In Like a Lion...Out Like a Lamb

I’ve been thinking of the rituals and symbols we attribute to spring: spring break, spring cleaning, and even “spring forward” for daylight savings time.

Rites of spring at Yale Elementary School in Chicago in the ‘50s came with its own rituals. My fifth grade class was selected to decorate the student hallway bulletin board.

Eagerly armed with scissors, glue, felt and thumbtacks, we created a felt lion and furry lamb covered with cotton balls along with paper cut spring tulips and dandelions to welcome spring to cold Chicago.

It was a major display that everyone walked by, a prime location. We felt appreciated for the“craftsmanship” and creativity of our delightful spring banner. In some aspects, it was the “early seeds” of my marketing career to create eye-catching ads and promotions (little did I know:).

Growing up in Chicago, spring meant coloring Easter eggs and the sugary fun of emptying an Easter basket filled with chocolate bunnies and jelly beans.

It also meant a new outfit for church, including an Easter bonnet, short, white gloves and black patent leather shoes.

I transitioned from girl to young lady in the spring when I wore my first “nylons,” hosiery with seams, signaling a coming of age similar to a boy going from short pants to trousers.

However, I couldn’t keep the hosiery's back seams straight on my beanstalk legs that seemed to be growing too fast for the rest of me. Nevertheless, I was thrilled to wear them thinking of the glamorous actresses in the movies and magazines posing in their fashionable, elegant stockings.

Spring also meant late winter storms and blustery winds as Chicago's winter belted its last “roar” before it allowed gentle spring rains and plants to come out of their slumber, allowing the new born “lamb” to replace the fierce lion of winter.

Spring is a time of awakening, to shake off winter’s doldrums and allow new growth to emerge. The seasons of our lives imitate these cycles, prompting us to shed our winters for new life.

We are in synch with life’s patterns when we remove our winter coats to embrace the warmth and gentleness of spring’s “lamb.”

When I think back to my grade school display of the felt lion and furry, cotton lamb, it makes me smile and welcome spring once again with a child's delight.

Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2010-2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Lion photo by Jean Scheijen
Easter Eggs photo by Alexandar Iotzov
Toy Sheep photo by Ula Kapala

The Meaning of Pearls

Diamonds may be a girl’s best friend, but for me it’s always been pearls.

All gems have attributed meanings and qualities, especially when we look at birthstone definitions.

Pearl’s origin and meaning:

"The pearl is the oldest known gem, and for many centuries it was considered the most valuable. Unlike all gems, the pearl is organic matter derived from a living creature - oysters and mollusks.

It was said in some early cultures that the pearl was born when a single drop of rain fell from the heavens and became the heart of the oyster.

Pearls have been called the 'teardrops of the moon.'

Some believe that pearls were formed by the passage of angels through the clouds of heaven.

Over time, the pearl has become the symbol of purity and innocence and it is often sewn into bridal gowns, or worn as jewelry by the bride." http://crystal-cure.com/pearl.html

I’ve never been a diamond girl. Pearls suit me better and represent singular moments in my life.

At 22, fresh out of college, I received my first strand of long, lustrous, cultured pearls as an engagement gift.

My fiancé and I shopped at Marshall Fields for the perfect strand to wear at the engagement party his aunt was giving me in the Chicago suburbs, a gathering for her friends to meet her nephew’s bride-to-be.

The pearls stood for his love and commitment. Pearls were also sewn on to the bodice of my wedding gown.

The next time I received pearls they came directly from the Orient. My second, shorter pearl necklace was strung with more refined, dainty pearls.

They were sent from my Army husband from Hong Kong where he, like so many other soldiers of that era, spent an RandR from their tours of duty in Vietnam.

The pearls arrived along with a 12-place setting of porcelain china, and the latest stereo and camera equipment of the time. Most GI’s sent similar care packages to their waiting wives in the late ‘60s.

When I turned 40, elegant pearl earrings were gifted to me again, this time from a new love for my birthday.

The problem was that the earrings were pierced, and my ears weren’t.

The pearls were beautiful, and I had only one choice. I dreaded the thought of punching holes into my earlobes, but I could hardly wait to wear the earrings.

My teenage daughter accompanied me to the mall to get the job done. She held my hand, like a patient mother, as the stapler popped the openings for my new pearls of love to rest.

The pearls joined my collection, and my daughter enjoyed them too when she wore them for special occasions.

At 47 when I married the second time, I thought it was only fitting that my daughter, my maid of honor, should have her own pearl earrings.

They were my gift to her on that day of love. Pearls were sewn onto the sleeves and hem of my tea-length bridal gown.

I have added to my pearl treasures over the years. They stay cloistered together in their own jewelry box, and I still favor them over other gems.

They connect me to wonderful memories and gifts of love. Over the years, my affection and fascination for pearls has deepened.

I’m especially drawn to pearls that are irregular, created in an emerging state and preserved in the process of transformation.


They are known as blister pearls, "mabe (ma-bay) pearls" grown in a Mabe oyster.

I still love traditional pearls but find a different kind of beauty in the unique shapes and free forms of the blister pearl. Unlike the attempt at perfection of the cultured pearl, they are imperfect and more interesting reminders of life itself.

