with a North Carolina girl, and ended up as the Director of Tourism and Trade for the United States Embassy in Paris.

I wish Mr. O could read this and correct me on everything I missed, that he could poke fun of me in the comments below.  Mr. O died after a struggle with cancer in 2005. We all miss his laughter so.


...Here's some silly pictures I dug up of Katja and I in New York, Paris, and yes, Richmond I came across trying to find pictures of her family...

Now you can see why Mr. O laughed at us so much...

Here we are playing Charlie's Angels in my East Village apartment...


























Below are some pics from my last night before I went back to the States...I was so sad...














Some more pics of us going out with friends - our friends were French *and* American, but we spoke fluent French so most people didn't know Katja or I were American.

And the last picture set is Mr. & Mrs. O at The Marine Ball, we all had a great evening that night.

I wish I had taken more pictures during this time... I guess we were always so busy running off we rarely thought to take a camera.