"Eastern cultures believe that pearls symbolize purity and spiritual transformation. Simply wearing a pearl reminds the wearer to be honest, pure, wise, and to walk with the utmost dignity."

From the Meaning of Pearls: http://www.articlealley.com/article_27059_28.html

Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2009-2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Photo of Strands of Pearls by wemedge

Graduation Flashback: Then and Now

As I watched the students march in procession, I thought back to my undergrad college graduation from the University of Illinois in Urbana.

Now, I was attending graduation as a faculty member donned ceremoniously in cap and gown to support the commencement ritual for the new grads at a local college.

Scanning their faces, I could see the pride and the relief that they made it to the prize. I watched them accept their diplomas while their families and friends shouted and applauded as their names were called.

As I reminisced, I remembered that sunny day when I stood  beaming in my cap and gown, clutching that hard earned diploma in front of the University's Assembly Hall. I was on top of the world.

I remembered the look on my face in the photo my parents took. I was glowing, filled with hopes, dreams and goals for a bright future.

A college degree was my ticket to a new life, better than my parents had, to live the American dream...the first college grad in our family, let alone the only female.

My four years of study prepared me to be an English teacher K-12. I believed that was the life ahead of me.

Graduating from college is what my mother had encouraged me to do after her own education was cut short by a depression which required her to quit school as an 8th grade honors student and work in the local factory to help her  family put food on the table. My father managed to graduate high school which was typical for his generation.

I could relate to the students who pursued a degree while working fulltime, raising families and going to school at night. I appreciated their struggles and determination.

It had not been easy for me either. If it hadn't been for three scholarships and working three jobs, I could not afford to pay for my education. There were no other funds available at the time.

Looking back at that day when the world was my oyster, I thought I knew where the journey would take me: marriage, children, a teaching career and a comfortable life in a small town in the Midwest. I had a master plan and a script to follow. I was all set.

Little did I know, how differently my life would go. I had college credits and a degree but little life experience for what was to come.

Years later after my divorce, I moved East to pursue a corporate communications and marketing career and even became a vice president of a high-tech start-up as my career advanced.

I raised my children as a single parent, then married and divorced again, and ultimately returned to teaching after many years in the business world. Along the way I earned my MA from the University of Richmond.

That was not the plan the day I stood proudly clenching my diploma ready to take on the world, or so I thought.

Where will the journey take the new grads? The one thing I can tell them is that it will be an adventure they cannot imagine and wouldn't want to miss.

Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

mortar board 1 photo by renata jun

Homes: The Way They Were

There’s a scene in the movie, The Way We Were, where two men are sharing “best of” memories. Inspired by that scene, I am remembering the many homes of my life and their “best of” moments.

Though I have lived in many places, not all of them felt like home. The ones that I think of as home were those where I felt connected to my surroundings. These are my “best of” home memories, “the way they were.”

First home, early childhood in a multi-ethnic Chicago apartment complex where our playgrounds were asphalt and concrete, alleyways sandwiched between brick buildings, underground storage basements and a large empty, weed prairie. I always dreamed of having a real backyard with flowerbeds like my aunt’s old Chicago house in South Shore.

Best memory: climbing the advertising billboard's wooden scaffolds on the State Street side of the prairie to get a great view of sparks flying when the boys threw cans on the streetcar tracks, a game for city kids.

Second home, teen years in the south suburbs of Chicago, in working class Dolton, where we finally had a yard where my mother hung the wash to dry on a clothesline that doubled as our theatre curtain, a blanket attached with clothespins, for our backyard plays.

Best memory: the fir tree my mother planted that grew taller than our house and became a giant Xmas tree every winter that we lit for all to see.

In my married home 20’s to mid 30’s in Eureka, a central Illinois bedroom community of churchgoing gentlemen farmers, home was a rambling farmhouse that we modernized on our semi-timbered five acres adjacent to neighbors who rode their horses past the cornfields up the road.

Best memory: my young children playing in a tree, one in the big tire swing and the other in the crook of the tree.

Second best memory: growing a vegetable garden for the first time and preparing the homegrown produce for my family and putting fresh cut flowers on the table from my own backyard.

My home on a cul-de-sac in Falls Church, VA, where some nights the sky was a planetarium with constellations that shone brightly as crickets serenaded us on a summer evening.

Best memory: watching our beloved cat, Frisky, roll around in the ivy while I rested lazily with a book in the hammock slung between two giant White Oak trees.

Last home in an apartment townhome in Marina del Rey overlooking the channel, watching the moon play on the water with the shimmering lights of boats and distant planes looking like UFOs blocking the stars as they descended into LAX.

Best memory: walking the boardwalk piers between the slips of the anchored sailboats and yachts during a crimson sunset, almost as much pleasure as strolling the beach a few blocks away.

Home today in a condo overlooking a former golf course in Phoenix.

Best memory: drinking my morning coffee while I watch a hummingbird pause for a sweet drink at the feeder just above the orange tree.

All of the home bookmarks are where I felt centered. They are the places that are always with me and are the “best of” memories.

Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


 
Tree photo by Sue Byford
Hummingbird photo by Tiffany Clark